query_id stringlengths 4 64 | query_authorID stringlengths 6 40 | query_text stringlengths 66 72.1k | candidate_id stringlengths 5 64 | candidate_authorID stringlengths 6 40 | candidate_text stringlengths 9 101k |
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ac3dd7aefb634c60af5f99bbf53f959a | ['ea45607d8475423aa8d97fd8acc99ef1'] | Gavin felt his wings tense up at the thought, before forcing the tension to dissipate. He had frozen earlier when Hale had threatened to send them to the principal, and while he had recovered quickly, it hadn’t been fast enough for the action to escape Michael’s notice. He had to be more careful. Michael was cute and all, but not even he could be allowed to see through Gavin Free and his glittery mask.
He had been joking earlier with what he had said about having to prepare his heart, but it wasn’t 100% untrue. He needed to get back into the mindset of the Gavin Free, the golden god who mere mortals couldn’t dream to touch. Talking with Michael had been nice, but he had also unconsciously lowered his guard, and that was no good. Friendly faces could just as easily stab you in the back, he should have learned that by now.
He reached the end of the hall and made to turn right towards the hallway with his locker and collided with someone. Another sign talking with Michael had shaken him out of his persona. Gavin Free would never have been so absorbed in his thoughts that he would have ran into someone else. He was more aware than that.
He immediately hopped back and started to apologize. “Terribly sorry there, love, was so wrapped up in my thoughts I…” His words died off as he saw who it was that he had bumped into. It was the fox hybrid Michael had mentioned, Jeremy maybe. He was so shocked, all he said was, “Oh.” Eloquent.
Jeremy looked just as blown away as Gavin felt, staring back at him with wide eyes. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “It’s you.”
Jeremy’s awe gave Gavin enough time to get over his momentary shock, and he recovered his smile quickly. “Indeed. And you are Jeremy, the fox hybrid in the sophomore class, right?”
Jeremy looked absolutely mystified as he nodded. “Yeah, but how…?”
“Michael told me about you,” Gavin answered his unfinished question. “In fact, he was going to introduce me to you during lunch, I was just heading to my locker first.”
Nodding again, Jeremy said, “That makes sense. Well, why don’t I go with you to your locker and then we can walk to the cafeteria together, since apparently we were eating lunch together anyway.”
Gavin smiled at Jeremy and nodded himself. “Sure, sounds top. It’s just a little bit further in this hallway.” With that he walked by Jeremy, pausing just a moment to make sure he was following before making his way towards the left side of the hall. He had no trouble getting to his locker. Whether it was because people were all already half way to lunch or because he and Jeremy were being avoided, he didn’t really care. It was better than having to shove his way through.
“So,” Jeremy said as Gavin entered his combination, “I noticed you have a British accent. Did you move here from England?”
Gavin held back his laugh at the predictable question. Michael had asked him the same thing during Geometry class. He shook his head as he pulled open his locker and shoved some books in that he wouldn’t need for the rest of the day. “Nah, my mum is, but I was born and raised here.” He shut his locker and turned towards Jeremy. “We do go back to England most summers though.”
“That’s cool,” Jeremy replied. “I’m also a transfer to Austin, but I moved here last year, and only from Boston, so not quite as cool.” Jeremy began walking down the hall back towards where he and Gavin had collided and Gavin followed along.
There was barely anyone in the hall anymore; presumably they were all at lunch. Gavin was glad for it for more reasons than one. It was nice being able to walk with whispers following him with every step, and also, the increased room meant he could walk without having to bunch up his wings as much. Being careful not to hit Jeremy, he stretched his wings out behind the both of them and felt the muscles ache with relief. It was only when they were back folded up behind his shoulders that he noticed Jeremy staring.
Smiling at Jeremy with all the confidence he wished he really felt, Gavin raised his eyebrows, asking, “What? Is there something on my face?”
Jeremy shook his head but never took his eyes off Gavin’s wings. Softly, almost reverently, he whispered, “They’re so beautiful.”
Gavin blinked in surprise at the unrestrained praise before smiling at Jeremy, his wings puffing up with pride. He did put jewels in them to make them more appealing, but Gavin wasn’t really used to anyone but his mum praising any of his hybrid features so openly. “Thank you,” he replied proudly, before extending his left wing over towards Jeremy. “Do you want to feel my feathers?”
Jeremy grinned in response. “Can I?” At Gavin’s nod, he gently touched his hand to the back of Gavin’s flight feathers before running his hand down them. “They’re so soft.”
“I have to groom them every night,” Gavin said.
Jeremy grimaced as his hand kept stroking Gavin’s wing. “That sounds like a pain.”
Gavin just shrugged. “You have to be diligent otherwise they could get dirty, or worse, your feathers could get hurt. I once broke a flight feather and had to get it plucked so the new one would grow in right. Let me tell you, that hurt like a nightmare. Not to mention how itchy it was while the new one was growing.”
Jeremy’s face lit up and he gasped. “Wait can you really fly?!”
Before Gavin could respond, he was cut off by someone clearing their throat to get their attention. Both Gavin and Jeremy looked up in surprise to see Michael, standing just outside the cafeteria entrance. “I see you two have met.” | e194e6d0a2ff48c2bdb38f5d3f075558 | ['ea45607d8475423aa8d97fd8acc99ef1'] | If Michael's world had been frozen before, he could feel it shattering now. His breath picked up pace to match his heart beat as panic as cold as ice filled his veins. "No, Mom, please," he pleaded, "Please, we don't have to bring Dad in here, I can explain, I promise, don't bother him, please, mom, please, please, please don't get him, please." He felt tears sting his eyes but couldn't stop them with the fear filling him so strong it was making him dizzy. He knew just how his father would react. His father was a "god-fearing man" and on more than one occasion, Michael had been forced to listen to him rant about what he'd do if he ever got ahold of an abomination like Michael.
But his mother, heartless as always, simply looked at him with rejection in her eyes and a scowl on her lips before turning from Michael towards the kitchen entrance towards the living room. Each step of her heeled foot stabbed into Michael like a knife. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he should be running, should be trying to get as far away as he could, but he didn't move. Simply stood there, frozen, as he heard his mother call into the living room, the name of the man who sired him, the man would murder him, on her lips. "Thomas, come here for a second dear. I need your help with Rachel."
Seconds passed and it was like the world had gone silent waiting for his dad's response. After what felt like ages, but Michael was sure was only a few moments, he spoke. "Fuck off, Tara, I'm watching the game. You deal with the whiny bitch."
Michael saw his mother frown before she wandered further into the living room, to get his Dad to get off his sorry ass and come deal with their "rebellious daughter". The moment she was out of his sight, it was like a spell was broken and Michael turned around and ran for the stairs. Logic would've said go out the door, leave the house, don't go up, where you'll be trapped, but it wasn't logic his heart wanted to listen to right now. It was Gavin. And Gavin was upstairs.
So Michael took the stairs, two at a time, and ran as fast as he could towards his room. Throwing his door open and then shut behind him, he stood there for a moment, chest heaving as his eyes met Gavin's shocked ones at his abrupt entry. "Michael, love, what's wrong?" Gavin asked, and that was it. With a cry, Michael collapsed onto the ground, tears streaming down his face as sobs wracked his chest. In a moment, Gavin was at his side, holding him in his arms, murmuring comfort and asking what was wrong. But all Michael could do was cry and cry as he clung to Gavin's shirt like it was a lifeline. After a minute or two he finally managed to choke out, "She... knows. Telling... Dad."
Gavin immediately went stiff with shock before bringing Michael even closer to his chest. They sat like that for a few minutes, Michael crying and Gavin cooing in his ear, gently rocking back and forth, trying to calm him down. When Michael's sobs had quieted somewhat, Gavin gently tried to pull back. Michael, in a panic, clung on even tighter, wild eyes searching Gavin's for some explanation.
Slowly putting his hand down on Michael's and loosening his grip, Gavin leaned forward and kissed Michael's forehead, his left cheek, his right, each of his eyelids, his chin, before leaving a brief kiss on his lips. Resting their foreheads together and holding Michael's hands in his, he whispered, "Michael I have to go." Still unable to speak coherently, Michael had just whined in response, leaning towards Gavin. Shushing him and placing another kiss on his forehead, Gavin added, "It's just for a moment Michael and then I'll be right back okay. I'm gonna go try and fix this." And then got up and was gone.
Aching with how alone he suddenly felt without Gavin, Michael curled in on himself right there on the floor. Gavin had said he was going to go and try to fix this. Michael would've laughed had he been able. Fix this? Fix what? He wanted to ask. Gavin couldn't fix something that had never existed. There was no family for Gavin to put back together. Even if this had never happened, Michael's mom wouldn't suddenly love him. His dad wouldn't suddenly be a dad. No, there was nothing for Gavin to fix. All Michael wanted now was for Gavin to come back and for it to all be over. He didn't care how.
And he knew it was selfish to bring Gavin down with him. He loved Gavin, he should want him to survive, go on without him. But even here, brain addled by fear and exhaustion and panic, Michael knew that that would be worse. Because when he imagined a world without Gavin, a world where he outlived Gavin, and having to live in that world, he felt pain beyond anything he had ever felt or anything he ever would feel. Living without Gavin just wasn't an option. And he knew that the same was true for Gavin. If he had simply stayed downstairs, waited for his dad to come and exact "God's justice", more than never forgiving his father, Gavin would never have forgiven him, for leaving him behind. And that's why Michael didn't feel guilty in his choice. |
70d6283460ee4d49b7138be0ab423a81 | ['ea54eabdff24435596ae60d15499e1c6'] | Monsters
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
Keith took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves before his hothead ass kick in and choke the life out of this tall dumbass-
"You have three seconds to explain what the FUCK is going on before i-" wind swirled at his medium length black hair as he glared at his boyfriend, who was carrying him bridal style while running like they were being chased down by flying sharks or something-
Lance gave him a shit eating grin, "uh, remember that cave we discovered on this planet?" Keith didn't answered, only crossing his arms as he stared down the cuban.
"I may or may not accidently pissed it off." Keith's eyes narrowed, "what, lance? What did you-" the black paladin's eyes fell on the view over lance's shoulder, his face going blank.
"Lance?" Lance swollowed, slightly shifting his eyes to his partner but soon looked back at the front to dodge an old, weird tree.
"Yeah?" Keith squinted, "does it looks like a wolf dipped in melted chocolate and has a branch-like horn?" Lance nodded furiously, his heart rate spiking up as he started to run faster. Finally, all of those tough training came in handy.
Keith was quiet for a moment, as he glanced at lance, then back at the monster, then again at lance, an unreadable expression on his face. He snorted, hand flying to his mouth as he bit at his palm. Lance glanced at him, a worried scowl on his face, "are you ok? Am i putting too much pressure on your leg?" Lance gestured at the torn up bandage covering the other paladin's leg with his head. Keith shook his head and suddenly he burst out laughing.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Lance asked with a raised brow, and all keith did was to pat his back, "that's not a monster, lance." Keith wheezed, making the tanned male look down at him in annoyance, "then what is it? A unicorn?"
"No, dumbass. It's cosmo." Keith smirked as the red paladin paused, giving him a look of disbelief.
"Are you serious?" Keith rolled his eyes, slightly shifting his weight on lance's arms to get a better look at that thing.
"Enough joking around, cosmo. He almost had a stroke." It paused, tilting it's head, watching both of the paladins for a moment before letting out a grumble and lance tensed, his grip slightly tightening on the black paladin.
"Keith-" lance dared himself to turn around, facing the thing, "if we die, i'll kill you." Keith shrugged with an easy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"If i were you i wouldn't worry about that." The thing shook itself, just like when dogs tried to get rid of the water on their fur and mud went everywhere and-
Cosmo was now standing in where the thing stood seconds ago, staring up at the swordsman with bright eyes. The two were frozen on spot, mud dripping down their armor and hair and lance only managed an exasperated sigh.
"Sooo..." lance sweatdropped, "that thing was cosmo with mud all over him all the time?" Keith nodded, struggling to keep a blank face.
"Yup." Lance stared at the space wolf as if it was a piece of puzzle he couldn't find it's place and nodded slowly.
"Well, i guess that means it's gonna take ages to wash away all the dirt and mud..." Keith shurgged, an uneasy look crossing through his features when his eyes fell on the cloth wrapped 'neatly' around his leg. With a single glance, the cuban knew what was going through the paladin's mind.
"Don't worry too much about it, mullet. You might go bald." Keith gave him a deathglare. "Besides, i can help too, you know?" A flush creeped up keith's cheek.
"Can you stop teasing me about it-"
"I'm serious." An awkward silence stretched between them, even cosmo, who had been following them seemed to feel the tension in the air. Keith covered his face, even lance had a tint of pink on his cheek as he glanced down at the blushing paladin in his arms.
"Ok, fine. Just-" keith mumbled, crossing his arms as his face went redder.
"...let's just go before the mud dries off." Lance nodded, re-adjusting his grip on the dark haired male before continuing his way through the trees, cosmo trailing beside them quietly.
Soon, red was visible from afar, it stood out with it's red shield, espacially if you're stuck on a weird planet that has these giant green plants all over it.
Lance and keith squeezed in on the seat, whilest cosmo stood beside them, watching with curious eyes. Lance reached for the handles, guiding his lion out of the planet and then,let it lead them back to the castle itself.
Shiro was so going to chew their brains off with one of his lectures when they'd get there.
**Author's Note:**
> So, you could say this is birthday gift for my friend, the cool friend. *clears throat* this isn't going to be that awkward so- *grins* happy birthday, buddy. *sniffles* they grow up so fast.... | e617275ecc9a4236b422719a05c616a5 | ['ea54eabdff24435596ae60d15499e1c6'] | The judge pounded his gavel, and that noise never seemed so dreadful to him before. The last time he felt such a thing was when he faced off against phoenix for the first time and oh what a fool he was if he thought he could win that case. He remembered the burning sense of defeat, the distinct buzz in his head. It all gathered up and shaped into dread, which seemed to get harder and harder to push away.
It wasn't pretty, losing his perfect record. He didn't really accept the fact that instant, because von karma taught him the first priority would be the verdict. And his record.
But the moment he stood behind that defendant stand, phoenix showed him how it was to seek the truth. Having a perfect record wasn't that.
And since then, miles didn't cared about his record anymore. He sought for the truth and if that'd be earned by helping his rival get his client a not guilty verdict, then so be it.
The chief prosecutor and the turnabout terror, the unstoppable duo. They solved many cases together, shining light on the truth with what they had. Evidence was everything and with a bit of their wits and the testimonies, the truth would be revealed. It was almost like a dance, and this time, they clicked into place like they had to. And no one stepped on another's foot.
One of the reasons for that would be the very existence of that foolish attorney himself.
Miles never saw an attorney defend like phoenix wright defended his client in court. He could break apart a witness' amazing testimony and reveal the lies without breaking a sweat. It had to be something about the way his blue eyes lit up whenever he got the whole image of the truth, bright with excitement and determination.
Miles was a fool. He took those moments for granted. He'd been so occupied with the thrill of each trial he took against his husband that he foolishly thought life may let them have this.
He failed to get a bloody verdict. Failed to avenge the love of his life. To protect their son. Miles' hands clenched into fists.
From the defendant seat Apollo justice gave him a helpless look, his hands clenching and unclenching on his lap. He already doubted himself enough, and this case wasn't helping at all.
At least he tried to stay strong, for his own sake and for the sake of the man that was like a father to him. Yet all their attempts had failed, and athena looked this close to jump over the bench and sucker punch the witness in the face. Widget had flicked red a long time ago, matching the dark look on her face.
That's it? A voice asked in amidst the chaos and miles grit his teeth, willing the voice to quiet down.
I let him down, didn't i? Seemed like he failed silence it.
And now they were going to take Apollo to jail because of something he didn't do. He dared himself to glance at the man sitting on the defendant chair. Apollo seemed to have accepted this fact, a crooked, bitter smile on his lips.
So he waited with an aching heart for the verdict, but something stopped the judge from doing so. Just like always.
The doors were thrown open and miles whipped back to the source of noise, slightly irritated.
However, that look didn't stick for a long time.
"Hold it!"
All eyes were on the figure standing at the door before the courtroom erupted into gasps, and miles couldn't help but stare with widened eyes. His heart slammed on his rib cages, threatening to rip itself out at any moment.
At the doorway stood phoenix wright in his white and blue glory, index finger stretched out with a confident smirk on his face.
"I think you forgot one thing, your honor." Miles blinked once. Twice.
Phoenix didn't disappeared before his eyes like he expected to. He wondered if he should laugh or cry, and at the end he did none of that. He just stared.
Of course that didn't change the fact that phoenix wright was dead, but for now he was here. Right Here.
Athena was the first one who snapped out of her stupor, a nervous smile on her face. "Your honor." The judge turned his shocked gaze to the young attorney, confusion evident in his face.
"The defence would like to call it's witness." Athena glanced back at her boss, pain flickering across her features for a bare moment. "Who was also the victim." The previous witness gaped at the lawyer, her face as white as a sheet as she raised a shaking finger at phoenix.
"Y-you!" Phoenix caught the look on the woman's face immediately, giving her a sarcastic smile. "I suppose you didn't expect to see me this soon, huh?" She went at last three shades paler at those words.
Apollo had been staring at his other dad with an unreadable expression on his face, though miles swore he could see the confusion and guilt battling for dominance in his eyes.
The judge slammed his gavel, silencing the crowd once again as he recovered from the shock. "Very well, you shall proceed with your testimony." Miles didn't really expect anything else from the judge, the man did witness a spirit of a murderous woman letting go of a certain spirit medium's body before.
"Witness, please state your name and profession." Miles forced himself to say, though he was almost sure phoenix noticed the strain in his voice. His eyes softened for a moment, before his professional facade came back on as he turned back to the judge.
"Phoenix wright. I'm a defence attorney." Phoenix paused, "or was." Miles flinched at that. Apollo looked a little pale, clenching his jaw. |
f87e8f6fe11d4d08b5c0368e0f1e07be | ['ea61e6d6a5754ce1bf5a376203001293'] | “Guess she didn’t forget you then,” Gavin’s tired voice remarked. Connor turned to find the man leaning against his kitchen’s bar with another cat in his arms. The android scanned it – a female Scottish Fold with a missing foreleg. “This is DIP – she’s cool with strangers. Over there is BOLO and NORP.” The two cats were perched on their cat tower, their eyes narrowed as they folded their ears back. They did not seem to approve of Connor’s presence in the slightest. “BOLO doesn’t mind new people, so long as you respect his space. NORP just fuckin’ hates everything—”
“—sounds like his owner—”
“—that he can’t eat, oh fuck you Connor,” Gavin finished with a half-hearted scowl. DIP seemed to sense his ire, as the little cat batted at his chin with a loud yowl.
Connor smiled at the sight.
“I like the names,” he offered, “they suit you – and the cats.”
Gavin shrugged, a self-conscious expression flickering over his features.
“No shit,” he replied, hitching DIP further up his chest, “found this one when we got called in to break up a drunken brawl outside Michigan Stadium. BOLO was during a stakeout that went south – bastards were using him for baiting dogs. NORP – well, that asshole was found with some crazy hoarder who was getting harassed by her neighbours. She gave him to me as a gift when I got ‘em to leave her alone.”
“I see,” Connor nodded, eyeing the two angry cats with fascination, before peering down at Coffee Bean with an inquisitive hum, “what would you have named Coffee Bean then?”
Gavin hummed, gazing at his kitten with soft eyes.
“Probably GOA,” he mused, tapping a finger on DIP’s nose playfully. The kitten mewled and bit at the digit – however, the detective showed no sign of being hurt. Connor arched a brow and cocked his head; Gavin was being unusually indulgent for a man who was normally so surly and irritable.
“Gone On Arrival,” Connor elaborated, lifting Coffee Bean up so he could inspect her carefully, “though it makes sense, I honestly believe I helped you to avoid making a big naming mistake.”
Gavin snorted.
“Oh yeah?” he asked sardonically.
“Yes,” Connor agreed, peering past the cat to smile impishly at the detective, “you’re welcome.”
Gavin huffed out another reluctant laugh, his gaze casting downwards to the cat in his arms. The tiny cat was straining in his arms, her head craning to peer at the intruder in her home. Connor felt like he was amongst a pride of cats – Gavin was clearly in charge and so the others were weighing Connor up to see where he fit into the situation.
“Fucking pricks have a thing for androids,” Gavin noted, disappointment edging his tone as he shifted the cat in his arms, “DIP was all over Nines, the little slut; I’m so telling Tina you’re cheating on her.” His words were spoken fondly – a jarring contrast to such crude language. Connor lifted a brow and tilted his head; Gavin in a domestic setting was a sight that unsettled everything the android had previously known about the man.
He seemed softer and more vulnerable in his own territory – Gavin had nothing to prove when it was just him, protected from the outside world and surrounded by his small pride. Connor could see why Tina and Chris had befriended the prickly man – if they were privy to seeing Gavin like this, then was it any wonder that they had stuck around for so long?
The android hid his fond smile by burying his face into Coffee Bean’s thick fur.
“Now that I have been granted access to your apartment—”
“—wasn’t exactly fucking ‘granted’, you tricky sonuvabitc—”
“—does this mean you’ll also finally accept my request to follow you on Instagram now?” Connor asked, his LED spinning as his smiled broadly, “follow-up question: will you follow me back?”
Gavin snorted. “If I must,” he conceded, “but if your Instagram page is nothing but Anderson’s fucking dog, then we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Liar,” Connor quipped, his smile growing as he turned to examine the rest of Gavin’s apartment, “I know you like Sumo, otherwise why would you have bought Hank that unusually large dog-themed gift basket for the precinct’s Secret Santa last year?”
Gavin hissed in response.
Connor merely bit back a smile and tucked Coffee Bean back into the nook of his neck – the small cat immediately settled into place, purring as she rubbed her face against his ear. He absently stroked her back as he continued his inspection of Gavin’s flat.
Connor found the detective’s home to be rather aesthetically pleasing – it looked as if the man had tried to adhere to a minimalist theme, but he supposed four cats would make that hard to uphold. The thick grey carpet had cat fur matted into it and Connor could see claw marks clearly indented into the walls and furniture around him. Gavin must not mind, as he evidently had not made the effort to amend the damage, nor hide it.
Connor glanced over to NORP and BOLO – he surmised that they were the two most likely culprits behind the vandalism. In return, the cats watched him silently, their tails curled around each other loosely. Connor cocked his head and smiled – he would probably look that content if he lived here too.
The apartment was open-plan – the lounge flowed straight into the kitchen, the two rooms broken up by a long breakfast bar. Connor spied four small bowls neatly stacked atop it, alongside five empty bottles of cider and a half-empty bottle of white wine.
The android was tempted to call Gavin out on his hypocrisy – from what he had seen, Gavin and his friends drank far more than Hank did now, and yet the detective persisted with his crude jokes and taunts. | 678ff07d4ca9451c867248daa765e70d | ['ea61e6d6a5754ce1bf5a376203001293'] | Tina cackled, applauding Connor for his sass. Hank appeared to be thanking the ceiling that Connor was just joking and from the sounds of it, Chris had all but given up and had allowed his head to fall dully against his desk. The rest of the precinct’s reactions ranged from resigned acceptance and stifled frustration.
“ _Can we just get back to fucking work, please_?” Gavin demanded, his tone bordering on the hysteric.
He settled back into his chair with a growl – Tina’s soft giggles petered out into dark curses, Chris was softly thudding his head against his desk, Hank was clicking his pen irritably and Connor’s heavy knowing gaze could be felt from across the bullpen.
There was a beat of silence.
“And I _don’t_ have fucking feelings for him!” Gavin barked out.
* * *
**THE DETROIT POLICE DEPARTMENT**
**TWO DAYS AGO**
It had started like this – Hank and Connor, the dynamic duo, had just closed another case that rocked the city of Detroit.
The case had centred on a serial killer who enjoyed kidnapping androids and turning them into works of art – he had been nicknamed The Puppeteer by the clearly inventive media. It had taken Hank and Connor five weeks, but they managed to hound him down and arrest him – though, the case had only really been brought to the public’s attention when the culprit turned his attentions to humans, a fact which made Connor’s LED blaze a sickening red for two days straight.
It had freaked the fuck out of Hank and had the rest of the precinct on edge.
Not even Gavin dared to provoke him during that time.
It only settled back to blue once they successfully hunted the sick bastard down, tossed him in chains and read him his rights. Unfortunately, it was whilst they were shoving him into the back of Hank’s car that the FBI rocked up, demanding that the killer be handed over to them.
The whole debacle had ended with members of the DPD and the FBI spitting curses at each other in the Fowler’s office: Hank was loudly demanding where the FBI had been, whilst he and his partner had been running themselves ragged trying to solve the damn case, and Perkins wanted to know why Hank still had a job. Although they were behind a thick wall of glass, the bullpen could still hear the muffled and aggressive diatribe being spouted by both sides. Gavin’s attention was completely focused on the argument, his gaze flicking from each person in the office. The altercation almost came to blows, with Hank barrelling towards Perkins with his fists clenched, only for Connor to practically tackle him back to their side of the room. The whole ordeal seemingly ended with Fowler charging in between the two groups, hands up and stance strong, fully intending on taking no shit from either side.
Perkins continued to spit venom at Hank over Fowler’s shoulder, gesturing a hand at him with a sneer. It seemed as if the shitshow was going to escalate again and Gavin was tempted to call out bets, but then —
Oh _shit_.
— _he_ stepped up.
Gavin’s wet dream, all wrapped up in plastic and stiff polyester.
He had almost dropped his coffee when the android walked into the bullpen, hot on the heels of his irate partner, and Gavin had found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the guy ever since.
The RK900 model had been stood silently behind Perkins in Fowler’s office, allowing his partner to take the lead with the negotiations; when it seemed as if the agent was seconds away from initiating a fight, the android neatly stepped between his partner and Fowler, eyeing the man with a stern expression.
Amazingly, despite his hackles clearly being raised, Perkins backed down.
Gavin blinked – he had never seen Perkins submit to anyone before, let alone an android. The detective craned around his desk to get a better view of the RK900 model. He looked like a fucking work of art – a sculpture with flinty blue eyes. His LED was a constant stream of blue, never flicking yellow or red, barely even swirling around as he negotiated with the captain.
The argument seemingly fizzled out the second RK900 began to speak – Fowler appeared suitably impressed by whatever the android was saying, with Perkins clenching his fists, his jaw twitching periodically. Hank was rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up and Connor appeared to be subtly inching behind the lieutenant, avoiding looking at his successor.
Gavin wondered whether Connor had been officially introduced to his replacement – from what he heard, Connor hadn’t been there when RK900 had been turned on, but judging from his body language, it didn’t look as if the android was inclined towards an introduction at all.
In fact, Connor had never looked so awkward – his LED a spinning blur of red-yellow-red as he hid slightly behind Hank. Gavin made a mental note to give the android an update on Coffee Bean; that should chill robo-boy’s nerves out a little.
Either way, the conversation taking place seemed to be calming down, with both sides doing a lot of nodding and holding up their hands and all that fake-ass bullshit that came with workplace politics. Gavin never had the patience for playing nice with authoritative assholes – probably explained why Fowler was such a giant fucking hurdle in the way of him becoming a sergeant.
Speaking of which – the man in question suddenly came striding out of his office. He rested against the bars that lined the stairs to his office, a stern expression on his face.
“Everyone,” Fowler announced, his deep voice cutting across every conversation like a knife, “to the briefing room, you have three minutes.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You have _one_ minute,” Fowler growled. |
ad877b9666e2479483cd3eba7bac1038 | ['ea85cf65a6b342aabca7e7c428290892'] | “Not yet,” she confirmed. ” But I've been thinking of giving myself some. What do you think? I always see how many more Will has at the end of the summer, and it makes me wonder. Doesn't he have such nice freckles?”
Will, who had been very happy to fade into the background and listen to the conversation up until this point, suddenly found himself the sole focus of the other two people. Two people staring at his face full of freckles. Because Lou was right about the quantity of them. By the time fall hit every year he was almost more freckle than not. But to call them nice? He was fair certain his mother was the only one who had ever said such a thing, and she had had fair skin herself and was likely biased. God knew, in school all it earned him was teasing.
In any case, that much attention on him had his face heating in embarrassment. If he could have conjured a pit of quicksand on the beach to swallow him whole he would have. Failing at that, and not even having a hat to pull down, he settled for hiding his face behind his hands. How much could a person be expected to endure in a single-
The train of thought was abruptly cut off when Nursey answered, “Yeah, he does. Very nice.”
That wasn't going to help the blushing situation, Will thought, but still he peeked out through his fingers just enough to see the other man smiling. Seemingly sincere, and not teasing.
Nursey pulled Will’s hands the rest of the way down. “The freckles are a good look,” he said before turning back to Lou. “But for him, maybe not for you. Maybe something less - beauty mark maybe?”
“Hmmm,” Lou said, considering it. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Lou and Nursey might have continued talking after that, but Will couldn't say for sure. There was this buzz in his head drowning out everything else.
He stared down at the sand, his brain stalled on the fact that Nursey said he liked his freckles. Not just freckles in general, but _his_. He dared a peek back up at him and noticed Nursey looking back before quickly darting his eyes away. And - was Nursey blushing too? It wasn't quite the neon sign alert that his own blush was, but in this light? Well, there definitely seemed to be a flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before.
He knew he should make an attempt to follow the conversation, and he tried. But - this was Nursey’s fault. With his compliments and smiles and looks. And the hand holding that he was still doing from when he pulled Will’s down away from his face. He could have let go, but he hadn’t. Okay, maybe he wasn’t quite holding them. Just. Resting his hands under them. And tracing his fingers back and forth along the lines of his wrists and sides of his hands. So no, not holding, but somehow more.
With all this running through his head, Will had to be excused for not exactly paying attention.
Then, unfortunately, Lou’s voice became a little more clipped in her answers, and it pulled him back.
“Why were you here then?” Nursey asked her.
“As I said, I don't want to talk about that,” Lou told him, clearly not for the first time.
Oh, Will thought, they must have moved away from fashion and back to the business of ghosting.
“What about how, ummm, I don't know how to ask this in a sensitive way-“
“Maybe because there _isn't_ a sensitive way to ask and you shouldn’t?”
“Shouldn’t try to be sensitive? But-”
“Oh god. No. That you shouldn't be asking.”
“Don't you want people to know what happened?”
“It won’t change things.”
“I just think-”
“Listen. How I died is the least interesting part of my life, and I don't want to talk about it. That is final.”
Generally stomping a foot in the sand like she did wouldn't have done much, but the wind had started to come in harder off the water too as Lou raised her voice. Will was afraid this was going to lead to another storm like the night before, in which case it needed to stop before it started. Not to mention, the beach might have been practically empty but raised voices carried and tended to draw attention. Even if he wasn't sure whether or not just anyone could hear hers. It didn't seem like a good time for more questions. He decided to try and keep the peace between them again.
“Maybe you guys need a little break? How about we head back to the house where it's more comfortable and, you know, private.”
“I still don’t want-” Lou started.
“We won’t ask any more about that,” Will turned at hearing Nursey’s intake of breath, “We will **not**.”
“Fine,” Nursey muttered.
“See?” Will told Lou, “We can talk about whatever. Or nothing. Your call.”
He thought maybe she was weakening. The wind was at least. A good sign.
”Maybe you could meet everyone else?” Nursey asked hopefully.
”Nope.” Lou said wide eyed right before she popped out of sight.
”Did she- she just- she noped out! Literally!”
”Yep. She sure did.” Will agreed.
”Huh. What now?”
”I think we've learned all we can here. She isn't going to show back up until she wants to.”
“She’ll be back though, right?”
“I think so. Eventually. Maybe don't push her so much next time. A person’s death is about as personal as it gets,” Will pointed out.
“Yeah, suppose so,” Nursey reluctantly agreed. “Might as well head back?”
”That was my thought. You owe me some good coffee first though. I'll show you where to find it.”
17. Chapter 17
“Cappuccino, dry, three shots, one sugar?” the barista cheerfully recited when Will stepped up to the counter.
“Up a size from normal, please.” | bfa84098ec6044b5a40375c61ee53983 | ['ea85cf65a6b342aabca7e7c428290892'] | ”No problem, I felt weird just standing here.”
“Thanks just the same. You know It’s not always like this.” Will told him, tipping his head towards the debris while wondering if that was technically true. After all, when was the last time he had been here? He couldn't say exactly when, but it’d been a while. She just kind of showed up at his all the time. And with her place pushed back in the trees, even though he could see the shoreline, he didn't have a good view of the house. Maybe it had been bad for a while. He knew pride was a thing, but still. She could have asked and he would have been right over, no questions.
He was jarred out of his thoughts by Nursey shaking out a tangled wind chime, “Hey, isn’t this like yours?”
“Yeah, she makes them. Must have gotten knocked off its hook, blown loose or something. Probably should hang it back up. Spot me?” Will asked, already climbing on the porch rail near to one of the empty hooks and reaching back for the chime. A quick wipe to get rid of a spider web, and the chime was hanging again.
Will was grateful for the hands hovering around his hips when a movement, caught in the corner of his eye, had him spinning on the railing to face the house. Nursey’s quick grip helped turn what would have been an awkward backward fall into a, nearly graceful, hop back to the floor and into his arms.
”Did you see that?” Will asked, pulling loose from Nursey’s hold and trying, unsuccessfully, to peer through the dirty window.
”My sweet save?”
”No, idiot, the curtain. I swear it twitched.” He knocked on the door, calling out, “Hello? Anyone home?” No answer. He didn’t think she would have stood in the house watching anyway, but he was so sure he saw something. Weird. He pressed his ear to the door, but couldn't hear any sounds of movement. Maybe it had just been a draft?
Will shrugged and hopped back off the porch. “If you want, I can finish up with this while you... I don't know, do whatever it is you do with that stuff in your duffel?”
“How about one more bag first? Like as a thanks for letting us come by. Maybe it will show the spirits I’m friendly and they’ll talk more, yeah?” Nursey reasoned.
“Sounds like nonsense but not like I’ll turn down a pair of hands right now soooo”
Will grabbed the floodlight he had out of the tool chest in the truck bed, hoping he’d remembered to charge it after the last time he used it. He gave a little cheer when he set it on the porch and it turned on. He flashed it in the direction of the lighthouse and watched to see a couple of smaller flashes back.
“Well, they haven’t gone in yet.”
“You know they’ll be thinking that was a ghost or something, right?” Nursey pointed out.
“Then I’ll be sure to do it a few more times before we leave,” Will joked. “Maybe wave it around like it’s floating.”
“Your mind. Evil!” Nursey said, “You would have been so much fun back at the Haus in school dude. The pranks we could have pulled.”
“I don’t know, I’m not much of a space sharer. Like keeping to myself.”
“Really? The grumpy lighthouse keeper _isn't_ a people person? Shocking.” Nursey grinned, “Way to perpetuate a stereotype, dude.”
Will smirked back and flipped him off.
”We’d have worn you down, look what we’ve done in a couple days. Hanging out with the common people, causing scenes,” waving his hand towards the cottage, “trespassing after dark. You’re practically one of us.”
“Not hardly,” Will scoffed.
“One of us. One of us. One of us.” Nursey chanted.
“You are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming?” Nursey asked, plucking a leaf from Will’s hair and handing it to him.
“Ridiculously obnoxious,” Will lied, wondering if it was dark enough to hide the blush on his traitorous face.
Nursey’s thoughtful look made him think it probably wasn’t. Damn. Probably didn’t help that he put the leaf in his pocket instead of tossing it to the ground? Why did he even do that? Like he was some preteen girl going to add it to a scrapbook or some shit? Ugh.
“I’ll have to work on it then.”
“How about, instead of that, you work on whatever it is you think you're going to accomplish here tonight,” Will said as he plucked the full trash bag out of Nursey hands and took it over to the truck. Coming back he dropped the duffel at his feet. ”Don’t go too far, shout if you need me.”
Nursey gave a mock salute before pulling some things out and heading towards the tree line.
Will had finished picking up the trash before the first check-in calls came through. Listening in, it sounded like everything was going okay. Nothing big to report. Holster _did_ ask about the lights, Nursey blowing him off with a ’maaaaybe’ and an ’I don't know’ with instructions to keep watching the coastline just in case. Will tried to keep his snort of laughter quiet enough to not be picked up.
He'd spent another 20 minutes trying to separate the scattered brush in trash, kindling, ’chop up for the pile’ later when the floodlight started to flicker. He cursed when it completely shut down. Not fully charged after all then. Damn.
He _did_ have a spare but thought it better to save in case of emergency. And his flashlights and lantern were fine for walking around, but not so great for clearing a large area like this.
Figuring he should probably talk to her before doing much more anyway, he tossed the spent light into the truck cab, making a mental note to recharge it later, before catching up with Nursey. |
b73d0102459c4da48af971ad5ed9e92b | ['ea97150a122049ecbfcc2e2cb0d07d3a'] |
1. Chapter 1
**Author's Note:**
> AUTHOR’S NOTES: (1) I haven’t read the X-books in years, so I haven’t kept up. I’ve tried to fill in the gaps with Wikipedia and Comixology. But if I have something wrong, please take it easy on me. (2) I have never been to West Virginia either. Apologies to any WV natives who read this. (3) In the original New Mutants series, Rahne made her distrust of Illyana plain. But in Dead Souls #2, Rahne shrugs off any concerns about her. How do you make a 180-degree change like that? This is my take on that. I could be wrong, but I still thought I would throw this out there. Canon will catch up to it soon enough. In any case, Enjoy.
>
> DISCLAIMER: Marvel owns the New Mutants. I am making no money off posting this fic.
“Don’t be afraid
I’ve taken my beating
I’ve shared what I made
I’m strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I’ve never been perfect
but neither have you
So if you’re asking me I want you to know…”
\--Linkin Park, “Leave Out All the Rest”
“What a load of bollocks!” The twenty-something young woman with short red hair stood next to the books shelf, staring aghast at the paperback in her hands. She was the only customer in the occult book store in the middle of a small West Virginia town. She spoke with a Scottish accent. “Who the hell wrote this garbage?” she went on. “Good grief—”
“Is there a problem?” A thirty-something woman with dark hair drawn in a pony tail, granny glasses on her nose, came over. “Can I help you miss, uh….?”
“What?” Rahne asked. “Oh, uh, Rahne, Rahne Sinclair.”
“That name sounds familiar. Lilith Jones,” the woman said, extending her hand, “owner of Lilith’s Mystic Emporium. So what’s the problem?”
“Oh, I was just thumbing through this book. And—I’m not a witch, understand, but I know that this thing is wrong.” Rahne pointed at the page she was reading. “See? That diagram is backwards. And the caption is completely wrong.”
Lilith took the book. “You’re right! How did you know if you don’t practice the craft yourself?”
“Oh, I used to know someone who did.”
“What’s this person’s name? I may recognize it.”
“Illyana. Illyana Rasputin.”
“The darkchilde!?” Lilith sputtered. “You’re *that* Rahne Sinclair? The one who—oh, shit—” Lilith’s head rippled and became a goat’s head, but still with the granny glasses.
“Bloody hell!” Rhane stumbled back, her body shifting from human to wolf with every step (grateful she’d managed to get clothes made of unstable molecules). In full wolf form she ran full speed for the door. But the next thing she knew, a red-skinned demon with a large gut was in her path. A shock went through her body and everything went black.
8
8
Rahne came to on a couch. She was lying in a small apartment. Lilith, her head once again human, stood over her. A large man who had the same face as the demon stood behind her.
Rahne jerked, but Lilith said in a soothing voice, “It’s all right, sweetie, it’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you. I didn’t mean to scare you. I got a little flustered when I realized who you were, and my glamour fell apart. You took a nasty bump on the head when you ran into Satan’s ward. I cast a healing spell, but just to be safe, you shouldn’t shape sift for about twenty minutes. Keep your skull in the same shape.” She helped Rahne sit up.
“Sorry about that,” the man said. (Rahne thought he sounded like John Goodman.) “We’ve had a real problem with some animal spir--”
“Hang on a second,” Rahne said. “You said your names were Lilith and Satan?”
“Yes,” Lilith said, “but not *that* Lilith and Satan. Not the ones you’re thinking of. Those are actually common names among demons, like George and Mary. We’re just a couple of low level demons who have decided to settle in this little town.”
“And make hell on Earth?” Rahne prompted.
“Why would we do that?” Lilith asked. “We came here to get away from the demonic rat race. Why recreate it? Oh, we diddle some of the local players—and there is a coven here, believe it or not, but we haven’t kept touch, and they’ve been less active since a couple of their members were murdered. But anyway, this is our home now. We don’t want to mess it up. Would you?”
“Besides,” Satan said, “hurting you would be he stupidest thing we could do.”
“Yes,” Lilith affirmed, “everyone knows how protective the darkchilde is of her human familiars. Hurting you would be suicidal! I imagine if you’re here, she must not be far behind.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Rahne said. “I haven’t spoken to her since she’s been…back.” And in truth, all Rahne knew about Illyana’s return was from one barely coherent phone call Sam had made (she and Dani were still not on speaking terms). Since then, nothing. “And I’m not her familiar, either.”
Lilith said, “Well, friend, familiar, to the demonic mind, they’re kind of the same thing. It’s all about not being alone, having an emotional connection.”
“Then you’re in no danger, Lilith, because Illyana and I never had any connection. We were on the same team; she had a room down the hall from me, and always beat me to the shower. That was it.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, Rahne. The relationship between a sorceress and her familiar—especially one who kind of sort of is an animal spirit—is really a special and beautiful thing. It’s too bad you never experienced that. But if Illyana isn’t here, what are you doing here?” | 5bb556024a6149d1a35954d24380d35d | ['ea97150a122049ecbfcc2e2cb0d07d3a'] | “It’s no problem, and it was nice of you not to barge in. What’s up?”
Rahne sat on the edge of the bed. “I added a few lines to my story.”
Illyana turned on the light and accepted the notebook. She read the new passage and said, “Yuoogh! Goblins. They’ll be a problem.”
“You sure?”
“Demons consider goblins to be low-lifes, so yeah, the princesses have their work cut out for them.” She closed the book, passed it back, and grew more serious. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For holding me back. Those little green scabs…punched too many buttons.”
“You and me both.”
“But you kept your head and did the right thing. I try but sometimes, I have a little trouble seeing it.”
“No problem. Anytime.” She got up to leave.
“Hey, Rahne. Not to be critical, but do you have any idea how your story ends?”
Rahne paused at the door and smiled. “Not yet. But I think it’s off to a good start.”
2. Chapter 2
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Author’s Note: I thought this story would be a one shot. But then some disparate ideas I have had pulled together for more material. So, on with the show:
_Alysytraea wraps her shawl around herself against the biting cold as she stands in the fog-enshrouded cemetery on the grounds of Evelle’s castle. She stands before the lone headstone, Princess Evelle’s grave marker. Though the grave appears well tended, there is no sign that anyone has visited._
_Even though it is years since the demon princess met her fate, Alystraea had hesitated to come and pay her respects. Even though they had been sometimes allies and sometimes rivals, Alystraea has to admit that fear has kept her away, fear of confronting the reality that Evelle is gone. And now that she stands in front of the grave, she does not know what to say._
_Footsteps sound from the fog, off to her left. Alystraea turns and looks._
_A figure begins to step out of the fog. Alystraea can not make it out, but it appears to be someone the size and shape of Evelle._
_‘Who is there?’ Alystraea calls. ‘Who…Evelle…no, it can’t…_ ’
_‘Horror story or children’s book?’ Emma Frost says from over Alystraea’s shoulder. ‘Either way, Rahne, I never knew you had such an active imagination.’_
_Alystraea turns to face the White Queen. ‘What…who…Miss Frost? What’s going on?’_
_‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to intrude on your dream, but to be honest, I’ve always been a sword and sorcery fan myself. Anyway, it’s time to wake up.’_
…and Rahne woke up in the guest room at Utopia, Emma Frost sitting in a chair next to the bed.
Emma smiled gently. “I’m sorry, Rahne. I wanted to make sure Reverend Craig hadn’t left any subconscious surprises—like orders to kill your old teammates on sight. And in my experience, the best time to check for that is when the subject is asleep. I didn’t mean to intrude, but I got drawn in by that storyline that’s been bopping around in your noggin. Alystraea and Evelle…you really should write books based on that.”
Rahne sat up. “It’s just something silly I came up with when I was younger. I don’t think anyone would be interested. Especially from a mutant.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So…am I ok? Or did my father leave any traps behind in me head?”
“What? Oh! No, you’re fine.” Emma paused. “And Rahne, you really are too forgiving for your own good. He may have been the room when you were conceived, but in your shoes, I wouldn’t really call him ‘father.’”
“Maybe, but I’m not you, and he was what he was.”
“Fair enough.” Emma stood up. “Also, the cafeteria went offline just as everyone got up. Something we thought was fixed went kerblewie, so there’s no hot food for anyone. If you want to eat before visiting…her, you’ll have to wait.”
“No, let’s get this over with. I’ll get dressed and be right with you.”
8
8
Rahne stilled her nervousness as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. She and Emma walked to the lone cell at the end of the corridor, where Illyana Rasputin—or the…entity claiming to be Illyana Rasputin--sat cross-legged on her bunk, eyes closed, LED’s on her high-tech bomb vest blinking.
Rahne and Emma stopped three feet short of the plexiglass cell door. Emma said, “Has Danger informed you of the cafeteria situation?”
“Yes,” Illyana said, “although I don’t mind. I think I may have gained some weight since I was imprisoned, and I want to maintain my figure.”
“Well,” Emma said, “Scott has us obeying the Geneva Convention, so you will be fed as soon as possible.”
“As you will.” Illyana opened her eyes. “And I was going to alert Danger to some mystical disturbances, but I guess we know what’s causing that. There’s no need to alert Kitty and Peter. This will be totally passive.”
Illyana stared at Rahne, and Rahne felt a chill pass through her.
Illyana raised her eyes to Rahne and said, “Who did the work on you?”
“What?” Rahne said. “Oh. Elixr.”
“He did a good job,” Illyana said. “Transforming a human into a demigod isn’t easy, but from a mystical perspective, he covered all his bases. Your chakras are firing on all cylinders.” Illyana shifted to Emma. “You will want to send her to Doctor Strange and have him take a look at her. He’s the sorcerer supreme and a medical doctor, so he can double check from all angles. But from where I sit, she looks ok.” Illyana closed her eyes.
Rahne said, “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”
Illyana opened her eyes. “Well, that is why you’re here, isn’t it?” Illyana asked matter-of-factly. “To have the resident witch check on your condition? Congratulations, by the way.” |
8479632a3ec74916bcbb23de75fc5e2d | ['eab1173e39054492a81032d9f723dfb4'] | He watched her smile as she spoke – an expression he didn't see often on her, much to his apparent dismay. She coaxed her on with a question, “Did you ever get that book you needed?”
“Yes. I had to ask a _ Templar _ to get it for me, since Ancell was watching the Apprentices like a Hawk at the time. I don't think I heard the end of it from my peers for a whole month afterwards.”
“What, did they make fun of you?”
She raised a brow at him in response, “A lot of the Apprentices I was... associated with, weren't very fond of Templars. So... seeing me walk up to one – a new one, at the time – to ask him to get a book for me was rather... humbling. You don't see Mages ask Templars for much of anything. We usually just avoid getting in the way of each other.”
Alistair huffed, “That sounds about right, yes. Templars are such stingy fellows, aren't they? All serious and... not fun.”
Miriam's expression grew deadly serious, “I've heard they're far worse elsewhere in Thedas. The others just can't see that – all they see are _ Templars _ – the banes to our existence.”
“...the others being your fellow Apprentices, I'm gathering.”
“Not just them, no – fully inducted Mages and Enchanters, as well. It was something I never understood... something that always sort of kept me isolated from my own friends. I could never agree with that, though I suppose I should be thankful our Tower was primarily Aequitarian.”
“Aequi... what-now?”
“It's... Circle politics. I only overheard bits and pieces about it. It's something only Mages can join. Who passed the Harrowing, I mean. Sort of boring, really.”
“Sounds like it.” Before she could say anything in response, he spoke first, “So you disagreed with your fellow Mages then?”
“On discussions of Templars and their necessity, yes. I don't have much opinion on the Chantry.”
“That's rather dangerous of you to admit.”
“It's not that I don't _ like _ the Chantry or anything... I just... don't really have an opinion on it.”
“But you _ do _ have opinions on Templars.”
“I do.” She twisted her lips into a smile, “Even if I weren't a Mage, I'd have one _ now _ . About a certain ex-Templar I happen to know.”
Her distraction worked, “Oh? Care to gossip about this probably strong and _ definitely _ handsome ex-Templar you know about?”
With a snort of a laugh, she indulged him, “I met him _ after _ I left the Tower-”
“ _ Mhmmmmm _ .” He had his chin resting on his hand, brows raised high on his head.
She almost couldn't hold herself together, “And he... made some good points on how people are brought together by misfortune-”
“ _ Go on _ .”
She looked him right in the eyes and she cocked her head away from him, “And he said he'd wear a pretty dress and dance for me... oh, I don't recall _ what _ dance, though. Wish I _ did _ .”
He beamed, “I'm... fairly certain that ex-Templar said _ maybe _ he'd put on that pretty dress and dance the Remigold for you. _ Maybe _ .”
“Oh, you knew it was the Remigold? You two are more alike than I thought!”
They shared a laugh with each other. She hadn't... really felt this way before. Like she could talk to him about anything. In the Tower, she knew half of what she'd _ like _ to have said would've been met with some opposition from the likes of Jowan and the other Apprentices. She'd spent most of her life with them... but here was this man before her, whom she'd only known for not even a _ fraction _ of that time, and she felt like she got along with him _ better _ , almost.
Maybe ' _better_ ', is an unfair word to use.
**Author's Note:**
> A/N: This ends abruptly because I wrote it a while back as a sort of isolated idea (I’ve never written Alistair before tbh), but it turned out longer than anticipated!
>
> It’s also why the summary might be sorta related, but might seem odd tacked on?
>
> I really like this though and thought maybe someone else would like it too, so that’s why I’m posing it as-is!
>
> Maybe someday in the future I’ll write more for it since I originally wanted it to be like a set or short series throughout the events of Origins... but that won’t happen anytime soon, unfortunately.
>
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! :) | dbde2dfb37a94a17beb9a6bf4bdba1a3 | ['eab1173e39054492a81032d9f723dfb4'] | She was honestly surprised he asked, since he seemed so willing to simply assume what came next - he was rather good at that, by now, "Go back from whence we came. I need to think this all over and make a plan."
"Back to Donnigan's, eh? Whatever you want. It's a long walk though... might not make it back 'fore dark."
"Honestly, I could probably sleep easier outdoors than in that place." She then decided to play along with his suddenly content mannerism, "What would _you_ suggest we do?"
He did that half-scoff, half-laugh again, short and gruff, "Yer askin' me? That's a first." When she didn't give a response, he continued, "If we don't go too far East from the rails, we should be fine, even if it gets dark."
Ah, the conversation from the terrible dinner she'd had was all rushing back to her. All those years of practice listening in to conversations was paying off, "Because of the 'redskins', yes?"
"Right. Surprised you remembered that."
"I'm quite good at remembering little things like that. Small details can make or break a man in a court." She couldn't help but brag.
It certainly rewarded her with a blank stare, "...Right." He continued his initial thought, "I ain't riskin' gettin' either of our heads on a pole. We stick to the West, we'll be fit as a fiddle."
"I'd much prefer that, yes." She smiled.
* * *
On the opposite side of the outcrops surrounding the quarry, the bounty hunter's suspicions rang true. Several pairs of eyes were observing from a distance. As they were leaving, one of the men spoke to the leading figure, "What's the plan 'ere, Toms? We take 'em down now?"
A hand waved dismissively, a toothy smirk crawling upon the man's face, "Nah. Wait 'till the boss-man gets here. He'll wanna piece o' Black once he knows 'bout what happened to Billy."
"But it was the _witch_ who did it!"
He rolled his eyes, "Like it matters who did it. They're both gonna get what's comin' to 'em..." He paused to glance back to the man to his right who was fiddling with a knife in his hand, "Maybe stick the 'gal in the leg 'fore we hand 'em over though. 'Fer the kid, o' course. Boss'll understand."
There were a few dastardly chuckles that emanated through the group of men before the leader stood up, "Right lads. Looks like we're headin' home for a spell." He turned to another man, "Keep an eye on Wolfpoint, would ya? Make sure they ain't leavin' 'fore we get back."
The man nodded in acknowledgement, "Of course. Wouldn't wanna disappoint Abe by missin' 'em."
"Atta man."
With that, the men began to head to their destination - an encampment to the West, barely a few hours journey away.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> It's been like 40 years since I last updated this on here, and I honestly don't know why. This version of the fic was missing a chapter compared to the one on FanFiction net :/
>
> I'm updating this with the next chapter though, since I finally finished typing that bad boy up!
> Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!
>
> Also kind of changed the formatting a little, so I'm hoping it's a little easier to read.
> I tend to cramp up my writing when I probably don't need to.
9. Chapter 9
Tanya was uncertain if she wished to continue the conversation they'd become engrossed in as they'd left the quarry. She should really be mulling over ideas on where to go and what to look for, but the mood had picked up substantially since she'd regained that tiny portion of magic. Not to mention the bounty hunter had been more than willing to entertain her questions and comments. He was actually quite tolerable when he was in such a mood. Should she take advantage of such and continue talking? Or should she not run the risk of overstaying her welcome and upsetting him?
Bah, his feelings on it be damned. She was feeling chatty today - she blamed it on the lack of sleep.
"Bounty hunter, if I may?"
"Yeah?" He didn't look at her, but the verbal acknowledgment was enough to encourage her to continue.
"Are these 'redskins' you speak of... some kind of barbaric people? A tribe, perhaps? Your people seem to think lowly of them."
He sighed, but it wasn't out of irritation of the question itself, "Yes an' no."
"That's not an answer."
"They're just... Indians, natives, 'redskins', 'savages'. All means the same thing."
How curious, "'Natives'? So your people are not from this place? Or is the term 'redskin' not literal?"
He gave her a bewildered look, "Wha-? No, no. _Look_ , I don't think 'bout this much. Yer better off askin' some old feller 'bout that stuff, not me."
"It sounds to me like you're avoiding my question."
"Tanya," His use of her name caught her attention, "I wasn't raised all fine 'n proper like you. Got different reasons for things out here. All I know is that I was always told they was _bad news_. Nothin' more, nothin' less."
"I understand. Raised a certain way, you subconsciously start having the same opinions on things."
He shook his head, "Wouldn't call it an 'opinion', so much as a 'lifestyle'."
She was silent for a moment before adding, "So... You _would_ consider them a barbaric people?"
"I've seen the damage they do. Don't know if it's justified, but it's damage nonetheless. Murder, even rumours they were burnin' small towns to the ground 'fore they was pushed East."
"Sounds barbaric to me. Does it _need_ to be justified?"
He made a sort of 'clicking' noise, "Depends."
"On what, exactly?"
He turned to give her a glare over his shoulder at her, "Just why do you care so much 'bout it?" |
1158146edcc84b4a96145e3aed6a2ae1 | ['eac572c997d64ed7aca7a013c599b287'] | Of Grief and Hope
**Author's Note:**
> It's been a while since I wrote anything for a fandom, and i'm hopelessly loving FE:A. So have at you. :D
>
> Let me know if you like!
A shame that the sorcerer was already dead.
The tactician would've killed him again.
It was all his fault.
_I can't live without him._
_He has to be alive._
_This can't be happenning. No no no no no no NO---_
The whole of grimleal gladly offered their lives to them. Strengthening their god. A god that went berserk from both anger and grief. Killing them all. All of their dying wills, for Grima to lay waste on the world, mixing with the new almost-god's thoughts, further enhancing their instability. Both from being newly whole, and from the mental strain of the consequences of their actions. Their human part shutting completely down due to it.
_Chrom...!_
Grima, in that monstrous form, would set lands and cities ablaze with no distinction. After all, everyone was equal in death. Former comrades would fall in combat, in hopes to try and stop a god. Foolish.
The only one that even had a chance to stop them was already gone.
_I need you...!_
\---
The dragon's roars could be heard to the ends of the world, like a distant thunder announcing the storm. And the storm would be a bloody mess with millions of lives lost. No cries, no shouts would make the awakened dragon snap out of it. Even when the dead began to rise, when they'd ruin what they wouldn't have touched yet – Ferox, Chon'sin, Ylisstol – the anger was still there. Burning. Seething. Blazing through mountains and oceans. Setting everything ablaze. Like the destroyer of worlds they were already known as. That rage would only come to a stop years later, when everything would be far too late.
A blue-haired child facing them, hands shaking. The brand in her eye a telltale sign of her lineage. Standing in the middle of the ruins of what had been a bright, bustling city. With the same sword that had put them to sleep. They'd recognize it anywhere. The simple sight of it fueling their contempt and anger towards humanity for putting them to sleep for so long.
Falchion. Naga's fang.
**_YOUR PARENTS ARE DEAD, TINY ONE._ **
Their every word not their own, only fueling the teenager's anger and own grief. Dragon and child unable to even exchange a blow before Naga would interrupt them. The appearance of the divine dragon being the catalyst to everything. Grima's blow being deflected, saving the child's life. Naga distracting him while she prepared an escape course for her and the other orphaned children. Talking about hope. Hearing their exchange about how the past could be changed. How she could send them all back to rewrite history. The sight of that white pillar of light bringing the Fell dragon back to their senses.
Grima realizing the extent of what they had done.
For the first time in years, their human part coming back. A wave of sorrow and grief shaking the fell dragon. Mute from the emotions, listening as the other dragon explained her plan to the children. Observing. Analyzing.
_Change...? Things can be changed...?_
Being the first to dive into it without even thinking, the second Naga would be distracted. Their first thought being about the blue-haired lord. Then their own actions coming back to them all at once while they tried to tear though the fabric of time itself. To go back.
_He can live...?_
All those years spent, wasted without his presence. All that fire and destruction and pain and death. All of it could be erased. The very idea of it making the fell dragon frantic. Searching. Looking for a certain point in time. Using the so-called 'divine' dragon's own powers to enhance their own.
To reach him.
Their human self's auto-proclaimed other half.
**Author's Note:**
> In a way, Grima -did- also get a good end in that one ending, too. | 9fffb460966b4c9b8e6bae29d8b57abb | ['eac572c997d64ed7aca7a013c599b287'] | "Oh for goodness's sake, Nanashi, I am _so not down_ to see you gobble another of these. I'll wait for you outside. Don't eat too much, okay?" She was so done. Sounded like it, anyway. Good, he didn't really want to know what would happen when she'd see Dagda eat the thing. He looked at her plate, hoping he would get to eat whatever meat she had left on it. Seemed like she somehow managed to finish all of it, huh. Shame. Bah, there would always be a next time.
Navarre stuck around, since it was no use for him to follow after someone who couldn't see him.
He spoke a little with Navarre about the kinds of food there was in Mikado. It sounded a lot more appealing, but also more... Strange? The people grew the animals instead of hunting them, wouldn't the meat be super fat?
It didn't take much longer before the new burger was pushed over to him, looking just as delicious as the last one.
_Come on, Dagda, the thing is here. That's all on you now._
Truthfully, he was a little worried that the deity wouldn't comply and just leave before he would eat the burger.
**This is such a waste of time.**
_Come onnnnnn, do it! Pretty please? ...Or do you want to hear Pamyu this much?_
Dagda sighed in that odd way he did instead of replying. Blackness overtook him for a moment following that.
He vaguely felt like coming to after what felt some time passed out? He recognized the counter of the hunter association, at least, so that was a good sign. His stomach felt so full, though...
Navarre's concerned voice gave him the final push.
"A-are you okay? You suddenly passed out, I was afraid you were going to fall off the stool..."
"Yeah, I'm good." A small burp confirmed it.
"I hardly have ever seen someone eat as fast as you just did. Please be more careful; I wouldn't want you to die on me, after all," the spirit added, worried.
Only then he noticed the empty plate next to him, not even crumbs left on it.
_....So? How was it?_
Dagda took some time to answer him, trying to sound unconcerned. **It was okay, I suppose. Happy?**
Nanashi grinned as he left the place, tailed by Navarre.
_Very. Maybe I'll treat you to something else next._
It was totally worth the slight bloating that lingered through the next few hours, along with Asahi's 'I told you so'.
**Author's Note:**
> How did Dagda eat the burger? In one go? Calmly? Up to you!
>
> Nanashi has to at least own every early 2010's meme songs on a computer in his room. Weaponizing memes against demons do work, after all. There's nothing like playing the X-files before an ambush. |
a9e217a70edd4effacfd7f13f31808a9 | ['ead7917948d74dcd80197a3526350ca5'] |
Small Victories
Liz was starting to wonder if agreeing to work with Red again had been such a good idea.
Of course there was the way he seemed to kill without thought or remorse (although, when she wasn’t thinking too hard, she had to admire how quickly he could turn what seems a hopeless situation back in their favor). He was a criminal, and on his worse days perhaps even a monster. And, even after all that they’d been through, all the times he saved her, she didn’t trust him at all.
But the worst part was that she didn’t trust herself around him.
Usually their meetings were just a chance for Red to show off how clever he was and were something to simply be suffered though. But every time Liz met with Red things got a little more interesting. Oh, it started out innocently enough. Red would smile brightly at her or say that she looked particularly nice that day. It was the kind of thing she’d managed to catch the ever-professional Dembe rolling his eyes at, and Liz took it as nothing more than him trying to get back into her good graces. Then it progressed to flirting. What kind of person flirted while talking about some of the world's worse criminals? What kind of person found herself flirting back?
She wasn’t sure how she felt about this entire situation. Red’s active contributions and participation made him such a change from her past colleagues in the Mobile Psych Unit, who were never particularly eager to work with "the bitch". Red actually made an effort, even if it sometimes took a little prodding. It was certainly refreshing. Then again, Liz was used to running things pretty much on her own, in her own way. Now, not only did she still have Cooper to contend with, she also felt a certain obligation to tell the more than willing Red what was going on. Having more people involved in these high-risk cases couldn’t be a bad thing at this point.
This was also a lot more… fun than she remembered. True, it was still difficult and often grueling, but she was laughing more, and it was primarily Red’s fault. She had this vague notion that this couldn’t be healthy, enjoying the company of a man like Raymond Reddington. She came to dread and welcome these meetings with him, because even if she was having a bit of fun, she was letting her guard down in the presence of this most untrustworthy man.
Like today, for example. They were supposed to be discussing a hacker — not at all funny — and yet Liz knew she would break out into laughter at least once before the end of their conversation. Entirely inappropriate.
It was a late meeting, at her house for once, and Dembe had already been sent home, leaving the two alone at Liz’s desk. She made sure they got right down to it so that she could eventually get some rest herself before the next day had to begin.
“Do you have any clue where this guy is going to strike next? Aram says there isn’t any discernible pattern to the information we know he’s accessed thus far, the evidence leads nowhere. I mean, we don’t even know this guy’s name.”
“I’ll reach out, but there’s a reason that even I don’t know this man’s name,” he said, blinking rapidly, probably trying to stay awake and moisten his eyes.
She rolled her head around. “Well, what if— oh!” She brought her hand up to her neck, rubbing the sore spot. “Sorry, it’s been giving me trouble lately.”
“Let me help.” Before she could protest he was around the desk and behind her, massaging her shoulders not at all where her neck hurt but…
“Oh, god. That feels so much better. How did you do that?” she asked, glancing back. He just smiled and continued with the massage, first taking a quick moment to tuck her hair under her collar and out of the way.
“Red…” she began, but was cut off when he hit a very tense spot. She bit her lip instead. She had forgotten how sore she was, or how good releasing tension in her back could feel. Or how dangerous letting a man do it could be.
He used his whole body, not just his hands. His entire weight was behind every knead and push, making this a full-body endeavor on his part. Wrists and forearms merely controlled every motion. He pushed her forward a little to reach her lower back. She was somewhat bent forward over her desk and was in perilous danger of her glasses slipping off her nose, but none of this seemed to register. All that mattered was the exquisite feel of his fingers prodding at her back.
Suddenly the massage stopped, and she knew she was incredibly relaxed when she didn’t even protest. She also didn’t stop him when he pulled her hair back out of her shirt, let his fingers run through it for a few seconds, then swept it over her left shoulder. Or when he began running his fingers along her spine and blowing on the skin at the nape of her neck.
“Lizzie.” He said it so softly she didn’t know if she really heard it, but his breath was hot on her neck. She wouldn’t let her body take over. He might be attractive and apparently willing, but that was no reason to let him control her. She could be relaxed and in charge at the same time.
“Lower,” she ordered, her voice not betraying the slightest hint of the effect his hands were having on her.
“Why? I like it here,” he murmured, tracing patterns on her neck. She wished she could stop shivering, because he could certainly see that. | 0966150bcd804f6b95967961dd1bbda0 | ['ead7917948d74dcd80197a3526350ca5'] | She hopped off the table, straddled him and sunk down on his cock before he could react, her eyes and smile mocking. He took her face in both hands, pulling her down for a kiss. She started to move, and his hands dropped to her shoulders, and lower, tracing her shoulder blades before moving around to cup her breasts, lightly. She broke the kiss, stopping the movement of her hips.
“What’s the matter, Red? Lost your edge?”
He smirked.
“Tsk, tsk, so impatient.” Her expression darkened. His smirk widened, and he leaned in to whisper. “Take off your blouse, then I’ll show you edgy.”
When he looked back at her, her eyes were dark with lust. She pawed at his shirt, murmuring.“You, too.”
He obliged, undoing the buttons on his shirt while she unbuttoned her blouse. He watched eagerly as she shrugged it off, staring at her bra as though he hoped to melt it away with the intensity of his gaze. She smirked a little as she unclasped the thing, taking it off in one fluid motion. For a moment, he just stared.
“Some edge, that is,” she commented, amused.
He leaned in to kiss her right breast. He worked his tongue around the nipple. He bit down lightly, drawing a moan from her lips. He smiled and pulled back, taking her breasts in both hands. She kissed him, her hips resuming their lazy rhythm up and down his cock. He kept up his ministrations, hoping to coax more of those lovely sounds from her. He could sense her getting closer by the increasingly erratic sliding of her hips, when suddenly she stopped and got off him.
For one long second, he thought she might actually leave him sitting there. Then she bent over her desk. From his vantage point in the chair, he could see her cunt glisten between her spread legs. When he didn’t get up immediately, she looked over her shoulder at him, clearly annoyed. Suddenly, he felt a desperate urge to make her beg. He got up, lined up behind her, teased her with just the head of his cock.
“What!?” She snapped.
He blinked. “What do you want?”
She glared.
“Tell me,” he insisted. “Tell me all those dirty little fantasies you’ve been having about me.”
She made to get up, but he pushed her back down with one hand in her neck, holding her there.
“You’re enjoying this, Lizzie, don’t deny it.”
He could sense the exact moment she gave in, could feel her body slacken beneath his hand.
“Fuck me. Hard. Make me feel it. I know you want to.”
He almost came there and then. Instead he complied, shoved himself inside her, pushing in and out of her as hard and fast he could, the table shuddering along with every thrust. He kept holding her down, kept her unable to move within his grasp except for the jutting of her hips as they tried to meet his pace. As he got close, he bent down, seeking the friction of her body against his, drinking in every one of her moans. He let his hands wander down, seek her clit, while dragging her even closer to him. She ground against his hand, pinning it against the table’s edge. He ignored the awkward angle of his hand, just fucked her harder, pushed deeper until she came with a muffled shout, clenching around him. A few thrusts later he followed, slumping on her back.
She didn’t let him bask for long. Too soon, she pushed him off and stood up from the desk. He followed reluctantly. When he tried to grab her hips, meaning to lean in for a kiss, she pushed him away.
“What? No kiss?” He asked cheerfully.
She turned to him, one eyebrow raised expectantly, and not in a good way. Clearly, she intended to give him the cold shoulder. He wasn’t about to let that happen, the euphoria still thrumming through his body. He grabbed her wrists, ignoring her attempts to yank herself free as he pinned her to the desk once more. Only then did he let go of her, letting his hands rest on her hips as he smiled at her. She regarded him coolly. He responded by kissing her on the mouth, grinning happily.
It surprised her. He could see her thawing a little.
“I apologize for earlier,” he told her earnestly.
“You, apologizing? I should call someone to witness this.” She turned to the phone on her desk.
“Hilarious,” he said, intercepting her arm. “But will I admit I was rude in my accusations, even if they were true.”
She rolled her eyes at that.
“You’re denying you spent time with our dear friend Aram at your little work party?” he asked.
“I’d always wondered about your absence on that festive occasion,” she said, smirking. “Now I know you spent the day spying on me.”
He laughed. “I wish. No, I had business to attend to while you all got to drink and be merry.”
“Poor you.”
“I always get the short end of the stick,” he said, mock-sadly.
“Aw, Red, it’s not that short,” she teased, pointedly looking down.
“Minx.” He kissed her again.
She lifted a hand to his chest, lightly caressing the hairs there with her index finger.
“It’s been a long day, I’m a bit tired. Think you could go, let me get some stuff together and head home to sleep?” She asked, her voice sweet, with just a hint of vulnerability.
She could get the people to move mountains for her with that voice. It made her dangerous, that power, and it drew Red to her all the more.
“I will see you tommorrow?”
“We do have a meeting. I’ll save you a seat beside me.”
“Perfect,” he said. “How low-cut will your blouse be, and will I need to bring a change of underwear?”
“If you plan on wetting yourself.”
“I’m not the one I’m planning on getting wet.” |
66d43a2678fa4c9398caf29ea25b15d5 | ['eae1ce08d289429594a33ce360f722b1'] |
Sugar pills all night
Indianapolis is a lonely city, Will decides after the first week they’ve been there. No one speaks to one another, there’s no real neighborhood communities, no one seems to know anyone here. There’s barely a woods, and what woods there are can barely be called a forest. There’s a lonely little tree in their backyard, and Will thinks that’s the closest he’ll get to a safe haven in the trees.
El keeps looking around in awe at things, wincing back at sounds and forgetting herself when she inevitably reaches out to touch all the chrome surrounding them. It’s weird, having her so close by. He’s had almost a year to get to know her, and now she’s kind of been adopted by mom and she’s living with them for the foreseeable future, which he doesn’t have a problem with, she’s just… it’s different.
Jonathan’s barely home, working odd hours right alongside mom to try and keep themselves upright in this brand new city. Will goes to the nearest high school, a ten minute walk away and an even quicker bike ride, and he’s the odd one out because they’ve come in October, not even the beginning of the school year, so he’s a new kid and a freshman and he has no friends. He’s done his best to keep to himself and it’s worked out for him so far, though it’s only been a week. He won’t get his hopes up.
Eleven’s doing supplemental learning still, planning on joining with Will in the high school either next semester or the beginning of next year. Depends on how she does on the test, really, and while he’s sure she’ll be a magnet for bad attention, he’d love to have someone he knows with him.
He doesn’t let himself join any of their science clubs, not yet at least, he has to test the waters with science classes first. And so far, his teacher does not look like she wants it to be her life’s work to teach him and his classmates biology. It’s a little rough, not looking forward to one of his favorite subjects, but it’s fine.
Home feels empty. El’s there, El’s always there, unless she’s out with mom, but she’s there, staring at things and gritting her teeth to try and make them move. It doesn’t work. Things rattle sometimes but she seems to hit some kind of wall and they go still. Her huffs of frustration keep him from giving any advice. It’s not like he knows what the hell he’s talking about anyway.
He has no idea how to deal with this new dynamic they have to create. Pseudo siblings that never talk to each other because they have no clue what to say. He knows El’s been trying to choose her words more carefully, to learn what they really mean before she says them, and Will’s never been great around girls, let alone ones with trauma blocked super powers, and he thinks they’re doing okay with how awkward it always is.
He only has to last another month and a half before Mike shows up and he finally has someone to talk to, but time is moving the slowest it ever has and he can’t stand being stuck in this city.
It’s so different from how it used to be.
\---
He hasn’t woken up screaming since the second month after the Upside Down, and he thanks whatever it is that prevents him from doing that now more than ever. The cold sweats are there, the awful stomach dropping that he gets when the air catches in his throat, the slapping on of his lamp for just a few minutes so he can catch his bearings and stare anxiously into the remaining shadows. He doesn’t leave it on long enough for his mom to notice the light from under the door, can’t have her thinking something’s wrong after all. He’s not sure things will ever be right, but that’s for him to deal with, not his family.
It snows for the first time on the twentieth of October, two weeks after they move, and he decides early in the morning that he’s staying out after school to feel it. Mom will be at work, and so will Jonathan. It’s not like El will tell on him if he’s an hour later than usual. He can just say he stayed for club.
That’s the one thing about this new big city. There’s no one to watch and tell on him if he does something he probably shouldn’t. His mom stresses about him too much, and now there’s no one to add to those stresses.
Time ticks down and he stares out the window at the light dusting of snow that coats everything. It’s not too much for biking, so he’ll be fine.
School lets out and he stands there at his bike for a moment, ungloved hands gripping the handles. The snowflakes flutter around him, and he hops on and rides. It’s just the neighborhood, just twisting around the houses he has no clue of who lives in. The snow sucks its way into his mouth, touches the back of his throat before melting, and he wills himself to stare at how bright everything is.
It’s not good, he knows that. He shouldn’t make himself feel the way he’s feeling just for something to do, but he’s tired of sitting in the house, and he’s tired of feeling sorry for himself. If he feels just plain bad about everything, then he doesn’t have to feel bad about himself.
Will’s head is spinning and the sun is going down pretty fast behind the clouds and the wind sends a shiver down the back of his neck and he fumbles, almost falling off his bike in his haste to get back to their house. He stuffs his bike in the garage, locking the door behind him and letting out a shaky exhale. | 0ef7804d29134e2db7129da612938dc2 | ['eae1ce08d289429594a33ce360f722b1'] | Davenport passes out the drinks. “This mission has been my entire life, and I’m absolutely stunned that it’s actually going to happen.”
Barry takes his cards. “Merle’s the reason the institute changed my legal last name to Bluejeans. It’s actually Hallwinter, but no one’s called me that in years.”
Lucretia takes her cards as she’s scribing. Her hand grips the pen tightly for a second before she speaks. “I’m very bad with people and I apologize if I come off stand offish.”
“I’ve got some focusing issues and sometimes I get really sidetracked even during important stuff.” Magnus drinks the punch and his eyes light up a bit. He doesn’t say anything more.
The mission creeps closer and closer until the year is almost up. He’s finishing up what to pack. They’ll only be up there for two months, so it’s not like he needs a lot. He packs one of his mother’s quilts and a variety of jeans and shirts. A few trinkets, but it really isn’t much. He doesn’t want to bog down the ship with things. He’ll be back soon enough.
And then the world gets devoured and they’re sucked through wiggly space to a whole different planar system and he realizes that he’s never going to see any of the people in his life again or have any of the things that mean so much to him again, and he chokes.
Merle sits with him that first day, curled up in his mother’s quilt in the sparse, so empty, corner of his room. He can’t get his hands to stop shaking, but his breathing is unnervingly even.
“It’s all gone,” he says. “What the fuck was that shit?”
“I have no idea,” Merle says gruffly. He had family left on their world. Barry had no one, but he feels so empty.
“This sucks.”
“You said it.”
He realizes about a month and a half into their stay here on this animal planet that he only brought enough testosterone for, at most, three months. He realizes this at the breakfast table.
“Fuck,” he says halting his bite of pancake.
“What is it Barold? These pancakes not good enough for you?”
“No, I just realized I only brought enough man juice for three months. _Fuck._ ”
Lup snorts in her juice, and wipes at her face once she’s stopped laughing long enough to swallow her drink. “ _Man juice_?”
“One of my friends called it that when I was growing up and it stuck. But _fuck_ I don’t know how to make more.”
“Man juice?” Magnus asks. “What the hell is man juice?”
“Testosterone, Maggie, get with the program,” Taako says, flipping another pancake onto his plate. The twins seem to be taking this in stride, and he wonders if they knew. Or, if because of Lup, they just don’t care.
“Eh,” Merle says. “There’s gotta be a way to mix some up with your excellent science skills and my plants.”
“If you know the components I can transmute you some,” Taako says, and the whole table turns to stare at him. The easy demeanor leaves his shoulder. “I mean, if I’m feeling like it. Fuck, you guys are like hawks.”
“I know the components,” Lucretia says quietly.
“Cretia, you been holding out on us? What’s your dirty queer secret?”
“I’m a massive lesbian,” she says deadpan, but her face is darkening very quickly. Lup slams her hand down on the table and laughs out a “ha!” “But my brother was trans, and I wanted to know as much as I could.”
“Huh,” Magnus says, taking another bite of pancake. He’s giving Barry an interesting look and he feels a little squirmy under it. “Cool.”
“ _Very_ cool, Magno. Tack that Very in there.”
“ _Very_ cool, Barry, thanks for sharing,” Magnus says, scrunching his face up at Lup.
“Perfect!”
Lup and Taako may look the same, but they couldn’t be more different. It comes out slowly, over months. Taako’s more bitter, a little less open to making friends with the rest of them than Lup is. Lup’s laugh starts out as a snort before growing into something louder while Taako’s gets bitten back behind his teeth. Lup smiles a lot easier than her brother does, and it’s a little crooked and lopsided and he absolutely loves having it directed at him.
The mongoose family is nice, and it’s fun to learn their language. Taako seems to particularly connect with them, which is interesting to watch, considering how guarded he still is around all of the team. Lucretia tags along with them sometimes, just to write down what their interactions are like. She picks up snippets of the language but never learns it fully. He translates in a quiet voice as she writes down the conversations they share.
The sky goes grey and he stares at it heavily that last day. They’re getting the Light soon, maybe, if the animals decide they’ve proven themselves. It looks like a storm, but it’s still. Just like it was back on their world. He can feel the anxiety in his crewmates, and hopes it’s just a natural storm. The skies were still naturally back home as well.
It’s why no one thought anything of it, his brain helpfully supplies.
And then as the Royal Beasts are arguing, holding the Light out between them, the sky gets even darker, and he feels a chill go up his spine. Black shimmery _something_ shoots down from the sky, directly onto the Royal Beasts and the Light. His stomach drops and he can see the twins turn and book it back towards where the ship is. He doesn’t really think, just follows them. Lup is taking shots at the inky black things coming from these thick stems of darkness and when she slows down too much Taako grabs her by the wrist and pulls her faster. His lungs are screaming at him, but it doesn’t matter because this thing is everywhere around them. |
56f435c84b6d4c3f87149e5819197b84 | ['eae493704c504c0fafbae32ef0dd637d'] | “I’m not complaining. It was just an interesting choice of words.”
“We need a shower,” Karl urged.
Stephen nodded even though Karl wasn't looking. He knew they must have reeked, and he needed to get on with the day, even though all he wanted to do was curl up with his lover.
Karl was already running the water when he managed to get out of the bed. Stephen joined him in the shower and gave him a quick kiss. He had to hurry as Zelma would be back from her errand shortly.
“I don't think I can come here again this week,” Karl said quietly.
“I can go there.”
“I don't think that is wise. You take up too much of my energy and focus. For now I need to make sure things will run, but hopefully it won't take long.”
Stephen sighed. There was no use in trying to change his mind, and it would only be a week.
“Well the quicker things are settled the better.”
Karl nodded and gave him a quick kiss, probably grateful for the lack of argument.
\----
Stephen sat across from Thor, listening to the Asgardian’s story. It was disturbing and incomplete. After hearing stories from both Stark and Thor, he was able to get a better picture of what they were dealing with, although he needed more information to decide what to do about it.
“Thank you, and if you have any more information, please inform me,” Stephen said as Zelma showed him out.
When she came back, she sat across from him.
“So, any more appointments today?” She asked.
“Not that I'm aware of. I need some help finding some information on those stones though.”
“Right. Will do that. Just one question though. You don’t have to answer it, but where is the Baron? I haven't seen him in about two weeks now.”
It had been 10 days, but Zelma probably hadn't seen him in two weeks. He tried not to think about it too much, as he knew that it was no simple feat to start Kamar-Taj back up again. The waiting was testing his patience, but he knew he had to step back. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong, or he would have heard about it, he was the Sorcerer Supreme after all.
“He’s in Nepal and is busy with other duties.”
“Well, tell him ‘hi’ if you see him soon.”
Stephen tried to keep his mind and Zelma busy by looking for information about the Infinity Stones. With the depletion of their supply of books, it was going to be messy trying to find information, and it was probably impossible for him to actually track down the stones that were not on Earth. He made a mental note to go visit Wong, and to try to raid the library at Kamar-Taj without Karl thinking that he was trying to check up on him.
Time passed quickly, and soon he was left alone once again as Zelma went home for the day. Before Karl had left to go to Kamar-Taj, he would go down to the kitchens, make some dinner and then come back to the study with food for Karl and him. They normally spent the evenings discussing things, or meditating, or just enjoying the silence together. Now that the house was empty, it was slightly creepy. He was glad for his cloak, which seemed to always bring him some comfort in the evening hours. It was odd how attached he had grown to the thing over the last few days, often stroking it as one would a cat. He had even taken to resting it on a chair in his room at night for the company in addition to a warning system.
He put his cloak down on the chair for the night when he got into bed. Once again, it was cold and empty. It was a hard feeling to get used to after having someone beside him for a few years. He missed Karl, even though it had only been 10 days.
It must have been about 2am when he suddenly was awoken. At first he thought it was his cloak, as sometimes it would wake him if he was having a bad dream. He turned over to see Karl climbing into the bed next to him, still fully clothed.
“Go back to sleep.”
Stephen shook his head, and sat up on his elbows. Karl gave him a quick kiss before pushing him back down on the bed and wrapping himself around Stephen.
“How are you here now?” Stephen asked.
“I told Hamir I needed to attend to something, and that I would be back as soon as possible.”
“Something to attend to?”
“A very pressing matter.”
It was good to feel him and smell him after their time apart. He breathed a sigh of relief that he was okay, even if he was too busy to visit. He was sure that he would have heard differently if Karl was not okay, but he was still worried. Karl had a lot of pride, and would not ask for help easily.
“It’s not going well is it?”
“It is going, but it will take more time than I thought. Just be patient Stephen. It’s not forever.”
“But with the time difference it will be difficult. When I am sleeping, you’re awake. When I am awake, you will be sleeping.”
“Times will overlap, and if things continue to be this busy I will need to rest in the daytime, like today.”
Karl planted a kiss on his shoulder.
“Now sleep,” Karl urged.
With the added warmth from Karl’s body, he couldn't stay awake, even though he wanted to.
Waking up alone was the hardest. It almost felt like it was a dream, but he knew Karl had been there. He had left a note, confirming that it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t long, nor romantic, but it made him feel better about things. | b251f95f298a458abee9aeaff560c8ce | ['eae493704c504c0fafbae32ef0dd637d'] | Tony came over more and more frequently after the night he confessed to Stephen that he enjoyed spending time with him, and Stephen even managed to go visit Tony a few times. It did take a while for Tony to really drop some of those barriers between them. For all of the assumption that Stephen had about being closed off himself, he eventually realized he was rather an open book compared to this other man. Somehow, he had made peace with a lot of things over the last few years. And even if he did not lay out his entire history, if asked about it, he would share readily. Tony though, wrestled with things beyond him. So Stephen did not attempt to push or prod, but waited knowing it would come one day.
Then there was a night when Tony came through the portal, and they went about their normal routine of walking to the study. But as they headed there, Tony’s hand grabbed Stephen’s sleeve. His eyes, still behind his tinted glasses, told him everything he needed to know. It wouldn’t be the study that night. Somewhere more quaint and private. Stephen knew it could only be only one room in the Sanctum, his room. He felt his face flush a bit in response, unsure what had changed in Tony.
“Nightmares?” He managed to ask despite the tightening in his throat.
“Something like that.”
Without a word, Stephen showed him the way to the end of the hall on the third floor. He opened the door into a room; his room that only contained a covered four poster bed and a chair next to the vanity. It was simplistic, without the finesse of the other rooms. It lacked almost everything that was not used daily. It was nearly the only room without books in it, and he kept it clear to keep his mind clear. It truly was a room only for sleeping.
“It reminds me of my grandmother’s,” Tony finally said after taking a good look around.
“It has its charms.”
Tony nodded in response, before walking over to the vanity and putting his hand on Stephen’s laptop, the only modern thing in the room beside his phone in his pocket and charger near the bed table.
“Do you want a drink?” Stephen asked.
Tony seemed more tense than usual, with the way that his head hung and his shoulders looked. His head tilted slightly to the side as he looked at Stephen.
“No, I’m fine.”
His small smile reassured Stephen, a sigh leaving his lips before Tony’s body relaxed.
“I can’t believe you’ve not suggested we do this before,” Tony said moving towards Stephen.
“I’m not even sure if we should do this now,” Stephen murmured.
He didn’t stop Tony from running his fingers over the overlapped fabric on his clothing. From the top to the bottom, his hand traveled before fanning out over the belt.
“We can stop,” Tony murmured.
Stephen's mind was already three steps ahead, and the furthest idea floating around in it was stopping what they were doing. If Tony didn't object, who was he to do so? He had been thinking about this moment, fantasizing about it when he was alone for quite some time now. Tony was attractive, made more attractive by their efforts to get to know one another, and it had been so long to have someone touch him. Stopping would only be on the agenda if Tony wanted him to stop.
As they came closer, his cheek pressed against Tony’s as they stood apart ever so slightly and Stephen closed his eyes. Tonight he would just feel and not think. His mind switching off for once.
Tony too didn’t say much as they started, only talking when it was necessary. It didn’t mean he was silent or quiet, as Stephen knew exactly how to play him. There was nothing better to Stephen's ears than hearing his partners let loose, and Tony was no exception.
The only time that gave him pause was when Tony confessed that he hadn’t been with a man in a great long while, and although Stephen didn’t reassure him with words, he managed to make Tony feel more relaxed with his gestures and controlled the pace of how they went. There were moments when they both stopped to appreciate one another, feeling each others warm body pressed against their own.
Tony took his own time to trace the scars Stephen had picked up along his journey in life, even as Stephen ignored Tony’s. Although he did not mention it, he found it fitting there was one over Tony’s heart to match his own. Both of them clearly having been at death's door more than once in their lifetime. Their histories seemed to compliment and contrast one another in odd, unexpected ways.
The biggest surprise for him in the night was when Tony didn’t make to go back home right away. There had been a sense of urgency when he came, and Stephen was unsure if he just was scratching an itch with someone he trusted, or if it would be something more. He felt like they had crossed a very important bridge. Even if it took quite some time to get to this point, it was an important step and he was glad.
As they lay next to one another breathing in and out without exchanging a word, it felt soothing. There was some worry on his part that Tony would slide away from him, since Stephen would have done the same long ago. Yet, Tony seemed a lot more sure of himself than Stephen would have been. Their give and take was a little easier to understand than some of the other relationships he had in his life.
“That was nice,” Tony finally said after some time. |
f780abe354c94616ab6373a1b6c0953e | ['eaef24484b3e484ea5fed67f9c267374'] | _“I know, man, we’re screwed. We planned to officially reveal your relationship status to your fans tomorrow evening on your concert but I think Dispatch will beat us to it. Their article’s gonna be up early in the morning tomorrow.”_
Jihoon saw how Soonyoung’s intense stare faltered. And he’s so sure his stare did the same. Jihoon averted his gaze away from his boyfriend.
“I…” Jihoon hesitated. “I have to think this through.”
_“Sure, Jihoon. Everything’s just gonna be fine, alright?”_
“Yeah.”
_“Man, if I could pat you back right now, I would.”_
Jihoon smiled. This _warm_ guy. “Felt it, Cheol. Even before you said so.”
_“Alright, alright. Say hi to Soonyoung for me.”_
“Sure. And Cheol?”
_“Yes Jihoon-ssi? Anything you want to ask from your manager?”_
“Thank you. Thanks for saving my ass every time and for caring for me.”
_“Always, Jihoon. Always.”_
* * *
It’s not like the couple is afraid of getting caught. They already talked about this anyway. Jihoon already spent a couple of nights thinking about what he wants to happen, what could actually happen; like he’s practically got every single aspect considered. Everything is planned. It’s just that—fuck his lazy ass for not checking his emails since last week.
Again, he couldn’t care less anymore. What’s wrong with having a lover? At his age? He’s not getting any younger. His fans are even jokingly asking him to date someone already, for his happiness.
_Oh, right._ His fans. All he ever wants is for them to hear it straight from him. Not from the media or anywhere else. He doesn’t want to make his fans feel betrayed— if that’s even the right term. That’s the only thing he’s worrying about.
That same night, when both were already settled on Jihoon’s bed and after the artist exited the Instagram app on his phone, Soonyoung held him closer than he ever did before.
* * *
> _20241018 Jihoon Instagram Update [TRANS]_
>
> _Hello, this is Lee Jihoon. I’m going to say something important to everyone tonight. Though I originally planned to do this personally tomorrow at my concert, something happened and I really, really want everyone to hear this from me first than from anybody else. Everyone, I am in a relationship with the pilot Kwon Soonyoung. We just got together three months ago. I’m sorry for not confessing this sooner. You see, totally opposite from my way of living, Kwon Soonyoung is a private person and I respect his privacy. But after some time of contemplation, we decided to come clean and end all rumors. I personally think you deserve to know the truth from me initially, after all these years that you have done nothing but to support me, my compositions and my music._
>
> _I hope you’ll understand my reasons and be happy for me and Soonyoung. Please take care of us._
>
> _Thank you so much and see you tomorrow at the concert. This has been Lee Jihoon. Have a good night._
* * *
Jihoon woke up not feeling the familiar warmth he’s starting to get used to beside him. He retrieved his phone from under his pillow and lit its screen up, seeing it’s already 9:38 AM. Maybe Soonyoung is already at the kitchen, cooking something for them.
That’s too much domesticity right there, so he tried his best to shake the thought of it ~~and his stupid smile~~ away and proceeded to begin his morning routine.
He heard voices coming from the kitchen while he’s making his way there. And sure enough, Soonyoung isn’t alone in the kitchen. Jisoo smiles warmly as soon as he sees Jihoon.
Seated beside Jisoo is Seungcheol, with a pair of round thin-rimmed eyeglasses perched perfectly above his nose. Happiness is evident on his facial features despite hanging his head low due to reading… wait what’s he reading? That’s a shit-ton of scattered bond papers there! Is that a script for another drama? What the fuck, did Seungcheol just bring work to his house for breakfast?
Eyes still fixed on the stack of papers on the dining table, Jihoon approached the man whose back is turned to him. He was too concentrated in slicing his pancakes to notice that Jihoon is now awake, making his way to him.
Jihoon hugged Soonyoung from behind, pecked his cheeks, and uttered a sweet “Good morning,” to him. Soonyoung let go of the utensils he’s holding, quickly returning the affection. “Good morning, Ji, fluffy pancakes-a-la-Soonyoung for today’s breakfast!”
Jihoon also greeted the other couple who are seated opposite to him and Soonyoung when he settled on his chair. Seungcheol is grinning like a madman at him and it’s creeping him out.
“You look high. What are you up to? What are those?” Jihoon gestured to the papers in front of his best friend-slash-manager. “I swear to these pancakes if those are work-related—”
“Of course this is work-related! You know what, I really want to bear-hug the hell out of you right now but it doesn’t look like it’s the best thing to do since our boyfriends are around.”
The said boyfriends only laughed, looking amused because Seungcheol is this excited. Jihoon is _definitely_ missing something here.
Seungcheol began gathering the papers that were spread all over his portion of the dining table. Jihoon noticed that the other doesn’t even have his own plate of pancakes and seems to be so engrossed about these papers. Now seriously, what are those—
The gathered bunch of papers is now obscuring his vision of his fluffy pancakes-a-la-Soonyoung.
“Seungcheol, what’s the rush? Work can wait and I’m _starving_.”
“Read,” Seungcheol said, voice still laced with giddiness.
Jihoon settled his bread knife down to get the stack of paper from his best friend. | 92a9b5f906e34fa39cc0c0f3b84c609c | ['eaef24484b3e484ea5fed67f9c267374'] | His eyes strayed a bit to the digital clock on the cafeteria wall. He sees familiar angry red digits, but the colon between them unmoving.
9:17 PM.
Jihoon nods slowly in response.
_As long as you’re here._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Sorry if this chapter is kinda dry :( I thought I should build the universe first >< and uhh did I lay out too much questions? If anybody ever needs some clarifications I'll be happy to (subtly) answer them on the comments below OR on the next chapters if it's too much of a spoiler to answer them this early!! Hahahaha
>
> Also I'm planning to change the title of this story sorry akshdhjkd but I don't have a good one in mind yet it's just that I've been staring at the current title and found myself saying that… this ain’t it lol so yeah. Will change it soon, probably.
>
> I'll let you guys go now HAHA thank you sooo much for reading!
4. Day 2
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> if this is the first time you're checking this fic out HELLO AND THANK U for giving it a chance <3
>
> if you came here for the update i'm SORRYYY this took months ;;; i've hit a snag when i was about to start on this chap but i REALLY don't wanna drop this fic so i pushed thru :,)
>
> many and special thanks to LINK the BEST loophole-finding buddy and the coolest ideas bank!!!! my brain fell apart trying to get to know my own universe LMAO but she held it intact with her very useful insights. now i'm more confident with this work and that's thanks to her :p
>
> tmi: this chap went thru 3!!!! 3 more people before seeing the light of day HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR THE INPUTS LINK, LINK, and ofc LINK for the usual enhancements sparkle emoji sparkle emoji
>
> my notes are always longggggg yikes but ok i'm now done. off u read this < 8k update~~
The sun is bright. Too bright.
Soonyoung thinks he might have forgotten to untie his window curtain again last night. Groaning sleepily under his breath, he buries his face into his pillow in an attempt to block the light penetrating his still-closed eyes.
He didn’t expect to get his nose bridge hurt a bit because the pillow he snuggled his face against is too solid to be one. It also felt silky instead of fluffy, he thinks as he experimentally rubs his face against it.
He opens his eyes to confirm his realization, and correct enough, it isn’t a pillow but a head.Nor is it his cotton pillow cover, but a mop of raven hair. He tries to move his body a bit, and that’s when he felt how uncomfortable the position he slept in was. He guesses it must be the same for Jihoon. They’re side by side, their backs are against the cafeteria wall, and he isn’t quite sure if both of his ass cheeks are still intact because he can’t feel either of them anymore.
They were trapped inside the cafeteria overnight. The Arts Building cafeteria closes at 9 in the evening and both of them knew of this. It slipped their minds, because honestly, who can keep track of time when time itself was _lost_?
They didn’t realize it right away, though. They were about to leave the cafeteria after they (or Jihoon, rather) finished eating, but the door wouldn’t budge. Sure, Soonyoung managed to unlock it from the inside but there was a chain wrapped around both of the door handles outside and secured by a heavy-duty padlock. The maintenance crew probably locked up the entire building, seeing that it’s already 9:17 PM on the cafeteria’s digital clock.
Too defeated by everything the two of them had for just one night, they didn’t even try to escape out of the cafeteria anymore. They just silently agreed to themselves to sit side by side, neither of them speaking anything else for the entire night. Both of them finally had their own silent time to take everything in; but personally, for Soonyoung, the silence just exhausted him even more. Despite this, he still knew Jihoon was having it heavier. He felt how defeated Jihoon was. He wants to tell him that it’s fine if he’s also lost, he’s not going to and will never blame him for this in any way. But Soonyoung decided against it, settling with the eerie silence instead. The last thing he remembers from last night was not planning to sleep and just to wait for tomorrow. If it will even come, that is, or if they will just be stuck in this evening forever. Nothing is certain. He remembers hoping for the sun to rise tomorrow, if it will even rise.
And it did. Fortunately.
Recalling the events last night, he just wishes that his shoulder was comfortable enough for Jihoon to sleep on. Although like his butt, he almost can’t feel it anymore.
* * *
Soonyoung is zoning out, staring at the tiny specks of dust suspended in the air under the sun rays entering through the cafeteria windows when he feels the body beside him shift a little. A hand goes flying in front of him to maybe grab something, but its knuckles met Soonyoung’s rib instead. The sleepy limb falls defeated on top of Soonyoung’s lap, and its owner withdrew them back to him, slowly, sleepily. Soonyoung just watched everything happen before his eyes, readying himself for Jihoon to jolt a meter away from him once his sleep-dazed self realizes their position. Instead, Jihoon calls him by his name, with the younger’s head still on his shoulder. |
9652dbcab7e64535986f65118d1da0d9 | ['eb0921f6b87944adb594d6f145d85ef5'] |
Cold Feet Are The Worst Part Of Getting Up In The Morning
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
Hijikata awoke, greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. His head ached dully, the late morning light streaming in through the window doing nothing to alleviate the pain. His throat was dry, the faint taste of alcohol lingering like a heavy film on his tongue. An arm was draped over his chest, the weight simultaneously comforting and stifling, and as he turned his head to view the person laying in bed beside him, he was neither surprised not elated to see it was Sakata Gintoki.
_ Not again, _ he thought. And then, _ I have to pee. _
“Get _ off, _ asshole,” Hijikata hissed, struggling to free himself from Gintoki’s hold. He had a tendency to cling to Hijikata when he slept, and though he didn’t really mind, the strength and security of Gintoki’s arms comforting and familiar, it was always a pain trying to get out of bed in the morning.
“C’mon, wake _ up!” _ He elbowed Gintoki in the ribs, causing him to temporarily loosen his grasp enough for Hijikata to slip out of his arms. A shot of pain ran up his back as he stumbled to his feet and he groaned, searching the room for his clothes. When he found them, hastily kicked into a pile in the corner, they were dirty and stained, and he groaned again, deciding to stay in his boxers for the time being. It took him a while to find the bathroom, and when he did, he took a long, much-needed piss, holding onto the toilet for support. He always had back pain and bambi legs the morning after a night with Gintoki, and though it was definitely worth it, he didn’t much look forward to the long walk back to headquarters.
Washing his hands, he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and grimaced. Mussed, tousled hair; swollen lips; an array of purple marks and hickeys decorating his neck and collarbone: it was plainly obvious he had had sex the night before. Hobbling in to the barracks late, with this appearance and yesterday’s clothing would be akin to suicide. Hijikata could already picture Sougo’s sadistic grin upon seeing him, could hear the taunts and jeers that would follow him around for at least a week.
He hadn’t been sleeping with Gintoki for long, only a couple months, and each time, he told himself it would be the last. Yet by the time the hickeys and bite marks faded, he’d find himself in bed with him again, a new set of marks starkly contrasting against his pale skin. What was it that kept drawing him to Gintoki, he wondered, washing his face in the sink. Though he tried to convince himself that it was the sex and nothing more, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, Gintoki was annoying, abrasive, and downright licentious, but he had some good points, too. The way he fought tooth and nail for others, without pausing to even consider his own wellbeing; the way he placed his own _ bushido _ before other's arbitrary rules; the way he acted gruff and abrasive on the surface while hiding a kind and playful demeanor- more often than not, Hijikata found himself engrossed in adoration for Gintoki.
Giving up on attempting to fix his hair to a somewhat acceptable state, Hijikata padded silently back to bed, searching for his phone and finding it in the pocket of his pants, crumpled on the floor. Flipping it open, he saw that it was only six in the morning and that he had plenty of time to get back to the barracks before morning count at ten. Relaxing slightly, he closed the phone and set it on the floor next to the futon and crawled back in under the covers.
Gintoki opened one eye as Hijikata slipped back into the futon next to him and adjusted his position somewhat, allowing for him to lie beside him. Hijikata rolled into his side, back aligned with Gintoki's chest and stomach, and pulled Gintoki's arm back around his shoulders.
“How bold,” Gintoki commented, breath tickling Hijikata's neck.
“Shut up, it's not what you think. I'm cold.” Hijikata bent his legs slightly, pressing his feet to the fronts of Gintoki's legs in an attempt to warm them up.
“Fuck, you are,” noted Gintoki, pulling Hijikata closer and rubbing his arm to generate heat. “That better?”
Hijikata hummed in response, closing his eyes satisfactorily. His back and buttocks pressed tight against Gintoki’s torso did more than enough to heat him up, but he didn’t mind the extra attention. He felt a pair of lips press briefly against the back of his neck, and then again on the corner of his jawline, just below his earlobe, and felt his face flush red.
“I can think of another way to warm you up,” whispered Gintoki, lips brushing against Hijikata’s earlobe.
“I gotta be at work in a couple hours,” said Hijikata, craning his neck backwards to look at Gintoki. “What time do we have to leave the room?”
“We don’t.”
“Huh?”
“This isn’t a hotel. This is my apartment.”
_ “What?” _ Hijikata bolted upright. “B- But isn’t that China girl…” he trailed off, casting a wary glance at the closet.
“She spent the night at Shinpachi’s, relax. She won’t be back until noon.” Gintoki grinned. “So that leaves us plenty of time.” His hand reached up, snaking a stray finger down Hijikata’s spine, making him shiver. “Come back to bed.”
“And if I do?” Hijikata cocked an eyebrow.
“I can think of a couple things we could do.”
“Yeah?” Hijikata lay back down beside him, this time facing him. “Like what?”
“Like this, for starters.” Gintoki climbed on top of him, his hands on either side of Hijikata’s neck, and kissed him once, lightly, on the lips, and then again, longer, deeper, more passionately. Hijikata closed his eyes, back arching, and let himself be embraced. His arms reached up, winding around Gintoki’s shoulders, one hand curling into his hair, pulling him closer. He could feel Gintoki’s hands starting to wander, traipsing down his back and up his thigh, but he didn’t mind at all.
Eyelashes fluttering, he moaned into Gintoki’s mouth, and let himself be swept away by the waves of passion.
**Author's Note:**
> This is my secret santa present for fruitpunchsamu-rai.tumblr.com. They requested no smut or angst, which unfortunately for me, is what I'm best at writing, so I was a little troubled as to what to do for this story. It does get a bit racy towards the end but I hope its okay.
>
> Happy Holidays! | e2c57ed664d04a2688c66815d90d5bae | ['eb0921f6b87944adb594d6f145d85ef5'] | "A- Antonio?" he gasped incredulously, the cigarette falling from his mouth and onto the floor. He dropped his bag with a thump, falling back against the door as his legs gave out in surprise.
"Well, _duh,_ silly!" Antonio cocked his head, brows furrowing slightly. "You smoke? Since when do you smoke? I was only gone for, like, two days! Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and you were right. I'm sorry, I should have asked before I let them in."
"Is it… is it really you? You're... back?" Lovino clutched at his chest, head swimming. He felt himself slide down the door, legs folding beneath him.
"Of course it's me, who else would it be?" Antonio paused. "What's- what's going on? Did something happen? Are you okay? You're not still mad, are you? Because I'm sorry."
"I…" Lovino couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. "I…"
"Lovi?" There was a cool hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. Antonio was crouching in front of him, a concerned expression on his face.
"Oh god," he breathed, reaching a trembling hand up to cup Antonio's cheek. It was the same as always- soft, chilled to the touch, with a hint of prickly stubble, a five-o'clock shadow along his defined jawline.
"It really _is_ you."
"Uh," was all Antonio was able to say, distracted by Lovino's hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing in circles against his skin. "Lovi?"
"I- I missed you." Lovino bit his lip, jaw trembling slightly. His eyes were shining oddly, and wet. Taking Antonio by surprise, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, burying his face in his shoulder. "I missed you so _fucking_ much."
"Wow," enthused Antonio, a bit shaken. He batted Lovino's back awkwardly, feeling the smaller man's heaving sobs against his chest. "You must really like me, to have missed me so much after only two days."
Lovino froze. Slowly he lifted his head and pulled away to face Antonio. "What did you say?" he asked slowly, voice quivering, not bothering to wipe away the tears stagnant on his flushed cheeks.
"I- I said, 'you must really like me,?'" Antonio's smile faltered.
"After that." Impatiently Lovino rubbed his eyes and face until they were dry.
"'You missed me a lot after just two days?'"
There was a pause, where both of them stared at each other- Lovino with a sort of silent, tight-lipped anger, and Antonio visibly confused and startled.
Finally Lovino broke the silence.
'"...'Two days?' Just _two fucking days?!_ Try eight months, you bastard!" With a cry of rage, Lovino shoved Antonio off of him and rose shakily to his feet, towering over him.
"E- Eight months?" whispered Antonio, crawling backwards on his hands and feet as Lovino advanced towards him.
"Eight. Fucking. Months."
"Oops?" tried Antonio, flashing what he clearly thought was a winning smile.
"'Oops?' Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Lovino's hands, clenched into fists at his sides, began to tremble. "' _Oops?!'"_
"But I don't- I don't understand!" cried Antonio, leaning back on one arm, his other hand running through his hair distractedly. "I only spent two days in purgatory, I'm sure of it!"
"Purgatory?" asked Lovino, momentarily distracted from his anger. "You went to purgatory?"
"Yeah- I can either be a ghost, or go to purgatory. Purgatory is really boring though, so I became a ghost. When you got mad, I went to purgatory, figuring after a while we'd both cool down and could talk it out, but I never thought that- that _this_ would happen!"
Antonio sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Fuck," he moaned. "I'm really sorry, Lovi. I fucked up."
"Damn straight you did!"
"You're not, uh- you're not… mad, right?" One corner of Antonio's mouth twitched upwards. "I mean, it was a- a mistake!"
"Oh, no, of _course_ I'm not mad! I totally understand- it's such an easy mistake to make, to vanish into a separate dimension for _eight goddamn months!"_
"But you're not, er, mad, right?"
"Are you crazy?! _OF COURSE I'M FUCKING MAD!"_ thundered Lovino, advancing slowly towards Antonio. "You disappeared without saying anything- you _abandoned_ me- just like everyone else! I thought-" Lovino jabbed his chest with his thumb, eyes brimming, "I thought we were _friends,_ that you were different, that we had something special! And then you were gone, just like _that-"_ he snapped his fingers- "the moment shit got rocky, and then eight months later, you come waltzing back in pretending like it's all okay?! After what you put me through?!"
"I'm sorry- you're right, I shouldn't have left, I-"
"I don't want to hear it!" Lovino snapped, turning briskly on his heel and marching towards the door.
"Then what _do_ you want?"
"I want you to leave!"
Antonio blinked. "Huh?"
"I _said,_ I want you to leave! I'm going out. By the time I'm back, you better be back in hell or purgatory or wherever the fuck you were."
"B- But I just got here! This whole time you've been complaining about how I left, and now you want me to leave again?!"
" _Yes!"_ Lovino's voice quivered, even as he yelled the word.
"But _why?!"_
"Because- because-" His hand, clenched around the doorknob, began to tremble; and though the room was dark, and Lovino was facing away, Antonio was able to see tears like pearls in the moonlight drip from his chin and nose and land on the floorboards.
"Because if you stay, I'll forgive you! I'll even start to l-like you again! And then- and then-" He took several unsteady breaths that caught in his throat and choked him. "And then you'll leave again! And I can't handle that, not again- I'll die!"
"Lovi…" Antonio reached out a hand, but Lovino, as if he knew what he was doing despite facing the other way, quickly snapped,
"Don't," and Antonio's hand faltered in mid-air, then fell to his lap.
"I'm sorry." |
c80a4ae2c5fc4baf9b0cbf4f4dd1e883 | ['eb37af064fcd47dcac19031929ac8dba'] | The rest of the class sighed and shook their heads as Ouma shovelled the contents of his plate into his mouth. Rantaro came in a moment later, out of breath, and slumped in the chair next to Ouma. The supreme leader eyed him wearily as he ate quickly, waiting for some sign of anger. Instead, Rantaro laughed and gave the smaller boy a gentle hug. Saihara came in soon after, covered in leaves and grass. He gently kissed Ouma on the head as he sat in his own seat, Kirumi bringing him a plate. Ouma beamed as he ate, the attention getting to his head.
After breakfast, Ouma gently tugged on Rantaro’s shirt.
“Yes, Kokichi?” he said.
“Rantaro, I ate too fast and I’m sick. Carry me?” Ouma said.
Rantaro wordlessly picked up the smaller boy fireman carry style, carrying him towards the fountain. Ouma seemed surprised at the fact that his begging worked, but not upset. He nestled into the junction of Rantaro’s shoulder and neck, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s neck and sighing contentedly.
Saihara and Kiibo met them at the fountain, ready to spend the day as just them four.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> comment other pairings ya wanna see cuddlefics for please its a guilty pleasure writing
>
> i accept nsfw reqs but they wont be on this series i have yet to post nsfw on this without immediately deleting it
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>
>
>
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> lindsey if ur reading this make me a mod on ur discord server ily <3
**Author's Note:**
> kjrjkr comment anything like criticism or mayb requests this is rlly short i cant write ouma or kiibo also ive tried to post this shit twice now and if it doesnt post the time op is writing this op is going to vore their laptop and cry | 7edde26bb0bb409d8faf90ceb7e71027 | ['eb37af064fcd47dcac19031929ac8dba'] |
1. Panic
Ouma bolted into his dorm, not even having time to lock his door. He half-sat, half-crashed onto the floor behind his bed, the messy bits and baubles scattered around shattering under his feet and scraping his arms on his way down. Bits of glass and plastic scratched open his arms, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that his boyfriends didn't see him like this. Crying, shaking, sitting behind the bed, pathetic.
Of course, leaving his door cracked open was not going to help him hide, because a certain robot could hear him crying from across the building. Ouma had started wailing, assuming his door was closed and the dorm building was empty. A gentle rap on his door told him otherwise. He jumped, knowing he wasn’t alone.
“Kokichi? Are you okay? You haven’t been to meals lately, we’re all worried about you…” came a gentle voice. Ouma finally let an anguished scream rip through him, letting out all the stress and frustration and terror in one noise.
That’s when Rantaro and Saihara came in, hearing his cry. The three boys came bursting in, seeing the top of his eggplant strands quivering behind the bed. Rantaro was the first to approach him, too worried about his health to stay back. Ouma stared for a second, before tentatively reaching out for a hug. He refused to look Rantaro in the eyes after the initial stare, just clutching to the blue shirt like he was about to be torn away. A minute or two later, the detective came over too, gently rubbing circles onto the leader’s back, kissing him on the head.
Kiibo was the last to approach, deciding to join them on the floor. Ouma was trembling and crying, saying something that couldn’t be heard.
The boys knew Ouma had confidence issues, but they never thought this is what happened. They assumed he just played up the evil supreme leader act and that was it. They never expected the bone-rattling screams.
Kiibo detected an abnormally high heart rate and blood pressure within the small boy, but chalked it up to the high stress.
The sound of his motor seemed to calm Ouma considerably, so he scooted in closer to try and help more. He was quickly dragged into the hug, albeit with difficulty, by the smallest boy. He gently wrapped his arms around the other three, a small smile gracing his lips.
Ouma soon seemed to cry himself out, gently yawning and learning into the three warm boys surrounding him. He fell asleep quickly. The boys moved him to the bed before joining him, the pile far too large for the bed. When Ouma awoke in the morning, he was surrounded by his beloveds. He decided it would be alright to roll over and sleep a bit more, this one time.
2. Hunger
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> After waking up, Ouma plays a game and finally eats those delicious pancakes Kirumi's so good at making.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> this should have,,, a lot more dialogue and be a lot longer,,, its about 700 words njjdjdj i still cant write
Kiibo was the first to rouse, an alert that his battery was low flashing. He tried and ultimately failed to escape the cuddle pile without waking another one of the boys. Ouma was a light sleeper, evidently, because the shifting caused his eyes to shoot open, almost creepily.
“Does Kii-boy not love me?” a small gasp, “Is Kii-boy having an AFFAIR?” he said, far too loudly. He then let out his signature mocking laugh, making grabby-hands for the bot. Kiibo sighed, picking up his smallest boyfriend and carrying him to his own room, where he grabbed his charger.
As they made their way back to Ouma’s room, he seemed to freeze, then started to wriggle and pull out of his arms. Kiibo dropped the purple-haired teen in surprise, watching him take off. Without the energy to chase him, he went to the currently shared room to wake up the two other men.
“I need to charge, but Kokichi took off. I don’t have enough battery life to risk finding him where there’s no port. Could you two try to find him?” he sighed. Rantaro laughed and got up, although Saihara was a little less enthused to be chasing after the guileful leader.
The two boys left the dorm building hand in hand, calling Ouma’s name as they walked. They saw a flash of purple and white from around the back of the school. The two decided quietly they’d race to see who could catch the small one first.
“Kokichi!” Rantaro called, exponentially further ahead of the detective. He rounded the corner, seeing the small boy in a tree. He nodded behind him to warn Ouma about the detective rounding the corner, then ran forwards.
He looked back to see Saihara dash by, only to get jumped on and topple to the ground by a blur of purple and white. Then, the small leader bolted past Rantaro and into the building. The green-haired teen followed him in, losing Saihara in the process.
Ouma dashed through the halls, before getting hit by the scent again. He booked it towards the dining hall, forgetting how long it had been since he had eaten. He saw Kirumi come out with pancakes for the rest of the class, so he made a mad dash into the room and into the nearest empty seat as loudly and quickly as possible. A grand intro for a grand boy, he reasoned. Kirumi merely laughed and placed a plate in front of him along with the others.
“Ouma, where are Rantaro and Saihara?” Kaede asked, mouth full of pancakes.
“If I remember where I left them, Rantaro is scouring the school for me and Saihara is on the ground outside, Nishishi~!” He laughed. |
1c49e74b68064e0c9dfe60bd3f054a3e | ['eb40e7e660074f27913f3eaaa02a7917'] |
My Mark on You
**Author's Note:**
> So I gont inspired by the AMAZING ART by LINK and got the inspiration for this littles (First Drabble) also made for the Operation Positivity and Eternal Sterek on Tumblr.
>
> As usual my tumblr LINK is always open, now taking some Prompts if you have some, and my other fic, WIP Daniel Hale is on my name if you want to check it out! (I'll update Tomorrow :)).
LINK
>
>
> “A tattoo is a true poetic creation, and is always more than meets the eye. As a tattoo is grounded on living skin, so its essence emotes a poignancy unique to the mortal human condition.”
> ― LINK, _LINK_
* * *
… The other wolf had his hand on his throat, squeezing tightly, almost breaking skin, growling low and looking at him straight at him, his eyes bloody, filled with rage, glowing a yellow feral color.
Derek didn’t know what to do, what to think, the other wolf was mad, looking for a Territory he couldn’t sustain, a pack that wasn’t his, a mate that was lost, and Derek now could only watch as the animal stood there menacing his only hope at healing, healing all those wounds inside of him, the scars left by years of fighting, of being alone and lost, but putting up a fight at this moment could only endanger Stiles, so human and breakable, he had always feared that he could be taken easily from his side.
He stood there, wolfed out, completely still, the cold air of the October night rushing through out the woods, the branches of the trees near the clearing crunching and dropping leaves all around them, the full moon painting the clear sky, lighting silver all around.
“Don’t move” Derek said, looking directly at Stiles, voice guttural and low behind his fangs, his red eyes gleaming brightly, burning with rage “Don’t make a sound, please”.
“There is no escape from this” growled the wolf, tightening his hold on Stiles, pressing his nose and mouth to Stiles’ collarbone, taking a deep inhaling his scent “This one smells sweet, Doesn’t he? But powerful, even if his heartbeat is pounding on his chest” the wolf continued, turning around to face Derek, he could hear it too, Stiles’ heart going strong and quick, but not in fear, adrenaline “I think I’ll just take him, you were stupid enough to leave him without a claim, alone in the woods for me to find” the wolf smiled wickedly, mocking him.
“Seriously dude?” Stiles had said “I don’t need protecting and I’m not a pray for you to chase or a thing for anyone to own” he was mad, Derek saw the cold glare Stiles sent into the night, exasperated “Let’s have some fun shall we?” he had said, suddenly, with a grin on his face.
Derek saw it happen all too quickly, where Stiles’ back connected to the wolf’s front a low red tinted light formed, changing suddenly the atmosphere around the clearing, he could smell magic and a surge of power out of nowhere, the wolf took a step back, releasing the grip on Stiles’ throat as if he was burned, he snarled at Stiles and crouched in front of him, ready to pounce and take a fight; Derek was ready to protect, all of his instincts were screaming to protect Stiles from the menace, to push him behind him and tear the other apart.
As he was about to attack, Stiles turned around to face the wolf “Not today, Fido” he said, he stretched his arm and flung his hand towards the wolf who was thrown trough the air and landed on the cold forest bed on his back, his face a normal human again, his eyes filled with fear and doubt.
“How did... what did...” the wolf was panicking, Derek saw him try to stand up, to call his wolf again with the help of the moon, but he couldn’t and Derek realized that Stiles had done that, he was preventing the wolf from turning.
“Run, little wolf, don’t let me catch you on our territory again” Stiles said, voice cold, body standing tall, claiming the territory as theirs “If any of my pack catch even a little glimpse of your scent, I will personally destroy you, you have caused more than enough drama for one night” he said with finality, the wolf (man now) stood up quickly, he had smelled the power flowing out of Stiles, he slowly paced backwards, careful steps, trying to not make any sudden movements, when he was at a safe distance he turned around and ran as fast as he could, disappearing from the clearing behind the trees on the preserve.
“See, that wasn’t that hard” Stiles said, laughing a bit, and turning to face Derek, he stood there, still frozen and wolfed out, as he was about to say something, he saw that Stiles’ whole stance changed, his back once stiffed, relaxed pointedly, his legs shook a little as he tried to take a step towards Derek, but he saw it quickly and ran towards him, just to catch Stiles as he was crumbling onto the floor.
“Stiles!” Derek said, as he held him tightly, roaming his body with one hand to see if he had any injuries, he turned his head towards Stiles and saw that he was watching him, a fond smile on his face, his eyes glowing amber in the full moon’s light.
“It’s ok, it’s ok man” he said, patting him on the shoulder as he tried to sit better, while Derek still had his arm around his waist “Whenever I use this, well kind of power I still get a little weak, but nothing big man, thanks” he smiled, his eyes crinkling. | b289135ed4f1446ba5424469ea862322 | ['eb40e7e660074f27913f3eaaa02a7917'] | “I see my silent alarms always work” someone said behind him, he wasn’t paying attention trying to be as quick as possible to get out before, well this happened. “And who might you be, and what should I tell the police?” as he turned around he could see a younger Deaton in front of him, not frowning mad, he actually had his mocking stare as usual, like he knew everything (and probably did) but would never dream to tell you.
“No!” Exclaimed Daniel, as he turned around and let the hoodie fall of his head “Please, I wasn’t trying to... I wasn’t...” How could he explain that he was looking for a certain herb to calm his wolf? Deaton knew about everything Supernatural, but he didn’t know him and if he told Derek or the Pack, he wouldn’t know how to explain.
“Oh, so you were not trying to steal from me at” Deaton said, quirking an eyebrow up and looking down at his wrist watch “Four in the morning?”.
“No, sir” he said stumbling on his words “I mean yes, sir... I mean um... please just let me go, I promise never to come back, just don’t call the police” Daniel was starting to panic, he had his hands open in front of him frantically trying to see if he could escape, but knowing Deaton, he probably had all his barriers up, so he did the only thing he thought “I’m Stiles’ cousin, I’m visiting, you know Stiles? Scott’s best friend?” He asked hopefully, at least if he was caught like that he would tell the Sheriff he was trying to make quick easy money or something, even if it would kill Daniel to see a disappointed face on his Grand Pop’s face.
“Oh you are Stilinski’s cousin are you?” He said, a faint wicked smile on his face “Well I could’ve sworn you were someone else’s family, but I guess that’s just my mistake” he said as he pointed towards the door that lead to the front desk “See I’m gonna let you go with a warning, but I’m gonna have a talk with your cousin and the Sheriff...”
“Oh my God” Daniel exclaimed, panic rising through his body, Deaton had a hand on his shoulder guiding him to the front door, where the sign was flipped to Closed “Please, please don’t I didn’t take anything, I swear I wasn’t trying to take money I was just... I just...” he didn’t know how to continue, he was babbling.
Deaton opened the front door and pushed him outside “We’ll see” he said, finally. As Daniel was about to bolt into the night and pray to anyone that Deaton wouldn’t he heard his voice again “Oh, and I think you forgot this” he took his hand to the pocket of his coat and took a little bottle throwing it to him, Daniel caught it with a swift movement at took a look at it, the bottle had 5 little white pills inside “Take two tomorrow and two the day after, Daniel” and with that he closed the door and disappeared down his clinic.
Daniel stood there, frozen with the bottle of pills in his hand, when he took a closer look he saw that the bottle had a little inscription in it “Yellow Aconite” the exact thing that he was looking for, it was the same type of Wolfsbane Papa told him his mother used to give to her pack.
\---
Stiles was sitting in the kitchen table the next morning, it was early, it was so early, Derek wanted to meet with the pack before the preparation of the full moon night, but, Did he have to meet them at 8 a.m. on a Summer day? Stiles just sat there, in front of him two pieces of toast and a steaming cup of coffee, he scrubbed his face with the palm of his hands and sighed, he had to go, he didn’t want to give Derek anymore material to say that he didn’t put the pack first, sure they had talked, but Stiles knew that Derek was very volatile and that he always took notice on the little things, like when Stiles said something stupid about werewolves in general and Derek would roll his eyes exasperated, with a tiny smile on his face that Stiles loved and was only for him... _‘Wait, what? Nah it’s this ungodly hour, Stiles, stop thinking stupid things’_ he said to himself, when he heard someone coming down the stairs.
“Good morning, coz” Said Daniel, when he entered the kitchen, he patted Stiles on the back with a little force, making him spill a little of the coffee he was drinking “What are you up today?” he asked with a huge smile on his face.
“Well aren’t you on an a good mood Dan, and after the last two days...” he teased, poking Daniel on the ribs.
Daniel batted his hands away laughing “Yeah, about that, sorry man, I was just” he Daniel continued, helping himself to a fresh cup of coffee “missing my family you know? Was a couple of rough days, but I talked to Uncle S and we have a breakfast slash morning plan today, so... yeah I apologize really” he said, with an ashamed look on his eyes.
“No man I get it, it’s hard to be away from the people you love” Stiles said, sympathetically “But yeah, I don’t know what you and Dad talked about, but you know you have me too right?” He asked standing up and getting closer to his cousin, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing a little “If you ever want to talk or have a bro day, or a coz day in this case, you just say the word and I’m your man ok?” he said smiling widely. |
0b582968075f43b7a2b39454b98b71fb | ['eb44013ccc894b489b2c8dd0934570ee'] | He is sent off with a hand to the back of his skull, deposited in that same, snap-sick fashion that Graves always uses as transportation. Magic, Apparition, he said, and Credence hopes to one day also hold Graves close and take him along somewhere special. Graves crowds into him again, gentle down to his last touch.
“Soon,” he says, “that can be something that happens every day, should you desire it. You know what you must do.”
The child. Right. He must, in order to feel this every day. In order to be wanted. He understands. Credence nods, and Graves smiles.
“Good boy.”
And he leaves, like a phantom, like a dream except for how Credence can still feel the aftershocks coursing through his blood. He breathes in, and goes inside.
Later that night, Credence comes into the church with his head bowed already, avoiding his Ma’s ire as much as possible. Dinner has passed, the children settling in for the night, and even Ma’s steps have silenced finally. Credence kneels behind one of the pews, the floor cold and hard on his knees, and as he folds his hands together in front of him, he pretends that this will be enough to stop the wanting.
“Oh Father, who art in Heaven,” he begins.
(It won’t.
It never is.
Credence will do this until the dawn breaks or his voice does, whichever comes first. And the whole while, he anticipates the next time he gets to see Graves. Gets to have his hand on his neck, and gets to know that he is doing things right for once. That someone, somewhere, is proud of him and _wants_ him. The desire is a smoldering dark flame within him, banked for now, until Graves arrives to fan it into an inferno again.
And Credence will gladly burn.) | a0e85f7f158b41b3bb66f76ef4b71f9e | ['eb44013ccc894b489b2c8dd0934570ee'] | The bait taken, Percival smiles, pitches his voice concerned and soft as he meets Credence’s eyes. “Can’t you sense it, Credence? You have magic within your veins.”
The announcement seems to both intrigue and terrify him, his breath coming faster and faster, and Percival tilts his head to keep their eyes connected. Like calming a frightened horse, Percival reaches out, and without hesitation, Credence cowers, expecting the blow. Not a large movement, really. Just hunching his shoulders, turning away, bending as far from the touch as he can without drawing too much attention. The manner of someone who has experienced far more of the stick than the carrot, assuming there was ever even a carrot there at all. The sight alone makes Percival’s pulse jump, and it is with no small amount of satisfaction that he gentles his hand and slowly lowers it to brush Credence’s neck.
And just like the final wand movement that shivers magic into order, the touch of their skin finishes everything Percival began.
Credence sags into the contact, greedily, gratefully, once he figures out that it is kind. Once it does not turn into anything other than that one, single hand, firm, on his neck. Percival struggles to keep his breathing even as heat floods him, a dangerous headrush of his plans progressing as he wills them to, even as Credence’s eyes flutter open, and he stares at Percival with eyes blown dark and wide.
The way he looks up at Percival….
It’s enough to make a man want to take over the world. More than he already did, anyway, and he has to struggle to keep the smile on his lips kind instead of cruel.
“There’s a good boy,” he murmurs, and he can feel, under his hand, the quickening of Credence’s pulse. “Now listen to me, Credence. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. I know you have magic within you. I want to teach you, but there are rules for entering the magical sphere with other wizards, and it’s just not safe, unless you do something for me first. I need your help.”
“M-my …?” he stammers wonderingly.
Oh, dear boy. Percival nods, keeping up the eye contact. “Yes. You’re the only one who can help me, Credence.”
“I don’t-” Credence begins. He tries to takes a single step back, but Percival’s hand on his neck brings him up short, and his gasp is raspy and audible and delicious as Percival moves forward, firm against him. As he lowers his voice, intimate.
“You will help me, won’t you, Credence? I can’t trust anyone but you.”
That does it.
Whatever other doubts Credence might have had visibly leave his mind. He nods, at first slowly, but gaining speed.
“I will, Mister Graves. I will.”
His lips curve into a smile that is no longer kind, but Credence, swaying beneath his palm, does not see it for what it is, and Percival leans in, brushes a kiss against the sensitive, trembling skin of his neck. Credence jolts, stares at him wide-eyed and flushing a remarkably pretty red, but does not pull away when Percival urges his head back, resting its weight, trustingly in his hand. He does not pull away when Percival bites on the exposed tendon there, devouring and hungry. He only whimpers and his shaking hands fist in Percival’s coat.
Percival could just eat him alive.
Moment of indulgence over, Percival draws back, leaving only the pink indent of teeth behind. Credence lists after him, trails him like smoke from a fire, but Percival doesn’t go far before he crowds his boy again, hand still on the delicate, vulnerable curve of Credence’s skull and neck.
“We’ll meet later to talk more about it, but you’ve made me so proud right now. If you can do this one thing for me,” he says, lips brushing the sensitive shell of Credence’s ear, “you will enter the world of wizards a hero.”
Finally, he lets go. Credence, the sweet thing, still follows after his touch, seeking it long after it’s gone
And as he leaves, he allows himself one glance back, catching the caught, _ wondering _ expression on Credence’s face, and something warm flashes through him. Nothing so soft and useless as love, but better. Possession, perhaps. A kind of ownership. The steadying influence of his hand on something so desperate for it that it will bare its stomach in wanting of the knife.
And Percival Graves, deep all the way to Gellert, smiles before Disapparating.
After all, he always gets what he wants.
_ Always _ . |
b3b17635a7c5420395e5eb34b264ff1e | ['eb99c6acb0044312b2108e22a871b075'] | **Shuri:** And do you two want to take the flirting to a private group chat?
**Harley:** Are we still planning on causing chaos?
**Peter:** What kind of stupid question is that?
**Peter:** Of course we are
**Shuri:** I’ve missed everyone so much, I can’t wait to see everyone again
**Cassie:** I’m so bored waiting to see you guys again uwu
**Peter:** Bitch, you got here half an hour ago
**Cooper:** You’re there already?
**Harley:** As per usual, the Bartons are the last people to arrive…
**Cassie:** ^^ uwu…
**Lila:** We were some of the first there last time…
**Cooper:** I guess we’re ending texts like this now…
**Shuri:** Seems so…
**Lila:** In our defence, we have to keep stopping because _someone_ keeps making us stop to go to the bathroom…
**Wanda:** Bitch, I am pregnant and I’ve gotta pee
**Shuri:** The jury finds you innocent on all charges
**Wanda:** 😁
**Cooper:** 😒
**Shuri: @Cooper Barton** she has got not one, but two babies pressing against her bladder, so sue her
**Wanda: @Shuri Udaku** don’t give him ideas!!
**Lila:** Aaaand we’re stopping again
**Wanda:** I gotta pee!
**Shuri:** She’s gotta pee!!
***
**the kiddos**
**Lila:** We’re finally here
**Cassie:** On my way uwu
**Peter:** I have never seen Cassie run out of a room so fast lmao
**Harley:** Lesbians be like that sometimes
**Cassie:** Fun fact: not a lesbian uwu
**Shuri:** Bi?
**Cassie:** Sorta, asexual-biromantic uwu
**Cooper:** Whatever her sexuality is, she managed to get down to the car park in record time
**Harley:** WLW be like that sometimes
**Wanda:** Shenanigans planning meeting in conference room 3C at twenty past three, see you there
***
“So, we’re calling this ‘shenanigans’ now?” Shuri asked.
“We should’ve been calling this ‘shenanigans’ all along,” Wanda replied. “Now, what have we got planned?”
Harley and Peter each dumped a large box on the conference room table. “While we’re planning this, me and Harley are going to set up your surveillance system,” Peter explained as he and Harley began to pull computers out of the boxes.
Wanda moved out of the way of the two boys as they started setting up the computers on the conference table. “What ideas have people got?”
“We need to hack more kitchen appliances to play kpop song,” Shuri suggested. Wanda wrote the idea down on the whiteboard. Shuri jumped and scribbled down a few songs before returning to her seat. “Thanks for that Shuri. Has anyone else got any ideas?”
“Move all the furniture in the living room one inch to the left and all the furniture in the dining room one inch to the right,” Lila said.
“Diabolical, that’ll fuck with them,” Wanda replied as she wrote the idea down. “Anyone else?”
“Move around the stuff around in the kitchen cupboards so they don’t know where anything is,” Cooper suggested. Wanda nodded and wrote the idea on the board.
“Guys, these ideas are fun, but they’re all kinda tame,” Cassie said. “We need to come up with something so chaotic that we risk never being allowed near each other ever again. Even the Bartons, that’s how crazy we’re aiming to be.”
“And what is your chaotic idea?” Cooper asked.
“I haven’t got that far yet,” Cassie answered. “But I am working on it.”
“I have an idea,” Shuri said. Everyone turned to her as a mischievous grin spread across her face. “I have a running thing with my brother; The Floor Is Lava: Extreme Edition.”
“What’s The Floor Is Lava: Extreme Edition? Although, I’m kind of scared of the answer,” Cooper asked.
“I made a substance that looks and acts like lava, but without the heat, obviously we don’t want to melt the floor. However, one of the chemical components in the fake lava tricks the thermoreceptors in the skin into thinking it’s making contact with a heat source. T’Challa didn’t believe me that it would feel hot the first time that I deployed it, but he learnt quickly. I made socks that stop the fake lava so we can still walk around without touching it.”
“So, Shuri’s idea is tricking the adults into thinking that the floor is on fire and that it’s coming for them as well?” Wanda asked. Shuri nodded. “I like your style.” She wrote the idea on the board.
“The only downside is that it only lasts for between five and a half and seven minutes,” Shuri explained.
“That’s long enough to distract them,” Shuri added. Everyone turned to look at her. “The lava is so ridiculous and chaotic; they’ll think that it’s the main prank. But little do they know what we’re really up to.”
“And what are we really up to?” Harley asked.
“There’s still the old Iron Man suits here, right? The ones that can be controlled remotely?” Cassie replied.
“They’re downstairs in one of the labs,” Peter answered.
“We’re going to use them to help us fill all the hallways to the ceilings with plastic balls, like the ones you get in a ball pit,” Cassie explained. “We can get them online and have them shipped here by tomorrow, just not from Amazon though because fuck Jeff Bezos.”
“Fuck Jeff Bezos,” Shuri agreed. The two clinked their water bottles together as if they were champagne glasses at a fancy party.
Lila stared at her girlfriend in awe. “Cassie, that’s genius. I fucking love you.”
Cassie froze for a few moments. “I fucking love you too.” Everyone else stared at the couple, unsure about what happened before Cassie turned back to the board. “So, the plans are: make all the kitchen appliances play kpop: move all the furniture and stuff in the kitchen around; play The Floor Is Lava: Extreme Edition with everyone else and make the hallways inaccessible using plastic balls. They’re going to hate us.”
***
**(most of) the kiddos**
**Shuri:** What happened at the war council earlier?
**Cooper:** War council??
**Shuri:** Yes, that’s what we’re calling it | 5d90ae5bf56d4249bf0d50400f0413e5 | ['eb99c6acb0044312b2108e22a871b075'] |
1. Arrival
Hammer Bay, Genosha September 15th 14:00 UTC +4
Wanda and Lorna landed just outside of the city, not wanting to get spotted flying overhead. They started making their way through the city, Lorna looking around in wonder as they went.
“I can’t believe it, we’re in Genosha,” she said as she gazed up at the buildings. “I heard so much about this place from Dad”
Wanda didn’t respond, just tugged the coat she’d brought with her from the quinjet tighter around her body. She looked over at her sister to see that Lorna’s coat was hanging open loosely, her bright green suit on full display. “Hey, keep your coat closed,” Wanda scolded. “We don’t want anyone to know who we are”
“Even if it helps us find Dad?” Lorna asked.
Wanda sighed. “Look, I want to find him as much as you do but drawing attention to ourselves isn’t the way to do it. You saw how they treated me at the Mutant Underground. They don’t like the Avengers, including me”
“You don’t want to find him as much as me,” Lorna snapped. “You’ve never even met him! He’s my Dad, he raised me, and I haven’t seen him in over a year.” Lorna pulled her coat closed and stalked ahead a few steps, leaving Wanda to catch up with her.
“Hey, Lorna, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologised. “You’re right, I don’t know what this is like for you. I have a family waiting for me back in New York, but that doesn’t mean that you and Anya and our father aren’t my family too. I know I’ve never met him and can’t possibly feel the same as you do right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care”
Lorna studied her sister for a second. “Sorry for snapping,” she muttered. “I’m just freaking out a little now and I shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you.” A loud rumbling noise interrupted the two of them. “Okay, freaking out and hungry”
“Come on, let’s go find somewhere to eat,” Wanda said.
***
A few hours earlier
Avengers’ Compound, New York September 14th 22:09 EST
“Hey, Clint, have you seen Wanda or Lorna recently?” Anya asked as she approached the man.
“Can’t say I have, I thought they were with Peter and Shuri,” he replied.
Anya sat down in the seat next to him, a look of concern crossing her face. “I just saw Peter with Ned and MJ and they haven’t seen them in hours either. I can’t catch Shuri though, every time I get near her, she seems to suddenly disappear in the other direction”
“They’ve probably just gone back to the private areas,” Laura interjected from where she was sat next to her husband. “I’ll call Nat and ask her to have a look.” Laura got out her phone and dialled her friend. “Hey, Nat. Yeah, we’re fine, can you just have a look in Lorna and Wanda’s rooms and see if they’re there.” The was a pause for a few moments. “They’re not, okay. Well thanks anyway, bye”
Laura hung up the phone and shared a worried look with her husband.
“The party’s almost over now, we should find them when everyone else gets back up there,” Clint reassured.
Anya nodded, not feeling fully convinced. Ten minutes later, the Avengers and co were beginning to trickle back into the private living areas of the Compound. Anya sat perched on the arm of a sofa, watching everyone that came through the doors in order to try and find her sisters, but she had no such luck. The last person to come back through the doors was a slightly guilty looking Shuri.
“Hey, look, someone in crisis,” MJ laughed. The teenager was stood holding her heels in one hand and using her other arm to balance herself using Peter’s shoulder as a support, clearly slightly tipsy.
“Is everything okay?” Pepper asked when she saw Anya. At that point, everyone else had noticed what was going on and had gathered around, including Bruce and Natasha.
“I can’t find Wanda and Lorna anywhere,” Anya explained. “I saw them at the beginning of the party and now I have no idea where they went”
“We checked and they’re not here,” Bruce said. “This place was empty when we brought Sana and Nate back up at eight and we didn’t see anyone else until you sent Cassie, Lila and Cooper back up at nine”
“Is this about Wanda and Lorna?” a small voice asked from behind the group. Everyone turned around to see Lila stood hovering in the doorway leading off to the bedrooms.
“Lila, what do you know?” Clint asked gently.
The small girl shifted from foot to foot slightly, before racing over to the other side of the room towards her mother. Laura bent down and patted her girl’s hair with her hands as she felt a few small tears escape her daughter’s eyes.
Laura knelt on the floor, so she was eye level with Lila. “What did she not want you to tell us?”
Lila looked around the room at everyone watching her before turning back to her mom. “She told me not to tell you that she and Lorna were leaving again. She said Shuri knew what was happening”
T’Challa turned to face his sister. “Is this why you were so insistent on coming with me to the party? So you could send Wanda and Lorna off on another wild goose chase?”
“Shuri, where are my sisters?” Anya demanded.
“Genosha,” Shuri finally answered.
“I’m being serious,” Anya said. “Genosha doesn’t exist. Dad went on about trying to find the place, but it doesn’t exist. Where are Wanda and Anya?”
“As I said, they’re on their way to Genosha,” Shuri replied. “Some Wakandan satellites picked up on a shielded island near the Seychelles. It doesn’t exist on any maps other than ones in secret US government files about mutants. And they quite clearly label the place as Genosha” |
d1f09e424497491b899e21a32db2381c | ['eba40c0a37e1441cb854ef8f2eef6d6f'] | "Hey Shepard," Tali said cheerfully.
"Tali, I didn't expect you here. Sorry about... that." There went all her hopes for some downtime activity with Garrus in the main battery. She turned to him. "I was thinking about getting some mods as long as we're stuck here, maybe even a new rifle. You wanna come with me?"
Usually, Shepard wasn't really one for taking people with her while running errands. She liked to take her time in order to avoid impulsive buys, comparing the objects in question as well as their prices. Listening to someone chattering meanwhile was one of her least favorite things, somewhere in the league with fighting off husks with no thermal clips to spare. It was different with Garrus, however. He seemed to appreciate the silence as much as she did, only offering information or giving her his opinion when she asked for it. But before he could say anything, Tali answered for him.
"I'm sorry, Shepard, but I'm afraid Garrus is already occupied. I really need his expert opinion!" She giggled.
"Why don't we go together?" Garrus suggested, sounding slightly troubled.
Shepard felt uncomfortable, though she really couldn't tell why. She wasn't a clingy person. In fact, her detachment had sometimes proved problematic in her previous relationships. But Garrus and her were both free spirits, and the only thing that mattered to them was
that between all the chaos and destruction, they still had each other at the end of the day. So she just waved him off and said, "No, you two go have fun. I have some reports to go over anyway. Might just go later."
But as she left the main battery to head to her cabin, she couldn't help thinking that something was off.
3. Chapter 3
"You know," Shepard panted as she snuggled up to Garrus, "I used to wonder whether your little reach and flexibility story wasn't a little exaggerated. Never have I been more glad to be proven wrong."
His mandibles flared in a grin. One of his fingers was ghosting over her collar bone, and then it travelled down, tracing the valley between her breasts ever so slowly before resting it on her stomach.
"Glad to be of service."
"You are such a showoff, Vakarian."
He laughed, a low rumble in his chest that gave her a warm feeling. "Only when it comes to things I'm good at."
His finger started moving again, this time drawing patterns on her stomach. Then he leaned forward, and nuzzled her neck. Shepard felt a rush of heat travel through her, and she was tempted to just give in-- but no. "Third time might be the charm, but we should really get some sleep before cleaning up that Cerberus outpost tomorrow." Garrus looked at her in mock disappointment, and she tilted her head to kiss his mandible.
Silence fell over them as they lay there, the cabin only lit by the dim light of the aquarium. Shepard pressed herself closer against Garrus, something that had been a challenge at first, given all the different angles of his body, but by now felt nothing but natural and comforting. His talons curled around her waist, big and warm and a lot more velvety than she'd ever have thought.
She was about to drift off when Garrus' voice broke the silence
"Are you going to bring Tali with you?"
She furrowed her brows. "Why are you asking?"
"I noticed you didn't bring her on any ground missions since that... incident. It was irresponsible, but she's been through a lot," Garrus said. "I don't think she can deal with it the way we do."
Truth be told, she couldn't exactly say why. In the position they were in, each mistake cost them dearly. There was no room for slip ups. But Tali was her friend, had been ever since she decided to take her with her on the SR-1, and they all made mistakes. She wasn't holding grudges, not for something that didn't happen on purpose. Maybe it just bothered her that Tali apparently preferred hanging out with Garrus to explaining what the hell was going on with her. She wasn't sure though, and talking about something before she figured it out wasn't like her.
"I'm not punishing her." It was the truth. She didn't.
She could feel him nod and placed one of her hands on his talons that were still wrapped around her waist, squeezing it slightly.
"G'night, Garrus."
***
Shepard hated Noveria, that much was clear to her ever since she first set foot on that miserable excuse for a planet. Snow might be beautiful to look at, but she absolutely hated the cold, and waiting for Cortez to pick them up while fighting the Atlas sure as hell didn't help. After the damn thing finally exploded and they were clear, she walked over to Garrus and Tali. Shepard had decided to ignore the feeling that had settled in her gut. She needed all of her crew at one hundred percent, and that was only possible if they trusted each other. Avoiding to bring Tali with her until last minute seemed irrational now in broad daylight.
"And here I was just thinking that you never take me anywhere nice," Garrus said. "Seems like the perfect place to settle down."
"I think I'll pass."
Tali looked at them both in mock disgust. "Already making plans for the Shepard-Vakarian love nest? Keelah."
Garrus laughed, but gave Shepard a warm look. They both knew that with the war going on, there was a good chance that one or both of them didn't survive. It was a fact, nothing you could sugarcoat, even if you pushed it to the back of your mind best as you could. But sometimes it was nice to let yourself daydream about it, even if it happened while freezing your ass off after eliminating countless Cerberus soldiers. She grinned at Garrus in return.
Tali cleared her throat.
4. Chapter 4 | ce2ea2c7dff94345bc8ea15b508c4614 | ['eba40c0a37e1441cb854ef8f2eef6d6f'] |
The Multitude of the Stars
**Author's Note:**
> Technically this is a sequel to Home Is where the Heart Is, but can definitely be read as a standalone.
Shepard groaned. "Garrus, you know I fought a Reaper on foot, right?"
"Yeah, I was there," he said, mandibles flared in amusement.
She eyed the tray of food he had come in with just moments ago suspiciously. "So is it that you think I can't make my own breakfast after popping out your son, or is it something else?"
"Wouldn't exactly call it 'popping out'", Garrus muttered under his breath.
"Stay focused, big guy."
"I finally told Sol. Turns out she, uh, told dad." He scratched his brow plate with one finger. "They want to visit."
"So? This is what we wanted, remember? You were worried about having to convince your father."
"It's not that," Garrus said, and now she definitely heard the nervousness in his subvocals. "They are arriving today."
Shepard narrowed her eyes. "You're kidding."
"That hurts my feelings," he retorted dryly. "Do I look like I am?"
She made a frustrated noise, one he recognized from all the times she tried to lure him away from calibrating that damn gun. "We aren't prepared."
Garrus laughed, a little too uneasy for her liking. "You sound like we're going into a battle. It's just my family."
* * *
Maybe if she hadn't gotten so good at reading Garrus' body language, he could have fooled her with his calm demeanor. But as it was, she knew he must have been just as nervous as she was. Their plan, after all, had always been to welcome Garrus' father and sister with a fine dinner where they could get to know Shepard better before meeting their son.
What the hell was she supposed to say now? _Hi, so I know you had to learn it from your daughter because your son couldn't figure out how to tell you, and this might sound crazy considering I'm human and all, but through some kind of space magic and with the help of a former human terrorist group officer I had your son's turian baby_? Shepard shook her head.
Garrus had offered his sister to pick them up, but Solana had told him to stop being ridiculous. Their son was happily napping, and Shepard was relieved; it meant that he'd be less likely to be fussy later. There weren't as many differences between turian and human babies as one would think.
She was about to ask Garrus if he was sure he got the date right when the doorbell rang. They looked at each other for a few moments, almost comically, before he walked over to the intercom and let them up.
_You can do this. Easy as pie. You charmed dozens of people before, so you can damn well charm your father-in-law._
Shepard was still lost in her thoughts when she heard Garrus welcoming his family, and quickly followed his example. Both he and his sister took after their father, she found, Garrus maybe even more so than Solana.
"Commander Shepard," Garrus' father said as they shook hands. "Ataxos Vakarian."
"Pleasure to meet you, sir."
"The pleasure is all mine," he replied smoothly before turning towards Solana. "This is my daughter Solana."
After their introduction, Garrus led them to the sofas. He waited until they were all sitting before he asked what they wanted to drink, ignoring Shepard's pleading look that told him to not leave her alone with his family.
"I am glad to hear that the relationship between humans and turians has improved so vastly," Ataxos said. She could swear that she heard the undercurrent of amusement; next to him, Solana's mandibles flared into a grin. Shepard inclined her head and almost sighed in relief when Garrus returned with their drinks. He sat down next to her, closer than she would have expected, and touched his thigh to hers.
"How is the situation on Palaven, sir?"
"Steadily improving. We are still picking up the pieces, but that was to be expected. Primarch Victus speaks highly of you."
"As I do of him." Nothing like post-war talk with your father in law. "But I dare say you did not come here to talk about politics." At that she heard Solana chuckle. Garrus shot his sister an amused glance.
"Indeed. I was confused to hear my daughter tell me that Garrus is now a father... and that you are the mother," Ataxos said.
"This is why I never tell Sol anything," Garrus muttered under his breath.
Solana huffed. "You should be so lucky."
"I understand your confusion." Shepard sighed. "Since I have been resurrected, my body has not been the same. Adjustments have been made to benefit our intentions. I'm afraid the matter is far too complicated to go into detail, and frankly, I am no expert." _Should've just patched Miranda through._
There was a moment of silence, and then Garrus' father said, "Very well."
"Sol is bursting with curiosity. You should go get him." Garrus grinned, and she could tell that despite being nervous, he looked forward to his family meeting their son.
"On it, Vakarian." From the corner of her eyes she saw Ataxos looking at her and desperately tried not to blush while coughing, "Garrus."
When she entered the room, their son was still lying in his cot, sleeping peacefully. "Sorry to wake you, but there are people who would like to meet you," she whispered affectionately. She scooped him up and few moments later he stirred and nestled against her chest. The warmth that spread through her while she marveled at her son had nothing to do with his temperature. |
35a95b991b734693934b4f0ce402dc48 | ['ebafaaf9ba9d44e69c66e76a05317be2'] |
1. Chapter 1
**Stain**
"Hey, Alex! New car for you up front!" yells Mike, the shift supervisor.
Alex stands up and wipes his hands on his jumpsuit, ignoring the stains that his greasy hands must be causing. "Be there in a minute," he calls back.
As he emerges into the sunlight, he hears a voice that, while _seeming_ familiar, he can't place. Falling back into old habits, ones that he hasn't needed in _years_ – not since he managed to escape the clutches of MI6– he slips around the corner, unseen. He sees a short, dark man talking to Mike, but he doesn't bother trying to hear the conversation. His mind is too preoccupied trying to figure out what the _hell_ Wolf is doing here.
2. Chapter 2
**Keys**
**
**
_Keys_ , Alex thought contemptuously, _are for people with no creativity._ A soft click sounded and the doorknob turned smoothly. Alex allowed himself to smirk at the lax security as he pocketed his lock picks. He opened the door slowly– the hinges were new so they _shouldn't_ creek, but still ... he _was_ MI6's top spy. He moved silently across the wood floor, his earlier reconnaissance mission proving worthwhile. He reached his mark's room, sliding the dresser drawer open and sprinkling his burden in it.
That itching powder would definitely make Tom think twice about putting frogs in his bed again.
3. Chapter 3
**Razor**
_Occam's Razor_ _:_ _the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one._
According to Occam, the blond, Russian man sitting in front of me should be dead. Should've been dead years ago when he got shot. Should've been dead when I watched him bleed out. Should be six feet under. The man who is currently sipping his of coffee ( _black, two sugars_ ) and picking apart a croissant ( _shredding it, hasn't eaten any yet_ ) while telling me how he managed to survive ( _fake_ _assassin, MI6 operative, deep cover, blood bag, bullet proof vest_ ).
Yassen Gregorovitch clearly holds no truck with Occam's Razor.
4. Chapter 4
**Sometimes**
Sometimes Alex goes down to the café around the corner and orders a coffee- large, black, no sugar (the waitress recognizes him. He tries not to let it make him too nervous). He watches the people go by; tries to guess where they're going, what they're doing. He never stops any of them to see if he's right, he never flirts with the barista or chats with the customers. He's always careful to remain an observer, never a participant. He hasn't let himself go _that_ much.
Other times, he stays home. He just can't make himself care enough to move.
5. Chapter 5
**Watch**
The watch is a work of art. It's the culmination of years of learning. It has been packed with so many gadgets, devices, and add-ons that Smithers is a little surprised that it isn't bursting at the seams. But of course it isn't– he is the best after all. He builds things. There's Jane, who he just sent off with a new hair tie ( _diamond core_ ), Ben who just received a jacket ( _bullet-knife-fire-water proof_ ) and countless others. His favorite is Alex, who gives him the challenge of being a teen. But all of them are _his_. And, therefore, he protects them.
6. Chapter 6
**Misunderstanding**
The doorbell rings. Jack freezes. _Alex. He was supposed to be back last week. Not Alex. He would have let himself in_. She moves to the window. The police car is parked like it has all the right in the world to be there. _Alex is dead._ The doorbell rings again, and this time, Jack gathers her courage and moves to the door, already fighting back tears.
"Ma'am? There was a burglary last night at your neighbor's house. We were wondering if you saw anything suspicious."
Jack almost laughs, only barely managing to keep it in. She _does_ sag a little against the doorframe. _Just a misunderstanding._
_
_
7. Chapter 7
**Weapon**
Anything can be a weapon. Alex knows this well: jellyfish, tea cups, and teenage boys, can serve just as well as sniper guns, knives, and poison depending on the circumstances. This, however, might just take the cake. Coming down on a Sunday morning to see Wolf and Ben dueling (possibly to the death, Alex hasn't had enough time to judge) over the last cup of coffee, Wolf armed with a sofa cushion, Fox holding a pillow in front of him like a shield. Alex observes the rest of the fight, torn between amusement and disdain, sipping his newly acquired coffee.
8. Chapter 8
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Crossover with X-Men
**Organs**
"Damn it! Pass me his liver will you Cub?" Said Snake.
Alex was fully willing to admit that, while he knew about mutants, there was a huge difference between knowing, in the hypothetical, that some people had the healing factor, and the entirely _surreal_ experience of being asked to hand over an internal organ. Still, he did as he was asked, and Snake, after a brief thanks, shoved it into Wolf's (Wolverine's? Logan's? _James'?_ Alex had no idea what to call his former teammate) abdomen.
_What,_ Alex thought, _does it say about me that this isn't even one of my top ten weirdest days?_
_
_
9. Chapter 9
**Child**
Terrorists, psychopaths, and landmines, Wolf could take; this kid however, might just break him. It wasn't even that he was a bad kid. Entirely the opposite, he was what you might think of as the model child: quiet, reserved, and entirely self-sufficient. He fed himself, came with clothes, he even cleaned for god's sake. But he wasn't … normal. He wasn't just quiet; he was silent. He wasn't just reserved; he lived in self-made isolation. He was self-sufficient - in that he was used to only being able to rely on himself. He was … off. And it scared Wolf.
10. Chapter 10
**Candy** | 83b1b79cc04540c4a9eec9171c46eb07 | ['ebafaaf9ba9d44e69c66e76a05317be2'] | Another blank stare and a brief explanation of what he had done on Christmas. About halfway through, when Kaldur describes the empty apartment Dinah buries her face and her hands and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'this close to locking you two in a closet'. She sighs, and still not lifting her head, says, voice slightly muffled, "Roy was going to visit you on Christmas. As a surprise." She doesn't mention that he was also going to confess to Kaldur, nor the fact that he had only agreed to do so because she had threatened to tell Batman who painted the Batmobile pink a few years back. Kaldur was a smart kid - he could figure that out on his own. Well. Maybe not the part about the Batmobile.
"Fuck," Kaldur curses, the word heavy and foreign on his tongue before asking, "May I use the Zeta-Beam?"
Black Canary sighs. "Sure. Go for it. Lemme know if you're not going to be back this evening."
* * *
"We are both, very possibly, idiots. Black Canary informs me that you planned to visit me on Christmas day," says Kaldur in lieu of greetings or explanation when Roy opens his door.
"Yeah? I was bored. You were at Atlantis or something," replies Roy, but he speaks a little too fast and his muscles are tensed like he's preparing for flight. What _else_ had Canary told him? "Why does that make us idiots?" _Me_ maybe, but not _us_.
"Because, my friend, I had the same thought. I was not at Atlantis, I came to see you here. You were - obviously - not in residence at the time," says Kaldur.
"Because I was at the cave looking for you. Oh God, we _are_ idiots. _Classic_ ," says Roy with the beginnings of a full blown grin playing around the corners of his mouth, "You wanna come in?"
Kaldur nods and follows Roy into what serves as his living room, consisting of an old TV, a coffee table held together with duct tape, and a couch that Roy flops down upon lengthwise, still snickering. Kaldur eyes the remaining space and sits down next to Roy's feet, swinging his legs up so that the two of them are sitting mirrored, with their legs pressed together from hip to toe. They've found, after much trial and error, that this is the only way for both of them to be comfortable with Roy's meagre supply of furniture and they've spent hours on end - weeks probably, if you add it all up - like this, talking, watching crappy TV, and eating cheap take out.
It's comfortable. Reliable. And not _enough_. Not by a long shot. Enough would be reaching over and kissing Kaldur, finding out if his gills were as sensitive as they looked. Enough would be Kaldur rolling on top of him, his weight warm and heavy and so, so good - Kaldur shifts and Roy snaps back to reality. Reality, where having fantasies about your friends while lying right next to them is a bad thing. He switches his attention back to the TV where Sally is cheating on John-the-accountant with Dave-the-physical-trainer. Fascinating. If that was real life there would have been at _least_ one alien attack by now.
He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off. "Bored."
"Would you like me to entertain you then?"
Roy almost chokes on air, because dammit, does Kaldur _know_ what that _sounds_ like? What it sounds like he's _offering_? Of course not. It was an innocent question. _Innocent_. Right. Roy casts around for a topic of conversation, "How's the team?"
"They are all well as far as I am aware. Artemis and Zatanna recently announced their relationship."
Roy smiles crookedly, "Oh, good. So that means next time I visit the cave the sexual tension won't be thick enough to cut with a knife?"
Kaldur hits him gently on the leg and says, "That is an accurate description, if rather crude."
"Dinah's playing mom this week isn't she? Has she killed any of you yet?"
Another, slightly harder swat. " _No_ Roy."
"Really? Not even KF?"
They're both silent for a few moments then Kaldur says, as if he's just remembering, "Before Black Canary informed me of our . . . blunder, she asked me if congratulations were in order. In relation to us. Do you know what she meant by that?"
Roy's heart stops - he knows. Black Canary told. Rationality reasserts itself - if he knew, would he be sitting here? No. So he doesn't know. But he's smart - he'll figure it out soon enough. He'll ask Robin or Artemis and he'll know. Probably the only reason he doesn't already is that he still isn't completely comfortable with human culture. Better to come clean then. He stares fixedly at a piece of peeling plaster on the ceiling as he speaks, "I am . . . attracted to you. Dinah knows this and she . . . encouraged . . . me to tell you. She also labors under the delusion that you, ah, return my feelings. She was asking if the . . . situation was . . . resolved. I'm sorry." Roy's voice is carefully blank and clinical, but it cracks on the last few words.
A minute passes, and Kaldur hasn't reacted. Hasn't moved or spoke or anything. The suspense is killing him, so Roy risks a glance at Kaldur. He's looking at Roy, his head cocked, almost . . . curious?"
Roy opens his mouth to growl at Kaldur to do something, to react, but before he can get the words out, his lips are covered by Kaldur's.
Roy's laughing when they break apart for air. "How long?"
"More than a year."
" _Fuck_ , we're stupid."
"I'm afraid I have to agree with you there. Oh, I have to call Black Canary," Kaldur says, reaching for his comm.
"Why?" Roy takes Kaldur's unoccupied hand and plays with the webbing he finds there, enjoying the way that the Atlantean's breathing becomes heavier as he does so. He stutters when Roy brings his hand to his mouth and licks, exploring. When he bites gently, Kaldur whimpers in the most fascinating of ways.
"Sh- she said to t-tell her if I was g-g-going to stay the n-night."
"What? Stay the - oh. Oh. I can deal with that." |
275cd52494b24a98a075e7b21b6c511f | ['ebd81a5a76c44ea585281f8894a233d5'] |
two kings, honest yet lying
Lights had danced in a circle, like fairies coaxing them from the throne of heroes into the land of mortals, will-o-wisps of humanity’s echoed determination. He’d felt it, then—the call, the pull, the familiar-yet-unfamiliar static of summoning—and another, too, a parallel reply, another servant who’d responded to such an honest, earnest cry for help.
“Servant—“
“Saber—“
“—Richard the Lionheart—“
“—Charlemagne—“
And before the light had dissipated and the dust had settled, when they’d scarcely had a chance for introductions, their Master (tired, disheveled, disinterested) had waved them off without a second glance, and a bespeckled brunette had ushered them away to what looked to be their quarters.
—
There was a ghost of him, Richard was sure. Or perhaps he was the ghost. In fact, they were all—Heroic Spirits—ghosts in a sense, brought to new life carrying whatever mistakes they’d made in their previous one. But this was different. He knew of Charlemagne, of Charles the Great, of course. But the Servant that wandered the halls, almost giddy with excitement, cheerful and boyish, overly honest—this was not the Emperor of old. Rather, this was a hero, through and through, ripped from ballad and legend.
...Well, he’d always loved legends. Most would say a bit too much.
—
It goes without saying that he loses his goddamn mind when he meets Artoria for the first time. And the second time. And the third time, and the fourth, and all the others that look like her. Not to mention the Arthur that he’d long dreamt of.
He thinks it’s probably alright to call his Noble Phantasm Excalibur, when the King of Knights herself has invoked its power for a water gun.
—
Chaldea was hosting an event. The end of the world is nigh, and what does humanity do? Throw a party, of course.
Would be the least weird thing to happen around here, he supposes.
Richard is dressed in modern-day finery—which is to say, he’s wearing a vest and tie, no suit jacket, rolled up pant legs, short sleeved shirt. Casual, formal, contradictory. As is existence.
Across the room, a raven-haired young man dances. He’s not particularly good. He makes up for his lack of skill with excess enthusiasm. Truly, Charlemagne is excitability incarnate. Richard feels almost tired just looking at him.
Almost. Instead, his eccentricities flare up, he’s a blur as he makes his way across the dance floor to intercept the man (stop, he reminds himself, if you go too fast, you’ll only get faster, and that’ll make a fine mess out of both of us).
“May I have this dance, King Charlemagne?” Richard asks, that damned charisma rolling off of him in sheets.
(God, how he wished it didn’t some nights. How if maybe he were just a little less dashing, a little less handsome, someone would have had the decency to tell him no, this is a bad idea, Richard, the age of Gods and Heroism has passed and you have a duty to uphold as king—)
(But no one had stopped him, and he certainly couldn’t stop himself.)
Charlemagne considers it for just a moment before breaking into a grin. And hell if the draw of his charisma wasn’t just as strong. “Sure, but in return, you have to call me Charles!”
Richard wishes he knew what to say.
_Hey, are you struggling with how adored you were in life despite your questionable and sometimes utterly reprehensible actions?_
_Do you feel like a pale imitation of another hero that probably did a way better job than you?_
_Have you defined yourself by your swordsmanship and ability to fight, maim, and kill, to the point where you wonder if you should have even been summoned as a Heroic Spirit?_
(“I hope you didn’t mistake me for a good person,” he hears an echo of himself say, another him, another time, another place that he doesn’t quite recall. “War was the only thing I was ever good at.”)
He settles for,
“Did you notice your hair looks a lot like mine?”
Charles laughs. “Now that you mention it! The weird swirly thing, yeah? We’re hair buddies!”
Richard laughs back, and it comes naturally to him. The joviality. He savors it for a moment, but he came here to say something. To... ask something?
“You and I, we are similar,” he starts, and Charles nods, humming off-tune with the music. “Kings, at the edge of the time of legends, only we were born too late.”
Charles is still smiling, but there’s something strained about it.
Richard takes a breath. “We were meant to be heroes, and you were, but it was just a little too late for me. There were no monsters left for me to fell, no quests for me to take. Sure, I had a memorable encounter with a Dead Apostle, but... it wasn’t enough. It never felt enough. So tell me, from one king to another,
“What was it like to be one of the last true heroes?”
Charles looks... His expression is almost, well, sheepish, if Richard had to put a word to it. He attempts a dip and almost drops poor Richard.
“See, I did a lot of grand exploits, and I had a lot of ballads sung about me...”
(Richard listens with rapt fascination. This could’ve been him, in another life.)
“...To be honest? I’m not entirely sure. None of that stuff... really happened.”
Richard blinks.
“What do you mean?” he asks, because he didn’t expect that one, wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really.
“I’m not the real-life Karl. I’m his fictional version, the fantasy the masses came up with because they needed a hero to look up too. I have memories, and powers, but my existence is, um, a little bit difficult to explain.”
(A little difficult is right, Richard thinks, and tightens his grip on Charles’ waist.)
But Charles doesn’t elaborate, and it seems the song is drawing to a close.
“You’re right that we’re a lot alike, though. I grew up to be a ruler that, thinking I was right, committed a lot of wrongs, in the name of God.”
“Thank you,” Richard says, because what else is there to say, “for letting me have this dance.”
(Richard is not a man who seeks closure, or to change the past. He knows his mistakes, and he regrets them, God, does he regret them. But there’s no fixing things now, and anyway, with his piss-poor lack of control, he thinks he’d probably just do the same damn things all over again.)
“Of course,” Charles says, and that cheerful grin is back again.
He begins to pull away, to find some other dance partner (his ‘Altera-nee-san’, Richard guesses, who’s looking stunning and forlorn in a corner by herself), but Richard holds him close, pulls him closer.
“You’ve one thing wrong, Charles,” Richard whispers against him, and he swears he feels the heroking shiver. “I never thought I was right.”
**Author's Note:**
> i have work in a few hours but some demon (ill blame it on fake berserker) possessed me to write rarepair fic from two separate, equally dusty and unnoticed corners of the fate franchise. charles’ writing is wack cuz the little i know about extella link is from watching my partner play it and some wiki searches. also i dont understand history and dont intend to, ever. | 07ec94021761480c8bc5237665371bb0 | ['ebd81a5a76c44ea585281f8894a233d5'] | Ryuji's is an unconventional one. Everyone knows he can't stand the taste of coffee. It's strong and bitter and very adult-y, which are all things Ryuji hates. So Akira's task is to make the coffee 'not taste like crap', which means by Ryuji's standards not tasting like coffee at all. He fills the cup with ten creams and thirty sugars and calls it good.
Ryuji picks up the cup and takes a tentative sip. "Hey, not bad! Maybe I could get used to this coffee thing after all."
The entire group, excluding Akira who is still filling out orders, stares.
"What?" Ryuji asks, frowning. "Did I get some on my face?"
"I can't believe you," sighs Morgana.
For Makoto, Akira pulls out a mug and pours out the entire rest of the pot. The bottom is always the strongest, and Makoto's order has specified that she likes it that way, and that she'd like a lot of it.
"Thank you," Makoto says with genuine gratitude, and takes a swig unceremoniously. She continues drinking as she idly flips through some of her notes, as if she doesn't care about the temperature or the bitterness.
(Everyone gets the feeling that she's far more used to this than they were expecting.)
After this comes the not-so-easy orders. Akira knows he'll have to put a little more effort into it if he wants to impress the others. He pauses for a moment for another sip from his cup. It's a little lukewarm by now.
For Futaba, he brews it exactly how sojiro showed him. A single cup, medium-fine ground, slowly pouring.... Akira handles the coffee with precision and grace, making sure everything goes as intended. He doesn't bother putting anything else in it--Futaba is her mother's daughter and her (adopted) father's charge, and he knows she can appreciate a good cup of coffee without unnecessary additions.
Futaba holds the cup in both hands as she raises it to her face, inhaling the fumes first before taking a sip. "Not bad." She smiles broadly. "Maybe one day you'll even catch up to Sojiro!"
Yusuke's order is going to be annoying. Akira knows it from the moment his eyes skim the clipboard and see the paragraph he's written, somehow both long and graceful and nearly illegible.
He's ordered two drinks. Why, Akira can't currently fathom, but as with anything Yusuke-related, it will probably make even less sense once he's explained it.
First is a normal coffee, which Akira can definitely do. He sets up the equipment just as he had for Futaba, pours in the grounds, and lets the coffee run down into the cup with care. Yusuke will drink shitty coffee if it's cheap, but he can definitely tell a good cup from a bad, and he'll be expecting the former.
That done, Akira sets it aside for Yusuke to try ("My, what flavor!") and gets to work on the second, which is quite a bit more involved. Espresso's not his forte, if only because both he prefers a plain black drip himself, but if yusuke wants a latte, he'll give him a latte. Unfortunately, sojiro's real old school, so he doesn't have a genuine espresso machine in his tiny cafe, but he does have a few compromises. Akira pulls a small metal pot off the counter and pulls it apart, filling it with first water, then coffee grinds, to finally placing it on the stovetop. Medium heat, he remembers, and grabs the milk.
Akira's no good with fancy designs or anything; he can't make a peacock or a bunny in the froth, although he thinks it would be cute if he could make a little fox. He settles for a design he knows can consistently make, a basic ripple pattern atop the thinner layer of foam, and angles the cup to pour the milk in.
At this point, everyone's watching intently, and when he finishes with a slight flourish, some of the more excitable members clap.
"That was pretty cool!" says Ann.
"I know I said you were a real pro before, but this is next-level!" adds Ryuji.
Yusuke, for his part, looks both pleased and delighted, and he closes his eyes when he takes the first sip. "Ah. Marvelous. As expected of Akira."
Curiously, however, he's only had half of his original cup, and as the rest watch (while sipping at their own drinks, Haru and Morgana excluded), Yusuke stops halfway.
He pulls out his sketchbook and starts to dip a small brush in the latte.
"H-hey, what are you doing, Inari!" Futaba demands, voicing everyone's confusion.
"Hm? Oh, I thought these would make for good watercolors. The sepia tones, the captivating aroma... I hope to capture a piece of the atmosphere of Leblanc within this sketch so I might use it as material for my showpiece."
(The others protest, lamenting the waste of perfectly good coffee, until Akira reminds them that he can always make more. Besides, it's Yusuke, and once he's got his mind set on a concept, there's no stopping him.)
("True," admits Futaba. "I wonder what he ended up doing with those lobsters anyway.")
Last but not least is Haru's order. Akira has an idea in mind.
Setting the moka pot aside, he pulls out another metal contraption, this one taller and more cylindrical in design. Technically speaking, it's not an espresso maker, but it works almost as well as any if one knows how to brew it right. Plus, Akira has a feeling Haru will appreciate the elegance of a sleek stainless steel french press.
He has to grind the beans himself, as most are a little too fine for his purposes. (The rest of their group starts as he fires up the grinder. Makoto lets out a small yelp. Ryuji almost falls out of his chair.) Once that's done, he adds a little hot water, waiting a little before slowly adds the rest, stirring carefully.
While he's waiting for it to steep, he gets the milk ready. Hot, steamed, frothed milk. And unlike Yusuke's drink, a cappuccino has proportions involved. It has to be smooth, creamy, and delicious.
Finally, Akira plunges it, steady hands bringing it down, up, then down all the way. He pours it out into a cup, then readies himself for the hardest part. Tilting the cup once again, he pours milk out, the softest controlled shakes emanating from his wrist. The white melds into itself, and as the cup reaches full, he draws back, the delicate surface tension revealing a foam heart.
"It's beautiful," Haru says with a little gasp. "I'd love to make one myself... Oh, but I guess that'd be kind of hard..."
Some foam gets on her lip as she takes a sip and she giggles. "It kind of tickles."
(Meanwhile, the crowd is going wild. Ryuji wants Akira to teach him how to make coffee to impress girls, Ann wants to go to a cat cafe to get one of those kitty lattes, Yusuke is contemplating the nature of coffee as an art form, with a set of hands pouring frothy milk on his sketchbook already, Makoto is impressed but also wondering if they'll ever get back to studying. Morgana looks smug and weirdly proud of Akira, since he'd seen the very first cup of coffee he'd ever made.)
After it's all died down, Akira puts all the used equipment in the sink while everyone else returns to their places at the booth, opening textbooks and notes and pencil pouches. It's even more lively than before, now that everyone's been caffeinated.
Before he goes back to join them, Akira picks up his almost-forgotten cup of coffee again. It's still mostly full. He shrugs and takes a sip.
It's cold. |
344afd76b244466e830e228f6b727a48 | ['ebf50b8e974e4941a6b5a5cb5672dbb5'] | Shizuo wanted to retort, but he figured he’d let Shinra have this one. He definitely deserved it. Shizuo peeled his black jeans and boxers off and hopped into the shower. The cold water send chills down his spine while he lathered the cold water into his scalp. He felt like an idiot for feeling so happy, but who the hell cared? Despite the chilling water pouring on him, Shizuo felt something warm bubbling deep in his gut; something like a flower blooming, one whose beauty only he would know. It rooted in his chest and pumped what felt like pure gold through his veins. It felt like fire in his bones, but it didn’t hurt. It burned down the walls he’d spent so long building to keep himself away from everyone, to block every one out. They collapsed and burned, and he felt brave. He could accept his strength, and love himself too. Let them be scared of me, I don’t give a crap. They don’t need me anyways. The shower water soon extinguished the flames smoldering within and brought him back to reality while he turned the shower off and hopped out of the shower. He grabbed two towels, one to wrap around his waist and another to pat down his hair. He grabbed his pants and boxers before leaving the bathroom.
He walked out into the living room to see Shinra snoring on the couch wrapped in a smoky black cocoon. Celty was back and had cleaned off all the trash from the coffee table. He looked out the window and saw the night sky peppered with the twinkling lights of Ikebukuro coming to life at night. Celty whipped out her phone to talk to Shizuo:
“It looks good!” she said, motioning to his hair. “Shinra did a good job <3,” she typed excitedly.
Shizuo scratched the back of his head anxiously. “Thanks. He really did,” was all he could say but his cheeks flushed at the compliment.
Celty typed back:
“Are you spending the night?”
Huh. Shizuo didn’t come with that in mind but eh, he didn’t have any plans. He shrugged, “Might as well.”
“You know where Shinra’s room is. I’ll hold up the fort,” replied Celty. She stuck out her fist, knuckles bared. Shizuo met her halfway in a fistbump.
“G’night,” he waved off as he trudged drowsily to Shinra’s room. As his face met the chilly pillow cover and comforter of the bed, he fell into a dreamless sleep with one last thought on his mind:
My year, my school, new me.
**Author's Note:**
> this was a pain in the ass to code. my url is helwajima.tumblr.com should you decide to praise me or disgrace me for writing this. thank you for reading | 24d950d5289d40ed8738646b35fa518c | ['ebf50b8e974e4941a6b5a5cb5672dbb5'] | Lyndis snickers and shoves Hector playfully before assuming her role again as a woman on a mission to get him well dressed. Lyndis and Hector weave in and out of different stores before settling on the men’s collection in Forever 21. Hector begins to groan in protest before Lyndis cuts him off:
“Keep your promise and I’ll buy you one of everything off the whole menu for all I care.” Hector zips his lips and darts straight through the sliding doors. He does his best to keep his words to a minimum and to look for anything that catches his eye. He decides to keep his outfit simple and picks out the white button up and navy blue blazer. The thumbs up from Lyndis boosted his attitude as he dashed to the cashier’s desk, eager for his free meal and to get home. They hadn’t realized it but the mall was close to closing, and Hector had a whole day of preparations ahead of him to make sure his inauguration was as seamless and badass as possible. Hector hops into Lyndis’s white Volkswagen Beetle and they speed out of the mall parking lot to the closest Cane’s they could reach before heading home.
After having the whole day to set up the speakers, music, and proof-read his speech only twenty times, it was all Hector could do to keep his nerves from frying his brain as his time to shine came closer and closer. Hector carded a hand through cropped blue hair in an attempt to tuck his stray-aways behind his ear to no avail.
His musing is interrupted by frantic rapping on his door.
2. Beta
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> It's Hector's big day.
“Yo, Hector! It’s time dude,” called a boyish voice from the other side of the door. “Are you freakin’ pumped or what?!”
Hector feels his attention snap back to him. He shuffles to open the door to his best friend Matthew, clasping his hand with his own and bringing him in for a hug. “Damn man, I knew this day was coming but I didn’t think it’d be so soon, y’know?” Matthew gave Hector a youthful grin as he squeezed him as tight as he could.
Matthew Dieb. A layman would be unable to guess that he was a college junior and had a hot girlfriend to boot just by looking at him. Matt had the energy to power a small village without electricity for weeks with his smile alone. Hector could recall meeting him freshman year of high school in his grade level English friends while the rest of his friends took it Advanced Placement. The frustration of proofreading essays and memorizing poems, which was _never_ Hector’s strong suit, was eased with Matthew’s chipper attitude every day in class. They had been friends ever since then. Matthew was the kind of guy who could get mugged and carry on with his day without letting it hold him down. Hector admired that positivity. Of course, he’d never admit it without blushing furiously and desperately attempting to change the subject.
Hector felt his heart pound in his chest. He felt himself on the verge of rambling, his biggest nervous tic, “Shit, I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m nervous. But it feels like I’ve waited so long for this, Matt, and it really means a lot that you and my brother have be--”
“Stop! Say no more!” Matt interjected theatrically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead as though he felt faint, cracking a chortle out of Hector. “You can schmooze me all you want after you greet your screaming fans, alright?” Matt had known Hector long enough to be painfully acquainted with his habit of talking too much when he gets nervous. He had watched him flub too many readings of Robert Frost’s _The Road Not Taken_ in front of his whole class to let him give into his emotions.
Hector exhaled a sigh of relief. “Damn. Thanks, man.” Matt smacked him on the back with a quick “Don’t mention it,” and began to coax him onto balcony that gazed over the main living quarters. Hector stood slightly off to the side out of sight as he waited for Matt to do his thing to kick the year off right.
University of Etruria was Hector’s kingdom, and the Phi Iota Tau house was his royal castle. Hector could hear all his frat brothers, new and old, pledged and to be pledged alike waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. His college career of mopping up vomit and treating hangovers for upperclassmen had finally worked its way up to this moment: the moment he becomes president. His heart thudded against the walls of his chest. His thoughts hammered against his nerves. _Shit. It’s now or never._ He forced himself to puff his chest and strut out confidently to the balcony. The lights were low save for a flashlight spotlight being manned by Kent and Sain, some nice dudes Hector knew from his marketing classes. They waved at Hector and flashed him a thumbs up, and Sain mouthed, “Congrats!”
The living room and kitchen were flooded with friends and booze as the time drew near. At 9 o’clock sharp, the lights dimmed down, and top 50 rap music began to hum softly from the speakers, raising in volume until the whole building trembled with bass. The crowd leapt and shouted, beer sloshing all over. The bass to Migos’s “Slippery” began to dim down in volume as Matthew began to address the crowd. |
a000b6addad6468e88b2f291ba861ba8 | ['ebfb6c34da52434b94e3cda0066117b8'] | When Rick returned on Friday afternoon, even drunk out of his mind he could tell something was off. “Mor-burp-Morty do you wanna go to Blips and Chitz-I GOT TICK-burp-ECTS LEFT!” “Nah R-r-rick I’ll pass….” “Here—hold-burp-hold on Morty. I knew you had been down, so in some down time I made you something.” He dug down into the backseat of the ship and pulled out a realistic doll that looked like Jessica. “Its mostly si-burp-silicone—its so realistic kiddo she can take your virginity!?!” Morty held “Jessica” and looked at it, stunned, at how life like it was. “After about fifteen climaxes you-you gotta dump out her cunt, or she’ll start growing some weird stiff embryo mold.” Morty didn’t want to know how Rick found that magical number, but he immediately ran and carried her upstairs before Beth came home from work. Later that night Rick sat in his room, satisfied for the first time in awhile that Morty had something to occupy him. On the way down to the garage he heard muffled moans. “Somebody’s busy” he chuckled to himself.
He fell asleep making a prototype of the serum gun. Out of the blackness rose a disfigured Morty; most of his arms burned down to the bone, yet pieces of flesh and muscle still dangling in some places. “R-r-rick help me..”Morty’s voice echoed into the blackness, “It hurts Rick…kill me. Please Rick. Make it stop.” In his left hand appeared a gun, “No No No not this way “ he thought, “NOOOO.” He fired the gun and woke up in the same moment. “Fuck-fuckin’ weird dream” he said to himself as he got up for a glass of water and then to head up to bed.
He switched on the kitchen light to find Morty chugging orange juice in a sleep shirt and boxers. “H-hey M-burp-morty-late night?” “Y-yea Rick….thanks for the-uh Jessica, she-she’s great!” “No problem—you know you’re a good kid Mor-burp-morty.” Rick found himself hugging Morty tightly, he didn’t want to mention the nightmare, and he hoped he never had to.
After a week or so Morty came back around to the idea of Blips and Chitz. He and Rick won so many tickets they were able to get a new virtual reality helmet for Rick’s underground lair. When they reached home Rick excitedly went down the ladder to set it up. “H-hey Rick I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed..” “Do you want me to come lay down with you?” “N-no I’ll be okay I think.” Rick could feel how distant Morty had become; he had a tugging in his chest over the whole thing. He himself had dealt with traumatic events, but over time they faded.
Without a second thought he took a sedative and downed it with a swig of whiskey.When Morty was out of the shower and back in his room, he fumbled into the bathroom, knocking over the trashcan. What Rick saw both scared and enlightened him, even in his medicated state. There lying on the floor was a washcloth, smeared and soaked in fresh blood. He rung it out in the sink, tucked it into his lab coat, proceeded to piss and walk back to his room to pass out. He shot Beth and Jerry a text half conscious “Need to have familyy meeting-about Morty.” He would have to debate on what exactly to do in the morning.
Morty awoke the next morning with a headache, but decided he needed to go to school anyway, he couldn’t miss anymore. “Bye Mom-bye Rick!” he yelled as he ran out the door to the bus. Rick sighed sitting down at the kitchen table with Beth and Jerry. “So what’s the problem dad?” Beth looked to him with sad, worried eyes. Rick knew that by the end of this conversation they would both be drunk by noon. “Beth—Morty has been self injuring-I-I-I honestly don’t think he’s suicidal or anything. I think he has some kind of—“ he waved his wrist in a circle until he could find his words, “post traumatic stress. He’s been through some scary, traumatic stuff with me.” He quietly took the washcloth out of his lab coat pocket and put it on the table. Beth picked it up and held it against her chest “My-my poor baby…” she began to cry as Jerry had decided he had held his tongue for too long. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT RICK.” “Which is why-why I’m coming to you both as his parents asshole! I’m owning it I’m admitting its my fault.” He slumped back, “I-I think Morty needs psychiatric care.”
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> If you at all feel triggered by this content please contact the crisis textline at 741-741(US only)
3. You've Been Left All Black & Blue
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> The Smiths make the decision to get Morty help, but is it too late?
“What do you mean Dad?” “I mean I think Morty needs meds and-and therapy, I’ve done all I can on my own…Beth…Beth I don’t want him to end up like me. I-I don’t wa-burp-want Morty drinking his life away..” “Dad…” Beth questioned sternly, “What do you mean you’ve done all you can on your own?” Rick looked down avoiding her gaze, “I’ve been giving him my sedative…it’s been..pretty bad. You should hear him..” He trailed off momentarily, as both Beth and Jerry’s faces twist in worry. “Screams in his sleep, wakes up shaking. When I-I ask him about it, he just curls into a ball, avoiding it altogether.” In that moment Jerry sighed, “So what do we do Rick?” “The same people who ran Nupita 4 also run an incredible mental health inpatient clinic out near there, a-a few buddies of mine say its alright. If you’re both okay with that? We can take him there this weekend as a family.” “What about Summer, Rick-how are we gonna explain this that’s happening to our son to her? What if they have those strange machines that turn all his flashbacks real?!?!?” “Jerry-Jerry Morty is not you or Beth! Secondly we can tell Summer before we talk to Morty, she’s stronger than you think.” Jerry folded his arms, evidently not at all satisfied, but he was sick of arguing.
Beth texted Summer, “Need to talk to U about your brother when U get home DO NOT TELL HIM,” and then quickly went to work. Jerry went back to his Titanic model. Rick wondered if he had done the right thing, getting his daughter and Jerry involved, but Morty was technically their responsibility, and they were just blind to the damage.
Later that evening while Beth was starting dinner she asked Summer to help, but it was also to discuss Morty. “Moooom I want to go to the mall with Toby.” “There are other things going on in this family other than your social life.” “Well its stupid-and we’re all here for the stupid because you couldn’t use birth control.” “Fucking not tonight Summer. As Summer was getting the plates from the cabinet Beth began to crack, she felt her face grimace and her hand reach for a wine bottle on the counter. Pouring herself a glass she paused, “honey..Morty…Morty is sick.” “As in he needs rehab,” Summer laughed. “Like I don’t know…” Beth felt uneasy… “He’s been—we think he has a form of PTSD.” “Oh…” Summer felt her cheeks flush up half embarrassed and half ashamed of herself. The kitchen went quiet for the next thirty minutes. “He needs meds…and therapy,” again the kitchen fell silent.
Slowly and silently they brought the bowls of salad, spaghetti, and toasted bread, Morty’s favorite, out to the dining room. Summer sent out a group text to Rick, Jerry, and Morty “Dinner is ready”.
After everyone came down and made a plate, Beth struggled to find the words, “This is what wine and vodka is for” she thought. “Morty-there’s something we need to discuss with you-“ “Yeah I know you got that email about me failing that biology test-“”Not about that Morty,” she said sternly. Calm and steadily she nodded to Rick and he produced the blood soaked cloth. “Your grandpa Rick has told your father and I what’s been going on-“ “Bu-“ “The sedatives, the self injury, the-the numbness.” Morty gave Rick a death glare across the table.” Hey kid I’m just trying to help,” he stated calmly stuffing another fork full into his mouth. “We want you to know we love you and we want you to get well honey-we want to know what you think about going into treatment?” “You mean like-like a mental hospital? Where they put crazy people?” Rick took a heavy sigh, “Morty you would be there a month max-it’d get you started on therapy and medication. You’d be in a place where you-c-c-burp-couldn’t hurt yourself. And oh by the way your grandpa’s been in a few himself.” Morty’s eyes grew to the size of planets at the thought of Rick in a loony bin. “Can I h-h-have some time to think about it?” “Yes honey-we respect your wishes-we’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon.”
That night Morty felt like he was reaching a new low. He cried like what felt like two hours, and he attempted another slice into his ankle, but alas found his dads model tools locked in a cabinet. He sulked back to his room and drummed his fingers on his desk, debating. He wanted to be anywhere but there, to not exist, and to feel real all at the same time.
Around 2 am after everyone had passed out, he crept downstairs to the garage. He pulled a large flask labeled “flame inducer” out of a cabinet off to the side. He had seen Rick use it before when he was working with highly contagious bacteria; in small amounts it produced a quick flame of purple glow. Against his better judgment, he took off his shirt and began to coat his chest in a thin layer; it smelled like a combination of old, worn out grease and gas. A quick inhale and he popped an open flame from Rick’s pocket lighter.
Everything burned, there was no flame but it glowed bright, like he was a human glow stick. Everything felt incrediably slow and in fast-forward at the same time. “SH-SH-SHIT SHIT SHIT” Morty dropped to the ground setting off a new emergency system, setting off a blaring alarm and locking down the entire house.
All he could feel was the gel like liquid eating his flesh away, he was frozen and things began to grow heavy. “Morty stay with us-us..” he heard echo as he finally shut his eyes, blacking out. | 99b61754822c4ceb8999fddd445e71e1 | ['ebfb6c34da52434b94e3cda0066117b8'] |
1. On Fast Forward and Repeat
**Author's Note:**
> The following occurred between the events of "Look Who's Purging Now" and "The Wedding Squanchers."
“Morty! -C-c-burp-ome on! W-w-we gotta go I got places to be. We need to go trade a weapon an—“ “Not tonight R-r-rick…” Morty lay in bed in just his boxers, but it wasn’t late at all, it was barely seven. He had struggled to finish his math homework, but it was done. Rick leaned against the door, “Stop being such a little bitch Morty, I’ll deal with your little emo crisis when I get back then.” Rick trasped down the hall, down the stairs, and into the garage. Morty could hear the garage door open and the ship whir away a few minutes later. He felt pains in his chest, which could be summed up as self-pity and agitation.
He slowly rolled out of bed and stumbled to his desk, nearly tripping in the process. He plopped in his spinning office chair and spun over towards the lower drawer. He moved all the school papers to the desktop, and lifted up the false bottom, which originally Rick had made to hide his small trinkets from other dimensions (this includes a keychain of a purple alien breast with three nipples and a CD with “What Up Glip Glop?” written on it). Lately it also included a small stash box that held about ten joints. He wasn’t typically what you would call a stoner; he hated the smell and how it attached itself to everything in his bedroom. Yet it was the only thing that helped relax him into a calmer state, made it easier to drift off into a muted sleep, one with no dreams. He had hid it from everyone, even Rick and Summer, the best he could for all he knew, and the why. They both knew though, and it was just assumed that it was a normal phase for a teenage boy.
It was empty. He had felt too out of it the last few days to even realize he was getting low and needed to text a kid from school who sold pot on the side. He couldn’t deal with people at the moment though, he felt like crumbling mentally. He sighed heavily and debated on asking Summer if she had any, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“H-hey Summer..” He knocked on her door and waited patiently, “GO AWAY MORTY!” He could hear that she was in there with Toby, “probably fucking” he grumbled. “I-i-i-if you don’t answer my question I’ll tell Dad Toby is here!” He heard scrambling, “They were fucking” he thought to himself. Summer came to the door with an impatient expression on her face. “What do you want twerp?!?” “Do-do you have any pot or does Toby?” “Buy your own you little stoner.” She shut the door, exasperated. He immediately sunk into himself, anxious and disappointed.
He decided to wait for Rick, so he ventured into his room with his 3DS in tow and collapsed into his cot. He put on his Grandpa’s ipod and popped the earbuds in, the Ramones “I Wanna Be Sedated” began to pump trough his ears, how hilariously ironic he thought. He didn’t skip it though he let it play. He began to play Bravely Default and after 45 minutes time began to melt away.
Suddenly he saw King Jellybean come into focus, “Come here boy…be a good boy..” It was almost as if Morty was lured in, he was in a trance, and he couldn’t stop himself.” He stood in front of him and got down on his knees. “Fuck!” he thought, his body had betrayed him when all he wanted to do was run away as fast as he could. He felt the jellybeans hands run through his hair. “Please-please don’t!” he pleaded. “Open wide boy..If you don’t I’ll make this even worse for you!” He shut his eyes tight and tried to think that he was doing freaky shit with Jessica. He felt a very hard and ridged penis enter his mouth. “Mor-burp-Morty wake up!?!” He was jolted awake, “Y-y-y-you’re screaming in your sleep again kid” He was back in Rick’s bed, rubbing his eyes and feeling his heart slow down, he noticed Rick’s digital clock said 3 am. It took him awhile to reorient himself, Rick giving him a puzzled look the entire time.
“King Jellybean is-is dead, right?” “No shit that sick fuck is dead!” Rick had caught himself and paused, “Morty…is th-burp-that what you were dreaming about? That day in the tavern?” “Kind-kind of” He couldn’t believe it had happened again, the nightmares never ended it seemed. He felt numb now. “Do y-y-you want to talk about it Morty?” “Nah not really Rick…” “Head of-burp-off to bed then. Grandpa had a crazy long night, stupid intergalactic arms dealers.” He rolled his eyes, Morty could tell he was beat, so against everything in his fiber he grabbed his stuff and went to his bedroom.
A few days passed without Rick bringing it up again, he felt as if he had walked in on a secret side of Morty, and he had to some degree. Morty felt shame, like a victim, and he hated feeling like this.
Then on a stormy evening Morty went to bed around nine, he struggled to sleep, tossing and turning. He finally gave in and went to Rick’s room. “W-w-what’s up Morty?” “Uh….I’m just struggling to sleep and I was wondering if I could crash in here.” Without even turning away from his work Rick said “No problem…just working on schematics for an updated DNA altering serum gun. “ “Rick….” Morty sunk into the cot and waited for him to put everything away, yet he spoke with his head still deep in contemplation over the design. “Yeah Morty?” “I think there’s something wrong with me.” “Any-burp-thing I can help with?” |
0fc232e23f644f6ca383a49c7f10a6ba | ['ec08807d62e84f899d9a04b9ff35484e'] |
Mistakes
**Author's Note:**
> finally my first story post woo hoo!!!
>
> it’s a bit short, but I kinda just wanted to test the waters with this one-shot of sorts so please enjoy :)
In the wee hours of dawn I found myself pondering the idea.
Everything in my life until this moment has always seemed so far away, so untouchable. Everything that I’ve longed for has never come to me too easily. For once in my life, I was given a choice and instead of taking the time to properly decide like any other normal adult I chose to indulge myself in cheap Dunkin Donuts coffee and some slightly undercooked hash browns at 6 in the morning on a Saturday.
I stared out the windows of my car silently as I popped a whole hash brown in my mouth, observing the view outside.
The beach was almost completely empty as it would be that early in the day save for one brave man who chose to spend his Saturday morning jogging beside the chilly ocean waters in shorts and a tank. Hats off to you sir.
Letting my thoughts wander while I stared at the crashing waves below, I remembered why I was here in the first place.
Min Yoongi.
Just thinking of his name brought shivers down my spine. God damn him.
It all started in Chemistry. How ironic.
Picture this, there I am amazingly handsome and clean cut arriving to my 8:30 AM lecture (this is a lie, who the fuck looks good at 8:30 in the morning?) as usual, when I notice that my strategically chosen seat at the top left corner of the room is taken.
Now any other normal human being would think that they could simply find another seat, however, this seat was special in that it was far enough to where I could not pay attention to the lecture and get away with not being called on all while being close enough to where I didn’t have to bust a whole lung just to get to the exit once the lecture was over.
Obviously I was going to fight for my place as a rightful seeker of slacking in class and generally hating chemistry so I marched right up to my usual spot occupied by the seemingly indifferent beady eyed man dressed in all black and said, “could I sit here?”.
Yes, it may have been completely anticlimactic and very non confrontational but to be fair I had created a whole monologue on disrespect and disorderly conduct on campus grounds in my head before bailing.
You had to have seen him though. A shy smile that just screamed “uwu”, big soft hands that fiddled with his hoodie strings, ruffled hair hidden under his cap. A gay man is only capable of so much and this gay man panicked.
Him, being the annoyingly chivalrous man he is, happily obliged and moved over one seat. I’ll repeat that, one seat. This motherfucker knew what he was doing from the start.
Every Tuesday and Thursday after that he’d sit in that same spot right next to me, not saying a word as I’d silently slide into the seat I had predetermined as my own. It was infuriating. He wouldn’t even look in my direction.
Now I’m not one to brag, but I am a man of great visual prowess. I’m a messiah of the legion of good looking men. I am most certainly not disappointed when I look in the mirror each day, I’ll tell you that. So, this confused me. A hobbity man with pretty little lips and decent legs (not that I noticed) was ignoring me? On purpose?
Not in my good Christian neighborhood.
So it was with these thoughts that I made my first dumb mistake.
On one Thursday morning when I walked inside Chemistry class I sat next to the man haunting my dreams, turned to face him, and spoke.
“Lovely weather we’re having.”
He looked over at me and frowned, seemingly taken aback that I had decided to talk to him before breaking into a sly grin, “I guess so. I mean, if you really enjoy thunderstorms that is.”
And with that response came the sound of a crackling boom from outside the building and I wanted to disintegrate. You just had to talk about the weather, Seokjin.
Nonetheless, the man flashed a wider grin, one I was sure could cure the most violent of illnesses and he said, “My name’s Yoongi, Min Yoongi.”
From that day forward, my life was a living hell.
The shrill sound of my ringtone broke through the serene silence in the air and I groaned, picking up the phone without checking who it was and answering with a gruff, “What?”
“Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
I paled. Of course it’d be him. Fate really was a cruel wench.
“Anyways, wanna tell me why you’ve been ignoring me for the past two weeks Kim Seokjin?”
I sighed, looking down at my half empty coffee cup and grimacing. I suddenly had a bad taste in my mouth.
“First of all it’s hyung to you, you insolent brat but if you must know Min I have been quite the busy bee so I apologize for my spotty attendance to our regular shindigs.”
Yoongi choked before letting out a small snort. “Why do you sound like you were born in the 1920s? You okay, hyung?” He said with sarcasm as if to mock my previous explanation and I couldn’t help but scoff.
“Am I okay? No actually I am not okay!”
He responded immediately. “Care to explain why?” | ca9a719bdcf748c5b1b879152732cdb5 | ['ec08807d62e84f899d9a04b9ff35484e'] |
Hell Is Around The Corner
**Author's Note:**
> Awhile back I wrote a short story for a halloween themed assignment in class and I just thought I’d share it here since it’s spooky season. I hope you all like it!
>
> Also, I’m still getting familiar with this platform so sorry for any mistakes.
>
> WARNING: mild descriptions of blood and a corpse.
“If we stay quiet, they won’t be able to prove anything.”
Taehyung watched as his best friend piled the girl’s lifeless body into the back of their truck. His hands shook while useless tears ran down his pale cheeks, trickling down to the ground in slow painful drops much like the thick blood that cascaded down the young girl’s neck.
“Will you fucking help me out here, Taehyung?!” Jimin spoke with a hurried voice, struggling to lift the body over the edge of Taehyung’s car and underneath a crumpled up tarp his father had stashed in the back one day as the old man mentioned something about using it “in case of emergencies”. For once, his father’s habit of hoarding junk had actually come in handy.
Taehyung stepped forward and hesitantly set an arm under the girl’s waist, providing the extra bout of strength needed to successfully push her over the hatch and onto the blue tarp which Jimin quickly wrapped her up with. He watched as her beautiful bloody face disappeared underneath the cover. For a moment he wished he was on one of those cheesy prank shows his grandma would watch in the late evenings when all of her favorite sitcoms would end, hoping that a camera crew would pop out of the bushes with a lame “gotcha!” and let this whole thing end as one big joke.
That’s what it should’ve been, but it wasn’t.
Jimin rushed over to the driver’s side, flinging the door open with a loud bang. Taehyung quickly followed and slid into the passenger’s seat next to him. The two sat in complete silence for a good ten minutes while the midnight sounds carried on around them. The hoot of an owl and the gentle shaking of branches in the hot summer breeze sounded almost unnaturally serene if it weren’t for the rotting corpse laying behind them.
Taehyung shakily ran a hand over his face and looked over at his best friend. Jimin appeared eerily calm for a man who had just brutally run over a young girl.
“It was an accident,” Jimin said, almost as if reading his mind.
Taehyung could only nod in response. Jimin was right. It had been foggy then. The sky was turning pitch black and the girl had come out of nowhere. It wasn’t their fault. It was definitely not their fault.
Who would believe that story, though?
“Remember what I said,” Jimin broke their momentarily silence as he spoke with renewed panic, “Just stay quiet and if anyone asks, we don’t know what happened.”
The blonde-haired, lean male reached for the keys, switching them this way and that in an attempt to get the engine to start. Taehyung looked on helplessly and ignored the sounds of his struggling friend.
“They’re going to find out we killed her,” He muttered for the first time that night.
A loud slam on the steering wheel shook him out of his trance.
“We didn’t fucking kill her, Taehyung!” Jimin’s aggressive and intimidating voice boomed outside their rolled down windows, echoing throughout the forest area and waking up a few crows from a nearby tree.
Taehyung watched as they flew across the sky, leaving behind a flurry of desperate caws in the air. He wondered if they had seen what had happened too.
Jimin was finally able to start the car. The man let out a deep breath and shifted the truck into drive, moving it forward in a slow but steady pace down the dark road.
Time seemed to be passing much too slowly. The minutes kept ticking by, but it felt like hours. The air was getting colder inside the car. Taehyung attempted to roll up his window but the thing wouldn’t budge. He was prepared to settle for letting the wind hit his already freezing skin but sat up in relief as he noticed the truck coming to an eventual stop by a patch of thick trees that surrounded a small river.
“What are we doing here?” He asked, but he already knew the answer.
Jimin didn’t respond and simply turned off the engine, opening his door before stepping out of the car and heading towards the back.
Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to move. He shut his eyes tight and tried to think of the past few days when everything had been just fine. He thought about the bathtub being clogged in his father’s house and him having to go over at seven in the evening to fix it. He thought about his grandma’s annoying dog that liked to chew on his leg whenever he walked through the door. He thought about his mother and where she was now. What would she think of him? What would they all think of him?
“What the fuck?!” Taehyung awoke from his state of shock and shot up in his seat, feeling his heart beat faster at his best friend’s panicked voice from behind him.
He shakily swung the car door open and slipped out of the passenger side. With heavy footsteps and a hunched back, he walked towards the back of the truck where Jimin stood with a plethora of different emotions displayed on his face. Taehyung began to move hastily and stood next to the man, looking down at the now opened hatch where the horribly blue and bloody tarp lay. |
93e468d77ee74b5f9c32909bfb9e286e | ['ec19e7ae367e4668b6bc02fba7b185fc'] | Billie looks at him curiously. "How do you know he's asleep?"
"Jack's asleep in his room."
"Sam," Billie says quietly. "Jack's not in his room. He's not anywhere in the bunker, in fact."
A kick in the solar plexus is what this feels like. Sam is barely aware that he's moving until he's out of his room. "I thought you said he was concealed from you?"
"Yes," Billie says, close on his heels, " _after_ he left his last graceprint outside the bunker about half an hour ago. He's _not_ here."
Sam's ears are roaring; he can barely hear her. Jack’s door is ajar. His room is empty.
There’s a note on the nightstand.
_I’m sorry for everything, Sam. You have enough to worry about without me slowing you down. I’m sorry._
_I love you._
Sam is dimly aware of his chest closing in as he turns and runs towards his room. He's going to grab his jacket and the Impala keys. He has to talk to him. He has to… "Could you… Can he still get angel radio? Is that a vessel-related power?"
"He can hear angel radio, but so can every other angel. Including Michael."
"I have to find him—he's out there alone and hurt and powerless-"
"He's not powerless," Billie says, blocking Sam's path. "You need to calm down and tell me about your plan for Michael-"
"As soon as I find Jack. Angel radio's not the only way. I know how Jack thinks. I can guess where he is-"
"I'd go as far as to say that you're the _only_ one who can. Don't you see, Sam? Everything he knows, he learned from you. I have no doubt you know how he thinks. But tell me this: If Michael finds out that Jack's gone and decides to use you as bait, how would that help your nephilim? "
Oh God. _Michael._
"Sam, calm down-"
"Is Jack… Can you tell if he's still…"
"He's alive. A nephilim doesn't just die without me finding out, let alone the only nephilim on Earth sired by Lucifer."
Sam's legs give and he slides to the hallway floor, sitting hunched over the gaping hole carved into his chest.
Billie sits down opposite him. "Tell me how I can help with Michael. What card do you hold that could possibly interest him?"
"I…" So ready to die; so fucking ready. He's only alive because Dean made it to the church when he did; Sam would die for him in a heartbeat and now he's broken and alone and convinced he's a… _burden?_ "It goes against the natural order of things."
"Naturally."
"And I have to find Jack first, because it's something only he can do."
"Then we'll find him first. So?"
Sam should have listened to his gut. He should never have let Jack out of his sight.
"Sam? Your card?"
Sam raises unseeing eyes towards her. "The Empty. Jack brought Castiel back from it."
"I heard."
"Michael is out to destroy this universe, but he's about to find there are almost no angels left. Whereas all the angels in the Empty…"
"Could be his new army. I see. Not exactly what I-"
"Oh god." Sam's head whips up, and he scrambles up off the floor. "I know how to find Jack."
"Okay then," Billie says, standing up. "Let's find your nephilim."
3. III
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Jack and Sam POVs.
What the hell was Jack thinking?
He barely remembers to thank the woman he hitched a ride with before her pickup truck clatters away over the gravel road. The motel-turned-shelter stands swathed in the early morning silence, the woods across the road, rustling and whispering and wide awake.
Jack sinks down heavily on the side of the road.
Not one hour ago—maybe even less—he'd been certain he was doing the right thing. The _only_ right thing. Find the last place Sam would suspect in the next town over, and stop being yet another problem on top of everything he's brought on Sam. He'd been so sure he couldn't get out of the bunker fast enough. He'd been so sure even the visceral pang of leaving without saying goodbye couldn't stop him. No time for self-indulgent emotions. Sam deserves to come first.
How on earth could anyone go from such absolute certainty to… to so much doubt the entire idea seems something only a moron would think of?
Is this another human thing, like the nauseating hunger lashing through his stomach? Iron-clad certainty one moment, gone the next like it had never even been there to begin with? Because all Jack wants now is to return to the bunker and know without a doubt that Sam's there, safe and close and not worried about Jack, _because_ of Jack.
What on earth was Jack thinking? That Sam would read the note, shrug sadly, then go about his business?
How could he voluntarily add to Sam's burden instead of helping him?
So Jack's human now. So what?
Sam—the embodiment of everything good Jack can think of—is human. The best person Jack has ever known, Jack's protector since Jack came into this world, the person who has been there for Jack nonstop this whole year. Sam—brave, noble, kind Sam, so infinitely kind it felt to Jack his kindness would never run out—is human.
What, just because Jack's all human now he can't help Sam? Says who?
Isn't that Lucifer's blood speaking?
_She's a human. She doesn't matter._
What the hell is wrong with Jack? How could he still be parroting Lucifer's ideas about humanity? How could this mean anything but that Jack is tainted, irreversibly and forever—
Maybe it's not too late. Maybe Sam's not even up yet. Maybe he's up but hasn't noticed Jack's absence or Jack's note, and Jack can make it back before Sam sees anything and—
"Jack Kline?" | 3abf05eb455a42e6be9b8076292368ed | ['ec19e7ae367e4668b6bc02fba7b185fc'] | Jack shakes his head around the hot lump in his throat, traitorous tears stinging his eyes at the pure concern flowing to him from Sam. Sam shouldn't have to comfort Jack for being a monster.
"I know he's your father, Jack, but I couldn't let him back into this world. I'm so sorry-"
What? "No. Sam, no. Wait."
Sam bows his head in silence, and Jack realizes, stunned, that Sam doesn't hate him just yet.
"Sam, you... Do you think I'm mad that you left Lucifer there?"
"Like I said, I don't blame you-"
"I'm not mad, Sam. I'm _ashamed_ that he's my father." Horrified, Jack can feel his control slipping. "How can you even stand to look at me, after everything he's done to you-"
Sam's flinch stops him short. "What… Who told you that?"
"Castiel. Oh god, Sam, I'm so sorry—you must hate me-"
"Stop right there," Sam says firmly. "I don't hate you, Jack."
"I'm a monster."
"No, you're not." Sam is searching his face earnestly. "Listen to me. You are anything but a monster. You're a sweet, half-angel kid who has never wanted to do anything but the right thing since the day he was born."
"I am Lucifer's spawn. His blood is in my veins-"
"I've got a demon's blood pumping through mine, Jack. Do you think I'm a monster?"
Speechless, Jack shakes his head. _You're the best person I've ever known._
"Why? We've both got evil blood in our veins. Why does that make you a monster but not me?"
"I'm Lucifer's son. What if I can't help it? What if I'm just rotten inside?"
"You're not," Sam says, eyes blazing with sincerity. "You've got so much good inside you, Jack, more than you yourself could imagine."
"What if I… What if I do something horrible thinking I'm doing the right thing? What if I stray-"
"You won't. I won't let you. You've got me and Dean to guide you back."
Dean. Oh God.
It must be evident on his face because Sam says, "Dean doesn't hate you. Believe me. Dean's just… Dean's been through a lot and he's… angry. At a lot of stuff."
"Why are you never angry? You've been through a lot too."
"True. But Dean is…" Sam smiles gently, sadly. "Most of the stuff Dean's angry about is bad stuff that happens out of his control. Most of the time, it happens to me. And Dean... He lives in constant fear that something will happen to me again, and it makes him feel helpless. It's a nasty feeling."
Jack nods furiously.
"The first time I died, Jack, Dean sold his soul to a demon to bring me back. He went to Hell for it. And yet he would still die for me—has died for me more than once."
"What?"
Sam looks down. "He died on a doctor's table—voluntarily—to get Death to get me my soul back from Hell. He... Nevermind. The thing is all Dean wants to do is protect me, and the fact that he can't is why he's so angry. It's like he feels he has to run nonstop in every direction to stop bad things from finding me, and the worst thing is he knows it's impossible."
"But that should make him sad, not angry."
Sam's smile gets even more sad. "There's a kind of very deep sadness that looks like anger. Anger gives you the illusion of being in control. That you can _do_ something. That you're not helpless. I've been there too, so I understand where Dean is coming from."
"Oh. And Dean was also very sad because your mother was Michael's prisoner, and because of Lucifer…" Jack looks away. "And then you made him let me stay here even though I'm-"
"This is your home, Jack. You're not 'staying' here; you _live_ here. And just because I know where Dean is coming from doesn't mean he doesn't act like an ass sometimes. Just remember it's not because Dean hates you. It's just that he finds it very hard to accept that bad things can happen to me and he won't be able to stop them."
Jack looks at Sam's kind face, Sam who doesn't hate Jack, who is still giving Jack his unconditional care, who has just said this is still Jack's home, who has just promised to watch over Jack so he would never turn into a monster.
Sam is looking at him hopefully now, a gentle smile on his face, and Jack remembers how dead the world seemed when he thought he would never see that face again or hear Sam breathe again or listen to him talk in that quiet, kind voice again, and he loses it, pulling Sam into a desperate hug long overdue.
Sam hugs him back without reservation, brushes back his hair and lets Jack sob his eyes out into Sam's t-shirt, and Jack feels light and safe and full of sweet, warm hope.
Lucifer may have spawned Jack, but that doesn't make him Jack's father.
Because this kind, brave hero who sacrificed himself to keep the whole unsuspecting world safe? This man is Jack's father, and Jack is this hero's son. |
71d0e97985ec4837a6dcebcc1db8da03 | ['ec1c07e157b84aef8a65e4b8419fdd4e'] | Everyday
**Author's Note:**
> Go listen to Ame Ato by W-inds. Even if this isn't your fandom and you were just curious. Beautiful song. Back when I wrote this, it was a beautifully rainy day in April, so the mood was perfect, and this came out gloriously.
Soft piano song filled the dark room.
The gentle sound drifted out one of the open windows to the right of the silverette playing, mixing with the last songs of the days birds.
It was officially dark outside, the sky a mix of dark purple and navy blue, with the occasional star shining bright enough to be seen.
The room was void of all light, but the light from the almost-full moon that had just begun its climb into the night sky illuminated the all-white room perfectly, playing over the ivory and ebony keys of the piano.
The gauzy white curtains of the windows billowed gently in the cool breeze coming through the windows and the silverette momentarily ceased his playing, his attention drawn outside.
There were two squirrels. Any other time he would have been disinterested, but now, as the two furry creatures regarded each other, he smiled.
One squirrel was almost motionless in the middle of the street outside his window, almost if not for the wild thrashing of its tail.
It suddenly bolted for the side of the street opposite the other squirrel, and the second gave chase, chittering.
They re-crossed the street and then sped up a tree in a flurry of claws and fluffy tails.
Then, in a mere second, they had both disappeared into a hole in the tree-trunk.
The silverette smiled, gently running his ringed fingers over the now-still keys of the piano.
Another breeze ruffled the curtains, this time smelling of rain.
_The first April rain._
But the sky was still clear, not a cloud to be seen. Rain yes, but later perhaps.
A bird tittered out another short rhapsody, its call echoing throughout the room as if it were perched just outside the window.
The silverette stood from the piano bench and instead chose to sit down on the edge of his bed closest to said window.
The bats had started to come out again. He placed his elbows on the sill, admiring the white glow from the beautiful moon and letting a relaxed smile grace his features. He sighed happily, completely at ease.
A shadow suddenly filled his doorway, and there was a light rapping at the doorframe.
He turned his head to confirm who it was.
The newcomer smiled, walking into the room after receiving silent permission from the silverette.
“Even when you don’t play an actual song, even when it’s improvised, it’s still a treat to hear. You know that?”
He stepped into the pool of light coming from the moon outside the window, his short brown hair turned almost silver like the bedroom owners’.
The silverette smiled when the brunette sat down next to him and ran his fingers gently through his bangs.
“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper.
They both looked up and warm brown met silvery-green.
The silverette reached out and took the others hand, gently stroking the back with his thumb, and the brunette leaned in to place a lingering kiss on his cheek.
When he pulled away he began to gently kiss the others long strands of silver hair, breathing in his scent.
The silverette sighed contentedly, slightly leaning into the embrace.
Another stronger gust of wind came through the open window and he shuddered.
The brunette took him into his arms, one hand around his waist and the other in the centre of his back.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
The silverette smiled at the tone of his own voice. The implication was there now, and he would be damned if he took it back.
The brunette smiled and placed a light kiss on the place where shoulder met neck, gently lowering the silverette onto the bed.
“Allow me to warm you?”
The silverette smiled and reached their joined hands back near his head, twining their fingers and squeezing affectionately, incidentally bringing the other into a chaste kiss.
He gently broke the kiss, giving his head a tiny nod and the other a kiss on the end of his nose.
The brunette chuckled and pressed their foreheads together momentarily, directing a passionate gaze at the silverette.
The intense emotions contained in his eyes were enough to make the silverette blush from happiness, and he leaned up to press their lips together in a slow, lazy kiss.
The brunette slowly trailed his fingers down the silverette’s cheek, then down his neck and over his exposed collarbone before he finally reached his side.
He ran his hand up and under the others loose-fitting tank top and he slowly lifted it over his head, not wanting to part their mouths.
After another quick kiss to his lovers lips, the brunette wrapped his arms around the silverette’s back and lowered his head to his bare chest, gently pressing his ear to the alabaster skin, simply listening to the sounds of his lover breathing; the beating of his heart.
The silverette smiled and gently ran his hands through his beloveds soft spiky hair, not minding the slow, gentle pace one bit. As a matter of fact, he loved it.
After all, moments like this don’t happen everyday. | f5cf651ae8454c4cabf377c35ef10d6d | ['ec1c07e157b84aef8a65e4b8419fdd4e'] | Shinkai tore his gaze from the awful wound and looked up to Arakita’s face. His eyes were closed and he was deathly pale, his breathing shallow. Shinkai hauled himself further up onto the beach until he was even with Arakita, his own breath coming in short, pained gasps as he neared his love.
He reached out and gently ran his hand through Arakita’s hair, quietly cooing to him and whispering his name, as if he were rousing him from sleep. Arakita didn’t respond to him whatsoever. Shinkai kept up with it, who knew for how long, even if his composure was beginning to waver. Now his hand was just resting on Arakita’s cheek, his voice stalling and shaking as he leaned down and nestled their foreheads together.
Until today, Shinkai hadn’t known his species was capable of weeping, but indeed now he did. His tears slid silently over Arakita’s face as he begged the raven to _Please, please wake up._
And then Arakita’s eyes were open, blinking slowly at him as he raised one of his hands to cover Shinkai’s. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t, but whether he was too exhausted or whether his throat was too dry was unknown.
Shinkai knew what he wanted to ask anyway. “She’s fine.” His voice shook badly. “She’s okay, she’s with your pod. I took her to them and then went after you.”
A massive breath seemed to leave Arakita’s body, and he looked relieved. He brought Shinkai close to him once again as the redhead continued talking. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I lost you and didn’t know where to look.” Arakita shook his head and nuzzled underneath Shinkai’s throat, trying to keep his upper body supported, but sinking back to the ground when he found himself unable.
Shinkai laid there with him, with his arm under the raven’s head to support him for what seemed like hours, just speaking softly to him and peppering his face with kisses and trying as best he could to comfort him, all the while trying to think of what to do. Something, _anything_.
By the time the pod found them, the moon was high in the sky, bathing the area in silver-blue light. Natsuki looked very hard at her brother, and he looked at her. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she threw back her head and gave vent to a low, mournful song. The rest of the pod joined her, whilst Shinkai tried to understand what was going on. “Natsuki, please help me, he’s not going to last much longer out of the water…”
He trailed off as Arakita took his hand and pressed his palm to his chest. Shinkai shivered; he’d never felt Arakita so cold before…
Arakita smiled and tugged him down slightly, so he could speak with less effort. “I love you, Hayato.” His voice was a breathy whisper, barely even there, and he pressed a gentle kiss to Shinkai’s cheek, despite the fresh tears that wet them.
The redhead bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to Arakita’s lips, “And I love you, Yasutomo. Now come on, we need to--”
“Natsuki.”
The raven’s sister turned her sad eyes to him. “Yes, Yasu?”
Arakita gave her a smile. “Please…” His voice cracked. “Get him back into the water.”
Natsuki bit her lip, and then nodded, and Shinkai’s breath stuck in his throat. He shook his head in disbelief and was ready to argue when Natsuki took ahold of his tail and gave a mighty heave, pulling him much too far away from Arakita than he could stand.
“LET GO OF ME!” Shinkai tried valiantly to escape her grip, sending stones flying and sea spraying, but Natsuki was strong, and before he knew it Shinkai was almost completely submerged once more. Trying with all his might to get back to Arakita, he chanced a glance back towards him.
It was a mistake.
Arakita was looking right at him, smiling, hand outstretched on the sand towards him, tears pouring down his face to splash onto the stones he laid amongst.
Under the light of an almost full moon, he was the most beautiful thing Shinkai had ever seen.
All of the fight seemed to leave him in a rush, and he stayed stock still, letting Natsuki lead him from the cove. The baby sister came to him at one point, holding onto his fingers and looking up at him with her big eyes, so similar to those of her brother’s, and everything finally fell into place for Shinkai.
He felt as if his whole world had been ripped out from under him.
He took the little one’s hand gently in his and led her back to her sister.
_After that he seemed to disappear, but even if he was unseen, his anguished howls echoed throughout the sea for days._
4. I Will Always Return
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> The night Shinkai left, it was snowing.
> The white sluggishly raised his head from the water to find the world above to be swirling with frost, the wind driving them sharply across the surface to sting his face. For a while, Shinkai just stared into the silvery void, filled with a numbness that had nothing at all to do with the cold.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> No warning this time, yay!!
> The beginning is a bit depressing, but is that really surprising?
> Enjoy Kaoru, I hope this brightens up your day (and makes previous installments a little more bearable)!
> [Also slight add-on at the end because my sleepy brain forgot about the bit that I /really/ wanted to put at the end TTwTT ]
The night Shinkai left, it was snowing. |
f6bc8b3f4ad349bc9ac0219b3ae9f23b | ['ec271f6675fd4eaea2163e69ef123f68'] | Peter is crying again. “You have to tell May that I love her. Please.”
One of the things they don’t tell you about drowning is how hard it is to hear. When underwater, the only reality is the burning in the chest and eyes.
“No,” Tony fumbles. “Pete—,”
“I’ve handled worse than a kid with a gun,” Peter says. “Mr. Stark, Ned is down there. MJ. Hell, even Flash is somewhere in this building and none of them have Spiderman. I do.”
Tony tries to tell Peter to stop being stupid, but the only noise that comes out of his mouth is a sort of choked gagging.
“But in case I—,” Peter breaks off. “Promise you’ll tell May.”
“Peter—,”
“Promise.”
“I swear to god, if you go back in side that building—,”
“Tony. Please.”
Tony wishes that he could give in and let the water take him. That his lungs would fill up and he’d just have peaceful nothingness.
But he can’t afford that. Not now.
“I promise.”
Spiderman swings himself over the edge of the roof and crawls back through the window. Tony can here the gasps of surprise, and then the line goes dead.
“Friday,” says Tony. For some reason, his voice sounds different. He can’t put his finger on it. “Get me everything you can on those signal blockers. Get me everything you can on the shooter, too. I want you to hack feeds, go into school security records, whatever it takes.”
“On it, boss.”
“And pull up the Avengers’ group chat.”
The chat hasn’t been used since 2016. On July 8th, Clint texted in a bunch of pictures of a cat with a cheeseburger, and Nat got into a hot chocolate vs coffee debate with Rhodes. On July 9th, Rhodey texted _Ross is here. Briefing room. Now._
On July 10th, 2016, Tony texted _Anyone seen our American Idol lying around?_
No one has texted anything since. Tony shoves down his displeasure about being reduced to double-texting and hits send.
[sent 10:21 am] _Anyone in the city: Midtown high is having a school shooting._
[sent 10:21 am] _It’s Peter’s school. Please hurry. I’m still 20 minutes out._
No one responds. Tony hopes that means they’re all busy getting on it.
Tony must black out for a little after that, because the next thing he knows he’s at the school.
It reminds him eerily of a war zone. Cops and bucars have surrounded the school. There are ambulances regularly stationed, and SWAT teams are bringing out pools of students.
There’s also a fucking media team filming the whole thing, which would make Tony fucking livid if his brain could form any thought but _Peter_.
Steve is waiting for him in the center of the courtyard. The cops, media, and students hurrying from one place to another steer clear of him.
Tony lands in front of him.
“Why aren’t you in there?”
It’s as if all the tension and hostility that’s been buried under the surface reaches a breaking point. Distantly, Tony registers the various media focusing their cameras on him and Steve, but he’s too pissed to give a fuck.
Steve doesn’t move.
“Get out of the way, Rogers.”
It’s the most dangerous he’s ever sounded. The metal around his face amplifies the harshness of the words, and Steve looks away.
“We both know I can’t do that, Tony.”
“My fucking kid is in there!” Tony yells.
“If you go in there, guns blazing, blinded by rage and fear, people are going to get hurt,” says Steve. His voice is deadly calm. “Nat will be able to shut this down before it starts. Clint says he knows this school’s ventilation system like the back of his hand. They’re both already inside. Stand down, Tony.”
“You lost the authority to give me orders when you _left me to die_ ,” Tony snarls, and his voice breaks. “Right, I’ve had enough of this.”
He raises his gauntlet, ready to blast Steve into a pile of red and blue sprinkles. Rockets pop out of the plates in his shoulders.
Steve doesn’t move. His expression doesn’t shift, but a tear traces its way down his face.
It’s enough to make Tony hesitate. Because this is a man who grew up during the pinnacle of toxic masculinity. This is the man who watched his friends die in an open war zone, who learned to shut down and hide any and all insecurity, because Captains can’t afford to show weakness.
“Tony,” says Steve. “Men like you and me leave collateral damage wherever we go. This is a school; there are kids still in there. Kids just as innocent as Peter. Hell, as . . . deranged as the shooter is, he’s probably a kid, too. _You and me cannot afford to go in there._ ”
There’s a moment of stillness around the courtyard, when everything and everyone fall silent. Yeah, there’s still the hustle of extraction teams bringing out pools of students. But the parametics, and the media with their cameras, and students who are already out fall silent, watching Steve and Tony.
“He’s . . .” Tony breaths heavily, but Friday puts the rocket launchers back in his suit without prompting. “He’s my kid, Rogers. He’s the future of my company and the future of the Avengers, but even more then that . . . he’s my kid. I can’t . . . I can’t just . . .”
“I know,” says Steve.
And suddenly Tony is stumbling forward, out of the suit, and Steve is there to catch him. Tony’s not entirely sure who’s wrapping their arms around who, but his head is on Steve’s chest and Steve’s heart is beating wildly and . . .
. . . and Tony lets the water take him.
“Found the shooter,” Natasha’s voice echoes through Steve’s earpiece.
Tony only hears because he’s pressed so tightly into Steve’s chest, and at once he snatches the comm out of Steve’s right ear. | 633aa9571f384374a111edc07b484458 | ['ec271f6675fd4eaea2163e69ef123f68'] | _“I’m going to put the Scarlet Witch over here. Don’t get me wrong, I love her and her powers are badass, but the girl I like told me she’d leave me for the Scarlet Witch without a second thought, so. Just going to keep her far away for a little while.”_
“Jesus Christ, Parker,” mutters Tony in sardonic, sleep deprived disgust. “And you’re aunt said you were good at making friends.”
At least Peter has had the common sense to keep his head down. Tony’s fairly sure half of the population in Queens is out and about, phones ready to capture any movement from the vigilante.
_“Let’s start with Iron Man. He definitely makes the A-team, ten out of ten, would definitely recommend. I’ve met him on, like, six different occasions, and every time I see him I’m still like, ohmigodit’stonystark, ican’teven. He’s, like, the best of the best. Definitely my favorite Avenger, no competition, he’s team captain.”_
“Damn strait,” mumbles Tony. God, it’s so hard to be pissed at that freaking kid.
Rhodey shows up and overrides Tony’s lab codes about halfway through Tony’s nineteenth cup of coffee. His mechanical legs whir happily as he makes his way over to Tony, peering over his hunched shoulders at the video playing on the screen.
“Well,” Rhodey says flatly. “It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve walked in on you watching.”
Tony lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a grunt and buries his face in his hands.
“You know, I’m actually kind of hurt,” Rhodey says. “He didn’t even mention me in his dumb video. Which has almost twelve million views, by the way.”
“I told him to make it,” says Tony, his voice muffled by his hands. “Why can’t he just do what everyone else does and ignore my advice?”
“What?”
“I was mostly joking,” Tony gripes. “Sam called him a little asshole during an interview, and I told him to make a video to get back at him. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of a diss-track. Something harder to trace back to Spiderman.”
“We have to get in front of this,” says Rhodey. “Tony, Ross has called me three times today to try to get me to identify him.”
Tony looks up quickly.
“Jesus, Tony, would you relax? You know I love the kid as much as you do,” Rhodey says indignantly. “I wouldn’t give him to Ross. You know me better than that.”
Tony downs the rest of his coffee in a single sip.
“Have you talked to him yet?” asks Rhodey.
“What am I supposed to say?” snaps Tony. “Hey, kid, have you gotten any publicity lately?”
“Something like that,” Rhodey says. “Tony, however freaked out you are by this mess, I guarantee you, he’s probably feeling a whole lot worse.”
___
The kid picks up on the first ring.
“Hey,” Peter says, trying very hard to sound nonchalant. “What’s up, Mr. Stark?”
“You know, Thor’s not really all that once you look past the muscles and the hair and the gorgeous facial features and the charming personality,” Tony tells Peter coolly.
There’s a slight pause.
“So,” says Peter, his tone unconvincingly casual. “You saw the video.”
“Which video are we referring to,” asks Tony coldly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The one that turned you into an overnight internet celebrity, or is there another one I don’t know about? You’re the one who said you wanted to stay on the down low, Parker—,”
“I didn’t expect it to go viral!”
“Then what exactly did you—,” Tony takes a deep breath and reminds himself to calm down. This isn’t Peter’s fault. If anything, it’s on him. “Okay, look. Provided that Sam doesn’t track you down and murder you—.”
“What the fuck?”
“Lang—,” Tony cuts himself off before he sounds any more like a helicopter parent. “Look, I’m sure he’s pissed at you, and he has every right to be. You dissed him in front of ten million people.”
“In my defense,” Peter says quickly. “He started it.”
“Oh, he started it, did he? Is there any version of this where you don’t sound like a five year old?”
“I don’t know,” Peter says, annoyance in his voice. “Is there any version of this where you don’t sound like . . .”
He trails off, perhaps remembering who he’s talking to. Good. Let the kid stew in that for a second.
“Don’t worry,” Tony says icily, ignoring the awkward silence. “I’ll handle it.”
“How?” Peter says, and there’s genuine fear in his voice. “I can’t be a friendly, neighborhood Spiderman if everyone in New York knows who I am. There are fan accounts trying to figure out my identity, Tony. It’s like, a huge invasion of privacy.”
Tony wants to say: _You should have thought about that before you posted the video._ He wants to say: Welcome to the major leagues. We don’t have cookies, but we have a shit ton of pressure and responsibility that will crush you like an insect.
Instead, he says: “It will be okay. This will all die down in a few days. Don’t worry, Pete.”
___
It doesn’t die down.
___
The video is posted on YouTube ten hours later.
Wanda is sitting in front of a metal table, Avengers figurines spread out in front of her. Her eyes glint maliciously in the bright lights as she smiles at the camera.
“Shuri has just informed me,” she says quietly. “That I have been excluded from a certain A-Team. This is shemshno. Ridiculous. To defend my honor, I will be making my own A-Team, one that only contains the best of the best. The cream of the crop. My team will be called верховные герои, or Supreme Heroes.”
Smiling happily, she picks up the Wanda Maximoff figurine and put it in the center of the table.
“There,” she says. “Team captain. Boom.” |
e537e8a8bb1442c1ba9d5d91dc7419e5 | ['ec49f5e06af54fef8993ab7878e03f40'] | "We're still working on opening up the police box," Coulson admitted. "If we didn't know from his arrival that it wasn't an ordinary box, we'd certainly know it now. That things shut up tighter than the Fort Knox."
"Do I get to look at that later, too?" Stark asked eagerly while not so subtly using the puppy-dog eyes technique on the unflappable SHIELD agent.
"Maybe later," Coulson said cooly as he took the sonic screwdriver from the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.
"Can I at least go meet him?" Stark pressed, looking like an excited little boy who wanted to make friends with the cool, new kid in class. "I mean, since I'm the one most likely to understand anything he says about technology, I could, you know, do my bit as a consultant and help you out with that. I imagine you'd want me to translate, right?"
"We'll see," Coulson said. "If he's still in the mess hall with Agent Romanov, then you can talk to him. If he's not, then I don't want you hanging around here for however long it's going to take Thor to show up."
"What? You don't want me here?" Tony asked, his voice full of mocking indignation.
"Not particularly, no," Coulson said dryly. "You have a bad habit of hacking into our computers when you get bored."
Stark scoffed and rolled his eyes in response.
"You do something like that one time-"
"Three times," Barton corrected.
"Whatever, three times, and you get a bad rep," Tony said. "I just want to meet this guy, and, hey, he sounds pretty interesting, so odds are I won't get bored even if I do hang around a bit. It's not like I have anything else interesting to do."
"Don't you have a company or something to run?" Clint asked with a chuckle.
"Pepper's the CEO," Stark countered. "She's got it."
"You still hold the majority of the shares though," Coulson helpfully pointed out.
"Whatever, details," Tony said. "Anyway, let's hit up the mess hall before the Black Widow kills and eats the space hippy for breakfast. Lead the way, Legolas."
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thor felt both confident and apprehensive as he travelled the bifrost to the realm of Midgard. Heimdall had informed him that the interdimensional traveller he'd assisted both SHIELD and Jane Foster in tracking had been found and detained in one of the many bases SHIELD had in its possession. All looked peaceful to the gatekeeper, but Heimdall had informed him that all were waiting on his return.
It would put his mind at ease if Thor could make sure this newcomer did not pose a threat to his newly found home away from home.
6. Romanov and Barton Wonder What They Did to Deserve This
"And so then we returned her to her native planet Raxacoricofallapatorius. After all, everyone deserves a second chance if they happen upon one," the Doctor said to the stunned looking red-headed agent in front of him. "That was one the last adventures my ninth regeneration had. I'm really glad I was able to end that life well."
The Doctor continued chewing thoughtfully on an apple slice, staring off into the distance as he continued rambling to the confused-looking agent. To her credit, however, Natasha was only staring at the man in front of her with her brow furrowed and looking no more perturbed than she usually did around the mysterious Doctor.
"So, this is your tenth regeneration?" Romanov ventured to guess.
"Well, yeah," the Doctor said, his chewing stopped, and he looked almost startled to notice she was paying attention. The Doctor figured he'd best stop his mouth from running away from him. It was definitely going to get him into trouble sometime in this regeneration.
"How many do you get?" Natasha asked, despite knowing that the Doctor had already told Coulson 503.
"About 209," the Doctor said with a teasing smile. "Depending on the weather."
"You're lying to me," she stated, rather than accused. She knew she really didn't have the moral highground to sound indignant whenever anyone lied to her.
"Of course I am," the Doctor nodded. "I have to keep some secrets after all."
"So everything else that you told me was true?" Romanov asked, now wondering how much he had told her was true and how much was false.
"Well, everything I said about my travels is true," the Doctor told her. "I do lie about my personal information every once in a while though. But everyone does that."
When Romanov raised her eyebrow at him and her mouth curved into a smile, he sputtered ingidnantly and continued.
"Well, they do! You know, weight, age, height. I mean, do you tell the truth when people ask you those things?"
"Point taken," she conceded and the smile was still on her lips when Clint walked in with a certain genius billionaire.
"Clint," she nodded at her comrade, and she slid over on the lunch table's bench to make room for him. He nodded back at her and took the place at her side.
"Hi," Tony said, holding his hand out to the stranger. "I'm Tony Stark."
"Oh!" the Doctor exclaimed when he realized who was in front of him.
The Doctor stood up, unconsciously straightened his suit a bit, took the hand that was being offered to him, and shook it vigourously, the grin on his face nearly taking up his whole face.
"Pleased to meet you!" the Doctor exclaimed, his silly grin jumpstarting Tony's own. "Really, I've heard great things about your work in clean energy and engineering!"
"I, uh, really?" Tony said, his hand still clasped in the Doctor's even though the handshake had ended. "You've heard about the clean energy and stuff?" | 8c87aafce6ac43a4a4533e823e353a3e | ['ec49f5e06af54fef8993ab7878e03f40'] | Sharpner patted Gohan on the back and followed Erasa up the steps of the bus. Gohan turned when he heard some knocking, only to see Erasa waving at him from her window seat. He waved back before the chaperone brought his attention back to him with a tell-tale clearing of the throat.
"And Son Gohan... your number is twenty-five."
"Thanks," Gohan chirped.
After he'd found his seat on the bus (unfortunately the seats were paired in twos, but Erasa had found a two seater with a single in front of it), he gazed out of the window to get last glimpse he'd get of his high school for the next two months. Whether he liked it or not, this was when his challenge began.
* * *
Gohan and his classmates poured out of the bus, energetic and happy despite the early hour. Thankfully the bus ride had been short, only ten minutes, but Gohan knew that it would take over an hour to get to West City on the next bus ride. He regretted the fact that he couldn't fly there himself. After all, it only took about 15 minutes by flying, even at a relatively low speed.
Erasa, Sharpner, and Gohan grouped together as they waited for their teacher to knock on the Satan's door. Gohan took a moment to look at the structure before them. The mansion could be likened to a palace, and Gohan was impressed by the sheer size of it. The gate was made out of black wrought iron and had been twisted on top to form intricate edged curls. The entrance of the mansion was designed in the classic style, meaning that large, white ionic columns framed a large wooden door in front of the smooth red stone that the rest of the house was made of. Gohan guessed that there had to be at least 50 rooms in this house since there was actually seperate _wings._
"Pretty impressive, huh?"
Gohan turned to see Sharpner and Erasa gazing up at the monstrosity of a house. Even Bulma's home at Capsule Corp wasn't this big, and she was the wealthiest woman in the world!
"Not that I would expect anything less of the champ," Sharpner continued, crossing his arms and smirking as he did so.
"Yeah, I guess," Gohan said, looking at the mansion again. He didn't really understand why the guy had to live in such a big house. After all, from what Videl had told them, it was just her and her dad living here.
Suddenly, the large door opened and Videl popped her head out, much to everyone's surprise.
"Hi everyone!" she said, stepping out onto the gravel of the driveway, and she waved her arm to get everyone's attention.
"Just come with me! I'm going to take you to our auditorium so that my dad can let you know what we're going to do this week."
This sent the entire group of teenagers into chatting mode with a vengence, and you could practically feel the excitement of the group rising.
Videl led them through the doors of the mansion, and they all gathered together so that they could walk together as a group into the spacious hallway.
"You might want to start remembering your way around now," Videl began conversationally as she led her class to the auditorium. "I'll give everyone the grand tour later on, but it never hurts to start learning your way around now. I remember when I first moved here; I got lost all the time!"
Gohan smiled at this rarely scene personable side of Videl. It wasn't often that he got to see her without her interrogating him about whatever small thing he may have slipped up on that day. It was definitely refreshing to see her in a different light. Videl led them down the large hallway and into another set of large wooden doors.
Videl opened them to reveal a scaled-down opera house and looked like it could seat about fifty people. The carpeting on the floor was plush and the sounds of their foot steps were nearly silent because of its density. Everyone sat down in the chairs surrounding a rounded stage and were surprised when they sunk into the dark red cushions. Overhead there were expensive and intricately wrought glass chandeliers; the stage was frame by heavy, brocaded curtains; and the walls were lined by the heavy wooden panels.
"Okay, just stay here for a second, I'll go get my dad," Videl told them while her class and her teachers absorbed the new surroundings.
Sharpner, Erasa, and Gohan were sitting together as a group in the back of the room. They'd saved a seat for Videl just in case she decided she wanted to sit with them when she got back. Thankfully, the wait wasn't for very long and soon they heard the doors behind them slam open.
"Helloooo!" Hercule's voice resonated throughout the room.
The students that had sat close to the door were rubbing their ears to soothe them from the sudden shock.
"Welcome to Satan Mansion!" Hercule's boisterous voice boomed over their heads as he put his fists onto his hips.
The 24th World Martial Arts Champion was wearing his usual uniform of loose, white, cotton bottoms; his baggy v-necked maroon shirt; his over-sized championship belt; and, to top off the entire ensemble, he was wearing his collared white cape. Gohan could feel the sweat gathering on the back of his head as he listened to the large man burst into unrestrained laughter. Gohan just wondered why he always swung his head back and opened his mouth so wide whenever he did so.
"You have the honor, no, the PRIVILEDGE, of being trained by yours truly while you are here!" Hercule announced as he strutted down the center aisle of the auditorium, climbed the steps to their left, and stood in the middle of the stage. |
57ea9faed5ce403b93a6512779e880d0 | ['ec67041ba3424f5390f3cbe59a79c019'] | When the bag is full, he turns around and sees Hal standing still, looking thorough his window. The way his shoulders are shaking, he knows he’s crying. Barry hugs him from behind and kisses softly his neck. He wants to say something, but what’s he gonna say? _Everything is gonna be ok?_ He doesn’t know that. Right now, he has the memory of Jessica completely mad at Hal, the cold way she asked her son to leave her house and since Hal is 18, she is no longer his tutor, so she can technically kick him out. Fuck. This wasn’t definitely how Barry wanted Hal’s day to end.
“We should go,” Hal mutters. His voice reminds Barry of shattered glass scratching a blackboard.
“Hal…” he starts but Hal cuts him.
“Don’t. You listened to her, right? I’m not allowed to stay here until I give up my father. Well, surprise, surprise, that ain’t gonna happen. Today Bear, you’ve only reaffirmed my idea. Today, when I was up in the sky I felt it.” He pauses and closes his eyes before he keeps talking. His voice is barely a whisper. “Barry, I’ve never felt so alive like I felt up there. I need to fly,” the plea in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed to Barry.
He nods and smiles sadly, “I get it Hal.”
It seems to be the right answer as Hal grins before he picks up the duffel and the plastic bag Barry has filled and leaves his room. Barry looks around. They haven’t spent too much time in here, not since before Christmas, but it was in this room where he met the real Hal, where he first saw Hal shirtless, where he and Hal became friends playing videogames and watching Netlfix on Hal’s laptop. This is where Hal grow up for the last 18 years. It doesn’t feel right that no one takes a good look around before they leave. He takes a deep breath and Hal’s smell fills his nostrils. His heart and stomach jerk. What now? Is Hal gonna leave now? The cat is out of the bag. Hal has no reasons to stay. Is Hal waiting for Barry to drive him to the nearest place to enlist?
“Barry!” Hal voice reaches him. He swallows and steps out of the room. He skips a couple of steps before he collides against Hal, whose expression is somber once more. Hal kicks the front door open and steps out. Barry looks back, to the kitchen door. He wants Jessica to step out of it and embrace her son and beg him to stay. Alas, the door stays closed.
On a last impulse, Barry picks up a family portrait with the whole Jordan family and hides it on his hoodie’s pocket as he jogs after Hal. Maybe Hal doesn’t want it now, but Barry would kill to have another picture of his parents with him rather than the old copy he has on his cork board. He knows Joe has the original but that’s it. That’s the only picture he has of them. He hopes Hal gets it once he finds out what Barry has taken instead of getting mad with him for taking sappy things rather than useful ones. You can purchase stuff like clothes, books, and movies but you can’t go back in time and take a picture or relive a moment. He knows this better than anyone else.
“C’mon Barry. It’s getting late we better-” Hal stops and looks ahead, halting in the middle of the road.
“Hal? W-where are we going?” Barry asks him. His heart stops as he waits for Hal’s answer.
It’s so quiet and gentle, that the wind almost takes it away, “I don’t know.”
It’s not the words but Hal’s tone what tears Barry into shambles. Just two hours ago, he and Hal were happily chasing each other through his house, kissing each other senseless, breathing their love for each other. Now, they are in the middle of the street, sun set down, scarce moonlight, shivering against the cold wind with the remains of Hal’s life packed in two overfilled bags. Barry wants to scream; he can’t imagine how Hal must be like.
He takes Hal’s duffel and starts to walk to his house. He pivots and stares at Hal. Trying to sound cheerful he asks Hal, “Whatcha doing there? C’mon, we need to get home. Joe must be worried.”
Once more, it seems the right answer as Hal sniffs loudly before he plasters a fake smile and nods, following Barry to the West’s house. When they arrive, Joe is about to holler at them but one look at their faces makes him frown before he closes his eyes and smiling warmly, he takes Hal’s bags and mutters, “like it’s your home son.” It makes Hal’s tears to sprang.
That night, Barry holds Hal tightly waiting for the breakdown, but nothing comes. Apart from the couple of tears he shed with Joe’s words, Hal is impassive, immobile. He simply stares at the void before he falls asleep. When morning comes, Barry sneaks away, knowing that Joe needs answers. He finds his father in his studio, pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath.
“Barry, tell me right now what’s going on with Hal,” his eyes are as hard and firm as his tone.
Barry nods and sits down before he starts to tell Joe, overall, about Hal’s father. “So basically, Hal wants to enlist like his father to become a pilot and his mother hates anything air-related, so she kicked him out of his house until he gives up his dream. | f0cb239db68a47a2a2387bb975d34ff2 | ['ec67041ba3424f5390f3cbe59a79c019'] | Gritting his teeth, Barry tosses him his phone. Hal catches it but sets it apart after quickly checking the screen. “You don’t like Tom?”
“Oh, so that’s his name. Wonderful,” Barry snaps. He’s practically seeing the picture of Hal kissing that girl that he sent him the day before Christmas Eve.
Hal scratches his head and frowns. “He’s asking me if I’m coming to tonight’s party. I’m staying. I already told you. Bear, I haven’t drunk since we talked. Now I’m talking with you as you asked me. What else do you fucking want from me?” his tone has grown exasperate with every sentence.
Barry narrows his eyes and points at the phone. “Have you talked with him recently? Or checked your messages with him?” Hal frowns but shakes his head. “Do it. You were drunk, your phone… I know I shouldn’t have, but I was worried Hal and you wouldn’t talk. I looked who was texting you. Only that chat. I apologize for it, but not for not liking _Tom_.” He hisses the name.
Hal scrolls up and gasps when he sees the picture. “Barry, I swear it’s not what yo-”
“I know. It’s an old picture. I know it. I mean, at first, I didn’t, and it hurt. Imagine opening a picture of me kissing someone else. That’s how I felt, but then I saw your clothes didn’t match. Why would your friend send you those wonderful messages?” He mocks. Okay. So, he’s irritated and resentful. He knows Hal likes him and cares about him, but sometimes he wakes up and wonders how long until the spell is broken. Until Hal realizes he could be with someone better, less fucked up.
“Bear… I’m kind of annoyed, not gonna lie. I mean, I get that you were worried, but my phone? That’s what Jack used to do, you know? He used to check my computer to see what Ollie and I were up to. But okay, I get it. I was smashed, and you were tired of my bullshit but, c’mon why are you now angry with me?” It’s the hurt in Hal’s voice what makes Barry snap out of it.
He looks at Hal and all his irritation disappears. He’s right. He’s paying it with Hal who technically didn’t do anything wrong. “Sorry it’s just… I don’t know Hal. I’m kind of afraid you’re going to walk away and-”
Hal explodes. He raises his voice and rushed he starts to move his arms everywhere as he talks. “What? Fucks sake... Fuck Tom and fuck you. Seriously _Bartholomew_? I’m like fucking living here. I fucking talk with you about feelings and shit because no more secrets among us and communication and all that mumbo-jumbo and oh, yeah! I fucking love you and you fucking dare to-”
“You love me?” Barry’s breathes.
Hal stops midair. He slowly blinks and gapes like a fish. Every second that ticks by, he gets redder and redder. He finally nods and shyly looks away, chewing his lip. Barry runs and collides against Hal, both falling hard against the mattress. Bracketing Hal’s head between his arms, he stares into Hal’s eyes. “Tell me Hal. Please.”
Hal swallows and his eyes soften, hawking, he whispers, “I-I lo-love you Barry.”
Barry melts as his heart explodes. “I love you too Hal.”
Hal sucks a breath before he pulls Barry for a kiss. Barry smiles like a fool the whole time to the annoyance of Hal. “’m trying to kiss ya, Bear. At least pretend you’re trying…”
Barry singsongs, “You loooooove meeeee.”
Hal groans and throws a pillow to his head. “Shouldn’t had said anything. Jeez. Now I’m not even angry with you. It’s so unfair. Angry sex is supposed to be awesome, yet here we’re, sharing love confessions,” he groans.
His words make Barry giggle. “Pretty sure we’ll fight in the future, don’t worry you’ll get your angry reconciliation sex, Ace… and hey, confession time, right? Remember when you got wasted one school day and dropped your phone on Ollie’s pool?” Hal hums and his eyebrows press together, trying to understand where Barry is going. “You were talking with me. You said that you’ll always protect me and then, before you fell on the pool, you said, ‘I think I lov’. Does that ring a bell?”
Hal groans, “Thought that was a dream. You never said anything!”
“Neither did you,” replies Barry. Gleeful that Hal admits that he did mean that.
Hal hushes him with a kiss. Barry doesn’t mind. He’s so happy now that Hal has admitted his feelings regarding him. His doubts are now cleared, a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. _Hal loves me. Hal loves me_. Becomes his merry tune inside his brain.
That night, when the year finishes between Iris and Joe’s happy new year wishes, they lock lips.
“You know what they say Bear. If you kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve…”
“… good luck bodes for the rest of the year. Let’s spend all our New Year’s Eve together Hal.”
They kiss again.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I did a small banner with some moments/quotes of the fic <3
> I hope you have enjoyed this chapter :)
>
> Guuuuys I've done Timestamps! There's one for this chapter :)
> If you are curious about how Dinah and Ollie met and how Hal and Barry (not) decorated Barry's house for Christmas you can read it LINK.
> Feel free to request more scenes/timestamps you'd like to see either here, on the comments, or on Tumblr LINK
7. Stand by you
**JANUARY**
Hal wakes up with Barry opening and closing his drawers as he gets ready for school. Today is their first day back to school. It makes Hal groan. Screw school, he wants to go back to bed. |
a34e9fa18fbd4d629b3557e2f54d044f | ['ec69bc71089e49b69f7f5b63e617529c'] | Fury stared out at Loki as he hung slack restraints like some creepy evil marionette. His dark hair which had been blown wild by the fans was now plastered to the god's thin face, he looked pale as death.
"Do we know what made him pass out? I thought Loki was suppose to be tough." At least he hadn't expected him to be out cold after only a few hours.
"It could be the heat, or the jammer. If we'd known you wanted to know precisely we could have been a little more deliberate with the timing of application." The man looked at the data on the screen.
The woman spoke up obviously nervous of Fury's wrath. "From what Thor told us we can theorize that Loki either because of his different physiology or just a weaker constitution was never as strong or healed as fast as Thor. That and his healing may be linked to his magic, blocking him from the little magic he had available to him may have caused greater weakness or the jamming signal itself maybe taking a physical tole on him."
"Are you guessing?" Fury asked seriously. He wanted, no, he needed to know what limits he could push this alien to. At some point he would most likely have to hand him back over to his brother and he didn't want to have to explain any irreversible damage.
Of course Fury was working on a plan so that he wouldn't have to give this murderer back. He felt that he should be the one who got to dole out punishment for Earth and Coulson. It seemed only fair.
The male engineer spoke after studying his computer for a time. "Sir, we have ascertained that the heat has had a great effect on the prisoner's vitals. His core body temperature has risen drastically and even in this short time the scans are showing increased and indisputable signs of heat exhaustion and dehydration."
Fury contemplated this news and relented. "Alright turn the fans back on."
He knew he could be patient, there was no need to cook the frost giant too fast. he had at least a little time in which to stretch his punishment out. Thor was leaving for New Mexico in the morning to wait there for word from Odin or Heimdall or someone in Asgard.
Fury wanted Loki to suffer to do that properly he would find a way to make sure the god stayed awake next time and without the sweet escape of oblivion.
TBC...
4. Chapter 4
It was the morning of the fourth day since what was being called 'the Battle of New York'. Tony sat at the kitchen table in one of the guest suite in Stark Tower. This particular floor hadn't been damaged during the attack and the structural integrity of the building was still intact so Tony and Pepper and some Avenger's stayed.
They could stay at another of Tony's properties while clean up was on going in the tower and the city but it didn't feel right to leave the city now.
He had tried to suggest that Pepper stay elsewhere but she'd refused to leave him, in fact she'd been like his shadow since she'd gotten in. She was still in shock and he couldn't blame her, lots of people were still reeling.
Tony was sober, very sober. Something about flying a nuke through a portal into another part of space did that to a man.
Pepper brought him a cup of coffee and took a seat by his side. She was quiet for a time staring down into her own cup. When she spoke it was a soft serious question. "Have you heard yet if there will be a funeral service for Phil?"
Tony held his lifted coffee mug at his lips and then put it down without drinking it. The realization struck him that in all the confusion, tears, and anger in the aftermath of the battle he hadn't thought about there being a funeral.
Now he was mad at his self for now thinking of it, of course there should be a funeral for Phil, a service, a wake, and a monument erected 'in memory of Agent Phil Coulson defender of Earth'. But Tony hadn't heard a thing.
"I'll find out." Tony pulled out his phone and figured 'why not start at the top' "Call Fury" he spoke and the phone dialed. Tony waited and Pepper picked at some dry Cheerios that she just didn't feel like putting milk on.
The phone rang and rang and was not answered. "I guess he's busy."
"Or he doesn't want to talk to you."
"Hey I just saved New York he should take my calls. I'll try Natasha." Tony hung up and dialed the female Avenger.
"What's up Tony?" Natasha picked up on only the second ring.
"Hey, I've got a serious question." Tony stood up from the table and walked to the large window and looked out over the city it was odd to see no traffic around the Tower, the area was still blocked off to the public while clean up crews still worked to clean up the wreckage. "Is there going to be, ya know, a funeral for Agent Coulson?"
Natasha didn't answer right away. "Gosh, we've been so busy, I hadn't thought about it. No one's said anything."
"I tried calling Fury about it but he didn't pick up."
"I haven't seen Fury in days, not since he took Loki."
"Did they get Crazy Pants lock up nice and tight, with a straight jacket and ball and chain or oh, one of those pink uniforms like they wear in that prison in Arizona?" Tony couldn't help but be curious.
"I don't know, they've not made Loki's whereabouts or details of his captivity known even internally. I assume Fury is on it. I'm sure we'd know if there were any problems. Have you heard from Thor?" | b06f48ac55634d11a1f8ea684ac81dd1 | ['ec69bc71089e49b69f7f5b63e617529c'] | "Maybe," I shrug my shoulders. "I think he'd like that." I hope he'll be alright.
Carlisle
I get the feeling that he's worried to be alone with me and that makes me anxious. Makes me anxious for what I'm about to do. I close the door softly and move around to the side of the bed. His lips are tight and I can tell his jaw is clenched. His tension is radiating. I stand over his bed with all the authority I can muster. "I have some questions."
"Ok." he concedes, he does not shrink from my demand.
"You aren't who you said you are, what is your real name?" He closes his eyes and I can see his adam's apple going up and down as he swallows nervously. Still he some how seems to sit up straighter.
"Jasper Whitlock, sir." Now I'm the one swallowing nervously, this confirmation shakes me. I look at him again and he looks suddenly looks years younger to me then he did before.
"Why did you become Jack?" I continued. He sucked in a breath and his eyes drift away from mine.
"Jack was my brother." His eyes came back to mine, pain filled and willed me to understand what he meant. Jack was dead.
I stay silent and wait for the rest. "I had to get out and the army seemed the best way, Jack was 18 so I became him. No one questioned it til now." He said the last part a little quieter than the rest.
"Are you in some kind of trouble? Trouble with the law maybe?" This was a concern of mine, that he was a fugitive and possible dangerous. I watched him carefully for signs that he might be trying to lie.
"No sir, I'm not in trouble with the law. I didn't run from anything I'd done. We were just kids." The waves of despair that emanated from his words spoke volumes to their truth.
"Then isn't their someone I can call for you? Some family somewhere that would want to know?" At the mention of calling some one his nervousness turned to fear and he started to get agitated, bunching and pulling at the thin blanket at his finger tips.
"There isn't anyone, Dr. Cullen. There is no one left." His let out a breath and made a soft hissing noise. He wraps his arms around himself and looks at me. "There's only her."
He is terrified, his pupils dilate and he appears to be trying not to shake. I don't mean to push him like this, I feel terrible for making him go through what is an intense subject for him, but there is one more thing I need to know.
"Do you mean Maria?" He makes a sound between a sob and a whimper. A hand drifts up to the scar at his hairline seemingly subconsciously as he nodded. He trembles slightly.
"She's the reason...She... all of it... all of them" He rubs at his forehead, squeezes his eyes shut, and keeps his other arm wrapped around him defensively.
I can only image what he means by 'all of them' but the picture has been painted and shocking as the story is, it is clear to me that what is lying in front of me is a young man who was abused probably for years, whose situation was so bad that he went to war to escape.
Jasper is not the bad guy, he's the victim. I breath out and change my demeanor. "It's alright." I say softly and place a hand on his shoulder trying to be comforting. He flinches away from my touch reflexively. I should have expected that. "Thank you, I'm sorry we had to do that, really I am. But I needed to know so I can continue to help you."
He looks up at me and through his fear and pain I see he is skeptical. "I'm going to help you Jasper."
He coughs and chokes and sputters in disbelief. "But I lied."
"About your name and your age, not about being hurt or being in a war or needing help. I going to help you son." I don't try to touch him this time, instead I grip the railing of the bed. I've got a death grip on it, I'm so filled with indignation.
A tear slides don't his cheek and he's in capable of stopping it or the others that follow. He isn't sobbing they just seem to be falling out years of pent up fear and anxiety being released. He laughs or coughs I can't quite tell, breaths in and wipes the tears away with new resolve.
"Alright Doctor Cullen, if you think you want to try, thank you." He laid back and stared up at the ceiling. I let myself relax and sat down in the chair. We sit quietly both thinking I'm sure about what is coming next.
I ladies soon return baring balloons and a stuffed elephant that Alice apparently picked out for Jasper .
Jasper smiles at her, the fullest most genuine smile I've seen on him since we met. He seems to have recovered or at least put on a strong face for Alice and Esme.
I excuse myself from the room, I kiss Esme's cheek, she's been such a wonderful help. I assure her I'll be back in a bit. There is something I need to do.
The phone rings more times then I think it should if someone were there to pick it up. I'm about to hang up when I hear a voice finally answer on the other end. "Hello?"
"Dr. Knox, I wasn't sure if you were there or not. I'm glad I've caught you." There was not a reply for a long moment, and again I was left wondering if the man was going to talk with me.
Finally, he seemed to make a decision. "How is the boy?" He asks curtly. |
a5f52cbaac994323a23edadfed0574d0 | ['ec745b4ebbe5430d848beadc585aaa89'] | Little as he’d wanted to run the errand, however, he’s not more than a few minutes away from the house before the night air and buzz of the evening market cheer him. He’s not sure how certain he can be that Naomi is correct about Tam’s well-being, but he’s not nothing else to go on, and if she’s as close to Inanna as she claims, she might be the key to getting the two of them out unscathed.
Mostly, he’s just hoping that the winged stooges take their sweet time to come back.
By the time he returns, his spirits are high. He’d pulled off a tidy heist for the figs and milk, and the walk had done him good.
Naomi wastes no time in pelting him with instructions. Remove the fig’s skin, crush the fig in the mortar and pestle, being sure to completely pulverize the seeds, add this that and the other thing from the house’s larder, stir in the goat’s milk until it creates a thick paste, wrap the paste in cheesecloth, remove her garments—
Of course, her arms and wrists are so shattered; she is unable to do this task for herself. Crowley nearly makes quite a number of rude jokes, but every time he looks back up at Naomi’s face, he winds up biting his tongue. Something about her complete guilelessness makes him terribly uncomfortable, which in turn makes him even _more_ uncomfortable, since he’s used to being the one making _other_ people uncomfortable, not this way round.
He’s just in the middle of pressing the damp cloth against her collarbone and wondering how on Earth she’s managed to even survive away from Heaven for so long, let alone collude with this Inanna character, when she leans forward just enough to kiss him, her vessel’s lips meeting the corner of his.
It hurts him, sudden and sharp like an insect bite, and he half moves to recoil, but somehow finds himself pressing into it instead, prying into her mouth and filling his own with bright pinpricks like a man devouring an intensely hot pepper and reveling in the way it devours him back. The pain is sweet and irresistible.
Should he?
Absolutely not. It is a terrible idea for him, a terrible idea for her, and probably a terrible idea for whomever she’s wearing. He is able to logically conclude that to take advantage of this situation and push it any farther would be wrong on every possible level.
He considers this with a certain amount of detachment and tosses any hesitation aside without any real deliberation. After all, how often does an opportunity like _this_ come along?
* * *
The third night comes and goes, and by sunrise, Naomi is the picture of health. She conjures a hefty reward for the homeowner, an enormous woven basket in the center of the floor full to brimming with meat and fruit and beer, as well as a note explaining what occurred while he slept.
Crowley considers this deeply unnecessary, but says nothing of it.
They set out for the Ziggurat just after dawn. The temple at its peak is as silent and empty as it was days before. Crowley wouldn’t know the difference, but he isn’t immune to the eerie atmosphere, and he isn’t fool enough to imagine that it’s always this way.
Naomi’s shoulders are tight and her lips are pursed. She doesn’t say much as they move through the temple halls, and Crowley’s just as glad for the silence. When they get to the dark, labyrinthine series of chambers before the inner sanctum, he realizes that the hassle is finally paying off in the form of having a guide.
There’s no need for Naomi to tell Crowley when they arrive at the heavy gate to the innermost room. He brushes his fingers against the wall and he can feel the power leaking from inside, pulsing along the walls and floor like a current on a wire.
“He’s in there?” He asks, eyes fixed on the door.
“Tam? Yes, he is."
“And you’re telling me he’s safe, somehow?” Skepticism swells Crowley’s voice and strains the skin of his words.
“I am not sure that I would use the word _safe,_ but he is alive for now. I suggest you allow me to enter alone. If I can defuse the situation without violence, I will turn him over to you, much as the notion pains me. You have earned that much.”
“That’s all well and good in theory.”
“You have so little confidence.” The hard line of Naomi’s mouth twitches into something that might be described as a smirk.
“What can I say? I’m a realist.” He shrugs.
Naomi shrugs back, as if she is somewhat unfamiliar with the gesture. She pushes the door open just far enough for her vessel to fit through and slips into the room.
Crowley listens closely. He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to filter out the hiss and crackle of energy and focus on the voices. There’s a greeting, and then the volume drops below what he can make out. His teeth grit against each other.
He doesn’t have to wait long for the shouting to begin or end – a few invectives and the scuffle starts too fast for an argument to even take place.
A realist indeed.
“Wait here.” He says to his meatsuit, and smokes out, leaving his body crumpled on the floor.
Inside the room with the impossibly high dome, Crowley finds it difficult to even look at either of them. Without a body, his sight is different – he’s forced to look at their true faces, and the light is so bright as to be painful to behold, even at a distance, and Inanna’s incantation, while it doesn’t hurt him, does make him feel uneasy. | d9f8af1ea46141ffaab5c3b710548edd | ['ec745b4ebbe5430d848beadc585aaa89'] | "Nah. You know I'd have jumped in if it was you." Somehow the dark seemed like a safe place to be honest. No one had to see his face. It felt like something that could be dismissed, forgotten. Dean went on: "The place could have been on fire and you know I'd have just…" He made a falling gesture with his hand. Cas couldn't see it, but he understood the gist. He could hear the tired smirk, like a smile over the phone.
"You think you owe me." Cas said.
"Dude, I don't know, maybe, but that's not why, how many times do I have to tell you, it's like you won't let yourself think I just…" He stopped. The darkness was safe, but it wasn't _that_ safe.
Drops of water fell somewhere, soft _plinks_ bouncing off the rocks.
"You just what?" Cas asked. His vessel's heartrate had increased and he felt it flutter against his ribs. He had thought that these sensations of humanity would fade when he had grace again, his own or otherwise, but they didn't. Before the trickery of Metatron, he had kept himself back from the boundaries of his vessel and its wants, finding foolish the angels that indulged in the shallow tempests of their human bodies, but then Jimmy Novak was gone and they were _his_ tempests to deflect, and then he was all human, and they were unavoidable, all-encompassing. Grace or not, they pursued him still.
"We're family." Dean swallowed his original thought.
"It wasn't wrong." Cas said, and Dean immediately knew what he meant. Cas still thought Dean had picked the right door.
"Then how are we sitting in a moldy cave instead of solving—" Dean stopped and palmed his forehead with a light _smack_. "I'm doing it again. I'm taking it for granted."
"I don't understand."
"Gabriel said the rules are different here. So there's gotta be something." Dean stood, bending at the shoulders beneath the low, dripping ceiling. He winced as he touched the slimy junk that lined the walls, random objects littering the dungeon that seemed to have been there forever and a day.
Something glinted in the pile of rubbish and he reached for it. He pulled it out of the mud with a sucking sound and brushed it off – it was globelike, gold and round, with a protrusion on one end and a short spike sticking out, like a doorknob with a knife on one end.
A doorknob.
"Cas, I have an idea, but it's really, really stupid. I need you to promise not to say anything in five seconds when it doesn't work, because it probably won't."
"I promise." Cas felt it was a silly request, all blustery human ego, but gave what seemed to be the correct response.
Dean tapped at the stone wall around where he had found the knob. His nail hit stone, stone, stone, stone, dirt, stone… he went back a spot and pressed in with his finger, finding a soft spot where two stones were joined. He lined up the spike on the back end of the knob with the soft spot and gave it a hard shove.
It sank into the wall.
Nothing happened.
As a last ditch effort, he turned it.
Nothing happened, until it did.
A thin-lined rectangle of light traced itself into the rock around the knob.
"Humans." Castiel whispered under his breath. "Every time I think I've seen it all…" He trailed off.
"Shall we get the hell out of here?" Dean invited, putting on airs of formality.
"Indeed."
The stone now-door pushed easily outward into a dirty passageway beneath the earth, just tall enough to pass more comfortably through. Its walls were slanted inward and lined with enormous faces carved into the rock. Dean wasn't even surprised when they turned a corner and the faces started to move.
"Do not pass!" Boomed one voice.
"This path heralds your doom!" Rumbled the next.
"The way you walk will lead you to your demise!"
"Oh for the love of…" Dean grumbled. "I'm wising up to your tricks, Gabriel!" He shouted ahead into the ceiling. "Do you really think some Easter Island wannabes are going to slow me down?"
One of the faces' giant rocky lip tilted outward in something that tried to resemble a pout. "Was that really necessary?" The face asked.
"It was a little hurtful!" Shouted the first face, in much the same tone.
"Not very sensitive!" Assented another, its granite brows tilting out with betrayal.
"Please excuse him." Cas addressed the faces with concern. "He is quite distraught. I don't think you will find him easily dissuaded. It is no failing of yours."
"What are you doing? Nevermind. Don't bother." Dean said. "Come on let's keep going."
"At least one of them is polite." Commented the face at the corner as they disappeared through a doorway.
Past their feet rolled a fist-sized glass ball. It did not escape Dean's attention.
"Motherfucker." He swore.
"Now now," Said a thin, high voice from a beak in the shadow beneath a tall hat, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Cut the crap."
It stood, long, human legs appearing from nowhere, and without warning the creature itself was discarded over the top of Gabriel's head.
"Cassie." He said by way of greeting.
"Gabriel." Cas growled. "I demand answers. How did you survive Lucifer's assault? What is the meaning of this?" He gestured around him. "Don't you know there are more important things now than playing games?"
"Tell that to your little pet." Gabriel looked at Dean. "He's the one who wished his brother away. Why is the guy who grants the wishes always made out to be the villain? No gratitude around here, I swear. And you." He turned back to Cas. "I guess being bossy and shortsighted is just a human thing you picked up then?" |
c80f1c27be5349d985f9e3cfa5816b36 | ['ec80fd5778bb4f52b2d7e4db1571abd5'] | A minute or two drifted by like that, comfortable, the warmth of contact something he hadn’t slowed down to enjoy in an eternity. Stan had about found the perfect angle to pillow his cheek against her hair when she stirred. He rumbled in protest before he could stop himself, arm tightening for a second then relaxing as she sat up straight.
The wan wash of light from the hallway gilded the slope of her cheek; her shadowed eyes held a determined glint. “I’m in too good a mood to talk about ancient history, but I’d like to trade stories with you sometime.”
“Sure, but I don’t know when - “ She tilted her head in reproach and any further protest stalled in his throat.
“Stan. You made the fatal mistake of giving me your _phone number._ ” Stan cracked a crooked grin and she went on, low-voiced and all velvet persuasion. “Let me know when you hit a port I can get to. Anywhere in the north Atlantic’s fine. If you end up someplace _warm,_ like say Gibraltar or the Azores, so much the better. Drinks are on me.”
He almost barked out a laugh, a startled little huff like she’d just sucker-punched him. “You askin’ me _out?_ Your treat?”
“Yes.” The practiced look of light amusement on her face faded by degrees into something more apprehensive. “If you’d like. I’d hate to never see you again.”
His brain locked up _hard,_ spinning off into logistics and complications and the overwhelming desire to not fuck up the good thing he had going. Mercifully his mouth got out ahead, as usual. “Yeah. Definitely. I’d - really, _really_ like that.”
She lit up in a split second of unguarded happiness for maybe the first time since they’d met. Clary leaned in too quickly to intercept, her lips grazing the stubble of his cheek as a fleeting whiff of her faded peony perfume curled into his nose. “Great. So would I.”
Stan’s hands twitched once with the sudden impulse to snag her by the waist and drag her into his lap before common sense shut _that_ down. She couldn’t quite look him straight on as she withdrew and this time he laughed in earnest. “Oh, c’mon, _counselor,_ y’can’t make a pitch like that an’ then go all shy on me.”
“Sure I can.” Clary’s fingers tightened in his, then slipped away as she rose. “I’d better go to bed before I say anything else incriminating. See you in the morning.”
“What, _alone?_ ”
“Stan.”
“It’s gonna be chilly, want me to drop off a couple extra blankets - “
“ _Stanley._ ”
“I got a sideline in _personal furnace services -_ “
“Oh my _god._ Don’t make me regret saying anything.” The chuckle she was trying so hard to suppress laid a husky note under the words as she headed for the hallway.
“G’night, sweetpea.”
She slipped through the door with a last backward glance. He sat back to think it over, eyes closed, horrified and delighted all at once.
Mostly delighted, he decided, pressing fingers to his cheek where she’d kissed him.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> “I’d hate to never see you again.” She looks anxious, jittery with anticipation and a little sad all at once.
>
> * **Definitely.**
> * Maybe.
> * I just can’t.
>
11. Let Someone Else Pick Up The Tab
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Right off the damn rails.
_07/18/13 Thursday_
The nerd brigade was in full control of the living room by the time Stan was up and about the next day. Graph paper, rulebooks and glitter-spangled character sheets were littered across the carpet. Clary sat enthroned upon the recliner with a bunch of pillows arranged to support her elbows. She leafed gingerly through some arcane tome tricked out with silver ink as Dipper hovered to one side, pointing out paragraphs here and there with a pencil and a note of shrill excitement.
“... so that’s what they did with the clerics in the latest rule update!”
“How are the warlocks looking in this edition?” Clary flipped to the back, then started paging through intently. Today’s kerchief was an improbable shade of star-spattered purple. One of Mabel’s scarves strapped down a towel-wrapped ice pack at the back of her neck. “They’re kind of garbage for one-shots, but if we get something longer-term going online I have a concept...”
“Ah, we - usually avoid warlocks - “ Dipper glanced over at Ford, who’d popped up with a frown from behind a cardboard screen. “But if we end up trying an online campaign we can talk! Today’s just an intro. Some puzzles, some mysteries, perhaps some _villains._ ” He waggled dramatic fingers at Clary, who grinned back with an appreciative ‘ _ooOOOooo_.’
Stan made to slide on by, intent on heading out to the yard and the cars and the testing-out of a happy engine, but Mabel caught sight of him and scuttled out in pursuit. “Grunkle Stan! Help me out for a minute, we need ice pops for these brave adventurers!”
“Hey, sweetheart.” He grinned at Mabel, caught Clary’s eye in passing and absolutely did not blush a little, _nope,_ no way, he was too old and too jaded for that kinda nonsense.
Mabel squinted up at him appraisingly, planted hands at his back and shoved him towards the gift shop. “So?” she hissed between her teeth as they staggered down the hallway. “Gimme the 411.”
All he could manage was a thumbs up. Her eyes went wide and she yanked up the cowlneck of her sweater to muffle a high-pitched squeak of glee. “So, she asked me out, I guess, maybe when we’re in port, since we swapped phone numbers an’ all - “
“Did you kiss her?!”
“What? _No!_ ”
“You should. She gets all dreamy-eyed - “
“Mabel, she is a classy dame, you don’t rush that kinda thing!” | fb2912bc7b464fb8bc4fa92f2696cff9 | ['ec80fd5778bb4f52b2d7e4db1571abd5'] | There was really no time at all to talk. Clary chased after the four girls like a harried mother goose, hopping over Waddles when necessary. Stan could not _believe_ the amount of chatter they generated - commentary on the guest list, the likely menu, Ford’s relative hotness - he winced at that one.
They spent a good hour in the living room huddled around Mabel’s phone, watching videos and arguing over the party soundtrack. Clary was pushing for classic tunes, forties and fifties stuff. “Lowest common denominator. _Everyone_ can dance to that.”
“My grunkle’s got pretty light feet,” Mabel shot back. “Seventies or bust! Let’s give the old man a chance to strut his stuff!”
“Every time Stan struts his stuff, something gets broken.” Pacifica was leaning in, still looking a little bored but at least engaged. “Which might be fun to watch.”
Stan hovered within earshot for a little while, hoping Clary would pull herself free, but he gave up after one too many intense debates over boy bands. He’d have to wait them out. The cash was burning a hole in his pocket anyway. He stomped off to the old office, flicked on a lamp, cleared a space on the desk and buckled down to work.
He couldn’t really enjoy the whole process with the sense of _impending doom_ winding tight in his chest. The old answering machine’s red light blinked angrily from across the room; he threw stuff at it - Gold Chains For Old Men from last April, a Lil’ Gideon promo t-shirt, a ratty coonskin cap he’d never repurposed - until something stuck and covered it up.
By the time he had the guest list and the cash bundled up and packed away in the safe it was well past midnight. Stan crept through the darkened house, reflexively avoiding all the creakiest spots in the floor. Dipper, he knew, was crashing on the study couch downstairs.
Indistinct girlish voices and the steady _thump thump thump_ of muffled bass were still trickling under the kids’ door. The narrow line of light painted onto the floorboards was dim, at least, so things must be winding down by now. Stan paused and raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and slunk off towards his own room.
He was on the verge of tucking himself in when he heard the soft creak of hinges down the hall. Cracking his door open a sliver revealed a bare glimpse of Clary tiptoeing out and downstairs in pajamas and kerchief. Eventually she returned with the plastic pitcher and a few old tumblers.
Stan just watched. She glanced over as she made to slip back in, spotting his silhouette against the faint light of his room, and with a tiny conspiratorial smile held a finger to her lips.
He closed the door, flopped flat on his back in bed, and stared at the ceiling that was too far away to actually see until he tumbled unwilling into restless sleep.
Come morning the yammering traffic of teenage girls throwing together a full-on Mabel-style breakfast was too much to bear. There wasn’t a chance in hell of extricating Clary from the chaos, so he headed straight for the museum.
Soos had rigged construction curtains across the space they’d blocked out. The ‘Coming Attraction!’ sign sported a cheerful, toothy, horned-and-winged weasel with wide cartoon eyes, probably Melody’s work.
Stan had argued for scaling the whole production down a little, but Soos had been adamant in his laid-back way. By hook or by crook it was going to be a walkthrough with hidden lighting, surround sound and special effects, whatever _that_ meant.
He spent most of his time slathering black paint over the framework that had already gone in. The blackout shell that would eventually enclose it all would at least cover up any number of construction sins. Positioning marks for lights, showpieces and electronics got chalked in according to the elaborate plans he’d been handed.
Morning tours swung past his sheltered corner and Stan listened in pleased bemusement. There was already a snappy line of patter for the new exhibit. Soos had a gift for this - the style had changed but the appreciative giggling and gasps from his audience were familiar.
After all, Stan had fallen into the role. Soos had _aspired_ to it.
It was easy to lose himself in the work for a couple of hours, but eventually his stomach’s vague grumble and the angle of sunlight through the windows warned him that he had other things to worry about. Soos stuck his head in between curtains and tapped at the framework. “Time for lunch, Mr. Pines! The girls have all gone home and I think Miss Clary’s got sandwiches made up.”
“Yeah, yeah, comin’.” Stan rubbed at a few flecks of black paint on his fingers and emerged squinting into the main room. “Sounds like a nice busy mornin’. Everythin’ all right with plans for the dance thing?”
Soos tugged a notepad out of his jacket. “Oh, yeah, we’re selling a ton of tickets! I guess they all saw your posters. _Lots_ of messages came in last night. Took a while to get through them all before we opened up. And we had a bunch of people asking about dinner tickets?” He flipped a couple of pages while Stan cringed internally. “Yup, about fifteen of those. Couple more calls today, too, and a few people asking at the gift shop.”
“Uh. Yeah. About those. Didja get phone numbers an’ names?”
“Oh, sure. Looked like you settled on eighty-five bucks apiece for those, so that’s what we charged.”
“What you - Soos, did you actually _sell them tickets?!_ ”
Soos blinked. “Well, sure! I saw the envelope in the safe and that ticket book, so I figured you and Miss Clary worked something out. It’ll be one big party!” |
5ec6c4557f2b46518d0ac1e190030de7 | ['ecd036499972484caef5aa9946e3bd88'] | “NO I don’t” James starts translating again.
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU SPENT A YEAR IN PARIS.’’
“DRINKING NOT STUDYING” James gets the words when it stops numbers start _ interation 17294531 _ then a beep.
“No NO”
“What is that”
“The batteries are dying”
It starts over again he knows what the woman is saying. _Interation_ _17294532_ James really hates French.“I can translate it is repeating on loop”
“He’s right and the numbers it’s a count the next number will end 533
_ Interation 17294533 _ .
“Does anyone know what the Hell sayid’s going on about”
"It's a running count of the amount of times the message has repeated it's roughly 30 seconds long so how long.." Sayid interrupts himself when he starts counting.
"Don't forget to carry the one chief" That is useful advice but James thinks that Sawyer may be using sarcasm.
"What is the woman saying"
"The woman she is saying Please help me please come get me I'm alone now on the island alone please someone come the others their dead it killed them it killed them all" James really did not think this hike could get worse.
"sixteen years'
"What"
"sixteen years and five months that's how long the message has been playing over and over for sixteen years " James hates being wrong.
"Someone else was stranded here" He was really wrong.
"Maybe they got rescued" That is very wishful thinking considering that if they were rescued they would have most likely turned off their distress signal.
"Then why is it still playing"
"Guys. Where are we." Charlie why do you always ask questions that no one will know the answers to.
4. Chapter 3
After one hour and five minutes of walking sayid speaks up “We should make camp” James would rather keep walking until it gets dark but he is tired he realizes he has not slept since the crash.
“Hell no you guys have a nice time I’m going back to the beach” No Sawyer why do you have to be so difficult on missions you are taking unnecessary risks.
“It will get dark that risk is unnecessary”
“What afraid the trees are going to get us” Well no trees do not move the thing that killed the pilot however. Sayid agrees with James.
“No, what is knocking down the trees will get you.” Wait. What When did that happen.
“The thing has been knocking down trees”
Charlie answers James first “Oh Yeah mate, you weren’t here the first night were you”
“Hey if you guys are all so worried about me why don’t you give me the clip back.” He motions towards the gun. Right James will let Sawyer have the gun back after he gets Stark to take a look at his arm. Kate also disagrees with Sawyer.
“Put your gun back in you pants Sawyer you keep walking you're not going to make it to the beach” She is helpful on missions Sayid two he likes them.
“Yeah why’s that” because Sawyer your plan is to go through a deadly forest at night with an unknown amount of threats with a single handgun that has no ammunition.
“Trust me” Apparently Sawyer trusts Kate because he stays and they set up camp.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
“This is Australia.” Sayid puts a rock on the ground and holds up his flaming stick “This is us two days ago we take off from Sydney we fly on the same northeast rote every commercial airline from Los Angeles does” He looks up at Kate “The Pilot said he lost communication with the ground correct”
So they can not send out a transmission and no one has any idea where they are. James wishes he never had to go to Sydney for the mission.
“Yeah six hours in he turned around and headed to Fiji.” Why did the underground Hydra bases have to be in Sydney and Los Angeles why could it have not of been in Spain and Hawaii.
“So we changed course regrettably no one knew we changed course the turbulence hit we know the rest.” Sayid puts his fire out.
“The pilot said we were over a thousand miles off course” Or Maybe Portugal.
“Alright great on one's ever going to find us” Sawyer is very negative, meanwhile James would like to know if the weather in antarctica is good this time of year. “How about we talk about that other thing the transmission the one where the french chick said everyone's dead”
“We don’t know what we heard”
“What I heard was correct she said that they are all dead.” Technically James is only 85% sure.
“How do we even know what he was saying is right I mean it could be…”
“His translation was right...I think..I don’t know my French sucks okay but from what I understood….” Shannon’s brother interrupts her.
“Alright How do we tell the others” No, telling people will make them panic when they need to focus on survival.
“We don’t.” James agrees with Sayid.
“What!? People need to know.” James disagrees with Charlie. James talks next.
“No they do not it will make the people panic which will not help any one.”
“Not just that but it will take away people’s hope.” James agrees with Sayid, hope is important not as much as survival though. People seem to agree with Sayid because the discussions over and people start going to sleep.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
_ James is in abandoned warehouse he sees Steve _
_ “Hey Bucky” _
_ Why is Steve, James and also the rest of shield in a old warehouse? Better question how did he get off the island? _
_ This is a dream is it. He never dreams any more but that would explain why Sam has actual bird wings. _
_ “What is everyone doing here? Why are we here?” _ | a34a8597973643fbbd644ea9d9936143 | ['ecd036499972484caef5aa9946e3bd88'] | Colten counted the stitching on in the backseat of the car to keep himself occupied. By midnight they were only halfway to Colorado so the group decided to stop in a hotel in Missouri. Damon parked the car in front of where they would be staying for the night. "Are you happy now you oversized seven year old. We stopped." They walked into the building and eventually they found three suitable rooms.
Damon stopped Colten before he walked into a room. "Hey, why couldn't you have brought your group with you in the first place? Or at the very least they could meets us halfway."
Colten sighed. The four horsemen didn't know who could have gotten into the prison. They sent him to retrieve information on the newcomers and then the others would decided on how to deal with them afterwards. He was planning on only spending a month or so with them before they would eventually die from pain, but one of them turned out to be witch who can be used to get them out of here. When he told them this they were very insistent that he does not do anything to the witch and her companion. Elric had said that they need the two to trust the horsemen and that Colten should not do anything he would normally do. Colten may have screwed up a bit in that compartment when he tortured the vampire, but he is sure that she will understand. He did what was necessary just like she would.
"Because when we noticed the disturbance in the prison world we didn't know who it was. So they sent me" Colten pointed to himself "to check it out."
Damon smirked. "So what you're there little errand boy."
"Nope I offered to do this."
Damon was about to say something else but Bonnie came out of her room "Hey did you know when two idiots never stop talking it makes it hard for others to sleep."
"Oh boo hoo I'm so sorry that being driven in car all day is so exhausting."
Bonnie directed her scowl at Damon before her frown suddenly turned into a smile. "Also I just learned a spell that forces people's mouths shut and since we still have eight hours of driving I am really tempted to try it out."
The group decided to try and get some sleep.
5. Chapter 5
Europe 1400's
Henry's great grandfather had been one of the founders of the town. Although Henry did not have a title he was eligible to know the decisions made for the soldiers and witches on exhibitions like this one. As he was walking through the field he looked back at the wagon that held the witches they brought with them.
Witches had always fascinated Henry. In school he was taught that witches were servants of the devil and were sent to infect humans with there powers of hell. At first the townspeople would capture and hang those suspected of witchcraft however the more people learn about witches the more they were able to subdue and control them. Eventually, the townspeople decided the power witches held could be used for the good of humans instead of for the devil. Since then Henry's town's main resource was the witches they were able to capture and with the magic suppressing cuffs the town believed that the witches were powerless to use their magic against the town they served. That's what Henry was taught in school about witches but he always wanted to know more about them. For example how did humans find out witches came from hell or are all witches created to be evil. Henry asked his father these questions when he was a child but his father just got angry with him and told henry that there is nothing else he needs to know about witches. Henry believed his father as well as all the other adults who told him that witches are the devil's creation because why wouldn't Henry believe something that has been told to him his entire life.
"Hey, how many witches do you think we will get on this raid? I say about...Hey Henry."
Henry was brought out of his thoughts by a fellow soldier. "Uh?"
"Never mind." The other man glared at Henry not liking that he was ignored "and stop daydreaming it's going to get your ass killed."
"Right sorry." Henry looked away from the witch's wagon and continued walking with the rest of the soldiers.
As most of the soldiers were walking to their destination there were some that had been placed with the witches to guard them. Therefore Nirvana, Elric, and the other witch Joshua were unable to do anything without one of the men noticing. However, Nirvana had taught herself and Elric a spell that their mother had used to communicate with them whenever she would lose her voice. The spell telepathically let a witch project their thoughts into another mind. It was a fairly simple spell to accomplish especially if you are communicating with another witch who is letting that person into their mind. However, since Nirvana and Elric tried to do the spell with the cuffs restraining their magic it had taken the two witches years to be able to overpower the cuffs so they could talk with each other from the mind, a spell that would take an average unsuppressed witch an hour or two to accomplish. After they had learned the first spell other small spells became easier to accomplish through their cuffs. However, if they tried most of their spells they would be killed immediately. So they stuck with a spell that the soldiers guarding them would not notice.
_Hey, you alright?_
_Well, besides the fact that we've been taken to do who knows what for the people who destroyed our lives, I'm great, Yeah, just fantastic._
_You don't have to be an ass about it._
_Sorry, I'm doing alright. You?_ |
db79cb3399674e668b610e36785c573f | ['ecf187178c794c3f859524054fd6e9c7'] |
Incredible
You hate her. You utterly, completely, and obsessively hate her. If you hear one more high pitched giggle or watch her throw her head back and cackle as she reaches her arms out to ruffle your hair, you are going to throw a punch at the nearest brick wall and hopefully break your arm. That should put you out of commision for a bit. You’re gonna need it, what does it take for a guy to get some goddamn rest around here?
Oh look. She’s absconded, back at her computer with a small half smile plastered on her face. What the hell is making her so happy? Casually, you pace behind her, pretending you’re heading towards Kanaya’s computer but taking a slight peek over on her screen.
Red text. Of course, what should you have expected? She loves talking to that guy. What even is her fascination with him? You scoff, turning on toe and heading back to your own computer. He was a douche. Not helpful whatsoever, but unfortunately essential as a time player in the new session.
She’s still smiling. It’s not even the short lived laughing, she just brings her nose closer to the fucking screen and inhales, her lips turned up in an almost permanent seeming smile. She borrowed Nepeta’s drawing tablet earlier; you watched with an eyebrow raised as she set it up and started drawing shit on the screen. Let the blind girl be the artist. Great idea, Strider.
But even still, she’s quietly chuckling as you hear another ‘ping’ come from her computer. She was giggling at you just a few minutes ago, but you shoved her off. Don’t want her getting the wrong idea. That you were actually friends.
Well.
You guess you are friends. You’re not really sure what you are. Acquaintances, partners-in-crime, she sort of IS your second in command. As much as you hate to admit it, she is quite useful. And has saved your ass once. Twice. A few times but come on, since when are we keeping score of how many times she’s bailed you out? Never, that’s when. Never and we’re not starting today, buddy.
You think back during your own session, her barging the hell in with her stupid (but handy) stabcane, and the two of you fighting imps alongside each other. The ogres were a bit of a challenge, the two of you attacked them with an unspoken strategy. It was almost perfect sync; a bit strange since you were always afraid of training with another troll. The blood color issue was enough to keep you in your hive most of the time.
Fuck, it was almost crazy how good she was. She would spin around, lacerating the other imp quickly while taking care of the one that was sneaking up on you. Almost funny how a blind troll can fight better than you. You’re almost ashamed of it, but screw it. You have to give her credit sometimes, no matter how much you despise her.
Despise her. Yeah, obviously. The hate between you is plainly obvious. No, not black. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you can’t be black for her. That’s stupid. You don’t even know what to call her, so you’ll stick with sometimes-but-not-often friend.
You hear another chuckle and you glance over, annoyed that she’s broken your inner conversation with yourself. Leaning back a bit in your shitty chair (that’s why your posture is bad, why would you assume anything else) you see miles of red and teal text, along with links to what you can only assume are shitty drawings.
She leans back, turning her head slightly towards you and raising an eyebrow, silently questioning your actions. Shit. Your chair slams forward and you bury your gaze to your computer screen again, chewing on your cheek in frustration. She shrugs, going back to her own personal douchebag before you sigh and slam your head down on the table.
Pushing your chair back with a frustrating screeching sound that everybody turns back and gives you an aggravated look, you glare at them as you step on one of the transportalizers and get the fuck out of there.
_Bam_. Your feet hit the ground around the same time you facepalm. What is with her? You are such an i _diot_ around her, and you don’t even know why! Some of the shit you say, you want to just flip a table sometimes after you hit enter.
Or after you talk to her in person.
That shit is almost more intimidating. It’s because she’s right there. Living and breathing in front of you, and holy shit it kind of terrifies you. Not only because she’s about an inch taller than you, but also the fact that she’s chortling at something stupid you _really_ did, pushing her _real_ glasses up back on her nose while twirling her _real_ cane and whacking your _real_ legs with it just to piss you off.
She wasn’t supposed to be here, in front of you, in all your vulnerability. Online, you could deal with her and her obnoxious laughing with your angry gray words and overly exaggerated anger that wasn’t always all that exaggerated with her. Which is why you probably did The Thing, because you were a complete and utter dumbass.
That’s it, blame everything on your own idiocy because, come on, it’s a completely valid thing to blame here.
The Thing. Fuck, you almost want to die thinking about it. But come on, she was just so close and you couldn’t really help it bit-
NO.
You’re not doing this. You’re not going through this thought process again. You hate her, remember? | 19a71aab3e5a46238793b875d4c1843f | ['ecf187178c794c3f859524054fd6e9c7'] | You stiffen in shock, catching your wallet just in time and shoving it back in your pocket, spinning around so your back is to her.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT. You just embarrassed yourself in front of this girl, who was already on your nerves. The weird thing was, in the library, she didn’t even seem offended. She sat there with this huge ass smirk on her face, finding the entire thing pretty hilarious as you stammered out apologies and promised to buy her a new drink and you didn’t mean to offend her or anything.
And she just sat there and giggled like a fucking moron.
You stared at her, mouth open, and Porrim dragged you away before you could yell at her some more. She scooped up her books and walked out with a slight wave. “I’m taking you up on that soda offer, I’m truly offended!” She called as she walked past the register and out the door. You thought she was fucking joking about the entire thing until the door slammed shut and you realized that she really did not give a shit that you didn’t even realize she was blind.
For the next few hours, Porrim teased you ridiculous amounts also while comforting you at the same time, in that weird way that she does. It was a pain in the ass, but also helpful. You couldn’t change pants and your jeans were gross but you carried on your day until Samantha finally announced it was your lunch break. Now you’re here and she’s there and holy shit can this day even get any worse?
Apparently so.
“Oh, hey, check it out. It’s Mr. Shouty! Did you know they sell cherry soda here, it’s right in the glass case over there.” The words all come out in one long sentence with a high pitched laugh at the end, and her waving enthusiastically. Your face flushed and you pretended like you didn’t hear her, grabbing your sandwich and beginning to walk off before you feel a tap on your shoulder.
God fucking dammit.
“What do you even want?” You growl before spinning around to face her. She was one of the few people actually shorter than you, even if it was just an inch. She wore bright red glasses, that you couldn’t tell if they were sunglasses or some costume thing. But she’s had them on every single time you’ve seen her, so you’ll assume they’re just her weird ass glasses to go along with her weird ass self.
“A refill.” She smirks, pointing to the bottles in the deli case and you roll your eyes. You did offer to do this, before you realized she was an absolute asinine psycho girl who just thought everything was absolutely hilarious. You make a big show of grabbing it, and slamming it on the counter for the employee to ring up. The girl snorts and you fish out money from your pocket, frustrated as you count out nickles.
“Thanks Karkat!” The girl says and you freeze up, suddenly weirded out that she knows your name. Turning to glare at her, you shake your head. “Please tell me you’re not stalking me. How the everloving fuck do you know my name?” You mutter, annoyed and she points to the clearly obvious nametag stuck to your shirt.
God, does she have to outsmart you in every single fucking way possible today? You’ve had enough of her and her weird clothes and bright hair and obnoxious laugh that seems to punctuate everything that you hear. Not only what she says, it seriously sounds like it just echos. Like out of a horror movie.
You hand her the cold bottle of soda, giving her a quick middle finger salute before grabbing your sandwich and sulking to the other end of the place, sinking down into a booth and opening your lunch as she shrugs and goes back to her seat. It occurs to you that you didn’t even ask for her name.
Wait. Honestly, why would you want her name? You would prefer to not see her ever again, because she’s simply gotten on your last nerve today and you don’t think you can put up with her again. You hide your face behind a menu, even though you’ve already gotten something to eat, and peer over the top to watch her. She’s blind, she can’t tell.
Her hair is almost to her shoulders, and sticking out at every odd angle imaginable. Kanaya would scream if she saw the fact she was wearing red with her hair, she looked like a fucking stop sign. It was just...bright and obnoxious. The only one standing out in the middle of the place. Her fingers skimmed the paper, and she had a cane propped up against the chair beside her that had a dragon head fashioned to the top of it. It looked homemade, but also had quite a bit of detail put into it, you could tell.
You had quite an eye for detail, anyways.
Her head turns up, and you bring the menu up to cover your entire face as you curse to yourself. She’s blind, she couldn’t tell obviously. Don’t be so stupid, Vantas. You’re getting worked up over nothing. You take a bite out of your sandwich, and suck the rest of your drink out through a straw, making a loud slurping noise and having a man beside you reading the newspaper glance up in annoyance. He glares, and you shrug. “Teenagers...” He mutters underneath his breath, before putting another sugar in his coffee even though it’s fucking one in the afternoon and a billion degrees outside. |
47f66afe808f43f1bef361442a5aaa3c | ['ed0ed26e8ded4b3d97eebae7814e35fc'] | Kairi asks for a name and when she gives her own she responds, "Xion," like her name is something fragile, something to cherish, "that's a nice name. But, what's _his_ name"
She feels his presence buzz in the forefront of her mind.
She never hits the ground.
_She dreams of a dark city she knows as home, of cold wetness and salt in her mouth._
_She dreams of fire, so bright and hot she sees it even with her eyes closed._
_She dreams angry and she dreams lost._
_She dreams of hallow hope._
_She dreams of sadness._
_She dreams of what was, but when she wakes, still, she dreams of what could have been._
There's a girl in white facing her in a room that does not exist.
"We've met." She says, although it's more of a question because she can't seem to _remember_ if they really have met. "Naminé."
The girls in white nods at her.
She doesn't scream when she tells her, "You aren't supposed to exist, Xion." because, somehow, she already knew.
Still, she swallows the words like a stone that then sits heavily in her gut.
"I already know what I have to do." She says, slowly, like the words are molasses in her mouth. "I've already told you. Before."
Naminé looks at her with something that is not quite pity, she knows too, the consequences of her actions.
"You know what will happen." She says.
"Yes."
In her mind she begs her not to say the words out loud. Naminé does not.
Axel's anger has always been a forest fire, burning deep and hot and engulfing everything else in its wake.
They've done this before, she remembers now, but this time there is no buffer between them.
"You _never_ listen to me!" He snarls, and she doesn't flinch at the words even though his anger makes her ache. "Why don't you _ever listen to me!"_ She wants to cradle him to her and tell him she'll fix everything, even it _is_ a lie.
Even if it'll hurt them both.
She shifts the weight of the blades in her hands, feels _his_ power more than she feels her own.
"We can't go back." She says, only raising her voice enough to be heard over his fire.
"Why not?" The anger in his eye is maniac. "Why not." When he throws her back against the wall she thinks it's well deserved.
"I don't want to _hurt_ anymore, Xion!"
She's always felt meek in the face of his anger, in the face of his _emotion._ But she grips her blade and his in her hands and sees things through to the end.
Because this is the only thing she can do to save him.
To save them.
When he's on his knees at her feet, she doesn't show him pity. She watches as shadows ebb and flow around him, an extension of himself, what remains of his faltering feelings.
"I'll come back to you." He says, and she nods.
"I know you will." She replies, not waiting to see what becomes of him before moving forward.
She walks around with a hole where his heart should be.
But, not for much longer.
_She dreams of a beach that is not her home and a sunset that never truly sets._
_She watches her own feet in the ebb and flow of the tides and waits with a thalassa shell clutched in her hand._
**Author's Note:**
> I don't know what this is or if it's possible but I love Xion a lot and I wanted to write something about her feelings.
>
> I think the one who comes out the saddest is Axel. It's always him. He's the looser. | 8dae64c214434d9986a5e88b7beefeb5 | ['ed0ed26e8ded4b3d97eebae7814e35fc'] | Sawamura snorts, pressing his thumb against Yuuji's neck until his head falls back against the arm of the couch. "And what's your compensation going to be, bad boy?" Yuuji smirks at the name, whining as Sawamura nips against his jaw. "I don't know how I'll put up with three pain-in-the-ass boyfriends."
Yuuji's heart flutters in betrayal at the words. He feels like a middle school girl. He hates the idea, hates the dopey grin that envelops his face.
But Sawamura has him crushed up against the back of his couch, a hand in his hair and his lips on his pulse. His toes curl.
(God he feels like a dweeb.)
"Who's this mystery third boyfriend?" He asks, though his voice betrays him, coming out in a raspy whisper.
Sawamura pulls away from Yuuji's neck, resting his forearms against the arm of the couch on either side of Yuuji's neck. His face is suddenly serious, it makes Yuuji exhale slowly, his heart thumping.
"Do you?" Sawamura questions, suddenly breaking eye contact nervously.
"Do I what?" He breaths against the older boy's chin.
"Are you," Sawamura licks his lips, Yuuji wonders if his mouth is as dry as his, "Are you sure you wanna date me."
Yuuji swallows, his mouth doesn't seem to want to work anymore, "Y- yeah?" He breaths sharply when Sawamura looks at him with apprehensive eyes, "I do! I want to. Date you. For a while actually. Like that match we had in high sch- actually forget I said that god this is embarrassing please kiss me again so I can stop talki-"
Sawamura pulls his head back with a hand in his hair when he kisses him, nipping at his bottom lip when Yuuji groans into his mouth. He presses his hand against Sawamura's neck, his lips harder against the older boy's.
"You'll have to share." He continues, trying for serious, Yuuji thinks but the implications leave his heart racing.
"Bokuto's cool." He nods. When Sawamura smiles, he continues, "I mean Kuroo's got a bit of an attitude problem but I think I can deal with it." He whispers.
" _I_ have an attitude problem?" Kuroo scoffs, head poking out of the kitchen. Yuuji doesn't know when he got there but he ignores him. "Look at who's talking. Cheeky brat." He continues in a mumble retreating back into the room.
Sawamura shakes in laughter above Yuuji and it makes Yuuji grin wide. The older boy tucks himself tighter against Yuuji's side, yawning.
Bokuto pokes out of the corridor to give Yuuji a thumbs up, and Yuuji grins back widely at him. Kuroo ruffles his hair on his way out of the kitchen in an affectionate way.
"Don't fall asleep on the couch again." he says offhandedly, "it's bad for your back."
Sawamura grunts against his neck and Yuuji feels his face flush in response.
After half an hour of aimlessly cuddling in Sawamura Daichi's red and blue living room, it sinks in.
"We're dating." He states, flatly.
"Yeah." Sawamura replies, not taking his eyes off is phone where he's scrolling through his messages.
Yuuji grins at the ceiling, "You like me."
Sawamura looks up then, placing a soft kiss against Yuuji's jaw.
"You like me!" He repeats, throwing his limbs into the air, even if it does jostle Sawamura's comfortable position. Sawamura laughs, pulling himself up to kiss against Yuuji's mouth. Yuuji's arms and leg snake around Sawamura's body, pulling him close, "You like me, you like me, you like me -" he repeats against the warm mouth on his.
This time when Sawamura's low laugh sends the butterflies in his stomach reeling, Yuuji doesn't ignore them, he grabs Sawamura by the face and presses a grinning kiss against his lips.
**Author's Note:**
> I apologize now for anyone being out of character. This is by far the longest thing I've ever written and I write in chunks out of order so hopefully the pacing of everything is also okay. This fic was definitely a challenge for me to complete in a satisfactory way so thank you for reading, if you do, and I hope it was good!! |
a202ca3204e4454f9ecd31bed281e8ea | ['ed18dc53e7ee444bb097145f870d27f5'] | The blonde folded her arms around Regina and poured everything she had into their embrace. Regina held back for a moment before melting into her arms and returning her serenades, her lips expressing a sweet longing and ages of sorrow.
The brunette grabbed at Emma’s jacket, deepening the kiss as she slid her tongue between the blonde’s teeth. Emma smiled and returned in kind, moving her hands around the brunette’s back, tightly clutching at the fabric of her blouse.
Suddenly Regina pushed Emma back and the blonde went tumbling off the porch.
“Leave,” breathed Regina- her eyes furious, “Now,” she hissed through gritted teeth before slamming the door.
………..
Regina leaned against the door after shutting it practically on Emma’s face. She experienced a rollercoaster of emotions pulling her in all directions as she closed her eyes trying to find some sort of balance.
She couldn’t let this happen.
She wouldn’t let this happen.
4. Chapter 4
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Hey, friends. Sorry for the long wait, my motivation’s been down the shitter- but I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, flashbacks are in italics… that tends to be the trend in fics, but thought I’d mention it just in case you get confused.
Ever since their kiss on her front porch, Regina took extreme measures to avoid Emma. Every morning before taking Henry to school, she’d glance through the blinds of her windows looking for any signs of blonde hair or a yellow bug before quickly ushering Henry out the door and into her Mercedes. She was disgusted with how she’d so dramatically tailored her schedule in order to avoid the Deputy, but their shared moment on the porch had awoken too many feelings she’d spent years trying to suppress.
At night, Regina would huddle in her bed- clutching her pillow tightly to her chest as memories long forgotten, slowly began to emerge.
_“Stop this foolishness, Regina!”_
_“Attempt to run away one more time and I’ll…”_
_“I will remove that insipid orphan girl from your mind one way or the other.”_
As her mother’s voice echoed up from memories long forgotten, Regina felt long overdue tears trickle down her face. She bit down on a pillow attempting to stifle her cries as grief overtook her- carrying her late into the night.
…….
It was nearly midnight as Emma sat at the kitchen counter thrumming her fingers over Regina’s police file. She couldn’t wrap her mind around what had possessed her to just fling herself on Regina. Though she didn’t regret kissing her, the blonde felt small pangs of guilt shoot through her stomach every time she saw the mayor avoid her.
She nearly jumped when she heard the door to the apartment slowly creak open revealing a tiptoeing brunette.
“Mary Margaret?”
The young brunette leapt into the air with a small cry.
“Oh, Emma…” she breathed as she clutched her chest, “What are you still doing up?”
“Work,” replied the blonde flatly. Her eyes fell to Mary Margaret’s hands, which were now frantically buttoning up the top three buttons of her cardigan, “What have _you_ been up to?” asked Emma with a smirk causing the brunette’s cheeks to flush.
“Just… a walk,” stuttered Mary Margaret, “You know, some fresh air at night is said to increase your life expectancy five percent- and I truly value, you know, life and…” Emma cocked an eyebrow, “Okay, fine,” huffed the brunette plopping her purse on the counter and slumping into the seat opposite Emma, “I was with David.”
She buried her head in her arms with a loud sigh.
“Ooooh, the teacher and the cook- what a thrilling romance,” joked Emma.
Mary Margaret’s head flew up to counter Emma’s taunt, but the words were caught in her throat as she looked down and saw the name on the side of the file under the blonde’s fingers.
“What… what are you doing with that?” said the brunette, her tone suddenly becoming very serious.
“You know about this?”
“Of course, everyone knows about…” the brunette bit her tongue, silently scolding herself. Emma eyed the young woman suspiciously.
“Knows about…?” inquired Emma.
“Nothing,” replied the brunette folding her arms, “forget I mentioned it,” she said as she forced a toothy smile across her face.
“Okay,” sighed Emma, “You need to tell me what the hell is going on here. I need to know why everyone keeps giving me these looks, why Graham wanted me to see this file, and why Regina is acting so weird around me. I mean, okay she’s been weird lately because I kissed her, but…”
“You _what_?” gasped Mary Margaret, “What happened? Did you really kiss her? What did she do?”
“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down. Quid pro quo, okay? Before I tell you anything, I need to know some things first. This town acts like a freaky Stephen King novel like it has some huge secret.”
Mary Margaret bit her lower lip and sat back in her chair.
“Okay,” sighed the brunette, “What do you want to know?”
“What’s the deal with the missing persons reports for Regina?”
The brunette shifted uneasily in her chair.
“I don’t know if you know this, but Regina and I used to be best friends growing up.”
“Really?” said Emma, her eyebrows raised to her hairline, “You always run away or duck into alleys when you see her coming- I always thought you were terrified of her.”
“Well, now- yes, but we grew up together. Me, Regina, David, Graham, Ruby, Da…” Snow’s voice caught in her throat.
“Who was that last one?”
“No… no one,” stuttered the brunette with a small cough. Emma eyed her suspiciously, but decided not to press the matter just quite yet. | 05e8a90f37f849749bdfc6f278074cf7 | ['ed18dc53e7ee444bb097145f870d27f5'] | “Not at all,” she murmured as she took another sip of coffee, “why should she?” Regina took a deep breath, carefully searching for the right words to say. The brief glimpse of Emma’s eyes spoke volumes of what Regina had feared to be coming true. Emma had grown protective of the witch, in a similar way Regina had grown protective of her mother when she had been in Storybrooke. It was a look of unrequited devotion, blind defiance, a look of such longing for understanding and a sense of belonging that Regina felt her breath hitch slightly with grief. She mourned that Emma had felt so lost and lonely that she had turned to the one person in the town that would use her vulnerability to manipulate her and drag her down a dark and lonely path. The same path Regina was all-too familiar with. She never wanted Emma to experience that kind of loneliness and depression, so she promised herself to stop that from happening if it is last thing she does.
“I know she’s powerless, I just want to make sure everyone is in a comfortable situation,” the brunette finally answered.
“She’s locked up in a jail cell in the middle of a town of people who hate her, how comfortable do you think she is?” said the blonde picking her fingernail along the lid of her cup, daring Regina to say _anything_ against her new friend. “Yup,” she sighed, “Zelena’s in a jail cell paying for her crimes while others with who are responsible for even more terrible horrors are still walking around free.” She flicked the lid of her cup off with her thumbnail and downed the rest of her coffee before crunching the cup in her hands and aggressively throwing it-awfully close to Regina’s shoulder- into the trash can in the corner. She laced her fingers and placed them over her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling. Regina’s gaze never left the Savior’s face, her eyes studying each feature- her face lined with concern. She had an inkling that Emma’s comment was partially, if not entirely, meant for her. The next few minutes would have to be played carefully.
“I suppose it is only temporary,” she began by clearing her throat, “being powerless can be a sudden shock to one’s system, there should be time for recovery. Not to mention, as you said, she remains in a town where nearly everyone wants to see her dead. It’s only fitting that she spend some time here to cool her heels along with the minds of Storybrooke’s citizens.” Emma shallowly nodded, her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. Regina silent congratulated herself for not provoking the protective beast lying crouched and ready to pounce.
Regina observed the blonde sitting across from her. At their first meeting, Regina had been taken aback by Emma’s beauty, but the circumstances of this woman being her son’s biological mother pushed all base desires from thought and were replaced by studies for weaknesses. Every observation of the Sheriff during her first year in Storybrooke was analyzed and weighed for uses as a device to use against her. But now, she had no reason to fear or loathe the mother of her son, she remained without reason to harm her, and she finally found herself able to observe the Savior as a human… and as a woman.
Long golden curls cascaded down from her head and partially rested over the chair, while the rest hung across her shoulders. Now that she considered it, Emma always kept herself up at an aesthetically pleasing level. A small smile graced the former mayor’s lips as she imagined Emma waking up and going about her morning routine. Fixing her hair, picking out clothes- performing all the menial tasks that all humans do, but rarely stop to consider others doing as well. As carefree as the Sheriff may try to present herself, it was obvious by her physical upkeep that even she wanted to look presentable, even she put time and care into how she looked.
Regina’s eyes followed the trail of golden hair down Emma’s biceps, down her forearm, before resting on her hands. Her fingers were long and bony, laced with manual labor yet coated with a fine touch of maternal softness. Her heart warmed as she envisioned Emma’s slightly scarred yet delicate hands stroking Henry’s hair, she imagined them pulling their son into an embrace- conduits of a mother’s love and affection. She had never taken time to picture the Sheriff in this way, but now as she did- it only amplified her desire to take her into her arms, stroke her long beautiful hair, and be the comfort the woman had always craved. It pained her to know how deeply the blonde has been hurt throughout her life, she wished to hug away all of her troubles, and softly kiss away her tears- but she was interrupted from her thoughts by two piercing green eyes looking directly at her.
“Regina,” came the Savior’s voice. Regina shook her head, swiping a few strands of hair from her face.
“I’m sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” she said as she straightened her blouse. Emma watched the brunette and couldn’t help but steal a glance as Regina’s fingers smoothed across the fabric. She quickly snapped her eyes away before the former mayor could notice. She had always found herself attracted to Regina, though she had to stifle those feelings down in order to save the town who knows how many countless times, whenever there came a moment of peace- she found her thoughts always drifted to one person: Regina. |
e74cfc1c944943a5b6ee0c0b3fc77c54 | ['ed1eb0356a7a437e84fb2cf058defc5a'] |
1. Monsters Like Me
Chapter One
Tonight’s the night. And it’s going to happen again and again. Has to happen. Orlando is a great city. Always crowded with tourists, looking for something, or someone, to do. Not a place for fine dining. Most people fill themselves up with whatever necessary to absorb some of the alcohol they are constantly consuming. Drinking is encouraged quite a lot here. Hell, even the Disney parks sell shot glasses. Since everyone is so into consuming their body weight in Bloody Marys and Mojitos, that keeps most people all corralled up in the same places. All the hot spots in the city, like Downtown Disney or City Walk, usually hold 90% of the population. Which leaves a lot of places deserted, and I’m certainly not complaining.
Nights like these call for empty places, far away from busy streets, popular dining spots, potential witnesses. I tend to go for abandoned warehouses, deserted gift shops, and the occasional bankrupt family restaurant. But that’s not where the journey starts. Before the kill, there’s the chase. And while you may gut the fish in the privacy of your home, you seek it out in the most crowded parts of the ocean, looking for a bite. In fact, I’m headed for one of the most visited amusement parks in the city. Not my usual location on nights like this, but then again, this isn’t a usual victim of mine. This one has been on my kill list for quite some time.
Gregory Davis, 18 years old. Likes to smoke a lot of pot. Tried the white stuff once, couldn’t handle it. At least that’s what he told his dealer. Seems to me like he was just broke. You tend to run low on cash when you’ve been behind bars for the past two and a half years. He popped up on my radar again when he created a dating profile. Who knew that the first thing on his mind when he got out of jail was to look for a soul mate? Kind of hard to do when you have no soul. I would know. His eHarmony page says he enjoys long movies, spicy food, and hard rock bands. He forgot to mention ‘murdering and raping young girls’. I guess he figured that chicks ‘don’t dig that’.
April 19, 2011. Young Jamie Honnes was found dead in a back alley of a liquor store. She had marks on her wrists and ankles, showing that she was somehow restrained. The cuts around those marks show that there was struggle, and for good reason. She had several stab wounds to the neck and chest. All hitting major arteries. This guy obviously has experience with a knife. Semen and male pubic hairs were found when DNA profiling was done on Jamie. All matching up to Greg. Seems like someone forgot to use protection.
After his trial, I knew I would have to wait for this one. Usually, I would mess up the blood spatter report on purpose, keeping the catch for myself. But I have my rules. He was only 16. I don't kill minors. You have to be at the age of being able to dial an infomercial number in order to make it on my kill list. But the waiting didn’t phase me. It just gave me something to look forward to. While most people marked the days people were born on their calendars, I marked the days that people would ultimately die. And, Gregory Davis, today is your day.
Just like that, there he was. After spending an excruciatingly long amount of time finding a parking space, and being stepped on and shoved into others while trying to get a ticket to enter the park, he simply steps into my sight. Losing horribly at a game of Whack-a-Mole, there stood Greg. And, just as I was hoping, he was alone.
There isn’t really a way of approaching a victim. It’s all about stalking them out, and then pouncing. Which is exactly what I intend to do. I plan on enjoying myself here. I’ll go on some rides, play some games, maybe even eat some cotton candy if I wish to do so. As long as I don’t lose sight of Greg and am always right behind him, I can let myself have some fun.
After going on Crazy Mouse twice, playing 2 or 3 games of that stupid shoot-water-at-the-target-to-blow-up-the-balloon thing, and failing, little Greg is finally ready to head home. That’s when I get moving. I quickly get ahead of him, making it out of the park 10 minutes before him, giving me enough time to switch into my dark brown henley and slip on my black leather gloves. It’s not a necessary part of the ritual, but it’s part of the ritual nonetheless.
I go for the syringe this time. I need him out fast before anyone can actually see him collapse. He’s not heavy, making it easy for me to carry him 3 yards to my car. If anyone sees us, they’ll just think the guy had too much to drink. From that point on, everything comes easily.
As he comes closer to his car, I ready the syringe, pressing down on the plunger lightly to test its pressure. And in one, two, three seconds, he’s in front of me and the needle is in his neck. I’ve gotten very good at placing the needle in the most sensitive part of the neck to acquire the fastest black-out possible. I’ve had a lot of practice. I prop Greg’s arm around me and carry him to the back seat of my car. I lie him down on the floor, rather than the actual seat. No need for anyone to spot him passed out in my back seat and realize that I’m driving to a secluded area of town. That seems way too suspicious. | a8a93717019949dbb60dcd787c97aa89 | ['ed1eb0356a7a437e84fb2cf058defc5a'] | We have a few minutes of silence of me staring at the ground and him staring at me. I think we were both just taking it all in. He is such a strong man and never shows how he feels for my sake, but I can tell this is just as heart-breaking for him as it is for me.
"Severus."
"Yes, headmaster?"
"Thank you."
With that I give him a slight nod, and he stares at me one last time over those half-moon spectacles and gives me an empathetic, crooked smile.
I start to leave, and as I exit his office I shut the door behind me and rest against it as I let yet another tear fall down my cheek. This time I don't wipe it off for a while, because this time I am alone, and it is all right to cry. Just as he tries to be brave for me, I attempt to do the same for him.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and give one last glance to the stone hypogriff as it spins back into place. I stop in the middle of the hallway, look blankly ahead, and utter two words that are barely a whisper.
"Now what?"
**Author's Note:**
> I'll be updating once a week :) |
59de7eea7c074a3f89669822da6ba697 | ['ed258dbbb0004c22bb24be89b4e5fb9d'] | "Quite the opposite actually... the numbers, or the first three at least, they... they match the coordinates." Luke shakily pointed at the paper, a giddy smile appearing on his face.
Emmy rocketed out of her chair faster than Luke could blink and she scrambled over to snatch the paper from his hands. "Oh my God, Luke. Oh my God." She hurriedly turned back to the map, finding the place to which the spot corresponded and reading the tiny text beside it. "It's... the courthouse?" The excitement faded. "Luke are you sure that—"
But her comment was not heard by the intended audience, for Luke was already running down the hallway to the professor's study and yelling Flora's name at the top of his lungs the whole way.
The girl in question came out into the hall with a loud, "I haven't found anything yet, Luke."
But she was caught mid-step by none other than Luke, who grabbed her shoulders firmly and asked breathlessly, "Did the professor ever use a different kind of stamp? The metal kind that go in ink instead of wax?"
Flora blinked in surprise at his sudden excitement. "W-Well, yeah. Only on his professional documents, though. I don't think that he used it for—hey!"
The boy pushed past her into the office and began searching the drawers for his prize, which he found rather quickly. A small oblong stamp whose tip was so black that the design wasn't even visible.
"What do you need a stamp for..." Flora started to ask but her voice trailed away and Luke turned to see her standing in the doorway with a look of incredulity. "You don't think that—"
"Grab an ink well and come on!" He took off again, this time heading for the dining table, where Emmy was staring at the map and presumably triple-checking her numerical calculations on the coordinates.
She abruptly stood as he entered with Flora close behind him. "Luke how can you be sure that—wait. Why do you have a stamp? Luke what's—"
"This is the final piece!" Luke exclaimed as Flora set down the inkwell and unscrewed the cap. He dipped the tip of the stamp in and pushed it down onto his number paper, making a clear mark.
"Luke..." Emmy gasped as the realization hit. "You can't possibly be thinking that—"
"I am." Luke grabbed the notepad and moved to compare it to their map fragment, his companions peering anxiously over his shoulders to see the results.
No one spoke as the meaning was completely clear. The stamp and the mark on the paper matched perfectly.
"So... what does it mean?" Emmy asked.
Luke shifted his posture nervously. "...he wants us to break him out."
"What? Who?"
"Clive."
"Pfft. Where'd you get that idea?"
"Look. It's obvious." Luke pulled the notepad with the numbers on it closer and pointed to the sequence. "The first three numbers are the coordinates and the second two...are the time. He wants us to wait at this spot on the map, the same as the coordinates, at 15:20, which is when the truck will be passing by."
"Luke...we can't just go breaking a criminal of his record out. And what if he just wants us to get caught? What if it's a trap?"
"It's not a trap."
"How would you know that?"
"I..." Luke paused. How did he know? In reality, did he know? "I...don't."
"Then what would be the point of risking it?"
"We might not know if it's not a trap...but I don't think it is. Why would Clive work for the police in order to shut us up? There's nothing to shut us up about. Or at least not yet. I think there's something else going on here..."
"And why would he go to all the trouble of marking this paper—which was locked away in the archives at the Yard? And using a stamp not even his own, no less."
"I...don't think Clive was the one who marked it."
"Luke..." Flora started.
Luke turned on her, his gaze icy. "Flora, I know what you're going to say—"
She cut him off. "No you don't. I'm saying I think you're right. There's only one other person who could have made that mark. And we already know the reason why."
"...yeah." Luke sighed.
"Hold on a second, you two, what do we know?" Emmy held up a hand to try and stop the conversation before it got out of hand.
Flora looked to Luke, who gave a conceding nod. He was granting her permission to make the final observation clear—to make it real. She took a deep breath to collect herself. "The professor made that mark because he wanted us to get Clive."
"Whoa, whoa, we're jumping around a bit now. It's the professor's seal, sure, but how do we know it was he who—"
Luke took the opportunity to jump in. "Because Clive gave me the numbers personally and Chelmey gave me the case file. The professor knew all of this was going to happen. Because... the three of us were always meant to take this case."
"But up until now, we had assumed that Clive was the killer so why would we—"
"He wasn't."
"And how do you know that?!"
"Because I just know, Emmy. The professor wouldn't have set this up if Clive was the one who did it."
"Fine, let's say for one moment that he isn't the killer. So what in Heaven's name does any of this have to do with Enigma?"
"I don't know. But I think that Clive is essential to figuring it out."
Emmy thought hard on Luke's answer, frowning deeply. "... you're sure about this? What you're proposing... we'd be breaking the law."
"I know full well what it means," Luke said clearly.
She sighed. "Then we're going to need a plan."
9. The Plan | 4c6d0542b08545408875d73aa09c637e | ['ed258dbbb0004c22bb24be89b4e5fb9d'] | Emmy eyed him skeptically and he gave her a glare as well, the tension between them rising once more. The room was alight with the lighting bolts between them as the ghosts of the past erupted from their hearts and burst forward in a swift wave of heated emotion.
Flora sat silently beside them, waiting with wide eyes to see who would explode first.
Luke bit his cheek, rapidly clenching and unclenching his fist under the table to relieve a bit of the anger flowing in his veins.
_Why did I think that anything had changed? Who am I kidding? It wouldn't matter if it had been a hundred years since we had seen each other. Time doesn't heal all wounds._
His heart seized as he remembered who had said those exact words to him in a particular alley on a snowy London evening after their last adventure together. He remembered the sting of the snow on his bare hands and the way his mentor stiffly walked away from the scene, and how tired he seemed. And when Luke had inquired to the true nature of the situation, the reply had been strained.
_"Time...doesn't heal all wounds, Luke."_
Defeatedly, he unclenched his hand for the last time and lifted it up onto the table. It felt as if the anger from days past had, at some point without his knowledge, turned into an intense longing for what no longer was. He never knew how much it had hurt him to lose so much so quickly. For so long he had been running from the pain and using it to propel himself forward.
"I'm...I..." he tried to speak but there was a pesky lump in his throat that signaled the coming flood. Immediately he averted his eyes.
A hand gently came to cover his own and he turned back to see it was Flora's.
"We're all in this together, Luke. We always have been. We just... don't want you to make any assumptions."
Luke choked past the lump in his throat. "Thanks." He turned his gaze to Emmy. "But if either of you don't want to do this, then you can leave. This case is my responsibility and—"
"No," Emmy interjected with a raised hand. "It's _our_ responsibility. We're your family Luke, don't shut us out." She wore a sad smile.
Luke smiled back and the lingering tensions began to solidify into something more reliable as the trust from days past began to return to them. Flora smiled and retracted her hand from Luke's, knowing full well that her work was done.
"So, where do we start?" she asked brightly.
Luke cleared his throat. "Well, I want to take some time to examine these numbers." He pointed to the small sheet of paper with the roughly scrawled digits.
Emmy nodded. "That's a fair plan. I'll keep looking at maps to figure out exactly what this square pertains to."
Flora piped up as well. "I'll look in the professor's study for anything relating to the case. Perhaps he kept some evidence here."
Everyone silently turned to their respective tasks. Flora left for the study, Emmy went to grab her bag and Luke sat down with his numbers.
_So what do these mean? 12, 23, 16, 3, and 20..._
_What if I assign each a letter? Perhaps it's a word? L... W... P... C... T... LWPCT?_
_No no. That can't be right. Could it be an acronym? But no organization that I know of has such a benign name. It doesn't even flow right._
_Maybe it is a Caesar Cipher...but in that case the possibilities are endless because I have no formula. Any one of those numbers could be the addition, subtraction, or multiplication factor... Might as well get started trying them._
Three hours passed without Luke even knowing, and by the time he had come up with his last word set, which was HBMJR, it was nearly dark outside.
Emmy gave a great sigh and leaned back in her chair with a yawn. "Well, I figured out what the map shows. It's this section right there." She lazily outlined a square of the map with her finger.
Luke raised his eyebrows and turned to look at her. "How did you do that?"
She placed her arms behind her head and stared pointedly at the ceiling, her gaze strangely vacant. "Well, I kept wondering to myself why there were horizontal and vertical lines all across the map. At first I thought it was a result of the ink pooling at the creases, but then I suddenly thought they could be intentional dividers, you know, the kind they use on city maps. So I pulled out an old copy I had of a London map plan and sure enough, I found the exact spot easily. The edges are awful smudged but there's even some numbers that act like coordinates—"
"Coordinates? No way..." Luke murmured to no one in particular.
"Yes, way. Look." Emmy said, thinking the comment was directed at her, as she thrust the paper into his face. "See?"
"No, not the paper. I mean, no way that's actually what they are."
"Well what else would they be?"
Luke eyed the paper carefully, his gaze coming to rest on that irritating blotch in the bottom right. The proverbial light bulb went off in his head. "Emmy...what exactly are the coordinates of that spot?"
"The spot? Well it's at... 12... 23... 16. Why? Does that mean something?"
Frantically, Luke grabbed the paper in front of him, now complete with his many copies of the alphabet that were marred with little crisscrossing lines as he had counted out each letter set for the last three hours. Tears of joy started to form at the corners of his eyes and he licked his lips excitedly.
"Emmy... you're not going to believe this."
"What now? Have we spent these last three hours doing all this in vain?" |
13f7249aa4e14c72a8608106dcad6a56 | ['ed2fc78c358747cc96ed2f12a70de0b5'] | Knowing what she’s about to say even before a full sentence leaves her mouth, Romero interrupts her. “Don’t say you’re sorry, Norma. You have absolutely no reason to be,” he assures as he squeezes her fingers within his briefly. “Actually, I found the whole situation to be a little entertaining to be honest,” he admits with a small chuckle earning a giggle from the woman and a blush of her cheeks. Romero unclasps his hand from hers momentarily to reach around her waist with his arm, snuggling her closer to his body until their noses almost touch.
“Really?” She questions fretfully as she nervously captures the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.
The Sheriff flashes a comforting grin for his wife and then nudges his face closer to hers to place a sweeten kiss to her lips. “We’ve all been there, Norma. I remember a time when you had to take care of me when I was, well, not myself.” He chuckles with flushed cheeks at the recollection of his less than desirable messy behavior. His laugh becomes infectious, causing Norma to giggle again in response. She sighs in relief and allows her worries to gradually dwindle.
“Oh by the way Alex,” the woman interrupts her own snickers momentarily. “Is there a reason why I’m only in my slip?” She sassily mentions, with a smirk formed on her lips in noticing the Sheriff’s eyes widen and his face redden furiously.
“I, ah, well…” Romero stutters, definitely uncomfortable under his wife’s unknowingly warmhearted glare. He continuously remains unsure of Norma’s underlying emotions toward him since the incident.
In reality, Norma trusts the man with her life, which shocks even her. She’s only known the Sheriff in her mind for a short time but she feels an internal pull toward him that she can’t explain or define even for herself. “Don’t worry, Alex. I don’t mind,” she smiles as she releases a yawn.
“Do you need some more rest Norma? You still look tired,” the Sheriff mentions while flipping onto his back. He continues to hold his wife in a snug embrace as he turns his head for a quick glance at the clock. “It’s still pretty early.” He advises, with a yawn releasing from his lips in response to hers.
Norma promptly adjusts her frame to nuzzle the side of her head on the smooth skin of his strong chest and falls back to sleep immediately to the soothing vibrations of his steady heartbeat, leading to her husband’s eyes to slip shut shortly after.
XXXX
The Sheriff feels the morning sun heat his face, automatically alerting his body to awaken. When he glances at the clock to his left, Romero notices the time has apparently flown by and he is now officially late for work. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
It’s not easy leaving Norma behind and return to work when she still hasn’t fully regained her memory, but he has a responsibility to White Pine Bay and his deputies. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that he’ll be closer to the investigation of Dylan’s battery case against Norman and the reopened file of Norma’s accident. Nothing is more important than keeping Norman in the mental facility at this moment, besides Norma’s wellbeing of course. Part of the Sheriff’s strategy to keep Norma safe and comforted at all times is to make sure she’s not alone while in this vulnerable state. His solution is to have at least Dylan, Emma or himself by her side to lean on during this difficult time. That is why he’s pre-arranged for his eldest stepson and Emma to keep Norma distracted for the day while he fills his obligation as the town’s top officer.
Carefully, Romero attempts to separate himself from his resting wife, wincing as he slips out from underneath her relaxed grasp. He takes a moment to gaze down at her, trying to soak in all of her tranquility. Her typical lively blue eyes are sewn shut, tiny puffs of air leave her lips and the tiniest of smiles is present on her face. She’s at peace.
After standing at the side of the bed, for probably way too long, the Sheriff bends down and places a sweetened kiss against his wife’s softened cheek. The time has really gotten away from him and it is only a matter of minutes until Dylan and Emma arrive on their doorstep. Quickly, he takes a shower and hastily dresses in his uniform with his shirt sloppily still untucked on one side. Racing around the bed to grab his equipment, he almost falls to the ground as he trips on a blanket that has seemed to found its way to floor at the edge of the mattress. “Damn,” he whispers to himself and then instantly glances at Norma to ensure she’s still asleep which luckily she is.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, the Sheriff picks up his gun belt from the chair in the corner of the bedroom and races out the door, cautiously closing it behind him. As Romero approaches the stairwell, he can hear a pair of faint footsteps walk into the foyer.
“Good morning Emma,” he greets quietly as he takes the last step off the stairwell. “Where’s Dylan?”
Emma immediately notices the Sheriff’s disheveled appearance and snickers quietly behind one of her hands at the sight on him, already jumping to conclusions in her head. “He’s meeting me and Norma downtown for lunch at noon.” The young woman smiles politely, dropping her hand to her side. “He has some business to deal with at the cabin this morning.” | e1d55f632a9044608d7d898c8967816c | ['ed2fc78c358747cc96ed2f12a70de0b5'] | “Well, I felt really weak all of a sudden and my vision got kind of hazy. When I saw Emma again, just slumped over like that. I lost it.” He glances downward for a second and then takes a slow, deep breath. “It was strange because suddenly the pain in my side didn’t hurt as much and I felt some sort of burst of energy hit me. I was angry.”
“So, it sounds like your endorphins kicked in. A common thing to happen under stress,” Romero informs with a slight smirk.
“Yeah that’s exactly what happened. Anyway, everything became a blur and before I even realized what was happening, I hit him. Before you ask, yes I hit him with my fist. And, well, the back of his head bounced off the wall behind him. I saw him drop to the ground and his eyes eventually close.” Dylan pauses for a moment before continuing with an insecure voice as he remembers more of the incident. “When I saw Norman fall like that, I knew I had to get to Emma but I didn’t have any more energy left. I felt like collapsing, which I guess I ended up doing. So, I started to sort of drag myself over to Emma, but then I saw this key laying on the ground. I figured it could be important so I grabbed it as I continued to move toward Emma.”
The Sheriff stops writing to glance over at Dylan. “The key was important after all. It turned out to be for the lock on the door to that room. After Emma locked Norman in there, we were able to open the door from the outside with the key and get him out.”
“Well, I’m glad I grabbed it I guess,” Dylan smirks, while applying pressure to his wound. “Anyway, I just remember being close to Emma and then everything going dark after that.”
Silence fills the air when Dylan finishes giving his statement.
After a few minutes, the Sheriff breaks the quietness with his deep voice. “I appreciate your time Massett. I promise we are doing everything we can in dealing with Norman. As I mentioned, at least you and Emma can take some comfort in knowing Norman can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
Dylan nods reluctantly in agreement, but he still has doubts. “Nothing is a guarantee Sheriff,” he sighs. “I hope for the best, but I expect the worst when it comes to my little brother. I trust you to do everything you can to keep him in that hospital.”
“I can assure you Massett, I will personally supervise this.”
Dylan raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”
Romero smirks and gives a tiny wink. “Well, I believe I can work around that.” He then shoves his notebook and pen back into his pocket, slowly stands up from his chair and moves it back to its original position. “Get some rest, we’ll talk more later.”
Walking toward the door, the Sheriff stops for a second and turns to face Dylan again. “Anything you want me to tell your mom?”
After a long pause, Dylan flashes a tiny but genuine smile. “You can tell her-“ he stutters awkwardly. “Um…you can tell her, I’ll talk to her later.”
“Sure.” Romero returns the smile. “Do you want me to send in Emma? I’m sure she’s anxious to spend more time with you.”
Dylan nods enthusiastically in response as he watches his stepfather walk out of the room.
XXXX
Romero walks out of Dylan’s room and straight into the waiting area. Immediately he sees Emma’s arms wrapped tightly around his teary eyed wife and pauses for a few seconds. Norma’s hands tremble with each sniffle and her chest heaves with every gasp while her damp cheek leans against the frail shoulder of the young woman she considers to be her daughter.
With a saddened expression at the sight of the two distressed women, Romero strides through the room until he reaches them. Quickly he forms his lips into a tiny smile, hoping the positive news he will be sharing regarding Dylan will ease their misery. “I can take over from here,” the Sheriff advises with a soothing tone as both women strain their necks upward at the sound. “He would like to see you, Emma.”
Emma smiles and nods eagerly while unraveling her arms from her mother-figure. “Thank you!” She almost shouts as she promptly stands up from her seat and rushes in the direction of Dylan’s hospital door.
“I have good news for you.” Romero advises as he sits down, taking Emma’s place promptly draping his arms around her in a tight embrace. “He wants to see you.”
Norma pulls back with widened eyes and a large grin instantly shapes her face. “He does!?!
The Sheriff returns the smile. “Yes. I advised him how distraught and concerned you were when you saw him. I believe hearing those words allowed him to realize you care about him as much as you do Norman. I think ultimately that is what he was really upset about, believing you don’t care about him.”
“But, I do Alex!” She leans forward and touches both sides of his face with her finger tips, this time with happy tears falling down her flushed cheeks. Leaning forward she taps his forehead with her lips in a brief kiss. This automatically triggers him to meet her eyes and join her lips with his in a tender kiss in return. “When can I see him?” She asks with pleading eyes, gradually pulling her hands away from his face to snuggle closer into his hold.
“Let’s let those two have their time together and then if he’s not too tired today, you can speak with him,” he smiles. “Everything will be alright Norma.” |
9cdbda7aee6548b89fa2a2eab52e7428 | ['ed5c5630da794cb5842cb2ed32f33c3a'] | He inched his head forward for just the tiniest fraction, yet the difference was immediate and enormous. The increased pressure between their connected lips jolted Mikleo’s heart to life, and it set off a chain reaction throughout his body as the sleepiness dissipated to a tingling pleasure. Sorey, eyes still closed and seemingly immersed so deeply in the magic of the moment, gave no indication that he was aware that his boss was awake even though he met Mikleo’s response by finally adding force down to his lips.
Mikleo ceased to think.
The moment was only broken when Sorey finally deigned to open his eyes, and saw Mikleo’s half-lidded purple irises staring back.
He sprung away immediately with a loud gasp, backing to the other end of the couch. Mikleo, now more than a little aware, straightened up and dusted himself without tearing his eyes away from Sorey, who was now trembling visibly, eyes wild with panic.
“I… I’m… I’m so---“ Sorey begun stuttering. But his impending apologies, awkward denials and unintended confessions of regret were quickly halted.
All it took was Mikleo’s forefinger gently hovering over his lips.
Sorey gulped audibly, as he was held in place by an intense amethyst gaze.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Mikleo said, almost breathless as he lowered his hand. His entire body was shivering from the multitude of emotions blossoming from his heart: bliss, nervousness, anticipation… _hope_.
It was that one which gave him courage.
“ _The kiss_ …” Saying it out made it feel more real, that what just happened wasn’t just a dream conjured by his subconscious. It only made him bolder with each passing second. Mikleo leaned forward, Sorey’s breath hitching in response when thin fingers brushed his earlobe on the way to caressing a feather. “I liked it. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. And even further in the future.” His voice was quiet but clear, no trace of uncertainty in what he just said and implied. “What about you?” He kept his eyes focused on Sorey, whose eyes were widening ever so slowly.
Sorey didn’t answer immediately. Silence stretched out for a few moments as Mikleo patiently waited while Sorey seemingly processed everything that was currently happening. Sorey’s impulsive act catapulted them to the crossroads of their acquaintance, with no going back to what they were before. They were on the brink of a monumental change, for the better or the worse.
The kiss had made it obvious that their feelings were mutual. Otherwise, Sorey wouldn’t have deepened it when Mikleo didn’t push him away. Both of those actions confirmed that despite the kiss being a spur-of-the-moment, it was a lingering intention they harbored to do, and this accident was only one of many possibilities it could have surfaced. After that realization, the next step to consider then would be, would they act on it or just let it remain as a mere fact about themselves?
In his earlier words, Mikleo had laid out the direction he wanted them to take from here, and it was the direction that hinged entirely on what his heart desired all this time, and he was willing to act on it. The subsequent question was thus Mikleo putting his, no, _their_ future, in Sorey’s hands.
It felt like several minutes had passed before Sorey finally reacted to Mikleo’s question, to the very important decision he was being asked to make.
It wasn’t the anticipated verbal answer. But he made the slightest movement forward, despite the apprehension clouding his eyes. Then he inched back a bit, settled in place for a second, before pushing closer to Mikleo again. The tentativeness was a physical manifestation of the turmoil in his heart. But Mikleo’s steadfast, unwavering gaze seemed to spur him on, until the distance between them was mere centimeters, so close that each puff of breath could be felt by the other. With nerves constricting the words in his throat, it was Sorey’s eyes that revealed him shyly asking for permission to cross the intangible line, contrasting how brazen his earlier act had been. And perhaps because there was a part of him that was still keeping aware of their positions as boss and his personal assistant.
But Mikleo didn’t budge or back out. His eyelids fluttering halfway close and lips stretching into a thin, indulgent smile were the final reassurances that Sorey needed to leap over the hurdle and initiate their second kiss --- his answer to Mikleo’s question.
Sorey placed a hand at the back of Mikleo’s head, pressing him even closer. Mikleo responded with a muffled moan, clutching the collar of Sorey’s shirt before falling backwards into the couch, dragging Sorey on top of him without ever breaking the kiss.
With their emotions finally unrestrained, flooding their veins with pure bliss, the sweet kiss slowly turned more passionate once Mikleo parted his lips and allowed Sorey’s prodding tongue to dance with his own. It felt like an eternity had passed before they finally broke for air, Mikleo appreciating the gleam of desire in emerald green eyes, a crazed giggle threatening to erupt from his throat at the sight.
He was instead forced to suck in a short breath when a hand palmed the front of his trousers, fiddling with the zipper. Mikleo didn’t think before this moment that Sorey’s bright smile could also make him feel heated. That smile remained as Sorey tilted his head and whispered, “May I?”
Mikleo didn’t know why Sorey was even bothering to ask for permission, he could have shoved his hand down Mikleo’s pants unceremoniously and Mikleo wouldn’t have minded. It wasn’t like he was in a proper state of mind to protest. But still, the politeness of the question, the reverent look in those eyes, and the eagerly awaiting smile… Mikleo felt like he was being worshipped. | a815b3e072ec4be4b37ef18ce6fab23f | ['ed5c5630da794cb5842cb2ed32f33c3a'] | Lailah clapped her hands, declared that she would immediately process Mikleo’s request, and strolled off to the elevators with a twirl of her heels. Behind her, Rose was cackling and Alisha was trying not to giggle behind her polite smile. Dezel seemed to have gone with the wind. Eizen made his way over to the inner back corner of the lobby wherein stood a platoon of rigidly and perfectly lined up uniformed security guards.
Then there was Sorey, wonderstruck at witnessing a scenario that very likely showed just why, despite the never-ending teasing and the easygoing camaraderie, Mikleo was the _boss_.
It was a previously unknown side to the person he’d courted. Shivers ran up his spine from shock and awe... and err, something else.
When Mikleo turned to his assistant, Sorey was gaping at him with wide green eyes that were sparkling with reverence and ardor. The icy aura around him immediately melted as he fidgeted and blushed under the sincere and intense admiration.
Their little tender bubble world was popped by a coughing Edna, who gave them both pointed looks before making her way to the elevators as well. Another round of blushing occurred before Sorey tapped his foot on the floor, sporting a small smile. “Let’s go up to the office?”
The P.A.’s heart leapt in joy when Mikleo’s eyes softened at him. The people in the area were smiling at the sight of the pair, but they remained in their work stations or kept on their paths toward their offices.
Mikleo started to move, Sorey readily falling into step beside the man to whom he’d sworn his effort, his dedication... and finally, his heart.
“Let’s get to work.”
_~FIN~_
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> And that's our happy ending for this fic! Or maybe it's more correct to call it cheesy, funny or sappy?
>
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed it!
>
> As I said before, this was meant to be a one-shot and I only split it because of length. But I do have ideas of extra scenes for this universe that'll work as possibly bonus chapters (like maybe actual Office Sex or maybe something 110% fluffy :D). However, I'll be focusing on Sormik Week 2017 for now, and I can't promise that I'll write those additional stuff for this AU in the future. Still, if I get time or energy to do so, I'll try. But for now, this story is officially complete.
>
> Thank you very much for reading! |
29b83f27fddf49fd851903516110a881 | ['ed83325017534b6491653df3464818f6'] | After a few seconds, Jace silently mouthed a one, two, three, before lifting his seraph blade above the head of a demon. The others copied, blades pointed downwards.
_You will not move_ , Alec thought again.
Jace thrust his blade down, but was too slow. Alec felt something grapple at his mind, severing the connection between his thoughts and the Mortal Cup, as if someone was trying to burn his brain out. The demons moved, jaws snapping viciously, their howling doubling Alec's pain.
He collapsed, and saw Jace do the same in the corner of his eyes. Alec's vision blurred, the stars in the sky becoming nothing more than distant blurs of grey, branches turning into ripples. He could hear Magnus' voice call out to him, _Magnus, it hurts, it hurts_ , he tried to say but the words couldn't form. He could hear Jace screaming, and wondered if what had been happening to Jace over the past couple of days was finally happening to himself.
His skin started to tingle as blue danced over his vision, and he knew that Magnus was healing him, his magic sparkling around his head. Slowly, like ice melting, or more like coals burning out, Alec felt the pain dissipate. It soothed him, bathed him in a coolness that wrapped around him, a wall of something translucent - it reminded him of plastic sheets, thin curtains, thick smog - that muffled the rabble around him. The pain still lingered, gripping to his veins like a virus, and Alec felt as if his mind was floating to distance himself from the battle between fire-red and cold-blue inside him. It meant his eyes shut with ease as he let go, despite the distant calls of _Alexander_ trying desperately to keep him afloat.
Nothingness followed.
×
"Alec," a voice, low and commanding. "Are you okay?"
Alec couldn't do anything but try to sit up. He felt cold hands carefully help him, lifting his back up. Suddenly, Izzy swallowed his vision as she too tried to lift him, blood streaking the side of her face and sweat rolling down her cheeks like tears. He looked around once his vision stopped spinning, and he came face to face with a pile of dead demons, their faces - if Alec could even say they had faces - twisted, their shrieks frozen in death. But beside them lay dead Shadowhunters. Mr Stoneheart stood over them, his face the very picture of Fury.
"Alec," Raphael prompted again, his face also suddenly coming Alec's vision. He could feel his eyes go wide at the shock at seeing Raphael aiding him, but he let it pass.
A quick look showed Alec that Mr Stoneheart's hands were shaking with a mixture of shock and rage, his brows furrowed. He was deep in thought; Alec knew it didn't bode well.
"Alec!" Izzy called out.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he repeated to both of them, who were looking at Alec intensely. Away to the other side of Mr Stoneheart, Jace was unconscious, a worried Clary shaking his shoulders whilst Luke kept watch behind her.
"Our plan failed," Alec croaked. "The Cup, it didn't work."
"It was working for a little bit," Izzy tried to placate. "But then something happened to you, and it just caused chaos."
"Izzy," Raphael trailed, his voice heavy. "You need to tell him," he said. Alec's body sunk.
Izzy nodded. "Okay." She looked to Clary who, when she turned around, was as white as a sheet, and looked as fragile as Alec felt.
"After you collapsed, Clary tried to use the Cup herself, but the demons attacked her before she could do anything with it. Raphael and Magnus think that they had figured out what we were doing, and maybe even knew about it beforehand. The demons took the Cup, and…”
Raphael shook his head softly. "Isabelle..." he said, a warning in his voice.
Izzy looked to the ground, wiping away the sweat on her cheeks. Alec wondered if it wasn't really sweat, but actual tears.
"Izzy, what's wrong?" he asked.
And then, terror gripped his stomach.
"Where's Magnus?"
Izzy pushed her hair back behind her ears as she spoke. "I promise you, Alec, he will be okay. He saved us all, the ones who hadn't been killed by the demons the second you went down," she said. "But he was completely drained, and we had to call Catarina Loss here to take care of him as soon as possible. You didn't wake up in time to see him go."
Alec felt his breath come in and out too quickly. "But he's okay? He's alive?" Alec asked again.
"Yeah, he'll be fine, but he's going to be out for a couple of days," she explained.
“Wait, what? Days? How much magic did he need to use?" he asked.
"Too much for my taste," Mr Stoneheart piped up, suddenly far too close to Alec. "Look at us Shadowhunters now, failing in our only purpose, instead having to rely on Downworlders to keep us safe," he spat.
"If it wasn't for Magnus, we'd all be dead," Alec sneered, matching the ferocity of Mr Stoneheart's gaze with his. He didn’t care about the consequences now. All he cared about was Magnus, the possible demotion be damned.
"And if it wasn't for you, neither Ben nor Thomas would _actually_ be dead, and we wouldn’t have lost the Mortal Cup!" Mr Stoneheart replied sharply. "I am removing you as Head of the Institute, effective immediately," he said firmly. “Your inefficiency is a disgrace to all of us, Mr Lightwood. Your father was a much better Head than you were.”
"What, you can't do that!" Izzy protested.
"Yes, I can. The Clave cannot allow for such failings. We lost one of the Mortal Instruments, again, thanks to your brother. We have lost valuable soldiers tonight too, and this fraternising with Downworlders has led this Institute to becoming far too reliant on their help," he continued like a bulldozer. | 2afe2b83666a43849f961117be97d4af | ['ed83325017534b6491653df3464818f6'] | In an instant, Jace shut his eyes with relief. His mouth shaped itself to an 'o' and his face visibly relaxed. Clary grabbed the pens from his hands and took the sketchbook away from him, ripping out the last page Jace had drew before she shut the book away completely.
"Magnus was able to take away most of my pain before he had to deal with the demons before," Alec commented quietly. "Jace should be fine soon."
Clary nodded. "It's just hard," she said. "Seeing him in so much pain and not being able to do anything."
"I get that," Alec said. "I felt like that a lot when Izzy was going through the yin fen withdrawal," he added.
Clary looked up to him. "That must have been horrible to watch," she said.
"Yeah, it was – but she got through it, and Jace will get through this too."
Magnus' eyes were shut in concentration, but opened sharply once the spell was done. Jace nodded himself back to alertness, the taking of his pain almost making him fall asleep.
"What's all this?" Alec asked Clary as Jace managed to shake himself back into wakefulness.
"Oh, nothing – Jace said the pressure of the pen on paper helped him to relieve the headache," Clary explained.
"Yeah," Jace sighed. "I don't really know why. I think just having one thing to concentrate on helped," he tried to reason.
"Mundanes tend to use drawing as a form of stress relief," Magnus explained. "There's a whole retail area dedicated to mindful drawing nowadays," he continued.
"Could be something like that, I wasn't really thinking when I drew," Jace said.
"Why the colours?" Alec asked, a feeling of familiarity hitting him.
Jace shook his head in confusion. "Uh, I don't really know – I wasn't really looking properly when I picked up the pens."
Alec bent down to pick up a couple of pages. None of the doodles made sense. All the lines were crooked or curled or too short to lead anywhere, but the colours stuck with him.
"Does it seem important to you?" Magnus asked him, concern shadowing his face.
"Um, I'm not sure," Alec replied truthfully. "I just feel like it's triggering a memory."
"Alec!" Someone burst into Jace's room – one of the younger recruits. "Mr Stoneheart said he needs you in the Ops Centre," she called out. Her hair was brown and wild, as were her eyes. "He said there might be more demonic activity."
She dashed out the room as fast as she entered.
"It's okay, we'll still be here when you get back," Magnus assured him, leaning in to kiss his lips briefly.
"I'll be back before you know it," he said, letting Magnus' warm hands linger over his cheek before he left him, Clary and Jace behind.
×××
Izzy came racing into the Ops Centre, her hair tied back slick and tight with her whip in hand. "They're congregating all over Central Park again, Alec," she announced quickly, her make-up not even done because of how fast the demons had descended into New York. Clave members armed to the teeth with seraph blades stood by the entrance, waiting for Mr Stoneheart's orders.
"Thank you, Isabelle, and I'm glad to see you're ready for the mission," he commented, looking her up and down. Izzy, rolling her eyes, then chucked Alec his bow and arrows, the bow already strung and arrows sheathed in his quiver.
"And so is my brother," she said strongly. "Jace and Clary will be staying here. Jace is far too weak still and Clary hasn't had enough training despite her rune capabilities to deal with such a large group of demons."
"A good plan," Mr Stoneheart said. "Let’s hope it works.”
The group made their way to the location Izzy had found in Central Park in just under ten minutes. Alec worried his lips as he remembered Jessica, the first death, and how even one minute was slow enough for the demons to complete their own mission. Snow dusted the trees and Alec had to watch his step for ice, winter in full swing in New York now. His fingers grew numb around the string of his bow, but he was used to it now over years of practice.
"Here," Izzy suddenly called as they rounded a corner towards a bridge. The quiet trickles of a small river and the rustling of leaves in the gentle winds were the only sounds Alec could make out. He activated his vision rune, trying to watch out again for any dark shapes. In the distance, horns beeped and babies cried to their mothers, the innocence of mundanes on full display as he hunted.
And nothing. Alec couldn't see any signs of demons; no moving shadows, no shrieking or growling. There weren't even any footprints left in the snow.
Dread gathered in Alec's stomach as his mind processed the situation.
"They're not here," Mr Stoneheart evaluated. "Have the scanners been recalibrated?"
"Yes, Sir, we did it after your early request," Izzy reported. "They can't just _not_ be here – the scanners have been programmed to look for their specific pattern of activity since they've showed up."
"And has anyone told you if they're still there?" Alec asked. "Because whilst our Institute is pretty tech savvy, I know we don't have an app for the tracking system," he continued. "Izzy, this could be a trap."
"But we're here – if they wanted us to fall for a trap, then we're in the perfect spot for an ambush..." she trailed. Alec could see the cogs of her brain whirring. "But what if the trap's not for us."
"Exactly – think about it, who have Lilith and Jonathan been targeting the past week?"
Izzy gasped as she realised. "Jace." |
00f2ea860eb64e7f99eec546f294a43b | ['ed8740647d93456296d151116dbfcd19'] |
1. #1 You Speak 7 Languages
#1: You Speak 7 Languages
*Author Note*: This one is dear to me for the fact that I now speak seven languages- English, German, Russian, Korean, Czech, Chinese, and Vietnamese- at varying levels so this one goes out to all my fellow polyglots.
Jin- He would be quite surprised, especially after you had whacked your foot against the door and cursed a blue streak with a few choice words from each language. Normally, you were quite quiet and composed because it was still very early on in your relationship and you didn’t want to freak him out, but that went right out the window when you hit the door frame. He just stood there stunned with his jaw dropped.
“Honey? Was that any intelligible language?” He quirked his eyebrow in curiosity.
“Oh… yes, sorry. One thing I never told you: I kinda speak seven languages.”
“Seriously? I never knew my darling is so smart and talented! You should totally teach me some phrases!”
“If you are that interested, then of course!” You stood there perplexed. Most people you told aren’t that curious or enthusiastic.
“By the way, I would have normally scolded you for your language, but I’ll let this one slide.” He walked out of the living room, turning slightly to send you one of his signature flying kisses before entering the kitchen.
Yoongi- You had been typing up an email to your coworkers on your company project when Yoongi walked in and sat on the couch next to you.
“I just finished that horrendous pile of paperwork for our next comeback, what are you doing jagi?” He rested his head against your shoulder and watched you work.
“Just answering emails. I want to respond to them so my coworkers can get a start on this project update when they wake up.” Yoongi looked at the clock, wondering what you were talking about. It was just past noon. Noticing his confused expression, you went on to explain: “The other companies in this project are across the world. I’m sending updates to the Berlin branch before it reaches morning there.”
Your boyfriend nodded in understanding, knowing that you work for an international company. You went back to typing for a few minutes until he noticed that you were not typing in a language he recognized and spoke up: “What language are you typing in?”
“German.”
“Where did you learn German?”
“I learned it in school. I actually speak seven languages total, so I am the translator for my project.” Yoongi suddenly sat up, looking shocked.
“How did I never notice?” He shook his head in confusion.
“Yoon, I never really speak anything other than Korean around you and the boys. I sometimes help you with English, but that’s about it. Don’t feel bad, you haven’t really had the chance to hear me speak multiple languages before.”
“Well, you should speak more languages in front of me, and maybe I can learn some phrases I can make into lyrics.”
Hoseok- The two of you had been coming back from dinner together when he was recognized by a couple of girls who had been at a bus stop. Luckily, they were very nice and composed, and had politely asked for a picture with him in choppy Korean. You could tell they were foreigners, and when the girls spoke to one another, they were coincidentally speaking one of the many languages you know. They were struggling to hold a conversation with your boyfriend, so you decided to explain to the girls that you spoke their language and could translate if they would like. They quickly agreed, and repeatedly thanked you for being a willing translator. Unknown to you, Hoseok watched your interaction with the girls with wide eyes. He never knew you spoke more than Korean and English, and now he wondered how many more languages you knew.
You all conversed for a few minutes more with you bridging the language barrier before the girls enthusiastically thanked you both for your time and bid you good night, returning to the bus stop. As you and Hoseok resumed your walk home hand in hand, he kept on giving you brief glances. As his strange behavior continued, you finally looked at him and asked: “Why do you keep looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?” You went to wipe at your face until he grabbed your hand again.
“No, there is nothing on your face, jagi.” He giggled and gripped your hand tighter, “I am just surprised at what just happened back there. I never knew you spoke more than Korean and English. How many more languages do you know?”
“Seven in total. I am a polyglot.” You stated with a smile. His mouth hung open at your casual admission.
“Wow, jagi, you should be a translator or something. You are so talented!” You giggled bashfully at his excitement, only spurring him on further. For the rest of the night, he insisted on knowing your secrets to language learning and cutesy phrases like ‘I love you’ and pet names he could call you. | 132860403ec44a0fa8e4ee2a0434c231 | ['ed8740647d93456296d151116dbfcd19'] | Exiting the bathroom and entering the bedroom again, you decided to lightly shake Tae from his slumber as he had asked you to do, so you made your way over to the side of the bed he normally sleeps on and placed your hands onto his shoulder. Even after a few attempts at waking him, he continued to sleep like a rock, so you then went to wake him up the only way you knew how. Peppering his face with light pecks, he finally began to stir awake, rolling to face the pillow.
“Jagiya? What time is it? When did you get home?” His muffled voice came from the soft pillow.
“Its around 11:30, I got home at 11. I saw your note, figured I would let you know I was home. Go back to sleep, Tae.” You whispered. Before you could move to head to the other side of the bed, however, Taehyung turned to face you, grabbed you by the waist, and clumsily rolled you over him to your side of the bed. After being suddenly uprooted from the carpet with a yelp, you relaxed into his arms, grabbing the blanket and shifting to get under it. As usual, you went to wind your legs with his, until he immediately lurched back, falling to the floor with the blanket wrapped around him in the process. Startled by his sudden disappearance, you leaned over the side of the bed, looking at him with a frown.
“What happened?” You asked, eyes showing concern.
“Your feet! They’re so cold! Are you sick or something?” Now mostly awake, Taehyung joined you on the bed again, laying the blanket over you once he got untangled from the fabric.
“I’m not sick, don’t worry. It was just cold on my way home from work. Can I assume no cuddling unless I put socks on, though?” You pouted, looking up at him.
“I’ll even grab your fuzzy socks. For the sake of your feet and my sleep, you need to be wearing socks.” He turned to your dresser, opening the first drawer and grabbing your soft fuzzy socks. He tossed them over to you, waiting until they were on your feet to get back into bed. Latching onto him again like a koala, you sighed in contentment.
“I don’t really mind being your personal heater, but even I draw the line at your feet.” He chuckled as he relaxed back into the soft mattress, happy that you were safe at home and your feet were properly sock-covered.
Jungkook- After days of being cooped up inside with nothing to do due to a nasty snowstorm, when you woke up to sunlight once again streaming through your curtains, you were ecstatic. Hopping out of bed and checking your phone, you saw a message from your lovely boyfriend, Jungkook.
‘Good morning! Just saw the clear skies and snow on the ground. Meet me at the park at 10?’
Smiling, you were glad that he was already thinking what you were thinking. The clock on your nightstand flashed 9:30, so you rushed to get bundled up appropriately before leaving the warmth of your apartment. Stepping out into the cold air, you were glad to have worn your warmest coat and your thickest pair of pants. Even through the thick layers, the chill of the air seeped into the seams towards your skin. A short walk later, you were at the park, standing underneath the large tree you always met at. As you waited, you looked around at the children sledding down the hills on the other end of the park. You were happily watching them, hearing their shrieking laughter as they sped down the snowy slopes, when a sudden impact on your back drew you out of your trance. Quickly turning to face the direction of the snowball, you saw Jungkook leaning against the tree, a smirk on his face and another snowball in his right hand.
“Up for a snowball fight?” He asked as he stood upright. Glancing between him and the snowball in his hand, you made the quick decision to duck behind a nearby snowbank as you yelled out “it’s on!”
You heard the thud of a snowball hit the snowbank, already forming a snowball before throwing it towards the tree Jungkook was still hiding behind.
It went on this way for a while, with only one successful hit to the back of his hood so far. He had gotten pretty close to getting you in your hiding spot behind the snowbank before you had dashed off, tossing a snowball back at him as you ran. Though you knew he could catch up to you if he wanted, he kept just enough distance between you to keep the game going. You ran towards the sledding hill, hoping to gain cover behind one of the benches, which luckily worked as you saw Jungkook duck behind the opposite bench out of the corner of your eye. You got to work on making a large snowball that could be a wonderful way to win the game, but before you could finish, a snowball came down over your hood covered head. You looked up to swat snow at what you thought was Jungkook, but before you could, you heard footsteps running away and a young boy call out ‘Team Kookie for the win!’ as he retreated behind the bench your boyfriend was using as a base. As you glared at Jungkook for his unfair advantage, two little girls had joined you behind your bench.
“Um…Miss, can we join your team?” One girl tilted her head in curiosity, while the other was already making an arsenal of snowballs. |
4c59b983d3bb45feb8d6ea96d4c743f5 | ['ed885d7fbf00490b8ba9d83db7bcbedb'] | It was darker than the night so he couldn’t see anything, he wanted to get the fuck out as soon as possible until he felt the water around him moving again, he froze.
The living thing was in front of him, close to his open legs.
The moon light was above them but he couldn’t see anything in the water, he was just hoping for the thing to get out, and it did.
Dark, black hair came out of water, followed by two pair of big, stormy eyes.
He couldn’t think of anything, his mind went totally blank, he could only watch the pale face in front of him.
A girl.
A girl was looking exactly at his blue eyes, staring. She wasn’t blinking, nor breathing, her nose was under the water.
How could she hold her breath for that long, he was there for more than ten minutes.
She was so close to his chest when he realized, Levi could feel her body between his legs. she blinked, drops of water fell from her dark lashes, there was nothing in her eyes, empty eyes just looking at him.
Levi’s mouth was open, what was this thing in front of him. then something rubbed against his leg, it felt slippery and he moved his leg almost immediately.
But after seconds he felt it again, it was like there was a thin but soft cloth moving against his leg in water, he thought she was wearing a dress made of thin silk.
he was still freeze, the water started to feel cold on his shirt, he was about to open his mouth but nothing came out.
The moon shined brighter than before, helping Levi to see her better, her black hair or eyes were nothing different than a normal girl, but who. his mind was thinking too wildly for him at that moment.
The girl moved closer and popped her head completely out of the water, her body was pale, shining in the light in the night, like a goddess, her hair was darker than night and they felt like silk, reaching above her shoulders, her stormy eyes with a bang of long hair in the middle of them, and lips painted in slight red, soft like peach.
she looked so beautiful frozen at that moment. Her body finally moved up, the water now above her waist.
Her stomach was muscular, but still looked feminine, but the thing that caught his attention was her chest.
She was beautifully bare, her breasts didn’t have nipples, he wasn’t going to act like a pervert but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her. She was naked but there was no nipple or a shade of color in the middle of her breasts.
There was some shapes on her chest, something like skin but bright silver that was shining on her body, it was like those were hiding her, they weren’t like a brassiere, like they were a part of her skin, they were a part of her body.
She wasn’t a human, Levi shot his look to her eyes again, she was still looking at her with no particular request in her face.
Levi looked down at her, her waist had those silver skin too, but the silver skin was more on her waist, it looked like it started to grow from her waist.
Wait.
But they were only stories, they were never real and no one had ever seen them. the last thing he wanted was to find an unknown creature near his house.
The girl placed her palm on his knees that were popping out of water, she moved closer to his face, the drops of water from her hair was the only sound that broke the silence of the night.
She opened her mouth slightly.
And the first thing he noticed when she opened her red lips were her fangs, not very long, but they looked sharp and deadly.
Her hands moved from his knees to his chest and clenched the fabric on his shoulders, her face moved closer to him, he saw the rest of her body was pulling out of water slowly, he saw her tail.
and god, he never wanted to take his eyes off of that, he liked it more than getting scared.
Her face now was in front of his, their noses were only inches apart and suddenly, Levi took her wrists and held them tightly between them.
The girls face was slightly shocked now, her cheeks a little rosy, then her eyes found his, her tail curled up against his body in the water.
She was going to hunt him, but he wasn’t a normal meal she sees everyday, her eyes were screaming that she knew he wasn’t.
She found out how beautiful his eyes were, they were dark blue like the ocean.
She brought her left hand up slowly, then she cupped Levi’s face with his fingers still around her wrist. And the only thing he could do is to close his mouth and watch her.
Her hand wet his face and her thumb started to caress his cheekbone so slightly, he felt her sharp nail against the skin of his neck.
Levi raised an eyebrow at her after minutes just before she yanked her wrists out of his hold and pushed herself back, that was a really strong push for someone like her.
She got away from him, still facing him, she looked at him for the last time, her hands clenched on the soft sand under the water, her face looked kinda sad and angry now, she looked at him for the last time before jumping in the water with a quiet splash and swim into the darkness. | 0dea2605bed84f1b80d9be612ef70acc | ['ed885d7fbf00490b8ba9d83db7bcbedb'] | “I think I can handle a wierdo like you.”
“tch, you wish.” Mikasa laughed at his expression, he stopped her noises with a kiss on her lips.
he laid back with Mikasa curled in his arms, his hand in her hair, he was sleepy. The sound of the fire and the waves, the light breeze on his face, he never slept that calmly in years.
Levi opened his eyes to the blue sky, warm light on his body and the soft sand below him.
He blinked a few times, Jesus he hated how the sun shined in his eyes directly.
He moved on his side and tried to close his mind again, he could hear the waves hit the shore. He opened his eyes, he remembered that he slept outside the house last night.
He sat up and looked around, everything was in place just like how he left them last night except Mikasa. She wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Levi took a deep inhale, smelling the sea while waiting for the sleep to get away from his eyes. He heard the door opened.
He turned his head to look at his house. Mikasa was at the door with two cups in her hands. her bed hair wasn’t that bad like him, she was still naked, only half of her body was barely covered with his thin white shirt.
She smiled at him, “about time.” she said as she sat next to him.
Levi only shot her a board glance, he took the cup from her.
“I could find nothing in there, so I made the last tea that was left.”
“thanks.” His voice deep from sleep, she moved close and kissed his jaw.
Levi held his cup in his usual, awkward, style and took a sip from it, enjoying the cool air moving his hair.
He looked at her, the nerve she was. The only parts that the shirt was covering were her nipples.
“cant your fingers work on your buttons?” he went grumpy again.
Mikasa raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you liked it this way.”
“not when some fucking bastards are around here.”
“they cant even look with that look on your face.” A small laughter escaped her lips.
They sat in silence and finished their tea, silent was more enjoyable for them than words.
“get up.”
She looked at him at his sudden words, he stood up and walked toward the house, “we got work to do.” He finished before entering the house.
He washed his face and got ready, he cursed silently at the red marks and bruises on his body, reminding him of the last night.
He stood in front of her and buttoned her shirt and took her hand and walked out of the house.
“where are we going.”
“you need something to wear or you’ll make me go crazy if you keep walking around like that.”
They reached at a house very quickly, by the dark shortcuts Levi took and they got inside and went upstairs. “oh, it’s Hange’s house isn’t it.”
“she might have something in your size.”
He started looking in her room and searching in the pile of clothes, Mikasa unbuttoned her shirt and sat on the bed, monitoring the room.
Levi found a skirt and a white shirt, now he was looking for brassiere for her. Does Hange even wear those thing.
He finally found one and turned around to her naked body.
“stand up.” He barely said as he took her arms and stood her up in front of him.
He took the pale pink brassiere and clasped it around her, put the bra straps on her shoulder and thank god it fit her. he was blushing slightly while putting the fabric on her breasts.
Mikasa laughed, satisfied at the look she could draw on his face. He put the shirt and did all the buttons to cover the red marks on her collarbone.
He kissed her sternum while buttoning her shirt and moved his hands on her hips while putting her skirt on. The skirt was pale pink, it was on her knees, showing off her creamy, long legs.
He sat her on the edge of the bed, he kneed in front of her and took her foot in his hand to put the shoes on her.
He slowly moved his hand up on the back of her knee, kissing her shin and looked up to see her blushed face again. He caressed his hand up and down her legs while his mouth left a wet trail on her leg and headed toward her thighs.
He shoved the skirt up and sat on his knees, he parted her legs and moved his face on the inside of her thigh, brushing his lips on the soft skin.
Mikasa’s hand moved to his hair almost immediately, grabbing them but she was ready to grasp his hair if he gets closer, and he did.
He kissed and sucked inside her thighs, his hot mouth dangerously close to her sex, his every move sends shivers down her spine and her stomach fell.
She felt dizzy, it was going to feel different from her last night and she didn’t know what to do. So she only grabbed his hair and pushed him to her, to feed her satisfaction with his amazing mouth.
Levi moved her boxers to a side with his fingers, his hot breath made her jump and when he moved close and ran his tongue on her clit, she let out a yelp.
Levi wasted no time, sucking her clit hardly and nibbling her flesh softly to make her gasp for air.
Mikasa clenched her thighs around his head, she could squeeze his head harder but with every move of his tongue, her limbs went numb and she couldn’t move, the only thing she could do was to repeat his name and push him harder against her. |
0869c207a5a04fef82176a66cb57f49e | ['ed8d894fffc24527951cc4df274244c9'] | Purple
**Author's Note:**
> This is my present for Sawamura Eijun birthday. Hope you like it.
>
> sorry for any grammatical mistake
They fell in love with each other in thoughts and dark rooms, between political meetings and night escapades, in the middle of purple and gold they found each other and as they looked at the other eyes, and they knew that, even if destiny tried to separate them, they would fight it so they could be together.
Sawamura Eijun was the sun himself. Son of the Sun, he was the next in line to the Day Kingdom. His eyes, pure and gold, and his smile could light the whole world, but what made him attracted to the golden eyed boy was his personality, so pure and endearing that made it look like what they had was like a dream.
Miyuki Kazuya was his complete opposite. Son of the Moon, he was the next in line for the Night Kingdom. He was a cold person, and all in him screamed cold, but Eijun loved him with all his pure soul. He loved how Kazuya's eyes could change from dark brown to Ocean blue under the moonlight, he loved the Kazuya behind the closed doors, all the light touches in the dark, all the hiding smiles that he would shoot in the golden-eyed prince direction.
They first met at a political meeting between the two kingdoms, the sun prince was late, for what he understood, the prince didn't come with the King for the simple fact that he decided that he wanted to bring some sunflowers to the moon kingdom, even though he knew they wouldn't survive long.
At first, Kazuya hated it, they were too colorful to his own liking, but as soon as the color started to fade, he found himself missing it. When the flowers were completely dried, he kept them hidden in his room and started wishing for the sun prince to send more.
Their second meeting was when the Night royal family was invited to a dinner at the Day kingdom. When he reached the palace, following his father and mother, he was lost in awe by the beauty of their gardens and found himself wishing to have something similar to it back home.
He started losing the counting on the meeting since the families decided that they should met each other at least once a month, and that went on and on for years, until the day the Night queen died, that happened when the prince only had 11 years. He remembers seeing a glimpse of the sun prince at his mother funeral and he would have to wait eight years to see the sun again.
After his mother passing, neither he or his father found the will to leave the night. After eight years after his mother death, his father died due to cancer and he was crowned King at age of 19. By that time, he felt the urge to visit the Sun Kingdom and that was what he did.
Everything looked the same, but as he got a glimpse of the sun prince, he felt his heart skip a beat, he never forgot those eyes, but seeing them live was different from paintings. Even if they used gold to represent the young prince eyes, nothing could compare to the real color, they screamed life, and for the first time in a while, Kazuya found himself crying as the urge to live a happy life in the light took over him, but he knew that he could never leave his kingdom. And so, the monthly dinners started again.
He found himself falling in love between sunflowers and green fields. Soon enough, he found himself being pushed into dark rooms and hidden places of his own palace. Purple, the color of royalty, used with gold to represent the Day Kingdom, started to appear at his dark blue palace in subtle ways, some sunflowers der, some purple vests hidden in the back of his closet and a golden bracelet in his wrist, hidden from the curious eyes and only showing up when his lover would uncover it and kiss it.
Soon their time together became less as Eijun prepared to be king. They knew that they couldn't be together forever and so, has the monthly meeting because little to their desires, they would meet each other when the moon and the sun kiss.
One day, Kazuya appeared with a blue flower in his hand and as his eyes started to turn blue, he asked the Sun king to be his, forever, even though they couldn't.
"Happy Birthday my love." The Night king wished as he kissed his lover.
**Author's Note:**
> Please, let me know your thoughts. | c107bc06e6c849a3aabf2934b76582e2 | ['ed8d894fffc24527951cc4df274244c9'] | Everyone walked to the dorms in silence, they knew that if anyone says a word they would burst in laugh. For the second time, Sawamura managed to hit one of their coaches in the balls for the second time this year.
After the bath Jun, Sawamura and Okumura went to their room while the others went to the ''living'' room.
As Sawamura lies down in his bed he starts to talk. "I was scouted for Seido"
"You what?" Jun yelps.
"Stop yelling, dammit!" Okumura shouts.
"I was scouted for Seido, senpai. It was after my last game in middle school, their scout came to my house and everything." He says. "Obviously I rejected the offer. Their setter wasn't good at the time and I really wanted play in the same team as Chris-senpai."
"But you didn't knew Chris-senpai at the time."
"I saw him play and that was enough."
The room is silent for a moment but Jun starts to talk again. "My friend, their captain, said that their new setter was a genius, someone called Miyuki Kazuya, although I don't know who he is, I think I never saw his face in my life."
"We will see Saturday. Now I'm going to sleep. Good night!"
_Saturday_
"Whoa, their gym is so big!" Sawamura yelps happily.
"Sawamura, the dimension is the same as ours." Chris tries to calm down their ace as they made their entrance in the gym. Across the room where some of the Seido first years and the their fist though was _'how can someone be that stupid'_.
Only two of the first years belong to the main force, to the titulars, the rest of them was nowhere to be seen. Their coach actually though that Akagi team wasn't worth of their best players, so he only put some of the other players.
"Tell me Jun, who is the captain?" Kuroo-sensei asked suspiciously.
"I'm sorry coach, but I don't see him here." Jun explains.
"I figured it out" he says and went to speak with the other coach "Bokuto, they aren't serious, their best players aren't where. Two can play this game. Guys, come where, please" he call them.
"Are you sure it's fine?" Their coaches nods.
"Now go change your clothes while we talk to their coach" they say. "Are you ready? This is going to be start people. Okumura, Takatsu, Jun, Sawamura, Masuko and Seto. Nobu, you switch with Seto, Okay?"
"Yes coach!"
"Line up" the umpire demands. "Let's play!" (onegai shimasu)
Jun share a glance with everyone as he ends the talk with the umpire and the other team ''captain'' and they already know what that mean.
* _
"Sawamura, you are going to be the first in serving" Bokuto-san says._
_"What? Coach, are you sure?" Takatsu ask with concern._
_"They think that we're not worth the effort and I want them to think that too!" Kuroo explains "They probably want us to serve and we are going to accept it. The plan is losing the first point, make them think that we are a bad team. And then, I want you to rip them until they put the best players on!" Bokuto and Kuroo share a glance that gives shivers to all the players.
*_
"Sawamura, nice serve" Takatsu says while coughing.
It wasn't on purpose, they new. But seeing the ball hitting Takatsu head made everyone in Akagi team burst into a laugh. Their opponents probably were making fun of them in their minds, but they didn't care, because they would rip them off.
2. Two
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> i hope you like
"I figured that you'd be here." Kuramochi says behind him "You are a manipulative bastard, of course you would see the match. So, do you know any of the Akagi players?"
"No, you do?"
"Nope, but that guy that just serve is moron, he doesn't know how to serve! Who can they let him play?"
They look to the net, it's Seido turn to serve. "Nice serve" they hear the young Kominato saying. Akaishi does a jump serve, it as a good course, Kuramochi think. "Mine!" Akagi libero says. _That's impossible, there is no way he can get that one_."All right! Koushuu, it's yours"
"How did he get that one? It could only have been luck!" Kuramochi says angrily.
"Isashiki-senpai!" The blond guy lifts the ball to the guy in the left. And, oh boy, that guy has power.
"I think that only the guy that serve is the only one that doesn't know how to play volleyball." Miyuki says. "what I don't understand is, why did they put him? They have at least more three guys."
"Probably pity. He probably doesn't play in real games so, why don't put him on?" Kuramochi speculates. It's their turn to serve. Let's see if they know how to do a jump serve, at least."
_They are making us fools,_ Miyuki thinks to himself. _There is no way a team like them isn't good. Their libero has nice reflexes, they have power, and a nice serve. What else do they have?_
"Furuya-kun, it's yours!" The young Kominato yells to their rocky first year. That guy could be sleepy and his receive was full of holes but when we comes to spike, Jesus.
"Sawamura, that is yours!" Someone from the reserve players yelps. _Like he could receive that ball,_ Kuramochi rolls his eyes, but as fast is thought came is vanish seeing the boy hitting the ball like it was nothing. They feel someone approaching and turn their heads at the same time to see who was.
"Tetsu-san."
"And I though that I wasn't late." Their captain says.
"The game just started, you didn't lose that much."Kuramochi says.
"Hum...I can see." He says at the same that fixes is glare in on particular Akagi player. |
521728f919ec43448d8dea3360686d14 | ['eda21247047047c4a4fb775cc1ddc956'] |
**Author's Note:**
> my Henry History is a little rusty, so there's some inaccuracies here (for example: henry initially encountered panne outside of ylisstol, probably). i hope you enjoy regardless.
Lavish walls, castle halls, and the tip-tip-tap of Henry’s merry feet all danced together, their joyous harmony ringing throughout the castle, that which was otherwise so dreadfully, dreadfully still. _Today,_ Henry thought, _is such a dreadful, dreadful day!,_ and his feet echoed his soul, light and heavy and dark and joyous all at once.
The duality of both himself and his circumstance was curious indeed, amidst the closely calculated assassination of the Ylissean exalt Emmeryn, the very saddest day for the country of Ylisse and the very happiest day for the country of Plegia. Plegia was Henry’s home, and Ylisse’s rather self-proclaimed enemy (aside from the legitimate political tensions of ten years prior, but that was neither here nor there, Henry was merely a child then! Had he still had both of his kidneys back then?). In this oxymoronic vein, he felt similar; how was one who loved both blood and war to be happy _or_ sad when blood was shedding and the war was ending? He let out a sigh, light and heavy and dark and joyous all at once, and his feet were ever-moving, going tip-tip-tap, tip-tip-tap, tip-tip-tap.
It was at that moment directly before his sigh that Henry realized he was supposed to be organizing his troops as backup to the band of thieving assassins hired to kill the exalt (just in case, of course, for Plegia hired only the best of the best of thieving assassins). His tip-tip-tapping came to an abrupt stop, and he pondered and pondered, and then remembered with an _a-ha!_ that he really could not care less. His spiteful subordinate with ten years more experience and half his talent would surely get the job done, or, in even more preferable circumstances, mess it up, so why contribute to a mission that you were hoping to fail anyway? That was Henry’s logic, and he would stick with it to his very end—which he, for the record, was welcoming at any time.
It was the moment directly after his sigh that Henry realized he didn’t know where in the world he’d ended up.
“Hello?” he called out, waving his hand here, there, and in most other conceivable directions. “Is anyone there?” Normally, most army commanders sneaking around the crown palace of the country he was at war with would not be shouting out “hello”s and “is anyone there”s and “come out and kill me, baby, I’m ready for it!,” but Henry was not most army commanders. He was also not particularly wise or tactical, for that matter, but he still had his shining Henry-brand logic about him. He figured that if an Ylissean soldier saw him in his rather obvious Plegian gear, they may get a teensy bit defensive, sure, but if he was nice enough, they’d be nice right back and show him the way out! Henry was rather optimistic about these kinds of things.
The castle, in all its dreadful silence, said nothing in response. Henry decided to press on, then, and continued to call out, “Helloooo! A friendly passerby is here! Passing by!” He walked on, tip-tip-tap, tip-tip-tap, looking around as well as his artificial magic eyesight could allow, and—
Oo.
Oooh, what was _that_ he saw?
Hidden amongst (what he assumed were) the shadows was a figure he couldn’t quite recognize, sprawled against the meeting point of wall and ceiling like a spider in wait. It was humanoid, for certain—long floppy ears, also for certain—pretty fuzzy-looking, if only he were tall enough to reach and pet it. Whatever it was, it was up there alright, and Henry wondered if it knew that he knew it was there. (Henry had a habit of staring away from what he was actually looking at. It was partially because he was lacking in manners, partially because he had no eyes, wholly because he thought his head might pop off if he let it sit for long enough and then suddenly moved it.)
Henry, problem-solver he was, shouted out, “Hey! You, mystery man!”
The figure stayed silent.
Henry, slick dude he was, then followed up with, “What’s shakin’, bacon?” That was Henry’s favorite pickup line.
The figure did not move.
“I know you’re there,” Henry sang. He waved his arm _Hello, hello!_ , and hopefully it was in the shadow’s general direction.
“Leave, vermin,” the figure said at last. “I have no business with you.”
“So mean!” said Henry. “Ohh, but what if I told you I was an Ylissean guard and I’m arresting you now?”
“Clearly you are not,” the figure replied. “No royal guard in their right mind would adorn themselves with symbols of Grimleal.”
“Hey, Ylisse is a free state, especially when you’re rich and cool!” said Henry. “I’m a royal guard, and therefore both of those things, so I’m allowed to practice my own religion, aren’t I?” Henry laughed at his own words. He knew deep in his heart that he was none of those things, but oh, how fun it was to play.
“Begone with you,” was all the figure had to say.
Henry kept laughing, and it was almost infectious. “Please come down?” he asked. “Intruders have to stick together, you know!”
“Intruders with different goals have no business together,” said the figure. “Your country is at war with mine.”
“So you’re from Ylisse!” Henry exclaimed. “Hey, we’re getting places!” Henry was getting tired of standing and talking, so he started jiggling around instead. “How do you know I’m Plegian, though? See, Grimleal is oft practiced in certain parts of southern Ferox as well—“
“That is enough from you,” snapped the figure. “Begone.” Man, this mystery man sure was harsh! Or maybe, Henry thought, it was a mystery woman, because now that Henry was jiggling and thinking about it, their voice was kinda sultry and womanly. _Neat._ | 43541720411e4d4ca2ad73d267a383e4 | ['eda21247047047c4a4fb775cc1ddc956'] |
**Author's Note:**
> initially written in february of 2016, and posted here under a different title on an account that no longer exists. re-written back in october. i think it's better now.
It was quiet.
Ichimatsu was home, sprawled out on the floor. In light of the recent “mom’s developed an allergy so no cats in the house” ban, he was alone, his beloved stray cats beside him only in his dreams. He’d opted to stay home that day and leave his brothers to do their incessant concert-going and girl-flirting and pachinko-playing, as was generally the plan. In lieu of brotherly fun he found himself wallowing in his own self-pity, as was also generally the plan.
“I love to suffer,” he uttered aloud to no one. Only the cats heard them, but those cats were merely in his dreams. They mewed affectionately, as dream-cats tend to do. Perhaps they loved to suffer, too.
Ichimatsu, as it were, did not actually love suffering as much as he let on. Even so, he loved to say so to himself, and his brothers, dates, bartenders, potential employers, the void, and the imaginary dream-cats that lie beside him. It fit well with his mantra, his self-imposed title of “unburnable trash,” and his menacing, soulless, shitty aura, as well as his unsubtle yet only half-accurate death wish. He found that even in the worst of times, his own self-loathing anchored him down, kept him from becoming someone he wasn’t, doing things he shouldn’t. It kept him rather subdued; he didn’t leave the house much those days, and perhaps that was for the best. Suicidal tendencies aside, he was of the anxious and spontaneous sort, and he had an unfortunate tendency to make a nuisance of himself in public when under stress (and both he and his brothers would agree that his habit of shitting on tables in public was getting a little old). The only times he went out was to visit his strays and—
Ichimatsu heard footsteps.
The living room’s sliding door was shoved open, and there appeared Jyushimatsu, Ichimatsu’s most energetic (and secretly favorite) little brother. Jyushimatsu was a ball of electricity, so outlandish even when compared to his five identical brothers, and even though he’d just passed twenty-two he still paraded about the city in too-big hoodies and fuzzy yellow slippers and running shorts that he wore all year round. That day, his grin was as wide and idiotic as it ever was, and it amazed Ichimatsu how it never really seemed to fade, no matter what happened or what he said. In Ichimatsu’s mind, Jyushimatsu was like the sun, a big bright star that looked like it would never burn out. He hoped that Jyushimatsu would never burn out.
Ichimatsu cast a glance at Jyushimatsu and sighed. He thought, _Shit, I had planned on being home alone this afternoon,_ but his face shone with a relief like he hadn’t seen his brother in months. “Jyushimatsu,” he said. His voice was low and grumbly, barely above a mumble.
“Ichimatsu-niisan!” Jyushimatsu exclaimed. His voice was strong and incessant, loud enough to compensate for the both of them. “You didn’t _say_ you were gonna be home!”
He bounded over to the closet, digging for one of his weird spare baseballs that he kept hidden around the house. “C’mon, niisan,” he said, “let’s play baseball! Baseball!” (Jyushimatsu loved baseball.)
Ichimatsu huffed, eyeing the door that Jyushimatsu always left open, before peeling himself up off the floor to close it. He then dropped back down, rather dramatically, splayed out on the floor with his head smushed against the side of the couch. He sluggishly peered at Jyushimatsu through his peripheral vision.
“Pass,” Ichimatsu said.
“Baseball!” Jyushimatsu shouted again. He triumphantly pulled out his baseball from the closet, then leapt onto the couch, flinging his legs over the back cushions. His head hung down off the seat. He stared Ichimatsu straight in the face.
“Baseball?” he asked again.
“Not today,” Ichimatsu reiterated, rolling onto his side and away from his brother.
Jyushimatsu whined. He wiggled over to the other side of the couch, forcing himself into Ichimatsu’s line of sight. “I went to the beach today!” he said. He loved to go to the beach and practice swinging his baseball bat; it helped him vent out his energy, and he’d swing and swing until he felt exhausted, but by the time he got home, he’d have it all back. “7,122 swings!”
“Mm,” replied Ichimatsu. “Good job.”
Jyushimatsu was still grinning, and Ichimatsu could’ve sworn his smile kept growing wider.
Jyushimatsu continued, “The tide was really high, and I thought I was gonna get swept away!”
_Thank goodness you didn’t._ That was Ichimatsu’s immediate thought. (At times, he hated how emotional and protective he got over his younger brother, even at the slightest mentions of danger. _Thank goodness you’re okay._ )
Ichimatsu pushed his mushy sentiments away and mumbled some consonants instead, sliding off of the couch’s side and staring straight up at Jyushimatsu. Jyushimatsu stared back, intently and excitedly.
“How are you, Ichimatsu-niisan?” Jyushimatsu asked, just like he did every day.
“Awaiting death’s embrace,” Ichimatsu replied, just like he did every day.
“Don’t say that,” Jyushimatsu insisted. He patted squished Ichimatsu’s cheeks. “You know what’ll cheer you up? _Baseball!_ ”
Ichimatsu couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped his lips. He took hold of Jyushimatsu’s hand—the comically large sleeves that covered them, actually—and he said, “Not today, Jyushimatsu.” His tone was hushed. He sounded tired.
Jyushimatsu fell quiet. His eyes were still fixated on his brother. In a small, small voice, he asked, “Ichimatsu-niisan, how can I help you?”
“Mm?” asked Ichimatsu (with his throat). “Help me with what?” |
13cd2c087eab4e648b0e71279a80d045 | ['eda2a6447e3b4a59a0d1263ccd10cf34'] |
1. Flesh Will Be Flesh
People have many addictions. Sex. Love. Food. Drugs, or alcohol. Money. Power. Our addictions are what will destroy us and our lives. To be an addict is more than to desire, it is to need. I had no addictions, and I don’t believe I ever will. But I’ve experienced the product of addiction based insanity. I’ve seen what addiction does to people. It’s definitely not pretty. It’s not pretty at all. I can vouch for this.
;
I remember arriving on the island clearly. It was May, and my mother had gotten a promotion from her job, and an offer to meet with the CEO of the company she worked with at a banquet on his private island. I still lived with her, even though I was nineteen and old enough to live on my own. Ever since my dad died, I had not dared to leave her side. We were closer than anything. My mother was my best friend, and I wasn’t ashamed of the fact at all.
She, of course, wanted me to come along. I had no problem with going. Who wouldn’t want a weekend long vacation on a gorgeous island, free of charge? A week later, we were in our hotel room, deciding what to wear to the dinner.
“You know how important this is to me, Josh. You have to help me!”
“Mom, I’m a dude, how am I supposed to know what you should and shouldn’t wear to something like this?”
I was only met with a frustrated groan from her as she went into the bathroom of our hotel room to continue fixing her hair. I went back to adjusting the buttons on my shirt- button up shirts are nice, right? I knew for sure that no matter what I was going to feel incredibly out of place, so I wasn’t going to spend too much time fretting over what I was going to wear.
The window of our hotel room overlooked beaches of crystal sands and the bluest waters I’ve ever seen. Being from Ohio, I didn’t get to see oceans all that often. Visiting a tropical island in the middle of the pacific was a nice change of scenery from the gloomy overcast that always seemed to be hanging over the city of Columbus. Soon enough, my mother was pulling me out of a cab and into a building that I originally thought to be some kind of fancy business building or something.
It was the CEO’s fucking house.
It was massive, to say the very least. A mansion, probably six hundred times the size of the small apartment my mom and I shared. I shook off how intimidated I was by the place. People were already pouring into the mansion, dressed in expensive looking dresses and suits. Their lips spoke words of fabricated genuineness. Their eyes were wide with unrealistic happiness. I already despised these kinds of people, and experiencing their facades in person was even more exhausting to deal with.
Inside of the doors was a lobby type of deal, with two grand staircases on either side. The walls were decorated with fine paintings, and the floors were made of marble. I didn’t know what to do with myself, other than take my mother’s arm in escort in an attempt to look like I knew what the hell I was doing. My mother led us both towards a man who I assumed was the CEO himself. He was smiling, shaking people’s hands, greeting his employers as if he actually cared for each of them. A boy in a dark suit was next to him, chatting up a middle aged woman. I pretty much cringed when the CEO’s eyes met my mom’s.
“Laura Dun! It is so lovely to finally meet you.”
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mr. Joseph. This place is absolutely breathtaking.”
“Oh please, call me Chris. This is your son, no?” He gestured to me.
“Oh yes, this is my son Joshua,” my mom answered, and I shook the man’s hand. “Joshua, this is the CEO of the company, Chris Joseph.”
The boy standing next to him, who, by the way, looked like he couldn’t possibly be out of highschool, reached out his hand towards me. He tilted his head ever so slightly, and examined me closely. The boy made me incredibly unsettled for an unknown reason, and I examined him back to try to figure out why exactly. His hand was freezing cold, as the sudden lack of heat nearly made me jump. I shook his hand nonetheless.
“I’m Tyler Joseph,” the boy, Tyler, spoke. “Nice to meet you, Joshua.” Something about Tyler’s voice captivated me for the few seconds he was speaking. His eyes as well, they were different from the rest of the people here. Tyler only gave me a few seconds to look into them, as the broke the glare we were sharing and went back to his father’s side.
My mother and I continued to linger around the mansion, her chatting with fellow employees and me trying to look interested. Eventually, I managed to escape while my mother was tasting foreign biscuits. A door led me out into a yard that overlooked the ocean. The moon was full and shining down on the waves of the water. It was late into the night, and the air was chillier than expected for a tropical island. It wasn’t until this moment, but I realized that I was really tired. A tree in the center of the garden caught my eye as a good place to nap. I scoped it, climbed it, and got myself just about as comfortable as a tree branch can get. I was peacefully dozing in and out of consciousness until I heard a startling thump from the ground below me. Peeking down after jumping about a mile high, I was met with a familiar face kicking something out of my view. | b3c48521e1964940acd1b38c1d0eff5e | ['eda2a6447e3b4a59a0d1263ccd10cf34'] | “Hm. The only guys my age I hang out with are like, co workers. I don’t really have many friends to be honest.” I was being honest. None of my friends from high school talked to me anymore. I usually spent my days either working at Guitar Center, and if not that, I was helping my mom in any way I could- grocery shopping, cleaning the house, whatever I could do.
“Maybe we aren’t so different. Or maybe we are.” Tyler leaned back into his bean bag a bit, crossing his arms. “People aren’t that different when you think about it. Celebrities are nothing to have a cow over. Look at Beyonce.” He gestured forward, at nothing in particular. “She’s amazing, but I don’t believe for a second she’s as perfect as she sets herself up to be. I don’t trust perfect people. I wouldn’t trust a song that’s flawless.”
“I never really thought about that,” I replied in honesty. “You seem like you know a lot of… stuff.”
“I only know what I’ve been taught, whether it’s been taught to me or I taught myself.” Tyler leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. I found myself observing him, the way his lips curved, the way his eyes moved, the way his skin looked under the lights. Ugh, he was kind of beautiful. A beautiful boy in a beautiful house on a beautiful island. A beautiful boy with beautiful eyes and beautiful words.
“But alas, ég vakna draumi úr, ég sé ekki út,” Tyler spoke, snapping me out of the daze I was in.
“What?”
“A thought.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed. “It’s getting late. You leave Monday morning, no?”
“Yeah, at like, nine or something.”
“Would you-” Tyler stopped himself and thought for a moment. “You should come to the lounge downtown, I’ll be there tomorrow night. Let me see your phone.”
I gave him a look and reluctantly pulled my phone out my pocket and handed it to him. He gave me a look back.
“No, like… put your passcode in.”
I snatched it back from his hand, despising the giggles from him as I embarrassingly entered my passcode and handed it back to him. I watched intently as he speedily put his number and name in as a contact. He also sent himself a simple, “hey”. So he had my number as well. A very sly way to get my number, I was impressed.
“Why should I go again?”
“I’ll be there,” he said again, and stood up. I followed suit. “Promise you’ll come? I swear you’ll love it. There’s very nice drinks there…”
“We’re both too young to drink,” I deadpanned. No way I was gonna let this guy lure me into getting drunk with him.
“Law doesn’t apply here. Not when your dad owns everything on this body of land.”
I sighed. I figured I’d go, but if he tried to pull anything, I’d be out. “I’ll be there. What time?”
“Nine PM, sharp. Take this with and show it to whoever is at the door.” Tyler took a card out of his pocket and handed in to me. On it was nothing more than a signature, his signature. “So, is this a deal? You’ll be there?”
I took his hand and shook it, “Yeah man. It’s a deal.”
..;;...;
I was dark. The best way I could describe the feeling this place gave off was drowsy. It felt tired, the entire mood of the place. The walls I were dark, and every seat in the place was made of velvet. Expensive looking people sat with their legs crossed, glasses of red wine in their hands. Tyler had given me absolutely no direction as to where to find him, so I texted him a few times, asking where he was.
He left me on read, the asshole.
Pissed, off I found a seat towards the back of the room, a bench made of velvet, of course. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling above. Every voice in the room hushed as the lights got even more dim than they already had been, and music began. It started off slow and somber, kind of haunting before the song transformed into something fast-paced, lyrically. The mood of the room shifted completely as I watched bodies collide with one another and hands become restless. I was more than confused, watching this unfold as I tried to decipher the lyrics from the music playing.
Better...are lost... of the… giving birth to...
My head was becoming more and more hazy every second that passed. A scent I didn’t believe I had ever encountered before then surrounded me. It was not pleasant, nor was it unpleasant. I felt a hand on my shoulder just as my eyes became heavy.
“Damn, it’s getting to you that quickly? You’re easy, Joshua,” a voice spoke into my ear lowly.
I close my eyes and tried to concentrate on what I was feeling physically. The hand moved from my shoulder to the side of my face. It was gentle, soft. It felt safe. I relaxed under the touch willingly, and did not stop it as it moved to the nape of my neck.
Putting… my tongue… savor it...
I felt lips close to mine, and for a moment I thought that they would make contact with mine.
“I can’t do this,” the same voice said, quietly into my ear once more. “I need to get you out of here.”
My body was being moved up by the source of the touch. I could hardly concentrate on anything, but I soon heard a second voice. Then the sound of a car door slamming. Then it opened, and I was being practically carried somewhere. I soon felt something soft underneath me, and then the sweet sound of comforting quietness.
..,;,;.',.; |
82fad76098074cf28aabbcd8efbe56e8 | ['edd3813c208a4e46a4ab228a64bf69d8'] |
Active Gizmo
It helps to be a heavy sleeper if you plan to stay at the Red Dragon Inn. Due to their unique clientele of adventurers, self-proclaimed heroes, and troublemakers of all kinds, the place doesn’t usually quiet down until about eight or nine in the morning.
It was this fact that Wrench hoped to use to his advantage.
The little red kobold, who hammered rivets and tightened nuts on the contraption before him at a fanatical pace, had had a pretty rough day. A couple of two-bit orcs had hired him to plunder a dungeon with them, only to use him and his mechanical allies for target practice and steal all his gold when there was no treasure to be found.
Wiping sweat off his brow, the kobold let out a sigh as he looked over his slapdashed creation - a crude harness, two sword handles converted into grips, and a piston all rigged together. So what if he couldn’t get drunk tonight. So what if he was broke, and might be kicked out of the inn tomorrow. Swiping a small chest from underneath his bed, Wrench carefully lifted the smooth, flexible toy within, licking its smooth tip and bulging, knotted base before attaching it firmly to the piston. He was going to get _some_ satisfaction tonight, even if it killed him. Which, considering the success rate of his inventions, gave him a comfortable 75% chance of survival. Optimistically.
Slipping his stained work apron off, the kobold let his claws drift below his belly, stroking his bulging reptilian slit. Taking a deep breath, Wrench closed his eyes and teased the tip of his thickening erection as it slowly emerged, stiff and eager. Soon, both hands massaged and squeezed at his tapered cock until he felt the first few drops of precum dribble over his shaft. His musky scent, worked up after a long and arduous day, occasionally wafted into his delicate nostrils. Wrench stroked himself a little harder as he inhaled- a kobold’s keen sense of smell could be distracting in the thick of battle, but he couldn’t deny the little pleasures it brought.
Shaking his head, he retrieved a small bottle of oil from the dresser, coating the thick toy in clear, sticky fluid. Part of him was concerned that the lube might fall through the cracks in the floor and into the bar - but that concern was easily ignored. After all, it was an old, leaky tavern- who would know?
Testing his weight on the harness, Wrench laid his scaled belly over the straps, lifting his long tail so it hung just over his head. Hands clenched firmly around the grips, the kobold closed his eyes.
“Right then,” he whispered to himself. “Three, two, one-”
Squeezing the trigger on one of the grips, Wrench kept his eyes clenched shut as the piston sputtered to life, the gas engine shaking him along with the entire contraption. Hiking his tail up once more, the kobold opened one eye, peeking over his shoulder. There shouldn’t have been this much of a delay, and he was sure he actually hadn’t forgotten any components this time. Attempting to crane his neck around, he muttered to himself, “Why the hell isn’t it-”
His breath suddenly catching in his throat, the little kobold’s eyes shot open as the entire oil-soaked toy stretched his tight ring, hilting itself deep within him from fat tip to thick knotted base. Wrench’s trembling breaths alternated between trying to keep himself under control and squeals of delight.
“Okay- okay-” The kobold moaned to himself, his stiff shaft wobbling helplessly beneath him. “Just a...problem with the startup, should be okay from h _GHK_ \--”
Just as abruptly as the toy had filled him, the machine yanked the knot free, forcing another, more pitiful squeal from Wrench’s lips. His cock twitched as he hissed, flinging a rope of thin precum over the floorboards and his bare belly. Now, he was starting to get worried. The piston was making disjointed sputtering sounds, jerking and jiggling the half-inserted toy still buried in him. Swearing to himself, the grunting kobold whipped his arm to his side, groping desperately for the emergency shut-off lever, finding-
Nothing.
His eyes shot open, darting around the room. Next to his bed, just out of reach, a lone red lever lay on the floorboards beside a few spare bolts.
“Fuck.” The kobold whimpered.
With a jarring CLANG, the engine revved up, thrusting the knot inside again. Sweat ran down Wrench’s forehead and muzzle. He had to call for help. Should he? Would the innkeepers even try to help him, or would they just laugh and watch him as he was rutted into the ground by this humiliating machine? And, perhaps less important but, why did that thought make his face feel so hot?
Another pull, then another shove, faster and harder into the grunting, breathless kobold. The already stale and muggy room was now rank with sweat and sex, fogging Wrench’s already flustered head. Each time the fiercely rumbling knot stretched him wide, he found his whimpers growing heavier, deeper. Letting his head droop down, Wrench found himself facing the floorboards, peering through the slats with half-lidded eyes into the tavern below. Adventurers of all kinds drank and laughed and shouted, unable to hear his panting groans for help.
The machine CLANGed again, burying the knot so firmly inside that Wrench’s little grunts morphed into a desperate howl. It was too much for the lizard to process- the violently vibrating toy was buried further inside him than ever before. His stiff, twitching cock dribbled and drooled precum down his shaft and into the cracks in the floorboards. His breaths grew short, and the knot kept pushing and rumbling- | a07fe299f80a48aeb9ef2081b6ae3c39 | ['edd3813c208a4e46a4ab228a64bf69d8'] | All it took was the contraption tugging gently on the knot, and Wrench cried out. Spurting hot, thick seed onto his belly, the straps, the floorboards - even a few drops landed on his chin as the kobold squirmed and moaned. His ring clenched tight at the knot as it tugged at him, never with enough force to pull out, only to coax more spurts of hot seed and feral grunts from Wrench’s ruined, sweat-drenched body.
As his cock twitched and spurted, the harness’ supports snapped.
Landing face-first on the floor, Wrench groaned as his still spurting cock dribbled more seed into the wooden floor, mingling with the cum dribbling over his belly. Worst of all, the machine still tugged and rumbled at his stretched and sensitive ring, slick toy still firmly knotted inside him.
His limbs weak and shaky from his orgasm and head swimming from the musky air, Wrench attempted to push himself off the cum-soaked ground. All he’d have to do was stand up enough so he could pull the toy out. His shaking arms strained at the weight of his body and what was left of the contraption, but he was almost there. Then, he looked up.
“Oh, don’t mind us.”
Two burly orcs stood in the doorway. The jerks from that morning. Before Wrench could scramble to his feet, one of the orcs had forced him down to the ground, pinning him with a single hand on his back. The machine CLANGed, and the piston rumbled to life once more.
Wrench couldn’t see much, but he could just barely make out the orcs’ loincloths falling to the ground. Digging his claws into the wood, Wrench whimpered as the overpowering smell of orc cock flooded his nostrils. He wouldn’t give them their victory. He wouldn’t open his mouth for them. No matter how hot they made his face feel, how their scent made his cock grow firm and needy against the floor.
The piston thrust deep. Wrench yelped. And as the taste of orc spread over his tongue and coated the back of his throat, the little kobold’s muffled moans joined the cacophony of singing and shouting adventurers downstairs, none of whom were sober enough to worry about the occasional droplets of white liquid dribbling through the ceiling.
**Author's Note:**
> (Originally published June 2016)
>
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out evil-betty.sofurry.com for more weird furry smut! |
bddd21cbf6d344c99ffe66db3e4a630f | ['ee10694dbcca431a812d271f2786ecd0'] | Again, he pushed the thought aside. He had considered it before, but it wouldn't work. Neither Princess Elena nor any of her friends would help him. Not after what he had done to Alacazar, even if it had been over a hundred years ago. Not after what he had already done to them, even if they all had recovered from it - except maybe that one isolated guard he had petrified outside the ballroom. If he tried to ask them for mercy, he doubted they would show any.
Not that a rotten bastard like him wouldn't deserve whatever they did to him, but he'd rather not endure it just yet. Maybe that would be an option to consider once Shuriki was taken care of, but for now he'd stay where he was.
_Even if that means causing more suffering?_ The same voice insisted.
Fiero again pushed it aside. He'd rather avoid that as much as he could, but he was strictly on his own resources. No matter how much he loathed it, all he could do was keep following Shuriki like the lapdog he was pretending to be, bear whatever turmoil any collateral damage caused him, and wait for the perfect chance.
For Gracia.
For Seentahna.
And for at least a sliver of peace of mind.
As difficult as it seemed to achieve.
_Will you stop that?_ He inwardly shouted at himself. _At the rate you're going, you'll only miss the chance to your move!_
_No._ He replied to his own shouts.
That wouldn't happen. He'd keep playing the game, and wait for the right moment. But as soon as that moment arrived, he would strike, send Shuriki on a one-way trip to the Spirit World, and at least one of his torments would come to an end.
He hoped.
**Author's Note:**
> Thank you for reading. Take care, everyone. | 44cc7c602d9c43e792e7aba8ff38d837 | ['ee10694dbcca431a812d271f2786ecd0'] | But the strange boy she had given the torch to had intrigued her. Shanti knew he wasn't from her village or from any of the surrounding ones, and he didn't look like any child she had seen before. He looked lean in a way she didn't think any other child did, he had more scars than any other child she had ever met, and there was a strange wildness to his stance, as if he was more of a wild animal ready to attack or to run than a human. But she had felt his very human despair as he looked at the torch as if his life depended on him getting it, and then had seen the same later when he prevented her from telling someone to get the torch for him. And more importantly, she had seen the very human comfort and gratitude in his smiles. If she hadn't sensed any humanity in him, she wouldn't have given him the torch.
But why would he need a torch in the jungle? She could guess he needed it to help someone, but she had no idea who. She only knew that, for whatever insane reason had come to her, she wanted two things. One was to find out what he wanted the torch for. The other was to make sure he would be alright.
So she grabbed a torch of her own and headed off into the jungle after him. At first, it was easy enough to see where he went, as his torch left a few sparks on the ground from how fast he ran, and she even managed to remain safe from the animal she guessed were around, probably because of the fire she carried herself.
But almost before Shanti could realize it, she ended up in big trouble. Somehow, a few of the sparks the boy had dropped had caused a forest fire, and in moments, the flames grew ahead of her like a wall, devouring everything they came in touch with. Animals of all kinds either ran or flew around her, and it was only by miracle that Shanti managed to get into a nook formed by a tree that shielded her from them. She knew she couldn't stay there forever, or the fire would catch her, but with so many animals running by, she found no room to get away from her refuge.
Eventually, the animals were few enough for her to be able to get away - and right on time, because by then the fire was only a few hundred meters away from her. Shanti ran as fast as she could, always with one hand gripping her torch, but the fire moved quicker. It slowed down occasionally thanks to a brief contrary wind, but it always carried on sooner or later.
The smoke around her increased. The temperature rose.
She would be caught and burned alive.
This was an even worse idea than she had thought when she first went after the boy.
A sudden rush reached her ears. All around her, hisses rose from the forest as fires started to fade. Shanti had heard the noise more than once when fires were put out with water. Had some sort of sudden flood started at the best possible time?
Shanti clambered up a nearby tree with her free hand, always keeping her torch grasped in the other one. As soon as she was on it, she turned around and saw that indeed water was spreading across the forest floor. To her relief, the flood wasn't too big - only a few inches of water rather than the several feet she had seen a few times. But it could still knock her down and injure her, not to mention put out her torch. So she stayed on the tree and waited for the flood to pass.
And as she did, she noticed something incredible. A herd of elephants was just finishing rearranging the river by carving holes in the ground with their tusks and legs and bringing down trees at the right spots. And Shanti realized: they were putting out the fire.
But could animals be that smart? Elephants had never been considered dumb, but them being smart enough to know exactly what to do to put out a forest fire defied her understanding of the world. But she trusted her eyes, and she knew what she had seen.
And then, she saw two more things. One was the boy she had given the torch to, sitting on the shoulders of a baby elephant, looking both triumphant and relieved. The other was a burned, mangled corpse floating in the mud. Humans didn't see particularly well at night, but there was enough light for her to recognize it even from this distance. It was a tiger. In fact, although she couldn't be sure with this light, it seemed to Shanti that it was the same tiger all the surrounding villages were afraid of, who had taken countless men, women, and children to eat, the most recent being her friend Nathoo.
So this must be what he wanted the torch for. To defeat the tiger.
But did he really need to start a whole forest fire to do so, or had it been an accident?
The boy looked in her direction, and all her thoughts halted. Like he had done in the village when he first noticed her, he froze.
Shanti couldn't very well do the same in her precarious position, but she felt herself start to shiver as he looked at her.
For some time she didn't think about measuring, their gazes met, in spite of the darkness and the distance. Then, he smiled again and waved at her. She smiled as well and waved her torch.
Then she almost slipped off the tree. |
4f07337b1884453098102ec2488f6ab1 | ['ee3bdf9ab49744daa47e1bdb4e516dcc'] | I didn’t though, though I’m sure Mother and Father knew the aching hurt that trembled in my voice whenever I managed to speak to them. I know I wrote letters to Remy saying how much I missed Cougar Canyon, and him, Mother, Father, everyone as my shields and Channelling were battered by the homesickness of everyone around me. But as the saying goes, “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” and out of necessity began to learn. Learned how to hold a shield in the middle of a dorm screaming match, how to deal with the crisis’s of the heart and weeping room mates and stress seeping in from all angles as exams and deadlines approached. Learned more about emotions and people than medicine and finding myself up to the challenge. I excelled in my classes, for all the fact I still sought the shadows when given the opportunity, but the most valuable thing I learned was control of myself and the beauty and darkness of the human mind and soul. There is nothing so pure, so heart stoppingly beautiful as the grace and faith of the human spirit in the darkest of times, and they without the knowledge and surety The People have of the closeness of the Presence to us all. But the real changes occurred when I started my rotations in the wards of the Teaching Hospital near to the University. That was when I felt I was being really useful and when things started to alter beyond recognition. My apprenticeship with Mother and helping with Dr Curtis had made my Channelling robust enough to deal with the onslaught of being surrounded by patients pain, and I very rapidly developed a level of Sensitivity to my Concern that I could control consciously. It made me relish the help that I could give to others, even if sometimes it put me on the wrong side of some of the older, and slightly misogynistic doctors in the hospital. Every time we swapped around I jumped at the chance to experience something new.
““Changing day,” Sam said as he leaned over my shoulder to look at the board in the busy corridor where our new placements had been tacked up.. The shifts were in the middle of change over and we had come in early to find out our new assigned rotation. “Sheesh, I *still* haven’t got surgical! Obstetrics? Really?”
““You’ll love it,” I replied smiling slightly. “Besides they don’t give surgical to pre-med, never have, never will. You’ll have to make it through interns, get selected Sam.”
““And here I was thinking they’d spot my natural genius,” he complained and we all knew he joking. Only I Sensed the core of steel determination in his joking because Sam really did want it for all his flippant manner. I hoped Sam did make a surgeon one day, he was going to be very good at it with his unflappable decisive surety in his nature. “So what have you lot got?”
““Opthamalogy,” Chris said in his usual monotone. Of our intake, I was sure Chris was going to end up as a researcher. He was genuinely uncomfortable around people and for the life of me it perplexed me why he was studying to be a doctor. “Could be interesting?”
As the others agreed I stared at the list looking for my own name, Elizabeth Jackson, and the assignment next to it. Psychiatric. They very rarely sent pre-med to psychiatric until a final rotation. Which either meant there was something that meant they needed an extra pair of hands up there – very likely – or they wanted to scare me off. Also very likely. I was still very much in the minority as a female doctor in this group or any group. The People made no distinction between the sexes talents, finding the lingering gender stereotypes of Earth perplexing and a little disappointing. But it was the reality of the world at this time and that’s what I had to deal with. Older doctors convinced that blood and guts would have me fainting like a shrinking violet or I would descend into a quivering wreck at a sudden life or death decision. They weren't to know that I had been making those decisions since I was a teenager.
“So what did you get Beth?” Jeremy asked. “I’ve got an ER rotation.” He grinned at me boyishly. “You going to join me at the grass roots of medicine?”
“I got psychiatric.” I announced a little glumly because everyone knew what that meant. Sam gave a low whistle and shook his head.
“Wow, Beth, you must have really upset old Fullerton to get that this early on,” he said and I suppressed a wince at the wave of pity that swept around the group.
“It will be a challenge,” I answered determined to make the best of it. Who better to deal with it than me with my training and abilities? Mother wouldn’t run from it, fearless in the face of need and I would not either. “I better get up there. Meet you after shift?”
The others nodded. “Good luck Beth!” Jeremy answered winking at me as we started to disperse. He flirted with a half serious interest with everyone so I didn’t take it personally. He was attractive but I felt no urge to get involved when I had enough on my plate. I was too busy fighting the system to get involved in relationships.
The psych ward was, by its very nature isolated from the rest of the hospital, tucked away in a forgotten corner. The light seemed more oppressive and darkness pooled in shadows in the long corridors. In the normal run throughs of the hospital, the place bustled with light and busy people. Not so here. It was like life was chained and muzzled behind the securely locked doors. | 03bc1d01d2594e2588fe5d8dd7034983 | ['ee3bdf9ab49744daa47e1bdb4e516dcc'] | It was dawning on his group that this was not necessarily a good thing and Vinn stepped in. “We are safe and secure. I do not mind us looking, for we can take a piece of the world with us to act as a point of reference back.” To demonstrate he picked up a small crystal that shone like a rare sapphire and put it in his pocket. “I would like to return here some day.”
He would like to fly over the forest of crystal and see each detail with his falcon’s gaze, find a crystal thermal and ride it into the sheer sky and see the rainbows dancing as the sun paced its stately path. But there was no joy in him now, not with his head filled with questions and heart hollow with waiting.
“But I would like to find this …world of heroes, to meet if I can the Seer, and Davor of the Axe,” he said in a softer voice. “I cannot explain why, only that it is a form of compulsion. I am sorry to have brought you here like this, without mentioning it. I did not realise my impatience would be so great. I ask your forgiveness.”
Tabor nodded slowly. “If you had asked then perhaps we could have helped you fulfil your ambition.”
Vinn was surprised at the offer and looked directly at the young Dalrei Mage. His dark eyes were older and wiser than his years and he seemed to see right into him, piercing his secrets. He had the discomfiting feeling that Tabor has somehow intuitively realised he really wanted to find his father.
“You would do this?” he asked unable to hide the incredulity in his voice and Tabor stepped forward and rested his hand on his arm.
“You are our friend. Of such weavings is the Tapestry made,” he said simply. “I would not see you seek alone when I could help.”
It was simple and direct and as before, his bitterness smoothed under the gentle offer, and resolve replaced anger.
“Then let us continue, and for each world we would like to return to, then let us take a token so we may return there whenever we wish,” he said with a faint smile and the others agreed with a simple nod and moved into the circle around him.
He drew the magic around them, sourcing all of the new mages, free and unbound but giving willingly in a way no other could even as they chanted the words of power. And as they blurred again and he felt them reaching across the barriers of time and space, Vinn thought desperately _‘this time, oh gods and goddess, please, this time...”_
~*~
This world was hot and crowded , the air redolent with spices, noise and jabber. Paul had no idea how Galadan was able to track anything in this chaos and he was being little help at all. Somehow he was able to step them between the worlds, imagining Galadan pointing the way like a faithful hound – which he knew would be a mortal insult to the wolf-lord if he dared suggest it. But once there, it was as if his purpose ended. Soor’IshKa as this world was apparently known was a little like the markets of Marakesh, where beautiful women walked jingling with tiny bells in their hair and slow smiles as he stood waiting for Galadan to do whatever it was that he did. The heat did not touch him, but the memory of that first summer where he hung upon the Summer Tree in sacrifice, rose up, bidden by the touch of thirst that lingered. He gratefully took an offered chilled juice, not knowing how to pay until he realised that Galadan had done so.
“You have currency?” he asked sipping the drink. It was cold and tart, with a citrus tang that was refreshing.
“Perhaps you forget I do have powers,” Galadan said with a raised eyebrow . “It is a simple thing.”
Not something Paul could do himself, which considering the authority he held among even the gods themselves was more than a little irritating. “What have you found?”
“We are closing on them,” Galadan replied, with great satisfaction. “The trail is only a couple of days cold. “
“Haven’t you worked out a pattern?” Paul asked, finishing his drink, and Galadan gave him a definite look.
“Haven’t *you*?” he replied. “There is no pattern because they are moving randomly themselves.”
Paul considered this even as temple bells ran out behind them. “The only random thread is that of the Wild Hunt. Even choices we make are affected by who we are, what we believe and strength of will. So how is it that they are not going where they want to go?”
Galdan’s eyes glittered a moment. “Kevin has not told the others of their destination. Their thoughts will be flying in many places and this will jostle them to different worlds. When they are of one accord, then they stand a better chance – only, there are many worlds that are similar and finding the right one...”
Paul felt something shift in him. “That will happen soon,” he said and his voice spread a stillness and urgency that silenced the crowds around him. “We must stop following them and find worlds where they are likely to be, ones similar to my home but not exact.”
The other andain nodded slowly, still looking at him warily as he did when any of Mornir’s powers manifested, but Paul placed his hand on his shoulder and let him lead him to another passage way between worlds. They had to find them before events over took them all.
~*~ |
4374ddf200df47c3a14d453e50540a0e | ['ee417919f0544bdf99d7c9a4fc9751cd'] |
1. Character Introduction
* Danny – The main protagonist of “Forbidden Fish Love”. He is very responsible and very good at deciding. Danny never doubts who he truly loves.
* Briskett – A mysterious boy that Danny encounters numerous times throughout the series. Eventually, Danny develops romantic feelings towards him.
* Dr. Bass / Bassy – The deputy head of the school, who is later revealed to be a merman. He loves Danny very much, though Danny does not know this at first.
* Conrad – One of Danny's friends. He supports his decisions, even if he does not fully agree with them.
* Larry – Danny's best friend. They can have a good and proper banter.
* Mrs Robinson – The teacher. She is the one who arranged the seaside trip and therefore the main antagonist.
2. A Seaside Trip?! With the Class?!
Danny cheerfully skipped into his classroom, feeling excited to start the afternoon. “Hey, I thought you were skiving cause you never showed up to maths.” Larry grinned at his friend Danny. But suddenly, Danny looked distracted, and his eyes wandered to outside the window, and there he was treated to a great view of the cafeteria where Bassy would linger. “What's up?” Larry kicked Danny's shoe with impatience. “I had a dream, where he was swimming with me...” Danny whispered, and a shiver was sent down his spine...a mixture of warmth and uncertainty. “Dude, Dr. Bass is our Science teacher!” Larry waved his hands frantically in front of his friend's face. More people stood around Danny, as he was the most popular in his entire school. “Hi guys, our teacher's coming now, oh jolly!” Conrad said sarcastically.
And then Mrs Robinson entered the room. She yelled "I have news!" as loud as she could, because the class was already in a buzz as it was a Wednesday afternoon (yes, this class is stupid). Everyone fell into a deep silence which reminded Danny of the deep blue hues of the ocean. “We are going on a seaside trip.” She looked around her, and then left the room. “Cool,” Danny said excitedly, “I wonder if Bassy is...?” Larry and Conrad looked at him in a puzzled manner, but decided not to interfere, because they are such good friends. Danny and his friends left the classroom and made for the busy student-trafficked roads of Little Bay Secondary School. A smaller boy ran past them with his Limited Edition Tanooki Mario Plushy Bag, mouthing something silently. “Huh...?” Danny looked behind him and gawped at the young youth. He recognized him as the young troublemaker known as Briskett. Veins were popping out of his eyes, but why? Does this have something to do with Bassy? All these thoughts were running through Danny's head at once. Can he handle all of these overwhelming new emotions?
3. That Fated Encounter
“Did you hear?” Conrad glanced at Danny, who was again gazing out the window. “Sorry...what?” Conrad rolled his eyes. “Bassy broke into the aquarium on Thursday morning. That's why we never saw him at lunch. Yeah, he's ALWAYS staring at you.” Conrad looked cheerful but concerned. “Oh, I'm sure he was only looking at my fish.” Danny said enviously. “Is that why you stopped eating fish then? Because you want him to love you and only you?” Danny blushed furiously, and looked down at the floor. “How could you suggest such a thing? Idiot.” Larry walked over to the two who were chatting like friends. “So we all go to the trip then?” Larry questioned. “YES!” Danny shouted out loud. People looked over at him suspiciously. He quickly lowered his voice. “I mean yeah...okay, great. That's a month away though!” Conrad slid off his char. “You guys keep each other company. I'm going to have sexual intercourse with Trixie in the P.E shed.”
Time skip – 1 month later at the trip
Danny was laying on the soft beige (almost golden) sands, enjoying the feeling of tiny grains trickling off his skin. Suddenly water splashed on his face. “Oi! Who was that?!” There, he saw Briskett, gazing towards him with his black hair and goofy teeth blowing in the wind. “Listen...I...need to tell you something,” Danny murmured, “ever since we met...we...fell in love right?” Tears filled his eyes up, as he cried his true feelings out to Briskett. “Unless, I was the only one who thought that?” Luckily, Briskett stood too far away to hear anything he said, and walked off into the silver-colored shore. Sighing, Danny lay back down, and enjoyed the sun's heated glare for a few hours. He then felt a finger tap his shoulder. “What?” Danny sat back up, to come face to face with Bassy. “Y-you're here too?” A tear fell from Danny's twinkling eye. “But I...thought you were in trouble for doing that to the carp in the aquarium!” Bassy put a finger to Danny's lip. “Shh, young youth, I am not meant to be here. I only came for you...you would make a fine......mackerel pasta.” They gazed into each others eyes for a little while longer, before the police came and took the struggling Bassy away. Luckily, Bassy managed to escape their grip and ran into the sea, and vanished as soon as his foot made contact with the water. All the while Danny watched him fondly, with love, surely he was the one...
4. The Midnight Air
Danny and his friends were sleeping in one of the holiday cabins that the school had given them to sleep in for the holiday. However, Danny failed to sleep because he kept thinking of a certain Briskett. “I've never had such strong feelings.” Danny whispered and crawled out of his bed. He opened to the door in which a lovely cool breeze greeted him, as if inviting Danny to take a stroll inside. “I might just do that!” Danny smiled, and set off under the bridge of stars. Without warning, a hand grabbed his. “H-huh?!” Danny gasped, and fell to the floor. There Briskett was, pinning him down on the sand. “I've been wanting to do this ever since that hot summer day.” Briskett whispered into his ear sexily. Danny cried tears of happiness. “Could this be a summer romance?” Danny thought in his head.
Then suddenly, without warning, they heard a splash in the background. It was Bassy who was a merman for some reason right now! What a shock! Bassy glared jealously at Briskett. “The sea has told me you are not the one...for my dear sweet Danny!” he roared like the waves, and leaped a mile across from the sea to the place where Danny and Briskett were embracing. “No, Bassy!” Danny screamed, “if you go out the water, you will dry up and die.” Then, Bassy, who was at that moment on top of Briskett, looked up and smiled comfortingly with tears sparkling in this eyes. “You're worth it, though. You'd never do any bad towards me, you were always my one and only.....angelfish.” Then, everything went pitch black for Danny.
5. Blessed By Poseidon
Danny refused to go to school from that day on. He stayed huddled up in the corner of his room, shrouded in the darkness of his empty heart. “Danny, please!” his mum cried out, “we're having fish and chips tonight. Your favorite!” Enraged, Danny ran downstairs to face his mother. “Did you know that fish was once alive? And now its dead!” He glared at her for ten minutes, before glancing at the fish. It was almost unrecognizable, but without a doubt, he was certain. He knew that face well enough. It was Bassy. “Why?” he shouted, “do you love ruining my life? I'll take away yours!” Danny grabbed a knife and stabbed it into her heart. As expected, she died instantly from the fatal wound. He then ran out of his house because his family would try and kill him if they found out that he was gay, without a doubt!
Danny sat on a bench near the docks, watching large ships setting out into the sunset in order to assassinate more fish. “Do they realize how they're ruining everything?” he muttered under his breath, “I can no longer live in this world!” He stood up in front of the sea, and starting running towards it; he couldn't swim, therefore he would drown. And that is what he wanted. But wait! A familiar hand grabbed him. “You can't do this, I will not let you.” Briskett said before dabbing thoughtfully. “I missed you my love. I know, we should marry!” Danny exclaimed happily.
And so they lived happily ever after! | c6721d99ba14404388568b7737c129d5 | ['ee417919f0544bdf99d7c9a4fc9751cd'] | Say "Toodles"!
BTS was enjoying their sun-baked holiday at the beach, thank you very much.
Taehyung was splashing around with the toddlers at the shore; the others were relaxing in the shade, reading books or staring at the sky.
Except Jungkook. What was taking the muscle pig so long? He was supposed to bring back ice cream but for that to have taken this long?
No, he must have wandered off somewhere.
"Aish, someone go get him. He's taking too long," Yoongi grumbled.
"No, wait."
Jin took out his pink toy telescope and peered through it, looking towards the beach entrance.
"Aha! There he is! Oh...but..."
Jin was very shocked at what he saw. Sure enough, there was Jungkook. But clutching his hand and waving towards them was a black anthropomorphic mouse with a creepy grin clad in red shorts and bright yellow converse highs.
"What-"
"What the fuck?" Namjoon finished for him.
"Language. But yeah, I wonder how Jungkook is going to explain THIS one," the eomma of the group shook his head. They sat in astonished silence until Jungkook finally reached them.
"Teehee! Wow, it's a pleasure to meet you guys! My name is Mickey Mouse!" the mouse giggled sinisterly.
Jungkook stood awkwardly in front of the other members as he greeted them with a simple, "Hi guys."
Hoseok went red in the face in anger and stood up, trying to assert dominance over the Disney mascot.
"Um, no. Just no. You can't just walk up to us and pretend like nothing is abnormal about this situation whatsoever!" Hoseok shouted.
Mickey looked disheartened. "Awww, but I wanna be friends!"
"That's not going to happen. Anyway, explain now Jungkook," Yoongi said sternly.
"Long story short, Mickey Mouse has career-damaging tapes of all of us. But if we let him play with us for a few days, he'll destroy the tapes."
"What? And you AGREED to that?" Jimin cried.
Jin raised an eyebrow, "And what does he mean by playing with us?"
"Look, he's serious about this. You guys should watch the tapes, individually. I don't think you'll want these getting out. I know I don't," Jungkook shrugged.
Everybody stared at the maknae like he was mad. This was very out of character for him! Jungkook was never scared of anything, let alone Mickey Mouse or some potentially damaging tapes.
"Jungkook...have you drugged all of us or something? Is this a dream? Is BTS even real?" Taehyung asked out of nowhere behind them.
"Where the hell did you come from, brat?" Yoongi asked shakily.
"I have my ways," Taehyung smiled with a kind of mysterious look in his eye.
Jungkook rolled his eyes, "Like I said before, this is serious. Not some dream, and also...saying that BTS isn't even real? That might be going too far, Taehyung."
"But what if we're all deranged patients in a psychiatric ward, using this make-believe fame to cope with the trauma of losing our families in a car crash?"
"Gee, that's right! I want to turn you all into perfect obedient sex slaves!" Mickey added.
There was a silence that lasted for about three seconds.
"Umm...what is he talking about, Jungkook?" Hoseok whispered.
"Hey, Taehyung's psychiatric ward theory is becoming more and more believable by the second..." the lead rapper whimpered.
"Shut up, God of Destruction. There's probably an explanation behind this...somehow," Yoongi mumbled.
Jimin snorted, "Like what? Is someone making a Mickey Mouse animatronic move and talk with a remote control or something?"
"Guys, we should just...do as he says for now," Jin said quietly. The other members turned around to see Mickey Mouse pointing a gun at the eldest's head.
"Teehee! Let me make myself clear- do I say or I blow his fucking brains out!"
"Damn it," Namjoon cursed, "we have to become his sex slaves then?"
"No! Fuck no! I'm getting out here!" Hoseok, true to his word, jumped up and ran for the hills.
Taehyung gasped, "Look how fast he runs when he's in danger!"
"Shit," Mickey Mouse spat before dropping the gun and sprinting off in pursuit of the most cheerful member. Without hesitiation, the other BTS members immediately fled in the opposite direction.
**Author's Note:**
> My mind is a very scary place. This isn't even the beginning of it T_T |
58c75e543a6b44de8f64abe672c6679e | ['ee5ff3187faf415fb445500164c6aeb5'] | “Ain’t as far back as our place.” He joked back.
“That is true. How is your place coming along?”
“Done, actually. Main house, guest house, everything.” Lucas answered. Chrys couldn’t believe what he had just told her.
“Are you serious? There was like a few years worth of repairs to do! There’s no way it’s all done.” Chrys exclaimed in disbelief.
“Dad worked pretty much non-stop on the house, inside and out, since we got home, and mom did a lot of cleaning too. Zoe helped with both. I fixed up most of the guest house on my own.” He said and showed her his hands, which were worn and covered in scratches, as proof of his work; Chrys reached for a hand to examine it closer.
“You should’ve worn gloves.” She told him. Lucas simply shrugged and smiled at her; he pulled her into a hug and lifted her chin with his index finger.
“There’s actually something I came here to ask you.” He said, not taking his eyes away from her’s.
“And what would that be?”
“Well… since the guest house is now livable, Dad gave me the okay to live there and I was, uh, wondering if you might want to join me.” He said nervously. Chrys looked up at him with a concerned expression.
“You want me to move in with you?” she asked while stepping away from him. “I dunno Lucas, it’s just-“
“You’re scared of me.” Lucas offered hastily.
“No, no I could never be scared of you, trust me on that. I don’t care about what you did during those three years, even if I should. I especially don't care about whatever might be wrong with your brain. No, it’s just that I’m worried about the kids, specifically Celes.”
“What about me?” Came a voice from the doorway as Lucas was opening his mouth to speak. Chrys and Lucas turned to see a red-eyed Celes standing there; it was obvious that she had been crying. Her mother ran over to her, crouched down and put her hands on the little girl’s shoulders.
“Celes, Baby, what’s wrong?” Chrys asked, Lucas now standing behind her; Celes lifted her gaze up to him.
“I don’t wanna be here no more mommy, I wanna go live somewhere else. All I can think about when I’m here is Daddy and how he was always yelling and hurting you, I don’t want that anymore.” She cried and then flung herself into her mother’s embrace.
“It’s alright Baby Girl, we can get out of here.” Chrys whispered in her daughter’s ear. She felt Lucas petting her hair as she rubbed Celes’ back and finally realized where it was that she belonged.
That night when her father brought the boys back, she sat them all down in the living room to give them the news. Lucas had gone home an hour before to beat the sun setting but not before going over with Chrys all the furniture in the house that they would need to move to Louisiana. She silently wished he could have been there so that the kids, especially the younger twins, could better understand where they were moving to and why, but she decided she could manage it without him. With all four kids on the couch: five-year-old Toby, three-year-old Celes and the two-year-old twins Thorin and Kili who looked more like they were four-year-olds, Chrys dragged her chair from the corner of the room to in front of the coffee table, which was in front of the couch.
Chrys took a moment to take in the four young people sitting in front of her. Celes was the one who resembled Chrys the most; they had matching light brown hair, the same colour eyes and similar facial features. The boys on the other hand all took after their fathers when it came to their looks; Toby had Lucas' nose and dirty blonde hair, while the twins had inherited their father's jet black here and fair complexion. Oddly enough, all four of them had taken after her with her abundance of energy, especially the boys. They were bouncing on the couch while Celes sat in the middle of them with her head down and was rubbing her feet together, but Chrys wasn’t so sure about what her daughter seemed upset about.
“Alright guys settle down, your poor sister is probably already missing the silence from this afternoon.” She joked which caused a smirk on Celes’ face. “Now that you’re all sitting here I have something I need to tell you all, no, more of ask you guys.”
“Go for it.” Toby encouraged.
“Wha’ is it?” Kili asked.
“Yeah, tell us!” Thorin yelled at a volume that was too much for Celes to handle.
“Shut up!” She screamed at him which, in fact, shut him up immediately but also turned on the faucets behind his eyes. What was supposed to be a peaceful and easy family meeting had just turned into an emotional brawl.
“Don’t yell at him!” Kili, who was normally the more passive twin, screamed back into his sister’s face, spraying her with spit at the same time.
“He yelled into my ear first! You’re both being stupid!”
“Okay that’s enough.” Chrys told them firmly, “Celes, you already know what this is about so why don’t you go up to your room or take a bath or something?”
Celes nodded and left the room without a word and only a small glare towards her brothers. Kili shot an evil look towards her as he put an arm around his sniffling twin. When she was out of the room, Chrys sighed and took a deep breath before continuing to talk to the boys. | b23105685c454a04bc8e34976d2d2935 | ['ee5ff3187faf415fb445500164c6aeb5'] | Soon after they broke apart and the tears were wiped away, the walkie-talkie that was hanging from the pocket of Chrys’ pants began beeping. She pulled it off and held it up to examine it; there was a light flashing on it but she had no idea what it meant. She started pressing every button and switch on the small device until she finally heard Lucas’ voice.
“Is anyone there at all?” He complained, sounding frustrated.
“I’m here.” She answered, the rest of the Bakers now looking at her.
“Chrys? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to contact you fer the past hour! I got everything ready, we can go now.” He explained.
“Lucas, I got your family with me.”
“What? But- but I thought-“
“Let me see that.” Jack told her and took the walkie-talkie. “Hey son, it’s your old man.”
There was a pause before Lucas answered.
“Dad? That really you?”
“Yeah Lucas, it is. I’d love t'catch up but I’m guessing we won’t be able to stay here for much longer. Where are you?”
“In the mines. You guys can meet me here and we can get the hell out of this place.”
“Alright, we’ll be there as soon as we can.” He said and handed the walkie-talkie back to Chrys. “Let’s get going everyone.”
When they reached the entrance to the mine, Chrys had Lucas talk through the device and walk them through how to get to him. After navigating their way through tripwires and various other explosives, they reached the lab that Lucas was set up in. Chrys rushed into the room and practically jumped into his arms.
“Lucas!” She exclaimed into his shoulder as she hugged him tight. His body was freezing cold which made her feel bad for wearing his sweater; she had already began to unzip it when he realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away from the zipper.
“Stop that, you need to keep warm more than me.”
“That’s not tr-“ She started but he cut her off.
“Yes it is, now can you please just keep it on?” He begged. Chrys nodded shyly and then diverted her gaze to the floor. Lucas put an arm around her shoulders and moved her to the side of him; he directed his attention to his family across the room. “And can someone please explain to me how the hell y’all are still alive?” Lucas snapped.
“It must have something to do with Eveline dying, maybe her death reversed everything.” Marguerite suggested.
“That sounds impossible; she was a bio-weapon not some fairytale witch.” Lucas said
“Does it really matter?” His mother questioned. “Now Chrys, isn’t there something you wanna tell Lucas?” She asked, trying to change the subject.
“You know, I think it can wait.” She said nervously.
“Just get it out and tell 'im already.” Jack added.
“Tell me what? What’s going on?” He asked, turning to his girlfriend.
Chrys sighed. This was going to be painful. “Lucas…I’m uh...I’m pregnant. “
“Pregnant?! Wait, so your stomach-“
“Isn’t this big because all I do is eat? No, it isn’t.”
“That isn’t what I was gonna say.” He whispered.
“Then what were you going to say?” She asked, getting romantically close to his face.
“I was just gonna ask if that’s what I felt when we were lying on the couch together last night. I was resting my hand on your stomach while you slept and I thought I felt something move.” He explained.
“Oh, well yeah, that’d be it.” She said, feeling bad for getting angry at him.
“I’m gonna be a dad.” Was all Lucas could manage to say.
“You already are one, remember?”
“Oh right, sorry.”
Jack took a step towards them.
“Um, what d'ya mean you’re already a dad?” He asked them. Lucas turned to Chrys in hopes that she’d answer for him but her eyes told him he was on his own for this one.
“Uh, turns out that Toby is actually my son.” He said sheepishly, taking multiple pauses during the sentence.
“I knew it!” Zoe exclaimed and Lucas shot her a warning glance.
“We all sort of did.” Jack stated, causing Lucas' cheeks to turn red. “But we can talk about this later. Let’s just worry about getting out of here.”
“Right! Before we go there’s something we gotta do.” Lucas announced and then walked over to a table that was behind him. He picked up off the table what appeared to be a syringe with a strange looking substance in it. Lucas brought it over to Zoe and put it in her hand. “Here, it’s the last bit of serum for whatever Eveline infected us all with.”
“Why don’t you use it on yourself?”
“I was cured long ago. I’m guessing mom and dad are no longer infected so you’re the only one left.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Dum-Dum." She said and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you Lucas.” She whispered into his ear; his eyes that had been wide open in shock from her hug softened into an eased half-open position..
“Uh huh.” He mumbled and went back over to Chrys after Zoe had pulled away from him. “How ‘bout we get out of here now?”
A half hour later and Jack, Marguerite and Zoe were squished into the back seat of Chrys’ car while Lucas was sitting in the passenger seat. A helicopter flew by overhead and Lucas hoped they were hidden enough by the trees so they wouldn’t be seen; he didn’t know much about the company whose logo was displayed on the side of the helicopter but he heard on his radio that they were told to shoot anyone they found alive on the Baker property. Along with the rest of his family, he was beginning to get nervous.
“Can she just get in here already?” Zoe whined.
“Shut up.” Lucas snapped. |
2c1a07049d264e87982d47786c9c7b61 | ['ee8b4c634665465caf2a2fdac65724f1'] |
1. Karaoke Lesson
**Author's Note:**
> Hi Everyone! This is my first time really trying to write a reader insert without wanting to scrap it in my doodle notebook, though I don't have much work to show for myself on my account, I take great pleasure in reading reader inserts here. Hopefully, my studying of this subject (I've read a lot) has paid off and I have a good story to share with everyone else that loves the Mad Dog of Shimano just as much as I do. Kudos and comments are very welcomed and if you have any suggestions I would love to hear them. Thank you.
It's a new evening at Club Sunshine, quiet music plays in the room while the girls get ready for the evening shift, while the staff outside prepare for open. Some of the girls gossip about work and customers, others work hard to get their looks perfect. You listen to the girls talk while you're applying the finishing touches to your makeup, adjusting your outfit in the mirror.
You're wearing a short black qipao with large red chrysanthemums embroidered around the dress that you found while shopping with one of the hostesses from the club upon Majima's request, with sheer black stockings and garter set, and kitten heels. You look quite enticing to the eye.
'Good enough to eat.' You wink at yourself in the mirror.
You're hoping that you can catch the one lone eye that you've wanted attention from for quite some time now with this little number. You thought it was a harmless crush but the feelings grew to be a little more than that while working here. You're sure all the girls feel that way towards Majima-san though, right?
A knock on the door gets everyone's attention. There's a gruff voice comes through muffled by the door. "Everybody decent in there?"
Giggling filters* around the room as the girls look at each other. "You can come in, Majima-san," Yuki calls out and goes back to talking to Ai about upcoming dates she's going on. Majima enters the room and looks about at the hostesses as they finish up getting ready for tonight's shift. "Anyone need any help with anything? I've got some time for training if anyone wants it."
You meekly raise your hand. "This is your chance", you think.
"I would like a few tips on what I can do to improve on my karaoke." He extends his hand out to wave you over to him. "That's perfect, I was thinking karaoke would be great practice date for you." Standing up and straightening out the short skirt of your qipao, you grab your clutch and overcoat from the chair and walk towards Majima with a smile. "I'm ready when you are, boss." He nods and extends an arm to you.
You wrap your arm in his and walk next to him out of the club. His arm is a lot more buff than it shows under his suit jacket. You think "Wow, he must be really strong." Your mind wanders to a part you normally reserve for your late night hour thoughts, wondering what the rest of his body looks like. "I bet he looks like he's sculpted in marble if going by his arm has anything to show for it."
Majima hails a cab for the both of you. Ducking into a cab with him, you zone out with your thoughts and stay silent on the trip over to the karaoke bar. Majima stares out the window to people watch hoping this trip to the bar won't be a dud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You arrive at the karaoke bar after a quiet cab ride over, Majima ever the gentleman helps you out of the cab, leading you to the bar entrance. You take in the surroundings as Majima slips off your jacket and drapes it over the booth as you both take a seat in the lounge area. You haven't gone to this karaoke bar yet but have heard good things about it from the other hostesses.
Majima orders a drink and song menu to come over to the table for the two of you. You're quiet trying to think of something to break the ice. "What happened to you to get the eyepatch?" seemed like a very rude thing to ask so you keep it to yourself.
The bartender hands you the menus, breaking your train of thought. You take a look through the drink menu and settle with a glass of plum wine. Majima quirks an eyebrow and orders Oolong tea for himself. You look at him and wonder what topic you should bring up so you don't seem so stiff for your "client" when a light bulb moment occurs. "Do you come here often in your spare time, Majima-san?" Majima chuckles and shakes his head. "Not really, just for lessons with the girls."
Frowning a little that the conversation was so quick to go stale, you start to ponder what he does on his free time while taking a few sips from your drink, feeling your cheeks warm up at the alcohol.
This was a nice brand of plum wine to drink from, you think about getting another one as you down the first one with a few more unladylike gulps. You're a little nervous, to say the least; you're not good with public singing, more so in the privacy of your bathroom to pop songs that play on your radio in the morning. You don't often get lessons with Majima-san so this is a great opportunity to see if he'll open up to you and impress him with the skills that you do have with being a hostess.
While spacing out a little with all things swirling around in your head, Majima brings you back to reality by clearing his throat. "Umm...would you like to go first or should I?" | e918942ee1e64d78b35511b0477db240 | ['ee8b4c634665465caf2a2fdac65724f1'] | Along the way home, you've taken your heels off and walk barefoot, destroying your stockings in the process. You don't care anymore, your feet were killing you and you're too embarrassed to ask Majima to carry you back to your place. Majima walks slowly for your sake, seeing that you're exhausted. He pauses in thought and pulls you close to him and your heart thumps faster - you really could just melt against him. You don't catch that he's talking to you until he squeezes your hand tighter. "I could carry you if you're feet hurt that badly." It's like he read your mind. You blush softly and nod meekly. "That would be nice; thank you, Majima-san."
Majima takes your coat and clutch from you before he squats down on the sidewalk. You climb on his back and he hoists you up like you weigh nothing. Your arms wrap around his neck. You take in the scent of his cologne again, moaning silently to yourself; how did you get so lucky? Before he starts walking he looks over his shoulder, "Where do you live again, Missy? I ain't-a map." You giggle at his remark and tell him your address, pointing in the direction of your apartment. He starts walking in the direction you pointed in and hums to himself as he walks. You recognize that it's '24-Hour Cinderella' and remember how he sang it at your karaoke lesson. The memory makes you smile fondly. Feeling the exhaustion take over you, you rest your cheek against his back and close your eyes, falling asleep on him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He jostles you gently to wake you up. "Oi! We're here now." You snap awake and look around, taking in your surroundings. Majima squats again so you can get down and hands you your things as the both of you walk to your door. You pull your key from your clutch and get it in the door, though you don't turn the key to unlock it. Hesitantly, you turn to face Majima. You notice that his shirt is a bit torn from the fight and hangs open, exposing his chest. Your lip starts to wobble, replaying the fight in your head and thinking Majima could have gotten really hurt for your sake. You stare at the white snake that peaks out from under his shirt and your mind wanders back to what the rest of his tattoo looks like.
Majima leans towards you.
"Oh god, he's going to kiss me again!" You close your eyes and purse your lips in hope that he'll kiss you.
Majima twists the key to your door and pushes it open. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." You deflate instantly as he leads you inside, closing the door behind him. You slip his jacket off and hand it back to him. You unceremoniously drop your shoes on the floor, and your clutch and coat go on a small table near the door. He drapes his jacket over your belongings and stands in the hallway, looking around your apartment. You stare off silently, thinking about what to do now you have him in your apartment. He shifts his weight between his feet, clearing his throat after the awkward silence that has lapsed between you. "So... How're you doing?" You snap out of your thoughts, looking down at your feet. "I'm doing fine now... What about you, Majima-san? You look pretty roughed up." You reach for his hand to look at his knuckles. He captures your chin, tilting your face up and makes you look at him. "Nothing I can't take for ya." He leans forward, giving you a chaste kiss on your lips.
Tears well up in your eyes and you grab his shirt, pulling him in for a deeper kiss. He runs his fingers in your hair and pulls you into him. He walks you back into the wall and toes off his shoes in the process. He lifts you up from the ground and you wrap your legs around his waist. He pulls back, looking a little frazzled. "Umm...where's your bathroom." You mumble, "It's the door on the left." You think that he's going to put you down and excuse himself, but he carries you to the bathroom instead. Majima sets you on the edge of the tub; you don't realize how grimy you feel until he touches your face. He turns to get the cotton pads and makeup remover from your sink and starts to clean your face, going as gentle as possible on your face. He gets what makeup he can off and smiles at you.
"There anything else I can get you?" Your head tilts down as you look through your lashes, trying to be seductive. "I need help getting my stockings off." You want his touch. He quirks an eyebrow and smirks. "Do you want me to help with getting your dress off too?" You giggle, biting your lip. "Well if you're offering, Majima-san." You rest your hand on the exposed area of his chest. He shakes his head and stands. "I'll be in the living room if you need me, ya minx." He shuts the door and you hear him step away from the door. "Forever a gentleman, Majima-san." You strip out of your dress and stockings.
Standing in lacy black panties, you look at the tape that's been around your breasts for more than a couple of hours and look around for your coconut oil lotion. "Shit, it's in my room..." You debate with yourself if it's worth going to get it. "It won't hurt that much getting the tape off without it, right?" You think to yourself. Gently tugging on the tape you notice it doesn't give... then you tug harder.
You scream from the pain, getting most of it off in one go. Majima throws the door open.
"What the hell is going on in here!?" |
5b7bc7c1e14746bea21a417d1e219025 | ['ee940f679070469c9d489c6425770a6c'] | For the first time today, I see Lucille as who she was before she died and turned—who she was before I had to kill her— _as my Lucille_. Her large brown eyes are boring into me, filled with disappointment and sadness, and I see the dark bags under her eyes.
I can’t help but blink, my mouth agape as I still thrust into Amber, caught off guard by the sight of her.
_—A way to feel a little bit less lonely._
I swallow, my eyes staring back into her lifeless dark brown irises. And that’s when I’m suddenly pulling myself out of her, my dick growing limp, and scramble off Amber’s bed. I hurriedly rush over to where my boxers and pants are, sliding them on, hands trembling as I try to quickly put my belts on. Amber sits up on her bed, looking at me with those sky blue eyes of hers, her skin flushed pink with the heat we caused.
“Negan, are you okay?” she asks, barely managing to croak that out.
I turn my head up to briefly look at her as I finish up my belts, and I nod my head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me, sweetheart—you were just fine,” I say, and look back down as I throw on my shoes.
“Get yourself cleaned up and have a goodnight,” I mutter as I storm out her door, grabbing my beloved Lucille where I left her leaning up against the front door, swinging her over my shoulder as I walk out of Amber’s place. My men follow quickly behind me as I walk down the corridor over to my place. And once I open my door and shut it behind me, I find just how out of breath I am—just how much my heart is pounding furiously against my chest. I swallow and put Lucille down, leaning her against the wall next to the door, and immediately walk over to the bar in the living room. Sweat beads at the top of my forehead as I shakily pour some scotch into a glass, bring it to my lips, and throw the glass back to let the liquid run down and coat my throat all at once. I swallow it, eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment, taking relief in the pleasant burning sensation it leaves as a trail starting from the tip of my tongue to the pit of my stomach.
I open my eyes and bring my head back down as I place the glass on the counter. I turn around next.
_I thought I cut her at the root—_
And there she is—oh, there she is, but back to being a walker. She’s standing by my desk, snarling, her skin nearly gray and she’s covered in dried up blood, with her once-brown-eyes now glowing bright blue.
I suck in a breath and immediately walk past her and into my room, shutting the door behind me—as if that’ll keep her out—as if that’ll keep her from following me.
I push off my closed door and walk to my chest, opening a drawer and pulling out a fresh white t-shirt and pair of boxers. I slip out of all my clothes and put them in the hamper that’s in my closet, except for my leather jacket, which I hang up. I change into my shirt and boxers and walk to my bed, pull the covers back, climb in, and bury myself under my sheets.
_—But now I think my time is up—_
I look up and see Lucille standing in front of my door now, still as a walker. I sigh and turn my head away, knowing nothing will happen—knowing she wouldn’t dare to attack me, considering she never did all day.
_—Cause she keeps growing back like weeds._
But when I turn my head back to look at her—when I turn back, I find her quickly walking towards me, snarling with her teeth snapping constantly against each other, hands reaching out for me as she hurdles herself on top of my bed and on me. I scramble, my arms extending out in front of me, trying to push her off, her and I wrestling. I curse as I feel my feet and legs getting tangled up in the sheets, keeping me from being able to leave the bed, as I continue to fight and push her back. I clench my jaw as I try to untangle my limbs from the sheets, eyes glancing down momentarily to concentrate on that as I continue to hold her back to the best of my ability with my arms.
Until I feel her teeth sink down on my neck, my eyes widening as I glance up and feel her body completely pressed against mine as it use to be before—as it once was so long ago—with her mouth on my skin as it use to be so long before everything happened…
_Like weeds_
* * *
I jolt up in bed, my head raising from my pillow as I quickly sit up, breathing roughly through my mouth, feeling my heart pounding violently against my ribcage. I swallow as I shove the blankets and sheets stuck to my sticky body and hurriedly run over to my bathroom, my hand slamming down on the light switch. I turn to the mirror and pull my shirt to the side, looking at my reflection to see if it’s there—to see if the bite from her is there.
But it isn’t—there’s nothing. Nothing at all.
I let out a deep sigh, shutting my eyes tight for a few seconds. When I open them again, I look at the rest of me—at how every inch of my skin is glistening from how much I’m sweating, and at the dark bags under my eyes.
I turn away and crouch down, shaking my head. | e2fd2351eb1d48e5b4e3d0be145a4d8e | ['ee940f679070469c9d489c6425770a6c'] | I nod my head after he finishes, twisting my lips as I soak in all of his words. As I sit in silence for a good ten seconds, my right leg crossed over my left one, and both my hands on my right knee, his smile becomes a close-mouthed one as he continues to look at me. I try my best to keep my face and body from growing warm, so no one notices the effect he has on me—I try my best to put on my poker face
And fuck, do I manage to successfully do so.
“As you already know, both drugs your hospital is interested investing in are our largest projects, so I’m incredibly happy to hear this. So I have to ask, just so we know where to start—how much is Hudson University’s Hospital willing to invest for both drugs and the shots, Mr. Thompson?” I say, straight face, but then quickly add on, ”If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
There he is again, showing off those incredibly white and perfectly straight teeth of his as he chuckles. “Well damn, you sure like to get straight to the point, don’t you Miss Villanueva?” He bites down on his bottom lip now as he smiles.
I notice that his cheeks are just slightly—oh, just barely enough to where everyone in class can’t notice due to how far back they’re sitting from us—pink as he says this, and the color lingers afterwards too as he keeps smiling at me like that. His reaction only makes me smile and bite on my own lip too.
“Well, what can I say—I take our business very seriously, and when someone is interested in helping as many people as possible with our drugs like you are, why wouldn’t I take it seriously?”
What I wanted to actually say was completely different—what I actually wanted to say was, “Well what can I say? I’m a very straight forward woman, and when I know what I want I go right after it.” I wanted to say that and lean forward, placing both hands on his thighs and squeezing them, as I lean in close to him as I smile.
_But I can’t do that here—I can’t do that, let alone say those words in this environment_.
“Hmmm…then since your company is taking this so seriously, which we of course love to hear, we’d be willing to invest half a million,” Professor Morgan replies, now with a straight face.
I sigh just a little and give him a slight uneasy smile. “I’m sorry, but to _really_ make progress and in a good amount of time before another outbreak happens, and because you’re also investing in our shots, we’d need _at least_ a million.”
“Half a million, but toss out investing in the flu shots but we’ll still invest in the pneumonia shots,” he immediately counters.
“I’m afraid that still won’t work, Mr. Thompson.”
Professor Morgan uncrosses his legs now, slowly putting both feet firmly on the ground, and he leans in towards me with his forearms resting on his thighs. I swallow, my eyes barley widening as he comes closer to me. He’s looking into my eyes seriously, with his lips in a firm line. I can’t help but notice how plump his lips actually are despite his beard making them look thinner from afar—can’t help but notice the strong cupid bow on his upper lip, and how strong the crease above his upper lip is even though his salt and pepper beard distracts attention from it. I notice the bit of forest green in his hazel eyes, and how perfectly it mixes together with the shades of brown.
“$750,000 is the highest we’ll go,” he says in a much deeper, strong voice.
“For all three things?” I ask, just wanting to make sure we’re on the same page.
He nods his head.
I lick my lips in thought, eyes glancing to the classroom door on the other side of the classroom behind him as I think about that—as I think about what would happen if I did accept this or the possible consequences or even good that could come out if I continue to push as I have been.
My eyes look back to him, and my lips begin to curl into a closed-mouthed smile. My fingers are stretched out and pressed against each other, and I put the palms of my hands together. I lean in closer to him while keeping my legs crossed, and I rest my chin and part of the right side of my head as I look at him. I know it—I know exactly how I’m looking at him—with soft, sweet eyes, and an angelic smile.
And I hope he eats it up like everyone always tends to do—I hope it makes him think I’m so naïve, innocent, and oblivious like everyone assumes I am because of this act I put on even though as nice and helpful as I genuinely am I am _not_ the person to fuck over.
“Mr. Thompson, let me ask—is it not our mutual goal to get this new experimental Ebola drug ready, passed by the FDA, quickly build up the quantity, and have ready to go out as quickly as possible to everyone rather than the wealthy, for whenever the next Ebola outbreak happens, which no one knows when it will? And is not our other mutual goal to help more people who suffer from depression quickly rather than how long it takes now, as to help with making sure they’re not in emotional pain for as long as it takes now to find out if a drug is working or not?”
He nods his head, and his lips pull into a closed-mouthed smile as well. “Yes, both are.” Professor Morgan furrows his brow as he looks at me curiously. “May I ask why you’re asking me this?” |
6325fd7d3a3a42c5ba18f4e76a2fb9f6 | ['eeaa56f142e840ee97cf065ab79cd056'] | However, during bed time, just as Aunt Cass turned off the bedroom light with a quiet flick of the switch, Hiro ominously warned her, "He keeps saying he'll make you go away like mommy and daddy."
The next morning, Aunt Cass woke up with scratches lining her chest and back, some horrid enough to bleed through her bed clothes.
That evening, Tadashi's bed was back in the corner of the room and she bid her two boys a good night.
Age 9
Hiro's genius had been noticed by his school's officials. Due to their fear of his boredom, cleverly cloaked as concern for his untapped potential, they recommended that he enter high school. Aunt Cass agreed, hoping that the environment would emotionally mature Hiro passed his "imaginary friend" stage.
The moment he entered the dull beige plaster halls of San Fransokyo High, he was tormented by a brutishly built boy named Scott. While the rest of Hiro's peers, especially the girls, had done their best to protect their young schoolmate, they couldn't always keep an eye on him, especially since no one seemed to want to hang out with the young student for longer than the time it took to get from one class to another. After school, Hiro found himself teased mercilessly, but it had given him a thick skin. He cared little for the older boy’s racist, and frankly, unoriginal comments. They simply rolled off of him like water off of a duck.
One day, however, Scott took his bullying too far. He pummeled the young boy until nearly every inch of his skin was marred with the evidence of his closed fists and kicking feet. Hiro came home in near tears, but instead of running to his aunt's awaiting embrace, he raced up the stairs and slammed his door.
Soon after, she heard voices; not just one, but two distinct voices. The realization chilled her to the bone, but she did her best to convince herself that he was speaking to a friend on the phone.
Aunt Cass picked up her own phone and dialed the school administrators, demanding a resolution to Hiro's problem. They assured her that they would get to the bottom of the case and do everything they could to make sure their prodigy had a healthy, safe learning environment.
The next morning, two detectives knocked on her door. The moment she allowed them entry, they asked to speak with Hiro. Scott had gone missing, and Hiro was the last person to have any meaningful contact with him. They collected his simple statement (“He beat me up and then left.”) and exited the home.
Scott was never found again.
Age 13
Hiro's graduation ceremony was bittersweet. Aunt Cass couldn't help but think, as she took dozens and dozens of photos of her nephew walking up to the gymnasium’s podium and receiving his diploma, that his parents should have been the ones sitting on the bleachers in her place, cheering on their son, embarrassing the hell out of him with hugs and smooches before heading off to dinner to celebrate. The thought of Tadashi briefly flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away as effectively as she could.
That evening, after she connected her digital camera to the computer and opened the drive, she noticed a white shroud surrounding Hiro in each and every single one of the pictures she took. She couldn’t bring herself to print the photographs out, let alone frame one in an effort to further decorate her home. Yet, she didn’t have the heart to delete the photos either. Instead, she created a folder and dumped them all into it.
Age 14
School had been a traumatic experience for Hiro, so Aunt Cass had decided to allow the teen to rest for a semester or two before pressuring him to go to college. He needed the time to recuperate, to find himself, to realize his own potential, and no amount of pushing or prodding from her would assist him in doing that. She had initially been worried that this meant Hiro would constantly be cooped up in his room (with him), but the boy spent plenty of time out and about, usually in the garage-turned-lab tinkering away at a robot or three, or in the city doing whatever it was teenage boys did.
Aunt Cass even suspected that Hiro was visiting a girlfriend - or boyfriend, she didn’t judge - as her nephew sometimes sported strange bruises on his neck. Although she didn't want to think of her cute, cherub-cheeked nephew as a sexual being, Aunt Cass attempted to bring up the topics of romance, safety and protection. Hiro, however, had adamantly denied that he was in a position where such a talk would be necessary.
That didn't stop Aunt Cass from buying condoms from the local drug store and sneaking them into Hiro's room when he was out. After all, she was too young to be a grandmother.
Hiro's bruises became darker after that, but the boy made no mention of them. His behavior hadn’t changed. He seemed just as happy as ever, if just the tiniest bit closed off. Therefore, Aunt Cass wasn’t too concerned, though whoever was responsible for the damage done to her nephew’s flesh was a very precise individual indeed. Each side of his neck sported four small marks of the same size and set apart at the same distance from one another.
It wasn’t until the night Aunt Cass caught an episode of a crime procedural drama on the television, one where the victim had been strangled to death, that she realized the bruises on Hiro’s skin looked like the impressions left behind by fingertips.
Age 15
Aunt Cass turned the volume up on her room’s television set to drown out the creaking sounds coming from Hiro’s bed. She kept chanting to herself that Hiro was just doing what normal teens do, working off “stress” privately in the safety of his bedroom. | 12a8c2909efc4261abd0003af58bbaac | ['eeaa56f142e840ee97cf065ab79cd056'] | The white-haired boy next to Tadashi offered him a warm, but sad, smile. A pale thumb rubbed soothing lines into his shoulder. "You shouldn't do this to yourself, Dash," he demurred softly. "This kind of stuff can drive you crazy."
Tadashi nodded as he turned away to forlornly look back at his own burial place. "Thanks Jack, but I have to, he's going to be here any minute," the former Hamada explained with a harsh, empty whisper.
Jack Frost, official Guardian of Fun, had little else to say on the matter. Such situations were outside of his expertise. Jamie Bennett, his first believer and mortal lover, was far more adept at handling emotional circumstances that could not easily be cured with a pinch of snow and push for merriment. Instead, he sat next to Tadashi, a newfound summer spirit and friend, to support him in his own silent way.
As if on some cosmic cue, both Jamie and Hiro trudged up the grassy knoll ahead of them. Jamie had his arm wrapped around the grieving boy's trembling shoulders. His beautiful brown eyes, directed at his friend, held a sorrow so foreign that it nearly stole Jack's breath away, but one look at Hiro made him understand, all too well, how his lover felt.
Hiro's hair was mussed more than usual. A hue of dark purple had been painted beneath his tear-drowned, amber eyes. His entire frame faltered with each labored step he took. The flowers in his hands shook ever-so slightly.
"Hiro," Tadashi gasped before he took off in his direction.
Jack held his hand out in an attempt to stop him, but Tadashi was already halfway down the hill before he could react.
"Dash! You can't touch him, you'll just go right through him!" he shouted after him.
"I know!" Tadashi called back out, but continued on his stubborn way without hesitation.
Jack feared the worst. He cringed as dread for watching his friend pass through his beloved brother filled him. He couldn't help but feel his stomach lurch at the idea of Tadashi falling to his knees and weeping for what he lacked. He had been there less than a decade ago, before Jamie had saved him from such a life, and he couldn't stand the thought of such a kind-hearted soul being put through the same kind of torture.
It was only when he saw how carefully Tadashi placed an arm around Hiro's shoulders, hovering but never touching, that he allowed himself a sigh of relief. After the small eternity it took for the trio to come and stand in front of Tadashi's grave, the summer spirit explained, "It's cold out. At the very least, I can keep him warm."
Several hours later, after Hiro's declarations of love and loss had been exhausted, and after both Hamada brothers had shed enough to tears to fill a small lake, the young robotics student headed down the hill to take a taxi home. Once Hiro was out of earshot, Jamie smiled brightly at both spirits. He promised, "I'm going to get him to believe, don't you worry. He's going to see you both soon."
For the first time in three years, Tadashi let himself hope.
22. Find Your Shelter
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Prompt: So you do fanfic requests?? I've had this idea for a while. It's neko!Hiro, where basically Tadashi goes to a shelter and sees hiro.
>
> Prompt: can i request a fic with trans!hiro? anything with trans!hiro really, im not picky
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Thank you for these requests! I had wanted to write something like this for a while, ever since I got this image in my head of neko!Hiro in a cardboard box grooming a small Mini-Dashi.
Tadashi was promised a little brother before his mommy and daddy had died. Once he came to live with Aunt Cass, however, the Australian shepherd hybrid decided to lose any remaining hope that such a wish would be granted, as he was simply grateful to have a place to stay that wasn't a shelter or a foster home. Over time, however, it was harder and harder to hide his disappointment. He had wanted for nothing more than a little one to care for, to call his own. Aunt Cass seemed to sense a shift in the air around him, something that needed to be changed, because during one of their evening "cuddlefests", as she had dubbed the time whenever they would curl up on the couch and watch movies, she asked him if there was anything that would make him happier.
Tadashi didn't respond, but his down-turned ears and unmoving bobbed tail conveyed enough. Eventually, Aunt Cass was able to decipher the rest, though how she had the ability to do so, Tadashi would never know. The next day, Aunt Cass drove the pair to one of San Fransokyo's largest hybrid shelters.
The white-washed brick building was divided into three parts: the lobby, the dog section, and the cat section. Within the lobby, a smiling attendant bounced as she led them to where they kept their canine hybrids. When they entered the boisterously loud room, Tadashi yelped and covered his ears with his hands in an attempt to block out the constant onslaught of barking. The attendant hurriedly led them out of the room and apologized, "Oh dear, aussie's are naturally quiet dogs, they don't really like barking."
Aunt Cass seemed to be at a loss for words. Her pursed lips were tight over her face. Auburn eyebrows were pitched highly on her forehead. The hands at her hips tightened their grip ever-so slightly. Tadashi, in his puppyish wisdom, offered a simple solution that relieved both the attendant and his Aunt Cass: get a cat.
With his small tail wagging enthusiastically behind him, he explained further, "Your cafe is the Lucky Cat, right? Makes more sense to get a kitten!" |
b25cea72471b4612a45cca2a51dbd2bf | ['eeae471479e24c129955ddf6b1b3fad6'] | Suga takes the box and shakes it playfully beside his ear. It’s surprisingly light. He looks to Daichi, saying, “It’s so pretty, I don’t want to ruin all your hard work.”
“Open it!!” Asahi yells in an uncharacteristic outburst, earning him confused stares and a scolding glare from Daichi. “ _I apologize for my impatience!”_ he immediately apologizes, gaining a pat on the back from Nishinoya.
Suga quirks and eyebrow at the display, but goes back to unwrapping the gift, pulling the white ribbon off as Ariana Grande belts out “Last Christmas” in the background. His nimble fingers rip through the shiny silver wrapping paper to reveal an old box that once held volleyball shoes. He looks to Daichi, seeing the boy nervously shifting where he sits as he watches Suga. This urges Suga forward; it must be a pretty strange gift if stoic Daichi is nervous. Maybe it’s a book? He had been hinting that he wanted to read the Harry Potter series…
He opens the lid and there’s a take-out bag from Ukai’s family’s shop. Sugawara laughs, asking, “Did you just get me a spicy pork-bun, Daichi?”
Daichi doesn’t answer, but he’s watching Suga intensely.
Suga lifts the bag out and it’s too light to be a pork-bun. He unfurls the crinkled top and reaches in, fingers encircling something small and made of paper. He pulls it out, seeing it’s a small piece of paper folded into a bow (awfully folded, mind you). “Daichi? What’s this?” he questions, holding the piece of origami towards Daichi.
“You have to open it! Right, Daichi-senpei?!” Hinata asks, bouncing where he sits.
“ _Shut_ up _, Hinata!_ ” Kageyama says before eating a large bite of pretzel, crumbs falling onto the blue sweater he’s wearing.
Sugawara looks to Daichi, who nods, muttering, “Yes, uh—yeah, you unfold it.”
Limber, pale fingers cautiously undo the origami. He is careful not to tear the paper and, once it is undone, the message inside makes Sugawara’s eyes widen comically. Everyone is babbling around the circle, asking if it is tickets to a volleyball match or a gift card, some people leaning dramatically to try to read it themselves. Daichi is very quiet, watching Suga from the corner of his eye as his face turns as red as Kageyama’s had been previously.
“Are you serious, Daichi?” Suga asks, looking into the mocha-colored eyes that he’d fallen for in second year.
“What! Does! _It! SAY!?_ ” Tanaka begs, slithering over to try to snatch it from Suga’s hands.
Suga sends a swift karate chop to Tanaka’s side, sending the wing spiker careening back with an overdramatic cry. “Are you going to tell us?” Noya asks, looking hopeful as he beams at Suga.
“It’s… Do you mind if I read it aloud?” Suga asks Daichi.
“It’s your present, Sugawara…” Daichi mumbles, gaze flitting from Suga to the floor.
“He’s asking me out.” Suga simply says.
The team goes silent for a beat before cheers erupt. “Finally!” “I told you!” “Dumbass!” “Hooray!”
“You two are perfect!” Tanaka gushes, appearing between them and pulling them into a hug.
“He hasn’t given me an answer yet, Tanaka-san,” Daichi mumbles, gently pushing the enthusiastic boy off him. “He may say ‘no.’”
Everyone’s voices die down to murmurs, looking at Suga expectantly. His face is a light shade of pink and he huffs before saying, “Of course I’ll go out with you, Daichi.”
The cheers start anew, even Coach Ukai joining in with a soft, “ _Finally_.”
It turns out that the mistletoe wasn’t such a dumb decoration after all. | 4a9e5e215f3b435bbf2923fa530582cd | ['eeae471479e24c129955ddf6b1b3fad6'] | “Or have him bone you. Whatever. I don’t care. You obviously came here to get my blessings, amiright?” Gabriel arches one eyebrow as he looks up at Dean.
Goo-goo eyes? Have I really been staring at Cas that much? “Uh, ummm, no. I don’t-- We are… just friends.”
“Don’t lie to me. Doctor-patient-confidentiality.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” Dean frowns around his deepening blush. He can feel it covering his cheeks and neck because now all he can picture is Castiel’s hands on Dean’s hips as he straddles Castiel, hands on Castiel’s firm chest as he--
“Anyways, you have my blessing. There. Go forth and date my brother.” Gabriel shoves Dean in the direction of the bowling lanes lightly.
Dean shakes his head and wanders back to Castiel and his lane where Castiel is looking at him with horror-filled eyes. Dean picks up a bowling ball before Castiel comes over to him.
“What did Gabriel say to you?” he asks, glowering over Dean’s shoulder.
“Uh… why?” Dean inserts his fingers into the openings in the neon bowling ball, focusing on that as if he is performing rocket science.
“Because you looked uncomfortable and Gabriel is distasteful when it comes to socialization in general, especially so if it’s someone I associate with.”
“Yeah, I picked upon that just now.” Dean jokes, swinging the ball by his side.
“What did he say?”
“He was just asking me lots of questions. Like did I drink or did I do drugs or did I, uh, want to have... sex... with you…” Dean’s voice gets very soft around the last part, almost to a whisper, but Castiel hears it and freezes. _Why did I mention that?_
The other man’s face gets very red very fast and his eyes fill with mortification. “I am _so_ sorry about him.” he quickly apologizes. “I had no idea he would be so inappropriate. I’m sorry, would you like me to take you home?”
Dean smiles lightly, still intensely embarrassed, but he doesn’t want to make Castiel feel bad. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s finish our game.”
Castiel’s face softens, although it is still red, and he nods once before saying, “Alright. Could you excuse me for one minute?”
Dean nods, watching as Castiel stalks over to where Gabriel is flirting with a tall brunette. He watches him greet Castiel as he stops in front of Gabriel and says something very stiffly. Gabriel makes an obscene humping gesture and Castiel smacks him in the back of the head, making Dean snort out laughter from where he is looking on. He wishes he could hear what the brothers are saying, but the interaction is short-lived and Castiel is striding back towards Dean now. Damn, look at his legs. Dean’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
“I am very sorry about my brother,” Castiel sighs again.
“Don’t be. He’s just doing what all brothers do.” Dean says with a shrug, tearing his eyes from Castiel’s legs to the man’s face. “Besides, it wasn’t an unpleasant question. Like at all.” Why did I say that? Why? He will never like you.
Castiel’s eyebrows raise slightly and he says, “Oh.”
“So, bowling?” Dean asks, lifting his bowling ball.
The night goes on and Dean cannot stop picturing what it would be like to be with Cas. To be happy with someone good. Which means, flirtations slip out and he chastises himself because Castiel doesn’t seem to reciprocate. But Dean can’t stop. He pats Castiel’s shoulder when he gets a strike and his hand lingers too long. Which makes Castiel stare, which isn’t that unusual for Cas, but there’s a question in his eyes now and Dean can’t hold the look for long. But when he sits down, Castiel sits close and their knees brush and their shoulders brush, but Dean doesn’t scoot away. An hour later, Castiel is yawning so much that he gets a gutter ball. Dean comes up to his friend, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder as he says, “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you home.”
Castiel nods and the two trade in their bowling shoes for their own before heading out to the car. They ride home in comfortable silence, the only sound is the radio which is playing country music softly, the guitar flowing around the car and seeping into Dean’s skin like the warm sun. They pull up to the apartments and Castiel puts the car in park. He turns to Dean and he smiles lightly over at him.
“I’m sorry about Gabriel tonight,” he tells Dean, blue eyes shining in the dark. Like galaxies and oceans and planets pulling him into Castiel’s orbit. “But I am very glad you came with me.”
Dean finds himself sliding across the seat and holding Castiel’s face between his hands. And he feels lips, soft and warm closing the gap between them. His eyes close and all he feels is soft lips against his own and stubble under his fingers. One of Castiel’s hands holds Dean’s right wrist while the other grips his waist, pulling him closer. Castiel parts his lips, sweeping his tongue across Dean’s lips, sending shivers down Dean’s spine and causing him to part his lips in a gasp. Castiel’s tongue enters Dean’s mouth, swirling around his own. Dean hums subconsciously, letting his tongue dart into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel is like a blinding light and Dean’s senses are overloaded and all there is in the world are Castiel’s fingers holding him delicately and his mouth on Dean’s as he tilts his head just so. Dean darts his tongue into Castiel’s mouth again and Castiel sucks on it lightly, making Dean groan with pleasure. He pulls Castiel closer, nipping at Castiel’s lower lip before continuing the kiss. When they part for breath, Dean’s head is swirling. _What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?!_ He detaches himself and scoots back quickly, looking at Castiel guiltily. |
efdce90afb9b452b8a6bf2d03de54672 | ['eeaed7f08fd441b1b2c63850de480f0f'] | James sits with her, his hand next to her. She warns him that he’ll probably get cancer. But he holds her hand anyway while she recharges, fills herself up.
They both know she won’t need to find some emotional moment to get her powers back this time.
###
There’s a fight between Kara and J’onn about the pod, but it’s one he loses quickly. It is, after all, her ship. Her sister. Her choice.
She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she’s going there as quickly as she can.
Winn has a lead, something he thinks he saw in the trajectory before the ship disappeared, but he can’t be sure. It’s not a friendly world, this place where Alex Danvers has gone, or may have gone.
Kara will take it, will take anything to get her big sister back.
As the pod closes around her, she puts her hand to the glass, the glass that Kal-El ripped off when she landed. It’s not the same as the glass that Alex touched, but it’s all she’s got.
“Just stay in one place,” Kara says. “I’ll find you.”
Her pod lifts off. She’ll get coordinates later.
###
Time passes. It always does.
Winn tries to let it. He fails miserably.
At first, Kara checks in every day, sometimes twice, for updates. Where she is. Where she’s looking. Whether she’s found a trace, or Winn has. She picked up Alex’s scent in the Thracian system, but it was a false lead. She’s out looking again. He does what he can to be supportive.
It’s hard. He just wants his best friend back. But she needs to do this, so he says nothing.
The first time it’s two days between updates, Winn assumes the worst. Her pods comm systems have to initiate the contact, so it’s one-way. Every waiting hour is agony. When she calls in again he almost cries.
But she’s slowly backing off, slowly letting more and more time go before she checks back in.
Now it’s every month, every two.
Earth is threatened, and saved, and threatened again twice over before he hears from Kara again. Guardian tears his rotator cuff and almost dies, and hangs up the suit, goes back to running CatCo. Cat Grant becomes a philanthropy magnate and one of the first space tourists, spending millions for a two-day lap around the Earth.
Kara promises to check in for Winn’s and Lyra’s wedding. He asks her to be his space-maid of space-honor. She agrees, laughing. It’s the first time he’s seen her laugh in a year.
The wedding comes. She doesn’t check in. By the time she does, she’s forgotten he’s already married.
Winn gets promoted to head technologist at the DEO, then assistant director.
He grows fat. He grows a goatee, then shaves it, then grows it again.
It’s not four months before J’onn falls in the field, sacrifices himself to save a world that would never have truly accepted him. The funeral is attended by every DEO agent, bar one.
It’s six months after that before Kara checks in. Director Schott has to break the news across ten thousand light-years that Kara’s third father-figure is dead. The first two died long ago.
The world keeps turning, and Winn keeps trying to save it.
###
In the end it isn’t Kara Zor-El, but Barry Allen, who brings Alex home.
They reappear together in Kara’s old apartment, to the shock and berating of the current tenants. They leave, dodging thrown vases. Barry isn’t even sure he’s in the right Earth this time. He wasn’t the last four.
But he is, and he knows it as soon as he brings Alex to the DEO building, the new skyrise on Hester.
There’s a misunderstanding with some guards, then some frantic phone calls. A tearful reunion. A long-winded story. Winn holds Alex tighter than is becoming of the Director. He tells her about J’onn. He tells her that her back pay, with overtime, is waiting for her, carefully invested. It’s a small fortune that isn’t so small. He tells her. She nods, like this isn’t real. He wants to ask, and doesn’t, where she’s been.
Barry, now pushing fifty or more, smiles, and slips quietly away back to some other Earth.
Alex’s hair is gray now, and she brushes it back from her eyes.
“And Kara?” she asks. Something in her eyes fears the worst. Winn points, points up.
“She’s still out there. Looking for you.”
He calls the communications director – a title Alex didn’t know even existed. Tells her to put a message out on every frequency. _Kara, come home_. He tells her to bounce it off of every communications post in the galaxy. She mentions the word _cost_ and he almost fires her on the spot.
She doesn’t know. How could she? She was a teenager when Supergirl left Earth. She thinks it was a betrayal, an abandonment. She did not know a world with Kara Danvers’ smile.
Winn doesn’t say, but he’s not as hopeful as he wants to be. It’s been two years since Kara checked in, and the feeling that they may have lost her still sits in his belly.
###
Alex goes to see Maggie Sawyer. Finds her happy, with a gaggle of adopted kids. With a wife. Maggie Lehane wraps her in a hug hard enough to crush.
She asks the questions Winn doesn’t, the ones Alex doesn’t, can’t, won’t answer. She leaves Maggie to her life and her wife. She had clung to a thought, a tendril of smoke from some signal fire deep within her, that Maggie might have waited.
But it’s been twenty-six years. Why would she have?
Alex rents a small apartment with her earnings, and declines Winn’s generous offer of a therapist, and drinks Scotch. Single-malt, aged. She can afford it. She’s got millions.
### | a8b76687fd6c4b6185dc10a09b76dba6 | ['eeaed7f08fd441b1b2c63850de480f0f'] | He smiles, that damn British smile. “Of course.” But he's still holding out his card. “Please, I do insist. Take my card. Really. We'd very much like to find a way to... Kennedy is very precious to us.”
I take the card, slip it in my shirt pocket.
“No sweat.” I hear the ER doors swish open, and the rattle of wheels; thank God. Thank God thank God thank God. Nikki. I walk past Giles to the back doors of the truck, where my partner is smiling at me, dangling my keys in the air.
“Forget something, Fa...”
“Yeah!” I cut her off before she can blow my cover. “Hey, I left those in the ignition. Thanks,” I say, cutting her off before she can drop my deadliest secret. I open the back door of the truck, leaning in next to her as she starts to load the stretcher. “We are getting the _fuck_ out of here,” I hiss. We load it, and I climb in the back, checking what we need. The tour is almost done, but we need to restock the liter bags and the IV start kits. _Damn. Double damn._
But my partner has vanished into thin air again—getting a smoke, I think—and so it's on me. Giles is standing off on the side, watching me, pretending to just be enjoying the air. He's looking at me with a slight confusion—thank God, he doesn't get it—and I turn my eyes down as I close the door, heading back into the ER. _Please, please don't let me run into..._
I see her boots, walking toward me, but I dodge a little, slip into the crew room. Thank God it's a combination door; I shield it with my body as I open it, slipping inside, nominally to get some fluids and IV start kits, but mostly to avoid seeing any of them. All three of them could threaten everything I've built here, everything I've...
“Hey Faith.” I turn around, nearly gasping. Rob Tiegen is sitting at the table in the crew room, playing around with his laptop. I smile, briefly, trying not to shudder. _Thank God._ He looks at me, curious. “You okay?”
“Five by five, Rob. You know me.” But I guess I don't look it.
“You sure? You look like you just had a rough call.”
I go with it, nod. “Trauma. Girl nearly bled to death.”
“She okay?”
I nod. “She's gonna be fine. Just... harrowing.” _But not because of her._
He laughs. “What, Lehane afraid of a little trauma jobbie? What'd she do, come after you or something?”
“Nah, just, the family was all up in my space. Gotta get away.”
He smiles, though. “Then good job. Gold star for Lehane. You want a juice in your lunchbox?”
“Fuck you, Rob,” I say jovially. He blows me a kiss. I catch it, then fake a vomit. Rob is the closest guy to a brother I have in EMS.
I nod absently, go to the cabinet, grab the things I need. It's a minute before I realize I'm trapped: the one door in is the one door out, and if she's waiting for me outside the door, I'm pretty much screwed. I take a minute, though, calm my nerves, take a deep breath...
They're talking, standing outside the clear doors of the ER bay. I can hear them, muffled by the glass, but not silenced. I can't help myself. I stop and eavesdrop.
“How is Willow?” A muffled Giles. So proper.
“She'll get through it. She got pretty scared, but it looks like Kennedy will be okay, so she's holding up.”
“Yes. I believe that paramedic saved her life.”
“Giles, she _had_ to know. At least about vampires.”
“Yes, I know. I asked her about it. I believe she might be a budding Wicca.”
I could hear the shock in B's tones. “What, like Will?”
“Oh no. Nowhere near as strong as Willow. But I couldn't help but sense a bit of magic about her...” _The charms. Oh shit._
“That's weird. I couldn't... I dunno. I think she's... Something feels odd about her, Giles.”
“She's aware of the world around her. Isn't that unusual enough?”
“No, I mean... almost...” She shakes her head, that blond mane shuddering. “It's almost like she's...”
“Like she's what?”
She shakes her head again. “It's nothing. I think it's residual. Maybe her contact with Kennedy.” _Shit. She's picking me up on Slaydar._
_Okay, time to motor._ I burst through the doors, murmur an apology, ignore their attempts to engage me, open the side door of the ambulance, throw the supplies on the stretcher, jump out, and poke my head up front. Nikki is sitting in the passenger's seat again; I slip around the front of the truck, get in on the driver's side. I start the engine, kick it into drive, pull away almost fast enough to leave skidmarks.
“Wow, you really have trouble accepting praise, huh?”
“You know me, Nix. Humble as a churchmouse.” Nikki just nods, and I pull into traffic, hoping to hell my heartbeat comes back down from hummingbird rates.
4. Pertinent Past History
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Here we go again, the latest installment of Faith: Paramedic. Thanks for taking the ride!
We ride in silence for a minute as I regain my composure, slowing down the hell-ride. Nikki sits for a minute, like she's turning something over in her mind.
“Spill it, Nix, you've got brain-face. What's bothering you?”
“Faith... remember...” I hear her take a deep breath. “You remember that night that... something... jumped out at me? Something... scary, and... you...” I look at her, silently. This is the first time she's brought it up since it happened.
I nod. “Yeah, what about it?”
“I... is that what almost happened to me?”
Hmm. Wasn't expecting _this_ line of questioning. Still, honesty, policies... “Yeah.”
“What... what _was_ that?” |
00d1943d6822473e9216986034701367 | ['eec68bd50d624ecdab4c4b29729023e2'] |
It would be Mycroft
It would be Mycroft. Besides the fact that it only made sense for it to be Mycroft, it would still be Mycroft. John had been headed home from the clinic, that ordinary, drizzly Thursday, when that godawful (beautiful) car had pulled up next to him. As he slowed to double-check despite himself—no, there was no way he was getting in if it really was that car—the same woman swung the door open. She looked older, now, with a newer phone and a different shade of lipstick. How could he notice the lipstick? It’s not as though he’d ever noticed noticing it before.
Before. Before hell on earth had come and the dead walked his dreams each night. Before Sherlock fucking Holmes had jumped off a sodding building.
It was while he was still racking his brain for curses (if he owed Afghanistan anything, it was his swear arsenal) that he found himself bending through the open door of the limo. He looked at Anthea with questions practically foaming at his mouth, but her carefully blank countenance brought him up short. He sighed, and dropped into the seat with as much anger as he could muster. Shit.
There was nothing good that could come of this. He desperately crushed the even more desperate hope that stabbed through his lungs, as he tried to reason out what was happening. He had seen Sherlock’s grave. He’d seen it so many times it made him sick to think of it, of all those hours and all that empty waiting. Sherlock Holmes was dead; and with him had gone the best part of John Watson.
The car wound its way through the city as John looked out the window, trying to align the passing streets to his growing mental map of the city. He didn’t know it like Sherlock had; London was nobody’s if not his; but perhaps, if he could know a little of it, then there would still be a little of the genius in the world.
It had killed John. Obviously, as Sherlock would sneer. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to hear the baritone echo through his head. It was fading, of course. There were only certain words he could hear in Sherlock’s voice, now, and he suspected that these would soon be gone as well. Two years was a long time and the erosion of a busy world was swift; already the country had forgotten everything, all but including that final fall. And that was fitting, he reminded himself yet again, because Sherlock Holmes was dead.
He opened his eyes and tried to fit his brain to the city before him, but he couldn’t help himself. Not with the panic growing in his stomach for the first time in a long time. John had been a good griever. A soldier. He had carried the pain like a new scar, compartmentalized it and held it and suffered without complaint. Even as he had gone back to London from the war, he cleared out of 221B (even though he knew Mrs. Hudsen had yet to work up the nerve to rent it) and returned to the world of the mundane. The unspeakably, insanely mundane: for it was in the past few months he’d begun finally to understand Sherlock’s boredom. He had been unable to bear going back to Scotland Yard and, if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have been much use. But if those around him thought that he had moved on, if they thought for a single second that this lump had ceased hurting, they were wrong.
He shook his head and rubbed his nose to brush away his mental ramblings. Fear touched him as he recognized the industrial zone near the Thames. For what could Mycroft possibly want him? Had…had something happened to him, as well? Much as he sometimes loathed the man, the thought of losing that final link to the dead was horrifying, in a way that caught him off guard. Sherlock had killed Moriarty, but what of his empire? Surely within that web there must be those who wanted Mycroft dead?
Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself. If Mycroft was dead or seriously injured, he couldn’t have summoned John as he did. Besides, what were the odds? Still, John couldn’t shake the certainty that something was wrong. Why else had he been swept up off the street? But then again, what else was there to go wrong?
Mercifully, the car stopped and interrupted his circular musings. The woman, who had yet to look up, flipped the door open and gestured vaguely at the second floor of the warehouse there. John knew this place; it was the same place he had met with Irene all those seemingly decades ago. Damn you, woman, he thought, flushing slightly at the recollection. You were supposed to fuck with Sherlock’s head, not mine. If you hadn’t come butting in, everything would have stayed the same...
Cautiously he pulled himself out of the vehicle and started toward the building. There were no other cars in sight and he could see no one, yet he knew he was being watched. It wasn’t until he neared the top of the steps that he saw Mycroft. John walked up almost to him before the elder Holmes deigned to look up.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to the chair he’d almost missed. John sat and waited for several moments as Mycroft finished the text he was sending. Finally, he looked up to regard John expectantly, waiting for the usual outpouring of questions. John would give him no such satisfaction, and merely watched him in stony silence. After a brief battle of wills, Mycroft sighed and looked back to his phone. “You would like to know why you’re here today.” John said nothing, but watched Mycroft in growing alarm as he realized the Holmes brother was genuinely uncomfortable. | 775d008525064dce9d7cf332939a52ee | ['eec68bd50d624ecdab4c4b29729023e2'] | Sherlock ruffled his newspaper and without looking up, replied, “One might ask the same of you.”
He did look up when John’s index finger found itself an inch or so from his face.
“No,” growled John. “What the hell?” You think it’s okay to be dragging in assassins from all over the world to our flat? This is Baker Street, for God’s sake. There are normal people with normal lives who live here. Did it ever cross your precious big brain that one of them might get hurt?”
John stared him down for another breath or two, then spun around, spitting out curses as he headed for his room
“John.”
John slowed down as he reached his doorway. “Sherlock.”
“Look at me.”
John sighed, and then turned around to level him a glare. “What.”
Holmes inspected him for a moment, then leaned back, fingers pointed and countenance thoughtful.
“You hardly know her, John. There’s no need for this.”
“And what would you know about it?” he snapped, gesticulating with his arm. “You think you know love just because you got to play games with Irene? Let— ”
“Love?” asked Sherlock quietly.
“Well, no,” said John, fumbling verbally, “you know what I mean, I just—”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
They stared at each other from across the room—Sherlock was standing now—for several moments, but John broke it off first.
“I don’t have to explain this to you,” he said, and walked into his room, not quite slamming the door.
Sherlock stood there a second or two longer, then sat down slowly. He sat lost in thought—or at least as lost as he could ever be—for a while, and picked up his violin after several hours. John listened briefly, but it was no longer Irene’s song that he played. |
953f2a6d9dbf4db69d8906cf2632f2fe | ['eed792fa518d4aafaf0de659935b758c'] | Jaime was feeling petulant by this point. Stupid bloody Wench, haranguing him – he could not help it if her presence was like truth syrup to him, spilling his deepest, darkest secrets whilst she remained a dull mute for the entirety of their travels. At her questioning gaze he continued.
‘You do not know me as a big brother,’ he explained. ‘You do not know me as a son, a nephew, a father…’ he added and extra lilt to his voice, staring straight into her un-compromising sapphire blue eyes, ‘…you do not know me as a lover.’
Even in the dim light he could see the ruby blush stain her cheeks and neck. He could swear he heard her cursing under her breath. She averted her eyes as her teeth worried her bottom lip, her tongue darting out to sooth it afterwards. Her long neck was exposed by her loose tunic and his eyes traced the faint lines that marred her creamy neck. _Fucking Stoneheart._
‘I could never know you thus.’ It was no more than a whisper, her words murmured in the hope that he would not hear the utter disappointment in them. But of course he did.
Did she want to know him like that? There had been a time when a thought of him being _with_ the Wench is such a way would have roiled his stomach; as it was he was having stirrings just south of his stomach, and they were most welcome. Jaime smiled then, a true smile that lit his eyes but the Wench would still not meet his gaze. ‘Look at me.’ He kept his voice low and gentle, if he spooked her she would flee and he was in no state to go running after her – though he would probably try!
‘Look at me!’ He insisted, his tone stronger but no louder.
Slowly Brienne turned her eyes back to him, when they met his golden green ones they crackled electric blue. He felt a tug, deep within his core; his very bones. Did she know what her eyes did to him? – was that why she was always shuttering them from him, lest he take her in the middle of a crowded tavern because she merely looked at him!
‘My Lady, you may know me any way you wish, you need only ask.’ He winked affectionately, a small smile tugged at Brienne’s lips. ‘I would know you better… if you would let me.’ He whispered. To his surprise she did not flinch at his words, just set her jaw and deepened her gaze, searching for something within his eyes.
His resolve crumpled and this time it was he who turned away. Why was he always such a fool?
‘All my life men have demeaned and chastised me,’ her voice was listless and demure, but still he stayed focused on the flickering candle rather than the gangly girl beside him. ‘They have laughed at me and hurt me,’ Brienne’s voice trembled with emotion – Gods he was going to make her cry! Him and his big bloody mouth, after all they had been through together – survived together – and he has to go and upset her! ‘But none of them…’ she continued, ‘…none of them have _ever_ looked at me the way you do. You look at me as though I should not exist! As though I am an abomination; and though I know that I will never be even close to pretty… I thought… I thought that perhaps you could see past that by now, as my friend…’ She paused to take a ragged breath.
‘No, no, no, no, no.’ Jaime could hold his tongue no longer, she had taken his cowardice for disinterest, his head snapped back to face her, taking her in – all of her. Slow tears traced their way down her cheeks – one smooth and one ruined, her chest heaved as she drew rapid breaths of air, trying to calm her emotions and her hands were tangled in her lap, long, slim fingers twisting around one another.
‘Must I always be misunderstood by you Wench?’ Jaime reached out with his good hand and ghosted it along her ruined cheek, wiping away the tears as he went. His stump came to rest in her lap, her fingers instinctively wrapped around it, absently stroking patterns across the scarred flesh. He tried to ignore the sudden rush of excitement that led straight to his cock. ‘I look at you as though you are an impossibility because you _are_! It should not be possible to be so noble in a world gone to shit, or to have values such as yours when you have endured nothing but ridicule and revulsion.’ The awe in his voice was true and pure and caused fresh tears to fall from Brienne’s crystal clear eyes. ‘It should not be possible for you to stand beside a crippled, dishonoured old man as the world crumbles and the clouds burn and yet, still _love_ him. But you do. And I am forever indebted to you because of it.’
Brienne gasped as his words finally registered. She could not dispute his words – though she wanted to. His hand slipped behind her ear and came to rest at the back of her head, gentle pressure caused her to lean into him. Jaime’s lips traced the outline of hers, not daring to do more until he knew she wanted it too. They remained, face to face, lips to lips, drowning in one another’s gaze… until Brienne wet her dry, chapped lips – her tongue inadvertently brushed against Jaime’s soft mouth causing him to moan out loud. | 413b133585274652be8f577acc9d7b12 | ['eed792fa518d4aafaf0de659935b758c'] | Brienne’s mood immediately turned sour. ‘Trust me; I know exactly how _unique_ I am.’
‘You don’t.’ Jaime insisted.
‘All my life people have told me how ‘different’ and ‘unique’ I am. All euphemisms – spare me your contrived explanations.’ Jaime could tell that Brienne was getting more and more irked as she continued... she really didn’t believe him. He hated how low her self-esteem was.
‘Bloody hells Wench! Do you think I could kiss you like that if I didn’t _want_ to... if I didn’t _desire_ you!?’ Jaime’s blood was beginning to boil. How had it all turned around so quickly - one moment they are getting hot and heavy on his sofa and now they were almost yelling at one another.
’What do you want from me?’ She asked, her voice hoarse and desperate. Jaime could see tears threatening to fall, but Brienne held them at bay.
Jaime remained silent; waiting for her to cool down, for her to hear his words when he whispered dangerously, ‘Everything.’
‘Don’t mock me.’ There was no force behind her words. Jaime knew that she desperately _wanted_ to believe what he was saying but her head was telling her it was impossible. He shifted closer to her, his hands gently cupping her freckled cheeks, as if she might shatter beneath his soft touch.
His emerald eyes begged her to understand, to see herself the way he did. Brienne’s eyes were shimmering; even now she looked at him like he was a God. Jaime took a long, calming breath and let his thumbs caress her broad, rosy cheeks. He made sure his eyes never left hers as he spoke. ‘Brienne, if I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability to see yourself through my eyes; only then would you realise how special you are to me.’ Silent tears escaped from her hypnotic eyes, caught by Jaime’s thumb, he kissed her cheek lightly then moved to her ear. ‘Please don’t cry.’ He pleaded.
Brienne granted him his wish and sniffed a little as his thumbs erased the last of her tears. Brienne wrapped her strong arms around Jaime’s body and buried her face into his chest. He held her tightly, stroking her back, glad that her crying had subsided. They remained that way for a long time, their synchronized breathing was soothing and soon they had both fallen into a deep sleep.
* * *
14. Chapter 14
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I'm SO sorry I didn't post this sooner, I meant to..... but I got distracted.... :-\ SORRY PEEPS!!
>
> anywho... I hope you are all fully compensated for being made to wait by having this chapter,.... I really hope it does not disappoint... I think this will be the last chapter.... and I have one kind of 'wrap-up' chapter that I will post later on :) :)
>
> THANK YOU so much to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, give kudos on this fic - you are all wonderful! Drinks all around! :-)
>
> Enjoy.... -X-
* * *
A piercing noise broke Brienne from her slumber. She shifted and her neck protested, stiff from being in the same position all night.
She stretched her neck to relieve the tension. It took her a moment to realise that her pillow was moving... or more accurately; breathing. When her eyes took in Jaime’s sleeping form it all came back to her – him inviting her over, their talk, his lips on hers. Brienne couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of him – slumped in the corner of the sofa; his shirt wrinkled and his hair a clumsy mess – he looked as peaceful as she’d ever seen him.
The piercing noise shrilled again. Brienne quickly retrieved her phone and answered it. ‘Hello?’ Brienne asked without even checking the caller ID.
‘Who the fuck is this?’ The voice at the end of the line hissed. Brienne’s brow furrowed.
‘Brienne. _You_ called _me_.’ She answered obviously. She heard the person on the other end of the phone drag in a deep breath.
‘No, I called my cousin. What are you doing with his phone?’ Cersei growled down the phone. Brienne’s face went pale as she glanced at the phone in her hand; it was Jaime’s, not hers as she’d thought.
‘I... er... ‘ Brienne wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, Jaime stirred beside her and opened his eyes. He smiled upon seeing her but it dropped from his face when he saw the worried look in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ He asked, concerned coloured his voice. Brienne dumbly held out the phone to him. ‘Who is this?’ He asked; his eyes never straying from Brienne’s. Brienne could hear chattering from the other end of the line. ‘Don’t call here again.’ Jaime said coolly; his emeralds still locked on her sapphires. He disconnected the call, even though Brienne could still hear Cersei talking.
‘I thought it was mine...’ Brienne explained, ‘...I didn’t mean to...’ She got up from the sofa and took a step away from him; her hands wringing together nervously.
Jaime countered her movement by standing himself and taking two steps towards her so that they were nose to nose. ‘It’s fine.’ He soothed her; his hands came to rest on her upper arms, her muscles tensed. Jaime cleared his throat. ‘You probably want a shower.’ He said. This is it, Brienne thought, he’s going to usher me out of here as soon as possible. It was certainly the nicest brush off she’d ever received.
‘Yeah... I should go.’ Brienne mumbled, turning her face away from his. |
68ef6eaf4ae34ebc8fffd75efb75db14 | ['eee19cd8c32a41ae93ba7355bf87153f'] | “This is great Dean!” Sam smiled, “What made you change your mind?”
“I thought about what you said. And I want to fix things, even if it means that Cas and I are just friends. I miss my best friend.” Dean shrugged, “I'll take what I can get at this point.”
“You're doing the right thing Dean,” Sam smiled. Dean groaned, “Yeah, whatever. I gotta go. I'll see you later bitch!”
“Goodbye jerk!”
<3 <3 <3
“A date? Are you serious Cassie? After everything he's put you through?” Balthazar paced the living room, “I mean do you really think this is a good idea?”
“Yes, Balth, I do.” Cas glanced at his watch, 6:55, Dean should be here any minute. Balthazar groaned in frustration, “I don't think this is a good idea. If it were me I'd never even talk to the emotionally constipated bastard.”
“Balth,” Cas frowned, “Dean is making an effort to make it up to me. And I've done nothing but push him away. We need this time to talk about everything. If only so we can be friends again.”
“If you think this is best, I'll support your decision.”
“Thank you.”
“Even if I think Dean can go shove it.”
“Balth-”
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Cas quickly got up to answer it, smiling when he saw Dean on the other side.
“Dean,” Cas blatantly checked Dean out, “You look very handsome.” Dean smiled a light blush on his cheeks, “Thanks Cas, you look really good too.”
Cas glanced down to see what he was wearing. A white button up with navy blue pants and his striped tie. He blushed, “I didn't even change when I got home.”
“S’okay you always look good.” Dean winked. Balthazar cleared his throat, “Don't keep him out too late Dean. And if you hurt him again I will cut your dick off.”
“Balth,” Cas groaned.
“Always a pleasure to see you Balthazar.” Dean looked at Cas, “You ready to go?”
“Yes, let's go.” Cas followed Dean out of the apartment.
“I mean it Winchester!” Balthazar yelled as they shut the door. Dean chuckled, “I see he hasn't changed.” Cas scoffed, “Not even a little bit.” They turned and walked towards Dean's car, ground floor apartment, no stairs.
“So,” Dean looked nervous, “Where do you wanna go? I'm not really familiar with the town so anywhere you suggest is fine with me.” Cas thought for a minute, “How about the diner that we were at last week? I really like their burgers.”
“Sure thing Cas,” Dean opened the passenger door for Cas.
“Dean, ever the gentleman,” Cas teased. Dean shrugged, “You can thank Aunt Ellen for that.” Cas smiled wistfully, “She raised you well.”
“Yeah, for all the good that did right?”
“Dean,” Already things we're wandering into rough territory, “You…I...I don't know what to say.”
“There's a first for everything,” Dean joked half heartedly, “Let's just go to the diner, we can talk there.” Cas nodded and got in the car, Dean closing the door for him.
<3 <3 <3
Dean took a deep breath and walked around his baby to the driver's side, “You can do this.” He got in baby and looked over at Cas. His heart melted.
Cas was sitting on the passenger side slowly running his hands over the dash. Dean couldn't help but smile softly at the sight.
“I've really missed this old girl,” Cas said quietly. Dean liked his lips, “Yeah, I think she missed you too Cas.” Cas glanced at Dean, “Remember that time we took her out to the lake? When you were teaching me to drive.”
“Yeah, you almost drove her into the lake.” Dean laughed, “And then I spent 20 minutes trying to calm you down because you were so scared I was gonna be mad at you.”
“There is nothing you love more than this car!” Cas replied defensively, “Of course I was scared.” Dean still laughed, “Cas you're my best friend and you only almost drove her into the lake. You didn't actually drive her into the lake so I wasn't mad.”
“Shut up assbutt,” Cas playfully shoved Dean. Dean smiled and started baby. Cas hummed, “She still purrs.”
“Yep, I take good care of my baby.” Dean cleared his throat and quietly added, “I'd like the chance to be able to take care of you too.” Cas either didn't hear him or, didn't care what he had said,”It's this turn here.”
Dean pulled into the parking lot and parked his baby.
“Dean, I think we should talk out here.”
“What?” Dean was confused, “Why would you want to sit out here and talk when there are burgers inside?” Cas rolled his eyes, “Because this conversation is private and I would rather have it in private than in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“Fair enough,” Dean turned the car off, “So, what's on your mind Cas?”
“Well,” Cas worried his bottom lip with his teeth, “I feel like some apologies are in order.”
“You're right,” Dean sighed, “I really am sorry Cas. For the way I treated you, the things I said, it was really shitty of me. And I should have just told you how I felt in high school when we...you know. But I was scared to tell you, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry Cas.”
“Dean,” Cas reached out and wiped a tear off Dean's cheek. He hadn't even realized he was crying until Cas did that. Dean leaned into Cas’ touch, Cas moved his hand to cup Dean’s jaw.
“I messed up Cas. And I'm sorry.”
“Why didn't you tell me Dean?” Cas’ voiced wavered, “Why didn't you tell me how you felt?” | 485a8c5144d241239a2a9a03261de173 | ['eee19cd8c32a41ae93ba7355bf87153f'] | "Goodbye Lisa. If I never have to see you again then I shall have a happy life." With that Cas walked out the door, shutting it on Lisa and her rude comments. He walked to the mail box and, with trembling hands, he slipped his application in to be mailed. In a few hours Balthazar would come to pick up his stuff and drive it to their new apartment in California. Cas would fly down and find the apartment and wait for Balthazar to get there with his things. And everything would be good.
Cas rubbed his aching jaw, which had bruised over by now, and wondered how he was gonna hide the bruise for the ceremony this afternoon. After all, he was graduating with high honors and he didn't want everyone to think he had gotten in a bar fight the night before.
Perhaps he would call Charlie and ask her. She would be able to help. Just a few more hours and he would never see Dean again. Cas started to cry at that thought. He wiped his tears away and promised himself that would be the last time he shed a tear over Dean Winchester.
<3 <3 <3
Dean saw Cas once the entire graduation ceremony. When they called Cas' name and he walked across the stage to get his diploma. He didn't see Cas beforehand and he didn't see Cas afterwards.
When the ceremony was finished Dean had looked for Cas until his Aunt, Uncle, cousin, and tall little brother had found him.
"We are so proud of you Dean!" Ellen hugged her surrogate son, "So so proud." Dean smiled and returned the hug, "Thanks Ellen. I never could've done it without you guys, and Cas."
"Speaking of which, where is Cas?" Jo asked, "You two have practically been conjoined since you met." Dean shrugged, "Dunno, I haven't seen him since yesterday."
"How have you not seen him? You two live together." Jo crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in suspicion, "Dean?"
"Look it doesn't matter. Let's just get out of here and go celebrate! Right?" Dean started to walk towards the exit. Sam placed a hand on his brothers shoulder, "Dean, what happened?" Dean sighed, "Just, leave it Sammy. Alright?" Sam nodded and they followed Dean outside, where they ran into Lisa.
"Dean! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Lisa gave Dean a peck on the cheek, "I'm so proud if you!"
"Thanks Lis, you remember my family don't you? Aunt Ellen, Uncle Bobby, cousin Jo, and my brother Sammy." Lisa plastered on a fake smile, "That's right, your family. Hey Dean can we talk for a minute. In private." Lisa didn't wait for Dean to agree as she grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the crowd of graduates.
"Lisa! What's going on?" Dean pulled his arm out of Lisa's grip. Lisa sighed, rolling her eyes, "Dean we need to talk about your secret relationship with Castiel." Dean's brows furrowed in confusion, "What are you talking about Lisa?"
"Don't you dare treat me like an idiot Dean. I'm not stupid." Lisa crossed her arms, "I heard you and Cas fighting last night Dean. I know all about your sexual exploits and how he loves you."
"Wait," Dean took a calming breath, "You were eavesdropping on our conversation last night?" Lisa huffed, "Yeah I was, but it was for our babies own good! I had to know if you loved that man whore back!"
"Don't talk about Cas like that. Cas is a good person. He's loyal and kind and so full of compassion and...love."
"Oh my God I knew it." Lisa looked at Dean in disbelief, "You love him don't you? I mean I've known that he loves you but, you love him back? Are you serious?"
"You knew? What do you mean you've known? How long have you known?"
"I knew when I first met him. The way he acted around you, the way he treated me. It was obvious Dean, to everyone but you apparently."
"If you knew, then why didn't you tell me?" Dean felt betrayed and guilty. Lisa grasped Dean's hand, "Because if I had told you, you would've left me for him. I don't want to lose you Dean." Dean shook his head, eyes filling with tears, "You know Lisa, you can't lose something that you never had." Dean pulled his hand out of Lisa's, "Plus I've thought a lot about your pregnancy announcement and its not mine."
"What?" Lisa's jaw clenched in anger, "Of course its yours! It can't be anyone else's!"
"See, that's where you're wrong. Because you and I haven't had sex in at least a month so if you're only a few weeks pregnant it can't possibly be mine." Dean shook his head, "To think I let my heat of the moment anger blind me from the truth of the situation. That baby isn't mine, and you know it."
"Dean, please," Lisa burst into tears, gripping Dean's arm, "Please you-you can't leave me! I love you Dean. You can't leave me for that...that stupid fag! You can't!" Dean ripped his arm away from Lisa, "Don't ever talk about him like that again. We're done Lisa. We have been for a long time and I was too stupid to realize it." Dean turned to leave, "Oh by the way, give my congrats to the real father. Its not my problem anymore."
"Screw you Winchester! I hope that home wrecker is already gone!"
"Gone?" Dean turned back around, "What do you mean gone?" Lisa smirked, "He told you he was leaving, and he promised me that he would leave for the sake of our future. Apparently you weren't listening."
"I didnt hink he was serious! Where is he going?"
"Don't know," Lisa grinned triumphantly, "He didn't say. Just said he was leaving and he would never be back." Dean turned and ran towards where his family was, "Sam call Cas." |
939964f1e2e74a059c30a7c738ecf0b1 | ['eefe26c50b9b42d596aa1be583bda0fb'] | Bruce pulled himself farther up on the mattress before putting a hand softly on his left hip. Even warned of the touch, Bucky’s body flinched away from the contact. Steve was helpless to not move forward and stroke over his shoulders. Bucky tugged him until he was sitting cross legged before him with his back against the headboard, and reached out to hold onto his calves and bury himself in Steve’s lap.
Steve collected all of Bucky’s damp hair from where his bun had fallen out in his hands, baring his flushed neck. He bent and pressed his lips against the skin, not a kiss so much a connection of flesh.
He felt Bucky flinch again and suck in a hard breath with Bruce started his exam, squirming slightly as a way to get away from the discomfort.
“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t very nice,” Bruce said kindly. Bucky breathed out a sob, and Steve felt his eyes burn. He gently scraped his teeth on the back of Bucky’s neck, and sighed as he felt a different shiver go down Bucky’s back. He had to consciously not grip Bucky too hard. He combed through his hair a few more times, keeping his eyes closed to Bruce’s probing fingers.
“You need to relax. I know that sounds terrible, but it’ll hurt less. Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Steve lifted his head to look down at Bucky’s arched back, shivering in the lightly of the room due to sweat and the leftover bath water. He settled his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and followed the line of his spine down to his hips and then back up. He kept the pressure just hard enough to press into the rigid muscles, and little by little he felt Bucky’s body relax in tight increments. Bruce nodded at him and continued to work between Bucky’s thighs, and Steve allowed himself to be mesmerized by the feeling of Bucky’s long, strong back under his palms.
He blinked back to himself with Bruce leaned back, pulled off his gloves.
“You’re around eight centimeters dilated already- how long have you been feeling contractions?” Steve felt his stomach drop at the proclamation and looked down at Bucky’s head buried in his lap.
“Buck?” he prompted as the man slowly levered himself up on his hands and knees.
“I only noticed a few hours ago. I guess I may not have been able to feel anything until they were stronger.”
“Christ, Buck,” Steve cursed, running his hands up and down Bucky’s arms so he didn’t have to look at the shakiness of his own fingers. Bucky sat down his lower half, knees still spread on the mattress cover.
“Well, it looks like things are going well, but just quickly. Transition is the last step before delivery. It’ll get more intense before this is all over,” he warned quietly. “So just listen to what you body wants. Move if you need to, walk, squat, sleep, take a shower, whatever. I’ll step out to your living room to give you some space, but I’ll be back in an hour to check on you unless you call me.”
Steve nods and gives him a small, quick smile before he turns back to Bucky, who has settled back on his haunches, running his right hand low over his belly in slow strokes.
Steve hears the soft click of the door closing, but all he could do was look at the figure in front of him. Bucky’s skin was a mix of pale and flushed, eyes bruised in his face, hair damp and sticking to his shoulders. His whole body was trembling and slick.
The idea that he had been in labor for a long time and hadn’t been able to feel it was making Steve sick to his stomach. He ran his own hand down the length of Bucky’s belly and moved to press a kiss to his forehead.
Bucky snaked his hand around the back of his neck and redirected his kiss to his mouth, lips firm and warm. They traded a few languishing kisses until Bucky needed to part for breath, panting softly with their foreheads resting against each other.
“I’m okay, Steve,” he said as firmly as he could, brushing one last light kiss over the corner of his mouth before he sat back to look him seriously in the eye. Steve reached up a hand to frame his face, thumb tracing the arc of one sharp cheekbone.
“I just hate seeing you in pain,” he admitted thickly, blinking hard. “It kills me that I can’t stop it or take it away. I just don’t want you to hurt.”
Steve couldn’t read Bucky’s expression for a moment before he smiled indulgently and turned his head to kiss his palm.
“You big, noble idiot,” he said fondly, a ghost of his rarely seen grin on his face. “At least this pain is worth something.” Steve looked at him for a moment, trying his best to really take in what he was saying. It was worth something. Maybe this baby had been forced on him, maybe it had hurt his body, but it was a baby. And Bucky wanted to have this baby, and Steve wanted whatever Bucky wanted.
“Just have my back through it,” Bucky asked, looking up at him through his dark lashes. Steve nodded and tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear.
After that, things escalated. The strength of the contractions became brutal, freezing Bucky in his tracks in their slow pacing of the room. Bent double, he held on to Steve with all his strength and tried to get in a few small, hitching breaths before the pain let go, teeth bared. | 317e1cce9e564513a42e531c03a2f125 | ['eefe26c50b9b42d596aa1be583bda0fb'] | How the Cavallone found him that night, he never did ask.
It was many years after he had grown into manhood, living in a traditionally built Japanese home, pure and simple and filled with the atmosphere so attuned to his taste, only the basic necessities of modern technology discretely installed against the aesthetic.
When he wasn't working for the Vongola and needed at his base, he returned here, where only faithful and silently loyal Kusakabe Tetsuya knew how to reach him.
Hibari was wrapped in a simple dark yukata on this warm summer's night, and was intent on returning inside from the garden when he sensed the presence of the Italian in his home.
He tilted his head and listened before opening the sliding door, the lack of the Don's inane chatter and clamoring for his attention intriguing in its peculiarity. The fact that a servant had not alerted him to the arrival of his guest also drew his notice and curiosity.
The door opened in a whisper against the palm of his hand, his feet sliding silently out of his shoes and into the slippers placed at the mouth of the entrance.
It was very dark and silent throughout the house, all of his staff suddenly absent while the tatami breathed slowly under his feet.
There was a single light lit within his bedroom, a tiny bulb installed atop a dresser at the corner farthest from the door covered by a dark shade
The man was sitting cross-legged at the end of his unrolled futon, hair matted with sweat and blood, smatters of red, green, and blue littering his tanned skin with a deep-purple of the lack of sleep adorning his eyes, suddenly deep and endless as they caught his.
The rays of the dim bulb outlined the lines around his eyes, deepened the crease between his brows, the outline of his muscles as his shoulders hunched forward, the strength still hidden in his sinew.
In this moment, in the pain of an unidentified suffering that had brought the high-flickering flame of enthusiasm into a dimmed and somber hue, Hibari stood silently and observed the other like he had never seen him before.
The gold of his hair, hidden and defiled by filth, still shone in minute sections, tiny iridescent flecks of gold that he could never before appreciate in its usual state.
The seemingly smooth skin now was rendered a darker hue that highlighted its imperfections, its scars and bruises and lacerations, as multicolored as his darkened tattoos, just as meaningful and more expressive.
He was wearing a torn and bloodied button-up shirt, color indistinguishable and unimportant, the top three buttons torn from the top and the sleeves rolled up around his forearms.
"I sent your staff away. I should say I'm sorry, but I'm not."
The Cavallone's eyes appeared almost black, the expression in them much more serious and weighted than he had ever borne witness to before.
In this state, in a tarnishing of his usual spotless persona, the one of too-bright smiles and loud words, he was striking in his vulnerability.
Hibari let out a silent sigh and stepped forward, not deigning to respond to the other's lowly voiced proclamation.
He stopped close before him, forcing the Westerner to tilt back his head to look him in the face, the lines of his throat being deepened and shaded in the half-light.
Raising one precise hand, Hibari skimmed down the line of his face, brushing against the dimmed skin with a feather-light touch.
The other breathed out shakily, blinking unsteadily as he turned his face against his fingers.
"Kyouya, please," he whispered, so softly it was almost lost in the exhalation of his lungs.
His hand moved down against the other's throat, brushing down into the hollow, eyes closely tracking his fingers' progress.
Dark irises flickered back up as he rested his fingers against the warm, beating pulse in the other's neck, letting his fingertips lightly pick back up again as he took in the toll of the injuries adorning the flesh before him.
He knelt down onto his knees and dexterously unbuttoned the shirt the rest of the way, Dino shrugging gingerly from the saturated fabric and tossing it onto the floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hibari saw a smear of blood swipe across the tatami, but left it, even knowing it would leave a dark stain that could only be removed by replacing the entire mat.
The lines of the other's body were saturated with soft shading and subtle highlights, beautiful in its hidden qualities and its obvious damage.
He allowed his fingers and eyes to follow along, to discover and find new abrasions and blemishes and drink them in.
This was the truth of beauty, in what was hidden and displayed by the darkness, the mystery and the uncovering of true depth through the magic of shadows, in the imperfections they reveal as earned strength and durability.
No gloss, no façade; just a highlighting of reality through the brush of obscurity. The creation the ambiguous makes with the barest flicker of illumination, the true story it tells about something when laid bare in the smallest hint of moonlight.
Dino was pliant beneath his hands, chest heaving quietly as he was pushed lightly onto his back.
He painfully pulled himself all the way back onto the futon cover, straightening his legs as Hibari tossed away his slippers and threw one pale limb across his hips, leaning over and drenching him in yet more shadow.
Dino tasted of blood, metal, and the adrenaline of a fight gone on too long. Of desperation and pain, the flavors different for both emotional and physical distress.
Of murder and chaos and the dark itself, winding around a sweet tang of Dino's true essence, the sun and all its golden rays, overwhelmed and muted, yet still thriving, unable to be fully smothered.
Hibari smoothed his hands down the other's chest, feeling the Italian's breath hitch as he brushed over his darkened nipples and scraped his nails lightly over fresh bruises.
He bit at the other's throat, moving down to lave at the darkened crease between neck and shoulder, relishing the saltiness of the blood on his tongue while Dino moaned and bucked against him.
Hibari reached and untied his obi, allowing the material of his yukata to fall around them, blocking them entirely from the room at large, from all but each other, close enough to breathe in the other's air as they panted and groaned softly, skin against skin and hearts racing as nerves were lit on fire.
They lost themselves in the dusk, in each other, in the secret of a house not known on the night of an unknown tragedy, and found instead something never before seen, and never uttered beyond the cover of the night.
The dark headiness of their passion was intoxicating, surreal even as the shadows danced and writhed around them in a pantomime, silent and preternatural.
When the tiny bulb was later extinguished, and the complete blanket of black surrounded them, the sweet smell of tatami filled the warm room as they lay tangled together.
They were unseen by all but the dark itself, breathing together in their sheltered exposure, warm and fulfilled and unguarded in the cover of the darkness.
In this manner, the sun was never able to touch them and lay them bare to the world at large. They were a secret kept by forces of obscurity, never to be touched except by each other and the shades protecting them. |
b0bf6544aae04dae83d0f68672f5f206 | ['ef3b4a5161074d3bab6b4b8be3886c30'] | The crimson sun was beginning to set west of AH City, casting its orange light over everything it touched. King Gavin watched it slowly retreat from the sky while he was perched on top of one of the largest structures in the city.
The Altar of Pimps was built almost one hundred years ago in honor of the most sacred object in all the Kingdom. It was the only place where Gavin felt at peace, and he cherished his special thinking place. Originally, the Altar was intended to be regarded as a monthly pilgrimage of the Hunters when it was first built, but that was quickly forgotten. The ugly cobblestone structure now served no meaningful purpose, except to be an obstacle in the way of enemies and Ryan when he gave chase to Gavin for touching his knives. Its only significance was to hold to the city's supply of gold.
Gavin cried his eyes out the entire day that morning. Lady Steffie had brought him the scroll, that cursed and damned scroll, that was addressed to him. He grinned as he took it and arrogantly boasted, "I'll bet Lady Barbara wishes for me to return and beat the living shit out of Ryan." He laughed and downed a chalice of wine. "I could take him."
And foolishly enough, his brothers had laughed with him.
"Oh truly sir," Lord Trevor said as they sat down in the center of the city to eat their breakfast. It was a daily routine for the Hunters to carry the large oak table out into the fresh air for every meal and dine with one another. Despite their family being broken, the remaining Hunters kept to their tradition.
"You are far more clever than he is, Your Grace," Caleb replied.
As those words were uttered, Gavin unrolled the scroll and began to read:
_To whom it may concern,_
_It is with deep regret and sorrow that I inform you of a horrid and unspeakable atrocity that has taken place only a short while ago._
_While you Hunters made plans to flee the city of Rooster Teeth, your hostile brother, Lord Ray Narvaez Jr, was brutally murdered by one of your own._
_Lord James Ryan Haywood, now known as his Majesty King Ryan, Ruler of the Gold Throne, Possessor of the Almighty Tower, Overseer of the Haus of Fun, Sorcerer of the Nether, and other Worlds alike, slaughtered his own brother in the castle garden. Lord Ray was not alone in this untimely event. Upon realizing his brother was missing, Lord Matthew Bragg happened upon the King after he finished his devious act, and promptly followed Lord Ray into the realm of the Afterlife. This cruel act is only known by few, but it should be universally known._
_I am truly sorry for the loss of your family, my lords. They will be remembered; we will make certain that they are. I will keep you informed when and if I can on King Ryan's dastardly deeds. Until I do, stay safe, stay strong, and remember those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice._
_Yours_ _Truly,_
_Lady Barbara Dunkelman_
After having read the entirety of the letter, Gavin crushed the note in his fist and let it drop to the ground. His followers tensed up as he stormed away from them, seething with anger, toward his house. Steffie cautiously set down her chalice on the table and knelt down to retrieve the crumpled paper.
Just as she was beginning to read the message, Gavin burst open the door to his house, carrying a bottle of whiskey and his sword slung over his shoulder, his brow furrowed and fire burning in his eyes.
"My king?" Trevor asked timidly as Gavin passed them.
But Gavin wasn't listening to them. He had one intention and he was determined to set it into motion. He marched straight over to Ryan's house and kicked open the door recklessly, shattering it into splintery shards.
Ryan's house was almost exactly Ray's except it was fairly bigger. It was made out of dirt like Ray's, had a grass floor like Ray's, and had one torch like Ray's. However, it was more organized with all his belongings stowed away into two enormous chests. Not to mention, he was given a bed upon his arrival to the city, he didn't have to earn it.
There were a few significant differences between Ryan's and Ray's houses. The most noticeable was the giant hole in the ground covered by a large glass covering. If one was to look inside, they'd be surprised to see a poor brown cow trapped in a white enclosed space, munching on hay.
Gavin knelt down next to the glass and set down the whiskey bottle, smirking down at the cow known to all of AH as Edgar. He then brought his sword up and over his head, swinging it down in the next motion to crack the glass. A few more swings later, and the glass was gone, opening up the reeking room to the glorious fresh air.
After each Hunter had read the message in the scroll, they cautiously poked their heads into Ryan's house just in time to see Gavin down half of the bottle of whiskey and disappear down into the hole.
"Sire?" Steffie called into the house. "Sire, what are you-?"
Suddenly, there was the strangled cry of an animal in pain followed by a feeble moo, trailing off into nothing. And the next moment, Gavin popped his head up from out of the whole in the ground showing teeth in a very devious smile. Then his followers all took a sharp intake of breath as they saw his face splattered with dark red blood.
"Your Grace," Caleb stammered, "please tell me you didn't do what I think you just did."
"Oh I did," Gavin laughed, ducking back down into the hole. | 42288edcdfd4415897579bc966bd74a5 | ['ef3b4a5161074d3bab6b4b8be3886c30'] | A good minute passed until Ray's head appeared over the railing of the balcony. He was solemn but held his head high. The room held its breath.
"The King is dead."
2. And Out of the Ashes
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> After the ball's abrupt end, the noble lords and lady call an emergency Council meeting to determine who will be RT's next king.
"What do you think killed him?" Lord Gavin wondered as he stared down at the large circular oak table in the Council Room of the King. The noblemen of the party converged in the medium sized room after the shocked guests had been roughly escorted from the palace.
"Poison, dumb ass," Lord Michael retorted irritably, pulling at the tight collar of his brown fur overcoat.
"Well I knew that, you looney," Gavin shouted across the table to his friend. "I meant who!"
"Then why didn't you fucking say that in the first place?" Michael screamed back.
"Fellas, fellas, stop," Lord Geoff rose to his feet, bringing the whole Council to attention. He towered over the other 16 members in the room and absentmindedly twisted one end of his mustache as he pondered what to do next. "We need to find the bastard that killed Burnie, and arguing now isn't going to solve anything."
"Well, how do we start looking?" Lord Monty wondered. "Surely he had plenty of enemies from all across RT."
"Monty's right," Grand Duke Gustavo said. "Burnie wasn't a very sociable person regarding the other dignified beings of RT. They'd make a jibe at him, and he'd take the joke in the wrong way intended. And he'd do the same in return, only the outcome was worse." Gus stopped and wiped his perspiring forehead. "If he pissed anyone off," he continued, "they'd be the first to suspect for his death."
"But are we positive that it was one of them?" Lord Jack commented. "We don't want to go around accusing people. It'd tear the kingdom apart!"
"We have no other choice," Lord Matt said, raising his goblet to take a drink. Lord Kerry then swung his hand up and smashed the goblet from Matt's hand in a panic.
Matt shouted in anger. "What the fuck was that?"
"Don't trust anything," Kerry warned. "I could have just saved your life."
"No, you just wasted perfectly good wine that I poured from my own stash," Matt said through gritted teeth.
"Anyway," Geoff asserted. "If it was an outside source, we'd have to set up an interrogation of every person who was in and out of the city. That means putting the city on lockdown."
"But wouldn't that be in vain?" Lord Ryan pointed out, glancing around the table. "The ball just ended and Burnie's dead. The suspect could have easily fled the city by now."
"He's right," Gavin agreed.
Geoff pulled on the end of his mustache again and walked briskly to the door. He opened to the door and the Captain of the King's Guard, Captain Blaine, turned at attention.
"Yes, m'Lord?" He wondered.
"Close all the city's roadways," Geoff ordered. "Make sure there is no way in and no way out for anyone. Understand?"
Blaine nodded and muttered "Yes, m'Lord," and set off down the hallway.
"Hopefully that'll stop things," Geoff breathed as he returned to the group.
"And if it doesn't?" Lord Ray asked.
Geoff shrugged. "Then we'll get over it. Nothing more we can do now that Burnie's dead."
"Speaking of dead Burnie," Lord Joel raised his hand slightly to put in his two cents on the matter, "what will the Kingdom do now that it has no king?"
The room went silent as they all pondered this question. Lord Kdin spoke up first.
"What of the Royal family?"
"Dead. All of them," Gus said. "Horrible influenza swept through the city about 5 years ago. Killed his kids and his queen in a span of two days."
The room fell silent again. The were no sounds except for the crackling fire in the fireplace at the far end of the room, the hooting of an owl outside the window, and the shallow breathing of the members of the Council.
"We need a king," Monty said finally. "I refuse to take up the position. I have good standing in Beacon, and I wish to spend the rest of my days doing what I love instead of carrying the crushing responsibility of being King."
While he said this, Adam and Joel looked to each other, egging each other on to take up the position.
" _You do it,"_ Adam mouthed.
_"No, you!"_ Joel countered back silently.
_"You!"_
_"You!"_
_"You!"_
Joel screwed up his face in anger and spoke aloud after Monty, "Count us out as well."
The Hunters and noblemen turned to Duke Jordan, who shook his head. "I am content as well with what I'm doing now as an artist, and where I am in the Kingdom," he assured the Council. "I will not be king."
"If I were to be king," Gus said. "I'd be accused of murdering my friend."
"That's right," Lord Jeremy remembered. "You were up there drinking with him before he died."
Suddenly all eyes turned their accusatory gazes toward Gus. Ray's eyes narrowed. "How do we know you didn't murder Burnie to be king?"
"Because I didn't!" Gus insisted loudly. "He was my friend. I would never kill him, let alone anyone, for power."
"Wouldn't you?" Gavin pressed.
"No, I wouldn't," Gus stated. Then his face changed as a memory long repressed resurfaced in his mind. "Well...I mean..." He stopped and glanced at every suspicious face uncomfortably. "Alright look, I didn't mean to-"
"AHA!" Gavin shouted, rising to his feet and pointing the accusatory finger at Gus.
"Sit down, asshole, I didn't kill Burnie," Gus clarified. "I just killed the other contender for Royal Advisor to the King."
"Who was it?" Jack asked.
"Some nobody." |
78cf7d5f207a4a5da9a601a633ce4b8d | ['ef66ded673754bd5bca383cca76d3ee7'] | HoSook freezes, looking at the floor, fidgeting. “I... I’ve been trying to tell my ex to leave me alone.. And it got really bad.. He was constantly calling me.. I even left my phone at home.. I’m sorry, Chan.. and you weren’t home and I didn’t want to bother you..” HoSook explains softly. Chanyeol sighs before getting up, bringing her against him in a tight hug.
“Just because I was out with my friends, doesn’t mean you are going to bother me by saying you need me. That’s what I am here for, to help and guide you. Please stop thinking otherwise.” Chanyeol says softly, HoSook carefully returns the hug, nodding.
“I’ll try.. I’m sorry..” HoSook says softly, gripping at his shirt. Chanyeol rubs her back comfortingly.
“It’s okay. Just please come to me, do you want me to talk to him?” Chanyeol asks her softly once she gently pulls away.
“Maybe.. You know how he is.. I have to get to class..” HoSook says softly.
“Let me walk you to class. I’ll be back after your class if I’m not, I’ll send Kris. He’ll protect you.” Chanyeol says softly, kissing the top of her head. He walks with her to class.
“Thanks, Chan..” HoSook says softly.
~~~
Chanyeol runs a hand through his hair before walking to the library. He scans the library when he walks in quickly finding someone who could him. He walks up to the male.
“Junmyeon!” Chanyeol calls to the male, walking to him.
“Um.. Chanyeol, right?” The male asks, now being known as Junmyeon.
“Where is he?” Chanyeol asks him.
“Where is who?” Junmyeon asks confused as another male walks up.
“Luhan. I have a few words to share with him. I'm not going to beat his ass.” Chanyeol explains.
“Luhan-ge? He's on his way here. Why?” the second male questions, concerned for his friend.
“Thanks. He needs to leave my sister alone.” Chanyeol practically growls out.
“Kyungsoo... I think it be best we find Luhan quickly. Remember that girl he dated back in high school? That's her twin brother, Chanyeol. He's rather protective and Luhan clearly hasn't given up on her...” Junmyeon explains. Kyungsoo sighs, nodding before he leaves.
Chanyeol runs a hand through his red hair with a sigh. Junmyeon paces. Minutes later, Luhan and Kyungsoo return. Luhan freezes at seeing Chanyeol, Chanyeol narrows his eyes at him.
“Why are you still texting my sister?! You have no right to talk to her. You lost it when you cheated on her.” Chanyeol growls out.
“I never cheated on her! That’s why I am trying to talk to her.” Luhan growls back.
“So what? That stark naked girl laying in your bed was what? An accident? Your sister? Hard to make that not cheating, Luhan.” Chanyeol growls.
“It was an accident! I shouldn’t have gotten drunk that night, alright?!” Luhan growls out.
“It was on our birthday, you asshole! You were supposed to be with her that night! She was calling you over and over again! You wouldn’t pick up! So we went to find you! That’s how we found you... Getting head from some girl and you didn’t stop.. You let her keep going even while my sister was trying to get your attention.. You broke it off on our birthday. You have no right to keep harassing her.” Chanyeol growls out. Luhan opens his mouth to explain but closes it.
“You did what? Luhan! What were you thinking? How could you do that?” Junmyeon questions his friend. If looks could kill, Luhan would be dead from the intense glare he’s getting from his best friend, Kyungsoo.
“I was stupid and naive! We were all like that! Clearly she still wants me back! She said so herself! She hasn’t dated anyone after me.” Luhan challenges back.
“She didn’t date anyone because of you! She can’t trust anyone, she’s scared all the time! She likes someone, don’t you dare screw this up! You have no idea how you ruined my baby sister!” Chanyeol shouts at him. By now many students are watching the scene in surprise, whispering to each other.
“How could I screw it up if I am obviously the one she likes? I highly doubt she has trust issues! Are you sure you aren’t the one making all this up in your head?” Luhan yells back.
“I’m not the crazy one! I’m not the reason my sister.. Is hurting.. I know who she likes, it’s not you.” Chanyeol responds before he leaves. Junmyeon and Kyungsoo are dumbstruck at what just happened.
Luhan glares where Chanyeol left through the doors, “You have no idea you idiot...” He grumbles.
“I think he does, Luhan. How come you said that she broke up with you? Why did you lie to us?” Junmyeon asks him.
“What you did.. That’s beyond repairable.. What you had with her.. You let go and she let you go. You need to actually let go since you left her.” Kyungsoo says.
“Because I was stupid.. You know how I was in high school, I didn’t want to grow up.. It was a accident.. I literally only had a few drinks but at some point I had woke up after I heard them leave. I freaked out because I wanted to be with her not the girl in my bed.. But I keep trying to talk to her... I’ve been trying to fix my mistake.” Luhan says softly.
“Luhan.. I think you should drop it.. There’s something more to this than what you think.. He hesitated..” Junmyeon says softly.
“As in leave her alone.” Kyungsoo says.
“I don’t want to leave her alone, I want to fix this.” Luhan says before he leaves as well. Kyungsoo and Junmyeon share a look and sigh at this.
~~ | f7c8c0b4a7c748d08c4eecb99b43bc09 | ['ef66ded673754bd5bca383cca76d3ee7'] | HoSook walked out of class, looking around. Luhan is waiting for her but Chanyeol or Kris or any of his other friends aren’t around. She moves out of the way of her classmates, fumbling for her phone. Luhan walks over to her.
“We need to talk.. Since when did you wear turtlenecks..?” Luhan asks, looking her up and down before grabbing her wrist, earning a pained whimper from her. He drags her into an empty classroom, she tries to quickly send a ‘sos’ text, lucky she was able to send to Chanyeol and Xiumin.
“There’s nothing for us to talk about..” HoSook mumbles as Luhan shuts and locks the classroom door. She backs away from him, eyes wide at what he did.
“Sure we do. I’ve been trying to talk to you and fix what happened in high school for four years. HoSook, I love you, please believe me.” Luhan explains, walking to her.
“J-just leave me alone... please..” HoSook says, backing up even more. She jumps slightly at her phone vibrating in her hand, she brings it closer. She answers it, not looking at the id.
“HoSook? You sent an sos. What’s wrong?” Xiumin says over the line.
“Why are you answering the phone?! I’m trying to talk to you and you answer the phone!” Luhan shouts as he cages her. “Please HoSook.. I just want to talk and fix what I did.. I love you.. Please don’t cry..”
“L-leave me alone... Please Minnie.. Help.. I can’t... I’m scared..” HoSook says, her breath coming up short and fast, tears falling from her chin.
“Shh.. It’s okay, HoSook where are you? I’m coming to you!” Xiumin says as he leaves behind a confused Chen and Baekhyun. They too soon follow after hearing how frantic Xiumin was to try to calm her.
“I’m not leaving you alone.. Please stop crying.. Let me heal you for my mistake..” Luhan says softly, bringing a hand up to brush her tears, only for her to flinch a way.
“I-I don’t want you.. Please.. Just go.. Classroom.. Next to my class..” HoSook says as she ducks under Luhan’s arm. She stumbles from him, she crouches down, keeping her phone to her ear.
“HoSook, calm, slow and deep breaths, remember? That’s what you do when you feel a panic attack. Calm down please. I am coming to you, okay?” Xiumin says softly into his phone, dodging around people to get to her class. Chen and Baekhyun are chasing after him. Baekhyun pulled his phone out, quickly finding Chanyeol’s number in it.
“Hello? Baekhyun? Why are you calling me?” Chanyeol asks softly as if he shouldn’t be on the phone.
“Where are you? I know you gave me your number for emergencies but this is one. HoSook sent Xiumin an sos text, she’s having a panic attack.” Baekhyun says to Chanyeol, sounding breathless.
Chanyeol freezes, “Do you know what’s going on? Or where she is?” He says quickly, looking to his manager. “I have to go, I know I just got here two hours ago, but.. My sister she needs me. Yes, ma’am. I will be back as soon as I can, thank you for understanding.” He says before runs out of the cafe he works at.
“I don’t know, I am following Xiumin. Wait, her class just let out five minutes ago, so she should be close to her classroom.” Baekhyun explains quickly.
“Please HoSook, let me help you.” Luhan says softly, suddenly taking her phone, her anchor away. He hangs up on Xiumin. “It’ll be okay.. Let me love you and heal you.” He says softly, crouching with her and hugging her. HoSook’s breathing just seems more erratic now, she tries to get her phone back as more tears slip down her cheeks. She tries to push Luhan away.
Xiumin curses at this as he runs up to her classroom, mumbling to himself, finding one of her classmates. “Have you seen HoSook Park? I’m looking for her.” He asks them.
“Uh.. yeah she went into that classroom over there with Luhan-ge.” The classmate says. Xiumin quickly runs to the classroom. He tries to open the door, before pounding on it.
“Luhan! Open the door! Leave her alone!! You’re only making matters worse for her!!” Xiumin growls, trying to open the door. Baekhyun freezes at this.
“Chanyeol... It’s Luhan.. He has locked in a classroom alone.. With a panic attack.. She’s crying. I can hear her..” Baekhyun says into the phone as growl is the response from Chanyeol.
Chen’s eyes widen before turning to the student, “Can you get campus security before Minseok breaks the door? Our friend is in there and it’s not good that those two are together, please.”
The student nods before running off to find the security. Chen and Baekhyun go to Xiumin, holding him back.
“Don’t break the door, you’ll get in trouble.” Chen says softly.
Luhan is holding HoSook, running his fingers through her hair, “I’m sorry for everything I did to you.. It really wasn’t my intention to get drunk on your birthday. I swear.. I love you, HoSook.”
“I... I don’t love you...” HoSook says between gasps, trying to push him off, her vision blurring and blackening. Luhan glares, holding her still.
“Yes you do.. Why else haven’t you dated anyone else?” Luhan questions as soon the security open the door.
Xiumin runs forward with Chanyeol hot on his tail.
“You asshole!” Chanyeol growls, pushing Luhan away from HoSook. Xiumin quickly goes to her, pulling her against him.
“Remember, deep slow breaths, Sook.. stay calm. We’re here.” Xiumin says softly to her, she listens, slowly calming down and taking slow, deep breaths.
“I’m the asshole?! I’m the one who is trying to fix this and you’ve stopped me everytime!” Luhan calls out. Chen and Baekhyun quickly go to block beside Chanyeol to keep Luhan from reaching Xiumin and HoSook. |
04a386716e5d4849b4d07dcbedc9299a | ['ef9835bce9c24848ab8b4125a135cc60'] |
Lance's Present
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
It'd been about 48 hours since Keith had slept, but he was still committed to carrying himself with grace and dignity. Plus, if Kolivan had found out he stayed up all night, he'd be on cleaning duty for a week. The point was, he still hadn't collapsed from exhaustion yet, so it'd be nice to keep up the facade.
His ship was close to the Castle's location now, and he could see it in the distance. Keith thought about taking his time, stalling the commotion that would ensue once he opened the doors and stepped inside. They'd practically interrogate him over the stunt he'd pulled at Naxzela until he passed out, and when he regained consciousness, the cycle would start over. He could always just not go, but then they'd hunt him down, and that would be worse.
After wringing his hands around each other for what felt like a few hours, he punched a few numbers into the control panel to his left and pushed a lever forward. He was moving at much quicker pace now, set to arrive any minute.
The size of the white ship slowly grew into the territory of overwhelming. Keith switched the controls from autopilot to manual and swung the vehicle upwards, towards the bottommost spire extending from the base of the Castle. Recognizing him as the red paladin, the tip of the tunnel gradually opened, allowing him entry. Tightening his grip on the handles of the craft, he reluctantly moved forwards, sleep threatening to overcome him at any moment.
"Let's just get this over with," he mumbled, thinking about the fact that now, there were no intercoms to accidentally broadcast something to another paladin or Blade.
That, he thought, could be the one thing that makes this whole ordeal worth it.
His eyes weighed heavy as he fought to overcome the tiredness that was now almost too much to bear. Keith tightened his grip on the handles of the ship in an effort to keep it steady, but it did little good. As skilled a pilot as he was, the wings of the craft were about to make contact with the wall of the tunnel at any given moment. By sheer willpower, he was able to veer off to the left in time to exit and enter the hangar itself.
After a rough but efficient landing, Keith made his way out of the vehicle and took the opportunity to glance at his surroundings. Each hangar was about the same size, with a ceiling almost too high to see the top of and walls wide enough to fit a small moon in. But the grandness of the room wasn't what most people would marvel at when they entered it- the reason it even existed is enough to make them do a double take. The red lion sat on his haunches in front of him, thoughtful yellow eyes trained on his figure.
Keith couldn't help but grin at the sight of his old friend. Combined with his piloting of the black lion and joining the Blade of Marmora, he'd have guessed it was a few months since they had even talked.
"Hey, Red!" At the sound of his nickname, the lion perked up and the red-tinted particle barrier surrounding him was dropped. With a loud creak and the sound of his body cutting through the air, he had bowed his head to him. Keith chuckled a bit and rubbed his palms against Red's nose, to which he gratefully accepted. A low rumble filled the room, as if to say, "How could I stay mad at you?"
If there was ever a time Keith had ever had to break up with someone, it was with the red lion. He'd thrown a fit and eventually calmed down, but leaving the team for the Blade had apparently crossed the line. At least at the moment,
"Dude, get a room," called a voice from behind him. It was instantly recognizable, but he still hesitated in turning to see who it was. Peering over his shoulder, he could see Lance standing with his arms crossed, almost patiently waiting for him to finish up with his reunion with Red. He was a bit surprised by the way he chose to prompt that interaction, though. Keith didn't know whether to feel grateful or concerned.
"Hilarious. What are you doing here, anyway?" Lance seemed to consider the question a strange one, lifting his eyebrows at it.
"Um, this is kinda my hangar now," he said. The red lion turned to Lance with a scowl, and he backed off a bit. "O-okay, okay! We share it."
"Right. I forgot about that whole replacement thing. Sorry, it's been a long day." Keith rubbed at his now burning eyes, remembering the many, many hours that he had gone without sleep.
"It must be, because you just apologized to me." Lance marvelled at his choice of words. Keith's eyes widened a bit, and he shrugged it off.
"Yeah, I guess I did. Go figure."
Keith's lack of skill in conversational skills was getting this nowhere fast. Though he never saw it as one, Lance's tendency to never stop talking was turning into an advantage.
"How do you do that, anyways?" Lance asked, prompting Keith to furrow his eyebrows.
"What are you talking about?" The blue paladin sighed and began to walk away from him, leaving Keith confused. Lance was now standing in front of the Blade of Marmora ship that Keith had entered on, and made sure that the eye contact that he was initiating was enough to keep his attention. Lance took tired steps towards him and the lion. Exaggerating his movements, he peered his head up and smiled.
"Hey, Red!" He mimicked the tone of Keith's voice when he had said the same thing. Red showed far less interest in Lance and turned back to Keith, who grinned a little. | 124633777c5d4ceabfeb105f3d88ff98 | ['ef9835bce9c24848ab8b4125a135cc60'] | "I thought you would have at least guessed by now. A bit foolish for a Chief Prosecutor, ja?" She waited a moment to help Miles catch up to her, but must have grown tired of her own patience.
"I would need someone who has worked in cases that Shelly de Killer has been involved in. Preferably, even a person who might have had contact with him, be it a phone call or a cross-examination." The prosecutor clicked her tongue. "Ah, if only there were someone like that."
"You said you didn't want my help."
"I don't, and I'm not asking for it. All I need is someone who has experience dealing with this man. A character witness, if that would make more sense to your foolish mind. For the purpose of evidence."
Miles considered her offer. On one hand, it would be unwise to leave the office unattended, like he had been trying to work around. Irresponsible actions like that could end up costing a lot more than he would be willing to admit. It would be unlike him to make irresponsible decisions like those. Besides, he had already committed to settling down and staying out of the field.
And yet, on the other hand, though, he would only be trading one aspect of his job for another. A short week or two could be justified by the movers not being able to finish until then.
Justified to himself, that is.
The thing was, Miles knew he wanted to go. He loved investigations, and the chase of criminals that came with it. All that it would cost was some trust in his subordinates, who, now that he thought about it, would surely live without him. They had been doing it the rest of their careers, after all.
Surely, they would manage.
"I'll be there by tonight. Send me the case file as soon as possible," he said. Miles had barely gotten the sentence out before he felt another vibration. This time, an E-mail, chock full of PDFs.
"Already done. A foolish decision to underestimate my preparedness, Miles Edgeworth," his sister retorted. The exhaustion from the beginning of their call had crept back into her voice. In an attempt to perhaps retain her perfection, she seemed to be pulling what strength she had into this conversation. Edgeworth took their talk on a detour.
"I meant it when I suggested you get to sleep. I can't imagine you're feeling especially perfect with such little sleep and so much work to get done," he commented. There was a huff on the other end of the line. Franziska let her impatience
"Perhaps... it would not be wise to leave my focus unchecked. I will think about resting. Meanwhile-"
"I know, I know. I'll be there to help as soon as I can. You don't need to worry." The was another, final sigh.
"I told you not to interrupt me," Franziska said. He could almost sense defeat in her tone. The sound of being hung up on lead Edgeworth to look down at his phone, which had only just forced him out of the app. The slightest smirk crept its way onto his lips, though he would never admit it.
Before he could even start to think about it, Miles was already headed out his office door. Only at the last minute did he remember to turn back to switch off the lights. His secretary watched, with a curious gaze and a quirked eyebrow, as he worked through his key ring and crammed the matching one into the lock. With his phone clenched in his hand, he started down the hallway.
"Mr. Edgeworth, sir? I thought you were going to stay late today," the woman behind the desk called out to him. Concern flashed across her face. "Is everything alright? You seem rushed."
Miles realized how odd his behavior must have seemed to her; the sudden rushing out of his room _did_ seem conspicuous in hindsight. Rather messily, he attempted to compose himself. Thinking for a moment, he adjusted his glasses, placed both hands in his pockets, and started back towards the desk that stood just a few feet outside his office. With a careful gaze, she watched him approach.
"I was thinking of taking a few days off, actually. Maybe even as long as a few weeks. Forgive me if I seemed to be in a rush," he explained. "I've suddenly been thrust into a tight schedule." Miles was almost startled when she gave him an unexpected smile.
"For a moment, I was concerned. A tight schedule, you say? What for?"
"I'm..." Miles stopped himself from answering. He couldn't very well tell her that he was chasing one of the most elusive serial killers ever known for his holiday break.
_Come on, Edgeworth, think_!
"I'm taking a vacation. To Germany."
Not bad. The woman's face lit up, so it seemed to have gotten the job done.
"Wow, really? Sounds like a fun time! But I didn't at all take you for the vacation type, Mr. Edgeworth, considering how often I have to practically beg you to go home. What's the occasion?"
Oh, but his response had been _too_ good, and now she was asking questions he couldn't give easy answers to. Just brushing it off now would sound suspicious. His secretary picked up on his hesitation.
"Come on, I can keep a secret. Is it family, a friend you want to see? Oh no, I've got it!" A mischevious smile crossed her face. "It's an anniversary, isn't it? You're headed to Europe for love."
Miles blurted out the first answer he thought would get him out of the hole he had dug for himself. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think before he fell further into it.
"Yes." |
a9abb19227d548ec96a1f9d31389f165 | ['ef98a407b5c6454e93791231228c46a8'] |
Rehabilitates
**Author's Note:**
> After constant needling from my friend, I wrote this. Yay. It’s an AU where Kirigiri is Ultimate Despair.
> I’m also fucking up DR3 canon because it’s an AU, so Ultimate Despair were not brainwashed, but joined of their own free will. Also that the people who died in the 77th Class Mutual Killing don’t wake up, and the people who do are still despair-sane, so they get whisked off to therapy.
> More feels-
>
> Transferred from FF.net.
>
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Danganronpa.
Her nails scrape against the bottom of the stone basin as she cups her hands, drawing water. The reflection that was shown in the water’s surface distorts. It’s fitting, the way the water breaks apart her face, much like how she was destroyed herself.
Disgusted with her self-reflection, she closes her eyes and splashes the water onto her face, rubbing her fingers along her cheeks and over her lips. Flakes of dirt rub off onto her fingertips and drift into the water. With a slam of her hand, it swirls away into the stone sink, and she wipes her face off with a ragged towel. A raw scratch across her cheek flashes back at her in the cracked mirror.
She curls her lip at the image of herself in that mirror, and throws the rag on the ground.
There’s a flash behind her, and then a blonde girl is pulling on her hair.
“Let go,” she grinds between her teeth.
“Then stop leaving your shit all over the place,” the blonde shoots back, releasing her grip on Kirigiri with a flourish.
She turns away, a disgusted curl of her lip showing as she walks back to the twin beds behind her. The stiff mattress barely moves when she sits on it, and she runs her hands through her rugged and damp lavender hair.
Sonia sits in front of her, immersed in examining her chipped nails.
The metal door to their cell creaks open, and Kirigiri sighs.
“Kirigiri Kyouko.”
She doesn’t bother turning around, instead focusing on combing through her hair with her fingers. Only when Sonia taps her shoulder does she stop. Kirigiri looks up, meeting the eyes of the man who called her name, a familiar face.
“So you’ve fallen in with these commoners,” he snarls.
“Shut it, Togami,” she retorts, brushing past him. “Hurry up and take me to him.”
He huffs and brushes off his suit, taking quick steps down the hallway. Kirigiri follows a close few steps behind, and the guards around her cell close the door behind her.
Togami looks over his shoulder, a sneer on his face. “Stay back, trash.”
She grits her teeth, a sharp retort on the edge of her lips. He narrows his eyes, and she shuts up, slowing her steps. He turns away, an unpleasant look on his face as he climbs the stairs.
At the top of the stone stairs is a door that she’s grown too accustomed to seeing, and Togami opens it. A brown-haired man inside glances over his shoulder, smiling as Kirigiri steps forward and Togami reluctantly holds the door open for her.
“Good morning,” Naegi calls in a cheerful voice. Kirigiri just sits in the cushioned chair in front of him. Togami closes the door, and she’s just left in the room with Naegi.
“How have you been?” He asks cheerfully, bustling about the small room.
She shrugs purposefully, knowing that Naegi can’t see her. Silence descends over them, and he glances over his shoulder.
“So, you still don’t know?” He asks, the peppiness in his voice gone.
“Putting it like that gives a bad impression,” she says bluntly.
“Ah, sorry,” he smiles. “I just wanted to see if it was true.”
“Well, it is.”
Naegi nods, and pulls up a chair in front of her. “So? Did anything major happen recently?”
“No,” she responds, crossing her legs and glancing at her dirty nails.
“Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything. I’m here for a reason.”
“You’re here for a reason, but I’m not.”
He sighs, leaning forward. “Kirigiri-”
“Stop right there,” she interrupts, holding up a finger in front of him. “You give me this lecture every time I come here, and I am sick of this. I only come here because you will literally drag me here if I don’t, and I don’t intend to tell you anything.”
“But-”
“I’m not your classmate anymore. I am your worst enemy now, and you must treat me like your worst enemy.”
“Still! I can’t just ignore that we worked together!” He stands up suddenly. “You helped us when we were trapped in Hope’s Peak Academy, in that Mutual Killing Game! Even if you betrayed us after we joined the Future Foundation, I believed in you! I still have faith in you!”
She glances up at the man, a cold look in her eyes that clashes and battles with the fiery passion in his eyes. He sighs and sits back down, smiling at her.
“I’m sorry. I got a little… heated up there,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. “I just wanted you to know.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” she replies, crossing her arms. “Besides, I don’t care.”
“Kirigiri, why don’t you try?”
“Try what?”
“Telling me,” he says. “Tell me about what happened, or what’s happening. Don’t you want to try this at least once?”
She sighs. “Tell me again why I’m here.”
“To help you, and to get you to open up to others. Come on, Kirigiri. If you try it once, I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
“Fine,” she runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “Just this once… I’ll try.”
Naegi smiles and leans forward. “Alright. Go on.”
“I… I don’t know where to start, though.”
“Then, talk about what happened. During the Tragedy, after it, whenever.” | 17fcdda6aceb44d6a7c9ddba5cc3b76b | ['ef98a407b5c6454e93791231228c46a8'] | "It seems the Gerudo handle bows differently." She lowers her bow. "What things do you prioritize when training aerial archery?"
"Speed and precision. We must be able to shoot things from the sky, and be able to shoot things in the sky that may escape us," he explains, his expression turning incredulous as he continues to speak. "Do you not?"
"No. We don't use bows much, and when we do, they are often used for their ability to hit distant targets." She smiles at the shocked look on his face. "We may supply your shock arrows, but we don't care much for them, or the bows that fire them."
"Hm," Revali grumbles, and doesn't say anything else.
"Revali!" a familiar voice rings through the tense silence, and Revali groans. "Urbosa!"
"Daruk," Urbosa greets, waving them over. "You're early."
"I didn't know it'd only take around an hour to walk to Rito Village," Daruk replies. "The Rito sure are nice though. Hard to believe you're from a bunch like them, Revali!"
Revali crosses his wings and scoffs, an angry scowl on his face. Urbosa chuckles.
The rest of the afternoon, Revali watches Urbosa fire arrows at the line of targets, flying after arrows that zip off into the canyon behind them. Every time he comes back, he offers her a snippet of criticism and goes back to standing the corner of the Landing, plucking at the bowstring of his own bow.
That night, right before the Champions are supposed to meet, he disappears, and when Urbosa finds him, he's collapsed in the Flight Range, unconscious with his wing clasped tightly around the Great Eagle Bow and the burnt ends of Bomb Arrows riddled over targets strung up in almost impossible-to-hit places.
She carries him back, and doesn't say a thing when he wakes up beside the fireplace they had sat beside - just offers to get the children so he can shoot for them.
~ / . / . / ~
Urbosa sighs, resting her cheek against her hand as she lays a hand on the Thunder Helm, glancing out of Naboris's balcony on a laid-out blanket piled with cushions, a set up that she had used to help make Zelda comfortable in Naboris when they would rest during reparations. She has no doubt that it will see use again tonight, when the princess and other Champions meet her here.
The Divine Beast was perhaps not the best place to be making herself at home, but Naboris doesn't seem to have objections - after all, Rudania had nearly tossed Daruk into Death Mountain after they had brought one "rock roast", as they had so lovingly called it, on board.
Urbosa smiles. "Sarqso, Naboris."
She doesn't get an answer - after all, only Mipha can hear the voice of her Divine Beast - but Naboris trembles, as if saying, in response, "you're welcome".
Urbosa chuckles, taking her hand from her cheek and affectionately laying it on the floor beside her. Naboris trembles again, but seemingly not out of accepting her gratitude. She hears distant sparking, and Urbosa closes her eyes, surveying the surrounding area with her connection to the Divine Beast.
In the distance, she sees a figure making its way towards Naboris in mid-air - a Rito? There's only one person who would need to reach Naboris at a time like this who was also a Rito. She shuts off the lightning sparkling from the top of Naboris and waits.
As expected, he lands with a splendor and grace of a Rito warrior that has mastered the sky - as he so pridefully called it - wings out and wind blossoming at his feet as he lands just along the window, blocking Urbosa's sun.
"Urbosa - " Revali cuts himself off, blinking before speaking up again. "Goddess Hylia, am I even talking to the right person?"
Urbosa tilts her head, a coy smile on her face. "Is it the headdress?"
"Yes," he replies bluntly.
Urbosa fidgets with her headdress and then looks at him. "Why are you here?"
"Everyone is waiting for you in front of Gerudo Town," Revali informs as he hops down out of the sun and stands in front of her. "They made me come get you and your Divine Beast so they wouldn't have to walk all the way across the desert."
"It makes sense," Urbosa replies, and then closes her eyes. Tapping into the connection in her mind with Naboris, she directs the Divine Beast towards Gerudo Town. After a moment, Naboris trembles and begins to move. She opens her eyes to see Revali glancing at the object in her hands.
"What in the world are you holding?"
"Ah, yes. You've never seen it before." Urbosa pulls off her headdress, shaking her head. "That is the Thunder Helm, a Gerudo heirloom that has been passed down from generation to generation since the beginning of the Gerudo."
"Isn't this the sort of thing you should keep in Gerudo Town then?" Revali asks bluntly, sitting down next to her and reaching over to pick up the Thunder Helm.
Urbosa raises an eyebrow at him as she lays her headdress at her feet and ripping two bananas from the nearby bunch of them before offering him one. "What do you mean?"
"Well, wouldn't it be easier to protect something like that in a town surrounded with soldiers?" Revali replies, glancing at her as he peels the banana and takes a small bite.
"Not many people know of the Thunder Helm. I suppose the Yiga Clan is of concern lately… although we haven't had a theft attempt in years. So, no. It is easy to protect on my own." With deft fingers, she peels her own banana and continues. "After all, isn't your Great Eagle Bow much like our Thunder Helm?" |
4a105ad8ac684149ab8a37bdd4fece20 | ['efb48a6d472c423d8d17668516c1f2ec'] | No matter what, I love you
The two were close, hand in hand and laying down on the bed.
“Kisaragi.”
“Mm?”
“Can’t sleep.”
Kisaragi smiled to himself and flipped over so that he was facing his lover.
“Oh? And what would you like me to do about that?”
The light was dim, but even so he was able to see the flush in his face and the aversion of his gaze. He remained silent.
“I love you.”
Kisaragi was surprised, but he quickly smiled again at the realization of his words.
“That wasn’t exactly an answer to my question y’know,”
He leaned, reaching to gently brush his hand against Tsurugi’s hair. That was enough.
“But I’ll take it. I love you too.”
He knew Tsurugi was not exactly used to affection; he had been around him long enough to know this fact. He wanted to be the one to give him the affection he had never had 100 times more. His now lover had helped him so much, for so long and he wanted nothing more than to make it known how much he cared for him fully in return.
“I love you. I love you, Tsurugi Kinjou.” He repeated.
With that, a few tears fell from Tsurugi’s eyes. Was this true happiness?
“I love you more than you could ever know.” Was the reply that followed.
Maybe it was cheesy, but to them it was them sharing a moment they would never allow themselves to forget. Their foreheads touching, both smiling in happiness and passion, hand in hand they closed their eyes to sleep. | 0487981c2fe54c5f86d9135c1907d373 | ['efb48a6d472c423d8d17668516c1f2ec'] | Lazy Mornings & Breakfast
It was an early Saturday morning, and a sweet aroma filled the Braginski household. Alfred had woken up early and decided in the moment to cook something up.
“Babe, the food’s almost ready,” called Alfred from the kitchen.
A certain man putting on his clothes stood up and headed towards his destination.
“Hmm already? Coming...”
He walked down the stairs, welcomingly surprised by what awaited him.
“Oh?”
Ivan couldn’t help himself as he felt a warm smile crawl onto his face. Had Alfred sincerely planned this for him? He would like to think so...
“Mornin’ big guy!”
Alfred smiled gently at him which caused his heart to skip a beat in his chest.
“Fredka, what is this all about?”
“I- uh thought it would be nice to surprise you. Though I’m not the best cook.”
“Nonsense. I’m very grateful.”
Ivan slowly walked over to his lover, curious as to see what meal it was that had been producing such a sweet smell.
“Bacon and eggs, mmm..”
In a whim of affection, he wrapped his hands around the Americans waist, gently embracing him.
“Ah...I love you too.”
Ivan chuckled to himself as he visibly saw the other's cheeks heat up in his embrace.
After a minute or so, Alfred began to relax more in his arms and felt his muscles loosen.
“What's all this about? You seem very affectionate today, hmm?”
“....”
It was funny sometimes; they had only wed last year, but for them it seemed like they had known each other their whole lives. The Russian man leaned in closer and continued,
“I love you too, fredka. Forever and always I promise you that,”
Ivan finished proudly with his wording. Alfred nodded slowly, the flushing in his face not leaving, but he seemed to be at peace with his words. The breathing felt hot on his ear yet it had a certain peacefulness to it that he felt as if he was melting.
“You know I really should finish this, we were planning on going to the park soon weren’t we?”
The humming in his ear never faltered, and honestly, Alfred would’ve had his way staying like this forever.
“Mhm возлюбленная. Soon~” |
5b9a1753a6bc4b75a3ec20d9fbfa1795 | ['efd11c1bac2340119572c52d99ea0c16'] |
Nowhere Fast
**Author's Note:**
> Yeah, so I'm still alive! Just had a major... last year was not good. And so I return, with my favorite dorky scientist and equally dorky, emotionally spent radio host dealing with a reunion that I suspect is more exhausting than anything else right now.
>
> A note: I haven't made it explicit here but Carlos is autistic (I honestly think this is canon because I get him SO MUCH ALL THE TIME) and there's allusions to some insecurities he has there with other people. Might continue, in which case I'll probably mention it more explicitly when Cecil's actually awake, but for now I'm just ready to have something in semi-finished state again.
Cecil is sleeping.
Carlos doesn’t get tired often these days, the Desert Otherworld-slash-Dog Park maintains the same state he entered in for some reason and that includes greatly increased stamina. But he likes blanket nests, they’re warm and provide pressure and comfort when he gets stressed. So when he started making a definite base in the settlement, he made sure to take some discarded blankets and have a distinct space for nesting. It’s been his primary place to call Cecil (or at least, usually he goes there while calling Cecil,) and since Cecil came to visit it’s been his favorite spot.
Cecil is sleeping because he is Not Fine.
It hurts Carlos to admit this, because his boyfriend is so resilient he managed to survive a corporacratic dystopian regime for nine months as its primary target-slash-unwilling spokesman and he genuinely thought Cecil could survive anything, but Cecil is most assuredly not fine. The rings and wrinkles around his eyes have intensified in the last year, he’s lost weight and probably muscle, his hair has been greyish even during their vacation when it made several attempts at its usual fluorescents and pastels, and now he has two bloodstained cotton swabs taped over his ears from removing the silverfish. His cane is sitting by the doorway, which Carlos at least knew about from Tumblr (Cecil posted pictures of it over the summer, after he and Janice bedazzled it once it became clear he would need one for day-to-day use.) The StrexPet® incident left Cecil with a nasty injury on his leg and related joint pain that hadn’t cleared by Parade Day and his subsequent imprisonment, and while Carlos doesn’t know the details of what Strex did to him it appears to have permanently worsened Cecil’s chronic pain issues. Carlos sighs and pulls the blankets closer around Cecil, who’s snuggled into his chest and holding him as tight as possible.
And that gives Carlos a deep, stinging, utterly gaping sense of guilt because he could have prevented this latest issue. Among the things Cecil had brought from the apartment were a bunch of cushions and pillows and blankets, which had given Carlos the idea that they could get the citizens on the roller coaster off until a proper break system was designed by having them jump to a padded safe zone, using sheets to break the fall. So he ran off and completely failed to notice Cecil was still hurting and kind of in shock from actually deciding to leave Night Vale – well, Night Vale proper, Carlos thinks, since they are in the Dog Park but Cecil thinks of it as somewhere else entirely – and came back to Cecil curled up into a ball and sobbing on the floor. When he asked what was wrong, Cecil just clung to him and whimpered for several minutes before he said that he’d been scared to be alone and what if he lost control again to whoever owns Lot 37 and he left Night Vale, he wanted to not live there anymore, and then it turned into another long sob and Carlos had had to reconstruct the blanket nest around them while trying to comfort his boyfriend as best as possible before Cecil fell asleep, asking Carlos to still be there when he woke up.
Carlos feels very, very guilty about that.
The one consolation is that Cecil is, for the time being, out of Night Vale. Not that Carlos has anything against Night Vale, really, apart from the fact that the constant interplay of what citizens must know and what they are not formally allowed to acknowledge knowing leads to a kind of coded nonverbal doublespeak Carlos can’t ever read, and that he doesn’t really have any friends there, and the Sheriff’s Secret Police once confiscated a jar of jelly while he was Scienceing it with no explanation or apology, and the tear gas, and the whole thing where most of the town is apparently secretly a secret agent, and of course the fact that his boyfriend was legally sold to an unknown bidder and has been used without his consciousness and despite saying several times he didn’t want to be forced to do this and put in danger and who knows what else…
Okay, maybe he DOES have some things against Night Vale. But it’s Cecil’s home and he tries so, so hard to like it, and it is EXTREMELY scientifically interesting and the cries of “Interloper!” are actually not that bad if you take them as a town greeting, he’s been called far worse, and this way if he gets shunned he knows it’s nothing about his personal failings at, well, being a person. And Cecil has friends that he’s SURE he’d get along with very well now that they’re all back and Cecil isn’t under Strex control and trying to limit targets, or totally emotionally spent from the effort of living, so there must be nice people there! And the pizza is good albeit weird-tasting but it means he doesn’t forget to eat as often as he did before, so that’s good too!
It’s just… Cecil’s been legally sold to an unknown bidder and that sale was still considered valid even after Strexcorp fell. Cecil has been used without his consciousness or consent, and even vocally against his consent. And no one’s helped him. The Sheriff’s Secret Police used tear gas on a park full of people for no apparent reason and Cecil is simply used to that. And so Carlos feels fairly sure that Night Vale is not a place Cecil should be in right now. Or depending on how things are, possibly ever. If he wants to go back, they can work with that, they were working with it for the last year. It’s just hard, knowing that your boyfriend is in pain and people are hurting him and not being able to do anything about it because Night Vale doesn’t want you anywhere but in the forbidden Dog Park.
Which is really cool, of course, and he’s had so much science to study, but… Cecil has needed so much cuddling in the last year and he hasn’t been able to do anything because even if those doors were still around they wouldn’t open for him. And now Cecil’s hurting so much and the cuddles aren’t enough and he doesn’t know how to help, he’s a Scientist not a psychologist or someone with interpersonal competence, and just… Cecil doesn’t really like Night Vale right now. Night Vale is hurting Cecil. Carlos has no particular attachment to Night Vale unconnected to Cecil and is living somewhere else. No problems, right?
Only Cecil’s so upset. And Carlos heard that Best Of broadcast, at least the parts that didn’t make Cecil start quivering and ask to go somewhere else anywhere else and shout that that never happened, he doesn’t remember that, so he knows Cecil has potentially been in Night Vale for a very, very long time. He guesses that’d hurt, leaving somewhere you felt like you belonged. He doesn’t really know, himself, he’s never really felt like he belonged anywhere except when he’s with Cecil. But Cecil, Cecil doesn’t just belong in Night Vale, his love for it exudes from him even when they’re just sitting at the breakfast table eating wheat-free toaster waffles before the coffee’s kicked in yet. Carlos has heard him murmur town factoids in his sleep. And so Carlos guesses it would feel weird, and scary and intensely wrong for Cecil to leave, to even think of leaving like this, but…
He didn’t think Cecil’s mental state was this fragile, is all. He cuddles in closer again, because he promised and Cecil won’t let go of him and anyway he wouldn’t dream of leaving after that, and tries to will himself to get some rest because he’ll probably need it once Cecil wakes up. They’re going to need to Talk about things.
And he does sleep better with Cecil next to him, after all. He curls up around his boyfriend so there’s no chance of brainwashed leaving without waking him up in the process and settles into an uneasy doze. | 683a8994c240401ca1d6bde2e04ce2c3 | ['efd11c1bac2340119572c52d99ea0c16'] |
Even If You Don't Have Anywhere To Go
Cecil comes home to find Carlos sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest. It hasn't been a good day for either of them, it seems. Cecil sits down just past the edge of his lab coat, close enough Carlos can flop onto him for cuddles if he wants but still be comfortable if he doesn't.
Carlos doesn't, just pulls his head up from between his knees and gives a little nod. It's a quiet night, it seems, so Cecil drapes a blanket over his shoulders. Carlos nods and pulls it over his head.
When Carlos speaks again, it's after Cecil's written about two hundred words of his next slashfic. "Do you think that last Kevin... do you think he's sorry?"
"About what? Strex? The desert otherworld?" Carlos nods again, pulling his face out from under the blanket. He hasn't really talked much about why he decided to leave there, beyond it being a really long story and that if Cecil really wanted to leave Night Vale they could find somewhere else to live. Cecil hasn't tried to push it. "I... He certainly was sorry about what Strex did."
"To him," Carlos says quietly.
"... Do you want to talk about what happened?" Carlos is quiet and pulls the blanket around his knees. "It's okay if you don't, just... I want to know... Did he hurt you? It's not your fault, I don't blame you if he did-"
Carlos shakes his head, and then presses his hands into his hair for comfort. "He made me feel... less. Not hurt, really, just... less." Cecil is about to speak up, but Carlos decides to start talking again. "I thought... I was so excited when I started making friends there. I thought I was finally fitting in with other people, I wouldn't have to depend on just you anymore. I thought they listened."
Cecil makes sure his hands are firmly in his lap. Okay, good. Carlos is definitely in one of those moods where he doesn't want to be touched, as much as Cecil wants to hug him and tell him it's all right and pet his hair... but it won't help Carlos right now, not when he's feeling like this.
"People are hard to understand," he says finally.
"I know. I mean, that's basically my whole life, right? But I thought I was finally getting things and instead I just hurt you."
"You didn't, Carlos."
"I could have gone home. You were hurting and upset and I could have gone home and instead I didn't." He shakes his head harder for a few seconds. "And the worst part is I don't even have anything to show for it."
"That's okay. You don't need to have results, you don't need anything. I'm just happy to have you back." Which is true, he's said it every night since the opera house, but it never seems to sink in for Carlos.
"I just... You were so sad, and I don't feel... I spent my whole year wrong." He pulls the blanket up around him.
"So you did. So what? I seem to recall someone likes telling me not to beat myself up for honest mistakes." He smiles at Carlos, who bunches his blanket further. "It took you most of that year just to figure out where you were and how to travel between the two worlds. It's not your fault you got stranded there in the first place, and once you did you made the best of it. And it helped me, hearing you so excited about whatever you'd found that day. It helped to know that even if I was in pain and danger and stressed beyond measure, you weren't. You were safe. I needed that escape, sometimes."
"I could have looked harder. I just kept forgetting-"
"Which I would consider holding against you were it not for the fact that you also forget to eat sometimes." Cecil says, hands on his hips. "If you could just stop being interested in every vaguely scientifically interesting thing you see, you wouldn't be the Carlos I love."
"I wish I could have been there for you, all the same." He sighs. "I really hated Night Vale sometimes this last year. It just... I don't mind if I get in trouble, I'm a Scientist and an Outsider, but you belong in Night Vale. You love Night Vale. It shouldn't hurt you like that." Cecil can't think of a response to that. "So then when I found the others, and I realized we were in the Dog Park and it wasn't just me being rejected, there were all these people who weren't good enough... I felt angry. And then suddenly there was this guy asking me, if Night Vale didn't want me and I didn't want it, why should I keep trying to go back?"
"That was Kevin?"
"That was Kevin," Carlos says with a nod. "And he sounded so nice. And I thought, 'okay, so his shirt's dirty, so's everyone's here. We're in a desert, things don't get cleaned a lot.' And I mean, of course they wouldn't be blood stains, most of the masked army had barbecue sauce stains too and I'd seen those being made, I knew they weren't blood, and... he seemed so nice." Carlos's voice has the same broken edge to it he had when he asked earlier if Kevin was sorry.
"There are a lot of horrible people that seem nice but aren't. Just like there are a lot of wonderful people who aren't sure who to trust and sometimes choose wrong. That's not any fault of theirs." |
cc9cb54fc5af4f938cbd1892813600d1 | ['efdc1ba2bb744dabb1607e1786c55696'] | "What good would it do? He would know it was you who-" Camille started but got interrupted, "he thinks I'm dead" Izzy stated. "He thinks that I'm dead because he doesn't trust any downworlder. He hasn't even bothered to look for me. He probably thinks that Simon has killed me by now" the shadowhunter explained and looked at her boyfriend apologizing for what she had just said. Several years back when Izzy had first met Simon he was still human but after a while, someone had turned him into a vampire. That was when her eyes had opened and she had left her family and the Circle. She begged the Clave to take her circle rune away so they couldn't track her down. She managed to make a deal with the Clave to report the things that happened in New York which allowed her to live in the city with Simon.
"Camille I know my brother. Please, you have to tell Magnus because if he really is the target..." "he is good as dead. I am aware" Camille interrupted her and seemed like she was bored which made Izzy hold her breath in distress while Simon couldn't do the same because he didn't breath but was just as shocked as Izzy. "Come on Camille! He is your husband! How can you be so heartless?" Simon complained and glared at her. He knew that if he still had been a regular mundane his heartbeat would have started to get quicker from distress and anxiety. "Oh, you are so sweet. You think I married him because I'm in love with him" Camille's voice was smooth yet cold, it was like a siren would have been singing. It could lure anyone or anything to trust her every word. She got up from her throne-like armchair and practically floated to Simon. Her fingers caressed his jawline seductively and gracefully as she looked at him. "I simply married him because of money and power. Also maybe because of the sex" she said with a self-satisfied smirk and left the room leaving them behind baffled
After Simon had gathered himself from his shock, he looked at his girlfriend who was still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. "We have to warn Magnus. If it's true what you said about your brother. His only chance of surviving is if he knows beforehand about him being a possible target" she just nodded with a sad smile agreeing with what Simon said. If Alec really was in New York they all were in danger, she knew that better than anyone. She had trained with her brother, seen him becoming the Circle's best archer. The only reason why the Circle hasn't got into the DuMort yet was because of Magnus and his protective wards. Magnus was one of the most warm-hearted and caring people Izzy knew and it hurt her deeply to know how his wife doesn't care if he died or not. She couldn't let her cold-hearted brother get to Magnus. She just couldn't think of how she could prevent it.
"What if you send a fire message to your brother and tell him to get lost?" Simon suggested as they got to their room in the DuMort. Izzy crashed down on the bed burying her face on her palms in frustration. "That wouldn't work. He would think it's someone just messing with him. Knowing my brother he probably thinks I died weeks after I ran away" she explained with a quiet voice staring at her runes. "Then we have to go talk to Magnus. Hope we can find him soon enough" Simon sat next to Izzy and pulled her against his side comforting her by rubbing her arm softly as she laid her head on his shoulder.
3. Chapter 3
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> If you feel like I'm missing any tag let me know. Especially if there is something I should warn other readers about
Magnus pov [next day]
I felt fangs sinking into my neck as I was kissing Camille's neck. "Babe.. why? I have told you not to" I complained but my attempt to sound serious was doomed when a dirty moan escaped from my throat betraying me once again. "Maags... you know how much better our sex feels when I can taste your blood" she purred on my ear which worked like a drug. She was master of pulling my strings and making me agree on whatever she wanted. Her long nails were sinking on my lower back as I started thrusting harder. "Oh god Magnus" she whined in pleasure beneath me. I felt her fangs again in my shoulder making me groan. It hurt but it's not like I didn't love rough sex. I would have done anything to make her happy and satisfied.
-
I hopped out of the shower and tied a towel around my waist. Usually, I didn't stay at hotel DuMort but Camille had wanted us to stay there for a while and I wasn't going to even ask why. It was her empire so I just assumed it was because of that and I was happy that she wanted me to stay there. The main color in the suite was black but there was a lot of gold details like decorations pillows or flower vases. I had stayed there for a few days now but I usually spend my time in my loft where Camille also enjoyed being. Even if the hotel was her Empire she didn't enjoy staying there too often. | ef04c25b519040ff8e99a70183c9c0a8 | ['efdc1ba2bb744dabb1607e1786c55696'] | Fake Smile
**Author's Note:**
> I wrote this like 3-4 years ago on wattpad...
(Y/n = your name)
_Sigh_. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her closer while cameras flashed. I put on a fake smile and act like I was happy. In reality, I didn't feel anything. My happiness was gone. Another half of me was gone. There used to be two things that made me happy, excited and want to live, but now another one of them is gone. While I'm acting all lovey dovie with Arzaylea someone is making the love of my life feel special and being there for her which I couldn't. I wish I could go back in time and put her first. Sigh. But I can't. I place a kiss on Arzayleas kiss while we enter the bar.
"Luke..?" I turn my head to the direction where the voice came. It was Michael. He had his eyes full of worry and empathy. Boys knew that I wasn't happy. I just showed a big fake smile on Michael and turned away. Once we got into VIP-section I went to order drinks.
"Luke you can't keep this act going on! We are worried and so are fans!" I hear Michael's voice right on my ear. Michael knew very well how much fans means to me so of course, he used it to get me talking.
"Michael fans are the reason why I'm doing this act. Plus what if I really like her?" I glance Arzaylea who was taking her slutty selfies with her friends. _Gosh, I feel disgusted. Why she has to be so self-centered?_
"Bull shit! Fans HATES her! And you know that!" Michael started sounding angry. _Sigh_.
"Michael I can never get her back. No matter how much I want to. Right now she is probably in someone else's arms and feeling loved" I look down into the bottom of my now empty glass. No idea when I had even got the first glass yet when I managed to drink it. I lift my finger to order another one.
"Luk-" before Michael can even start his argument I feel arms in my waist.
"Hiii sweetie. You gonna come to the table?" Arzaylea put her head on my shoulder which is easier now since I'm sitting.
"Yeah. Was just about to" I told her and kiss her passionately. Michael just rolls his eyes and goes ahead to sit on our table and put his arm around some girls shoulder. She gave him genuine smile and placed her head into his shoulder. _Ha... When Michael got the girl? And why she seems so familiar._
I sit next to Arzaylea and place my arm on her waist and pulled her a bit closer.
"What are you staring at Luke?" Michael's girl spat out shocking me.
"Sorry didn't mean to. Just why you look so familiar?" I ask as nicely as possible. She was about to say something but Michaels leans and whispers something to her that makes her change her mind.
"Doesn't matter" what is Michael hiding. Then it hit me. And it hits hard. She is the best friend of the love of my life. I start to feel anxious.
"Amm... Excuse me I gotta go for a sec" I get up and hear confused comments.
"Luke!" She yells behind me and I stop. She is her best friend. She is my only chance to get her back. Or even better.
"I guess you remembered me," she asks when she gets next to me and nob. She grabs my hand and leads me outside.
"Why are we here?" We now were in VIP-patio which was covered from paps and other unwelcomed things.
"Luke. Y/n misses you. She truly does" I look straight into her eyes. She isn't lying.
"How long you and Mic-"
"Luke that doesn't matter. Michael told me that you are hurt and he knows why and she is hurt too. Call her" she holds up her phone and I take it but won't do anything. I can't. I shake my head and give the phone back.
"I can't. I failed her. She deserves so much. She deserves a boyfriend that can be there for her when she needs it" I sigh and look at my shoes.
"But you are all I wanted. I know that you did everything you could" With wide eyes I turn around to face her.
"Y/n" I barely whisper. She is as beautiful as I remembered. I ran to her and hug her tightly.
"I won't let you go ever again. I promise!"
"Good" she smiles and kisses me. It wasn't passionate but it was full of emotions. Just like I remembered.
_Maybe I can be happy again_. |
1593bd75053e403f9e77eb786eb70942 | ['efde0f5a4c7a49c3bdd36b1041e23a2f'] | “Hindi ko maibibigay ang buhay na nararapat sa iyong pamilya. Ang kaya ko lamang ibigay ay ang ngayon,” Ibarra tells him, lips brushing against his skin with every syllable, “Ang kaya ko lamang ay mahalin ka.”
Elias would like to tell him that he has no idea what he’s doing. _Kung may pag-asa pa na tayo’y mabuhay, kailangan na nating—_
“Tigilan mo,” he moves his mouth behind Elias, hand on the back of his head and lips between the nape of his neck and his ear, “ang pagbibigay sa’kin ng ilaw habang ikaw ay nasa dilim.”
Elias holds his composure like it’s keeping him alive. His voice is low as he mutters, “Wala akong kayang ibigay sa iyo, Ginoo, ni araw o buwan, kahit bituin man lang.”
Ibarra looks up at him, removing his head from the man’s collarbone. “Ang kailangan ko lang ay ikaw. Kailangan ko lang nang dahilang mabuhay pa— Elias.” There’s a brand of neediness that clings to the man’s words. (Ibarra chooses not to admit that he’s privileged, and yearns for the ability to empathize with the people he says to be fighting for— to empathize with his friend who has every right to be fighting for something, while he looks like a joke trying to.)
Elias wants so much to discard the thoughts of civil guards, and the government, and the church, and the whole country. He goes as far as grabbing the illustrado, in all his nobility and pride, by his necktie and pulling him up towards his mouth. “Ginoong Ibarra—”
There’s a rough transition as the bangkero flips them over, and for a split second, Elias catches Ibarra’s lips by his teeth. Something snaps inside him. “Ginoo,” he says, “kailangan na nating umalis.” He stands, notices the way his blood does not cool down but makes no comment.
(Perhaps he was foolish to think Crisostomo Ibarra — stubborn, relentless, _Crisostomo Ibarra_ — would leave it at that.)
The water they float on is not any clearer than it was minutes ago.
There is a needy mewl escaping Ibarra’s throat. Elias can only look away, except maybe he doesn’t want to.
The illustrado has beads of sweat trailing down his forehead. There is dampness on his crotch, fingers ghosting over himself as his back arches. His head is thrown back, shirt riding up halfway through his stomach. There is no lubrication in all of this, just friction— just the slack in his jaw, and the filthy thrust of his body, and the filthier moans that the bite on his tie does little to subdue.
“Ginoo, makikita nila tayo.”
“Mmngh…”
“Ginoo,” Elias tries again, keeping his vision on the water, on anything but Ibarra. “Ginoo, hindi nila tayo pwedeng makita—”
“ _Wala akong ginagawang masama_.”
(There’s an epiphany in Elias. _May mali ba tayong ginagawa?_ rings in his head from the first time the illustrado had said it earlier. This isn’t about the people anymore— This was about Ibarra— Crisostomo Ibarra being stripped of everything because Crisostomo Ibarra is an enemy of the church in more ways than one. Ibarra can’t fight for a country if he can’t be Crisostomo Ibarra the way he’s supposed to be.)
“Ginoo.”
“Nghh…” Ibarra sounds, like the brief coherency in his words was nothing. His hips move in the same upward curve.
Elias does not know what to do.
He grumbles under his breath. Ibarra’s back is arched off the wooden boards with fingers rough against himself as his throat claws out a sound the bangkero did not know he could make— It renders Elias nearly frozen and useless.
(Perhaps Elias is not too level-headed after all. This man, an _Eibarramendia_ of all people— Crisostomo Ibarra—)
There's a loud sound emanating from the man's mouth, like flames bursting into ashes. There is a string of words that follows, but Elias dismisses it as babble. (Truthfully, the friction between his legs is not as uncertain as he is.)
"Elias, Dios mio, hawakan mo ako."
Perhaps that’s all it took. The bangkero’s mouth dries for a second, but his body stumbles into the illustrado’s touch, and he can die happy in that moment, and he probably will. Everything goes still between them, but the water just keeps swaying underneath it all.
There is a curl of fingers inside of Ibarra, and to both men involved, it feels so extraordinary, and yet natural— (It feels like societal defiance, like this is a political statement against the government, like this will give them their country back.)
Elias swallows through the incoherencies flying out of his educated lips, muffles his mouth like he’s supposed to.
“Anong ginagawa niyo sa akin, Ginoo?” he whispers against the man’s skin. He has no control over his hand, moving in and out in twisting motions. Elias lets his free hand interlock with his hair. He pulls, just slightly, but it seems to be enough to send the illustrado over the edge as the bangkero keeps his fingers moving.
_
Gunshots. Crashing, crackling sounds_.
“Huwag mong kunin ang aking pagmamahal para sa aking bayan, ang pagmamahal na buong-diwa kong inaalay dito,” Elias warns. “Handang-handa kang tanggapin ng puso ko. Ngunit ito. Itong bayang ito ay nangangailangan ng pag-ibig na higit pa sa ating dalawa. Huwag ngayon, Ginoo.”
( _Ang kaya ko lamang ibigay ay ang ngayon_ , Elias remembers him saying. He breathes, and breathes, and breathes— until he reaches half a conclusion, open assurance that it’ll be okay. _Ang oras ay isang konsepto lamang_.)
“Elias,” Ibarra persists, “kailangan kita.”
“Kailangan ka ng Pilipinas.”
“Kinakaya ba ng iyong utak, ng iyong puso, ang mga salitang iyong pinagsasabi? Ang bawat hiwalay ng iyong labi ay may handog na kababalaghan.”
“Ginoong Ibarra.”
“Tawagin mo akong Crisostomo, Elias.”
“Ginoong Ibarra, kailangan na nating gumalaw.”
“Hayaan mo silang mahanap tayo,” the man in question growls. “Hindi kita pababayaang mamatay nang ganito.”
“Hindi kita pababayaang mamatay,” Elias counters.
“Kahit kailan nalang ba’t hindi tayo magkakasundo?”
“Hindi ko sinasadya, Ginoo.”
“Crisostomo,” he corrects. | 69b17b62fb47458490c0524bf80fa031 | ['efde0f5a4c7a49c3bdd36b1041e23a2f'] | He laughs weakly. "That obvious?"
It seems, sometimes, the universe has its twisted ways to show us all that we have to be grateful for in this life. Rest assured, things are going exactly how they are supposed to.
15. obnoxious (juanito/placido)
Placido Penitente has never been late to school.
This, actually, is kind of an understatement. Most days, he's the first one in his classroom and he takes pride in that.
He's not a morning person, really. But, he would much rather be early as opposed to getting to school only to be overwhelmed by a room full of loud teenagers that probably have yet to do their homework. He has the advantage of a little peace and quiet, a lack of the urge to burn the school down out of sheer resentment.
Today, when he walks into the room a little before six in the morning, Juanito Pelaez is already on the seat behind his seatmate. Though, the other boy has his head on his desk and was likely asleep so Placido thinks it to be fine. (Besides, _Juanito Pelaez_ actually showing some sort of responsibility as a student— It's a rare moment.)
He shrugs it off, trying not to let his thoughts dwell on it. He puts his bag down, gets in his chair, and takes out his new book so he can begin to read the time away. He glances at his watch. (People would begin to arrive in around half an hour or so, and he keeps this in mind as he takes advantage of the silence.)
Seven minutes into his reading, he hears a few muffled sounds and breathing that he can only describe as obnoxious. It's too early, so he lets it pass.
Except it goes on for five more minutes, _continuously_.
"Do you have to breathe so loudly?" he hisses lowly. He resumes his reading with grit teeth, not at all a fan of talking so early in the morning.
The breathing carries on.
Ten minutes in, and Placido puts his book down. He feels his stomach drop as he curses himself internally. "Juanito?" The obnoxious, heavy breathing has shifted into gasping for air. He looks over his shoulder, and the other boy now has his knees to his chest and shoes on the chair. (A pang of guilt builds up in his gut. Perhaps he was wrong about snapping.) "Juanito, are you okay?"
A grunt— This is the only response he gets. It seems the boy barely has the energy to look him in the eye.
" _Juanito_."
This time, the boy does look up. His eyes resemble glass (and that might just explain how shattered he looks).
He keeps his eyes wide open, like the way his mouth opens greedily for air.
Juanito's shoulders shake visibly, and the force reaches the quiver in his lips. " _M'okay_ ," but it comes out slightly slurred and out of breath. There's a pounding in his skull, and against his ribcage, and— and everything hurts, and there's an overwhelming feeling of slipping away. He can feel the way his skin gets all flushed, tries to focus on that instead of how pathetic he can be.
Placido fights back the urge to argue, though he wants to say something— ask if he truly is okay, apologize for getting irritable. Instead, he stands up from his place, and bends down in front of Juanito's chair. The other boy's breathing is still shallow, but it's less panicked and he thinks that to be a good sign. Juanito's eyes are barely opened now, and he can see that it's an arduous task for the boy to keep them that way.
" _Placido_ ," he rasps out, " _please_."
Placido gives him a helpless sort of expression, not knowing what he needs. "I'm sorry, I don't— I..." He racks his brain, turns it upside down, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do. He heaves out a defeated sigh, watches the boy struggle to catch his breath. "I... We've got about ten minutes before people start to come in. I don't think you even want me seeing you like this, but here I am. Do you want me to take you somewhere else, or I just—" he stammers. "I'm sorry, I'm not much help, am I? Just, what do you—"
" _M'okay_."
They look at each other for entirely too long.
Juanito tries really hard to subdue the trembling in his body, but Placido sees right through. Juanito doesn't need him to worry— He's just having a particularly bad day, or at least that's what he tells himself. Just like he tells himself that his heart is just beating too fast, or he's just taking too little or too much air at a time. It's nothing, he also tells himself.
Placido takes the bottle of water at the foot of the chair, places it on the armchair worldlessly.
The other boy stares, still breathing in all the wrong ways.
The door creaks open, snapping both of them out of the little bubble they seem to have created. Placido looks to the door, waves slightly to the girl that had walked in. Juanito, on the other hand, continues to look at him.
Placido moves to stand up, uses Juanito's armchair to pull his weight up.
Juanito places his hand on the other boy's, who is halfway up on his feet.
Their eyes meet.
Juanito lets his facade click back into place as they both hear a bag drop to the floor. He uncurls himself from a ball. A smirk crawls its way onto his lips, and it almost distracts Placido from the paleness on his skin or the hollow in his eyes. There is a crack in his mask, but you'd only see it if you looked hard enough— or, if you knew exactly where to look. "I always knew you cared."
16. pens (basilio/isagani) |
ca090c157482471db56461e9a6e3d68d | ['eff2897a0a9e4021aa287d2623237e98'] | He puts his current scalpel of choice at the bottom of one of his dressers, covering it with clothes as to avoid any accidental discovery, and he pulls socks out of another for an addition to his mock insurance policy. While he knows no one will burst into his room and see the wounds he’s inflicted, Midoriya would rather cover all his bases and rid any traces of his covert operations; better safe than sorry, as they’d say.
Though, it probably doesn’t apply so well when one’s hurting themselves to cope.
He, again, tries not to dwell on it as he tosses the napkin towards the trash, misses, then puts it in properly. Following the same caution as previous, he takes a few more tissues and crumples them up, making sure that the red dyed fabric can no longer be seen. If someone were to go through his trash, he’d be found out, but anyone doing that was far more suspicious than him doing this (at least, he justified it to be), and figured this was safe enough.
He takes a few pieces of paper from his backpack that he doesn’t need anymore and stuffs them on top of the bin, just incase.
After covering all but one of his tracks, he pulls socks on (black, not white as he normally would), flicks the light off, and crawls into bed. Midoriya sets the alarm on his phone to wake him up for classes at 7:30- his phone reports to him it’s set for a little less than three hours from the moment, and he groans as he sets it aside to charge.
It’s been another sleepless night, with no one to blame but himself and his own idiotic, overactive mind. _Whatever,_ he thinks to himself, sighing as he turns over in his bed. _Three hours is better than nothing,_ is what he reasons, knowing full well he’ll stay awake for at least an hour more, unable to rest as his apathy fades and emotions come back in waves.
_’At least it was cathartic,’_ he tells himself, while wondering if it’s truly the only option and the right thing to do in times like this.
~~He knows it’s not.~~
_’At least it was the last time,’_ he supplies, comforting himself as if stained socks and shredded skin under bitten down fingernails were nothing to be ashamed of.
~~He knows that they are, and he knows he’s only lying to himself.~~
**Author's Note:**
> Lycoris Radiata is the scientific name for Red Spider Lily (which is what flower Izuku invisions at the beginning of the fic).
> Red spider lilies can symbolize death, as well as abandonment, lost memory, and never crossing paths with an individual again (in legends, departing from a lover forever)- feel free to interpret Izuku's issues and the symbolism associated as you see fit. Thank you for reading.
>
> P.S. I'm sorry I'm always doing this to you, Deku. I really am. ~~Kind of.~~ | feabe4684145429c908df3d0d5ffc675 | ['eff2897a0a9e4021aa287d2623237e98'] |
Silence
**Author's Note:**
> Extremely self indulgent piece that I’ve written while laying on my floor. 100% me projecting onto Bakugou. Please excuse grammar issues, etc., and enjoy.
There is nothing worse than a quiet apartment and muffled outside world for Bakugou Katsuki. Maybe, for other people, they would take it in stride- silence could be calming for some, after all- but what good was the quiet for him?
The noise served as a distraction.
The loudness of the city, passing cars and wailing sirens, eased him off the inner turmoil that had it’s volume turned up just as loud, if not louder. Honking cars and its yelling passengers drowned out the never ending, insignificant fears that crowded his head, and the general, daily life that existed around him kept the nausea from swallowing him whole. With the neighborhoods quiet and his own apartment complex somehow sound asleep at nine forty seven in the afternoon, though, there was a sense of something ominous settled over him.
Not ominous in a particularly malicious way, but in a way that he might’ve been able to ward off if he flipped to a television program he liked or zoned in to an infomercial- but he never really watched television when he lived at home, so he didn’t bother to purchase his own when he moved. When he had packed up and left home, he didn’t bother with it- why would he buy the set and pay for a cable service if he knew he wasn’t going to need it? In hindsight, it would have been nice to have in moments like these, but there are alternatives in any other situation regardless.
For example, there were always shows on Netflix and Hulu and a trillion other streaming options, but finding something entertaining to watch was always agonizing. Even if infinite stories with the same circulated popular actors were at his fingertips, it was hardly worth it now. He’d watched anything that had remotely interested him two or three times already anyways, and stressing himself out by searching for a new show was not an option at this point.
Even turning to Youtube would be hard; subscriptions were something he usually watched right away, and searching for new content was just as hard if not harder than finding new shows on aforementioned streaming services. Nothing seemed funny or entertaining anymore on the video sharing site anyway, and it felt like he only watched who he’d subscribed to out of loyalty, not for the actually videos.
If he did find anything even remotely funny in the past, that had been viewed at least triple the times of the shows he saved to his list on Netflix. Playlists of certain gaming channels were run through as he did work among other things, and unrelated lifestyle videos he found cool once played during the time he spent cooking or just sitting staring at a screen. They weren’t interesting anymore, and he couldn’t appreciate any jokes nor heed advice; Bakugou already knew what was going to happen in them, but that didn’t stop him from having miles worth of over seen playlists. He needed something to curve his ever present boredom, of course; but what sometimes kept it at bay wasn’t the same solution he could use for his current situation.
Music could have been a distraction to the silence if he could have paid attention to it- but the feeling that it would be wrong, that everything he might put on wasn’t the track he needed to listen to turned him off to that idea. Too often did his back hurt solely out of stress for things not being quite right (not limited to music, sadly applying to his entire life), and he didn’t want to test those waters when the eerie lack of noise had already made him anxious enough to be nauseous.
He’d still put something on anyways, though, if it wasn’t up to him; television would have been great because it would distract him and allow him to sit back with its self decided programming, but streams of playlist of ‘study’ and ‘chill’ music would do for now. At least, they would have to- it wouldn’t quite ease his tension, but at least take him a step towards it.
Silence isn’t exactly rare for him in the sense of solitude, but when the entire world stops and leaves him with nothing but his too loud heartbeat and suddenly too heavy breathing, it’s an issue. Being self aware is a curse, and if there’s one thing worse than hearing other people chewing, tapping, breathing or otherwise, it’s having to witness himself do those things with his own two ears.
Every self help article he’s ever read on anxiety or other countless has failed him, just like every google search he’s sent that read ‘how to stop being bored.” They all suggest things he can’t do when he needs solutions then and there, such as ‘see a therapist’ for the first or ‘abandon daily life, sell all [his] possessions, and go on a life changing adventure!’ for the second.
Both also suggest he talk to family and friends; he would if he could stomach the former (or they could stomach him), and he would if he had any of the latter.
He’s decided, after years of outbursts and hurting other people by _accident_ , and then sometimes on purpose, that people are not his forte. Bakugou Katsuki has known he is not a nice person for a long time, first from the time he found joy in his own classmates pain at the tender age of five and in reaffirmed situations such as feeling no guilt at rejecting people or the dull hum that settles in as he elects not to help people and instead focus on himself.
He’s not a people person, and though he wishes he could be, it’s better he drives away anyone interested in him (whether as a friend or more) before either of them gets hurt. ~~No comment on not helping people- if they can’t get bread off the top aisle by themselves, it’s their own problem. He’s looking out for his best interest, is what he reasons to himself, even though his heart quickens as he picks up his pace to pass by any opportune to assist somebody.~~
The music that radiates from his laptop and plays through his apartment does little more than muffle the gears turning- his throat still feels like it’s clogging up, and he’s sweating more than he ever should outside of a gym. His panic is muted, but there’s more to it than he even wants to face- it’s the worst, he’s decided long ago, to not know specifically why he feels how he does. His emotions have gone unchecked for so long, and while he’s put on a show of them for everyone else, he’s so out of tune with them (his emotions and everyone he entertains them with) and the reality of his situation that he can’t understand either.
It really, truly, does suck, he decides, as he plugs in his headset like he does when he needs to get away from the world- though this time, it’s to block out silence rather than excess noise. As he lays down on the floor in a sloppy attempt to escape existence and fix what he feels, Bakugou thinks he’d rather have his skin boil at the boisterous nature of the city and his surroundings than have his skin crawl and his ears ring as the silence threatens to swallow him up.
**Author's Note:**
> My favorite lofi stream to listen to is ChilledCow’s- it’s probably weird to have a bias, but I can’t listen to any others without feeling like I’ve betrayed that specific stream. Anyways, thank you for reading. Comments are appreciated and I am actually always starving for validation. |
5067814c99d949edada172d7c8d00f77 | ['f022f150a54b434bb1001abc733fe6fe'] | At one point, an hour or ten seconds later, the pain in his hands becomes unbearable and he drops to the floor and screams like no living being should ever have the right to scream. He screams until his lungs have burnt out all the oxygen. He screams like his heart wants to wrench itself from his chest, agonising wails bouncing off the walls. He doubles over without stopping, curls into himself, his screams muffled by the proximity of his own body and the floor. He screams until his voice breaks, vocal cords bursting into flames, and the scream breaks into a raw moan. It sounds like something strange and very alien to his own ears, the most excruciating pain a thing alive could feel.
He cradles his bleeding hands against his chest, curling around them in an attempt to protect them from more pain or to make that pain his centre he’s not sure. He tips his forehead against the floor, glass crunching under his body with every move. The wailing of a broken animal echoes off the tiles.
Then silence and, finally, tears. Just endless tears falling to the floor, his whole body shaking with the sudden acceptance of something so atrocious his brain can’t make sense of it. He’s sobbing and it feels like he’s suffocating, heaving in breath after breath, moans grating over sore throat. He presses his forehead against the tiles, broken shards under his knees and bare feet. A loud, raw groan tumbles endlessly from his chest and his shoulders heave with tension, his body writhing on the floor with unbearable agony.
He cries until his body is so overwhelmed with grief and exhaustion, there is nothing more it can give.
He sleeps there that night, letting his weight drag him down onto the tiles were tears and sweat and blood mingle with scrunching shards of glass. He’s lying on his side, curled into a tight ball, looking at his hands in the dark, knowing that his blood is coating hers now.
His daughter was running towards him.
He was making love to his wife.
Two images. Dual negatives of joy.
Sofia was squealing, curly ponytail bouncing while she raced across the lawn as fast as her short legs would carry her.
Elena was arching into him, fingers digging into his back while he sucked at that tender spot just below her ear.
He watched his daughter tumble, then catch herself, taking half a step forward with the instinct to rush to her if she fell.
He heard his wife moan, whisper sweet things against his skin, her legs hooking over his hips to pull him down.
A grain filter over that memory, as if he watched it on an old video tape, the sun a glaring lens flare, oversaturation tinging everything with green and yellow, all the movements that tiny fraction too quick for real life.
A haze coating his emotions, as if he relived that memory through muffled walls, heavy breath a dull drone, sweat smelling like honey and salt, their movements drawn out on slow-motion repeat.
He held his arms wide open, bent his knees, anticipating her little body crashing into him like that whirlwind of overabundant joy and delight and just pure life.
He pushed his hand down between their bodies, rubbing circles where her legs were splayed wide around his hips, pushing himself into her while their breaths became ragged and their bodies erratic.
Her face was the last thing he saw, so close to his, all scrunched up in laughter and toothy grin, wild strands of hair framing chubby cheeks and dimples and button nose.
Her body was the last thing he felt, tightening around him, digging nails deep into his skin, his own bliss washing over him like a storm soon after and shattering him into dust.
His arms closed around her the same second she vanished. He stumbled forward with the momentum, nothing but thin air pressed against his chest. She was gone.
He moaned through his orgasm the same moment her body went slack under his. His hips stuttered, then halted, pressed against her, and he willed his eyes open just to look at her. But her head was gone.
He wakes up.
Slowly pushes out a breath that feels like he’s been holding it while he slept.
There’s clarity there, in every fibre of his being.
It’s still night. Or again. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care either. He’s still lying on the tiles, world tilted sideways, the copper smell of dried blood invading his senses. Broken shards are lying under his curled hands like frozen teardrops. Every little bit of warmth seems to have drained from his body, seeping into the cool tiles while he slept, his body forever fluctuating between too hot and too cold now.
He tries swallowing. His throat feels swollen, raw, burning with the sensation. It makes him cough, sending waves of pain up from his chest, pulsing in his head and hands. His tongue is like a foreign thing in his mouth and he knows he didn’t drink or eat anything in either one or two days. The tip of his tongue tests the texture of dry lips.
He tries to move his hands, splays his fingers and feels the dried blood crack while his palms and knuckles start throbbing with dull pain. Bright red blood is bubbling up from the strain, starting to drip down caked skin again.
He starts to rise, stiff body protesting loudly, glass crunching under him everywhere. He presses his hands against the tiles to push himself up but hisses and pulls back quickly when the pain digs searing hot into his palms and joints. His bare feet, however, are numb with cold and he’s grateful for that, drawing them under his body to get up. | 5a8ce518ffce45d6a1dd1d057d2b1837 | ['f022f150a54b434bb1001abc733fe6fe'] |
New York (Twenty-Four)
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> This is the last part to the 23 short stories. Kind of. But they aren't in chronological order anyway. This is a week after Rio, that's why I'll add it right after it. Although it should be after the 23 short stories... Well, complicated. Like the boys. :D
Twenty-Four
—December. Big Apple. Because Matt wanted to go to New York for Christmas. So Alejandro said yes.
Lately, he feels like he can’t say no to anything Matt suggests. Not really. And he’s not even sure he really wants to. He mostly just wants to let go and sink into this current of emotions, this whirlwind of a man, and get carried away.
He thought nothing could ever have such an impact on his life again. He’s thought that for almost six years now. And whenever he noticed something, anything, in the way he reacted to Matt, he just pushed it away. Again and again. Until he couldn’t anymore. Until it was so bright and clear in front of his eyes that he couldn’t turn away. And even then, he tried to ignore it. Didn’t trust himself.
He can see now that something inside him, a small part of him, small but beating so strong, a small part of him just wanted to hold onto this. Believe in it. Whatever it was. Whatever he thought it was at that time. Love. Affection. Trust. His only hope.
That small part wanted to make this happen, to have this in his life again. To have Matt in his life.
Wanted to allow this.
And he couldn’t. He was so terrified of that possibility. Terrified of feeling all this. So close to the surface. New emotions dragging up old ones. New experiences brushing against old memories. Pulling them along. Or covering them. And he couldn’t even think about that.
Terrified of feeling love again. Feeling loved.
Terrified of losing again. Getting lost.
And he still is. Terrified.
Absolutely, utterly terrified. Like his body is in a permanent state of shock. Brain frozen. Fear and the urge to run close under the surface.
But he can’t. Can’t run. Because Matt has him hooked, and hooked tight. It’s like his body is addicted to his touch and smell and words, skin tingling, and melting inside.
And he can’t run. And he can’t go. And he can’t say no. To anything.
So he’s here. December. 24. New York. Standing on the balcony of their hotel suite on the 49th floor. It’s freezing and breathtakingly beautiful. He thinks about getting his coat, but there’s something about that cold biting through his clothes, harsh against his face, something that feels like _life_.
It’s dark, but the whole city looks like a giant, lit Christmas tree. Like the black ocean with millions of lights drifting on its surface. So bright, there’s an aura around everything, like a halo, a blanket of light covering the city. So bright he can’t see the stars. But they just took them from the sky and scattered them in the streets. A glowing, living thing. Beating. Red and yellow and orange. And silvery white. And a dark sky above that’s never really black.
And one of those stars just happened to tumble right into his path. Crashing into him. And he still feels dizzy from the force of the impact, still tries to find his footing again, to discern left from right and up from down. Tries to find all the things that belong together again because their strings got tangled in the crash, while Matt is orbiting him, watching, sometimes helping, sometimes whirling through the room like a chaotic shooting star, jumbling all the threads he’s already neatly arranged in rows.
A little more than two months. He’s known him for almost six years. But a little more than two months ago, everything he had built up again in those years, he thought he had built up strong, all of that caved in. Buried him under its weight. And it feels so good.
A little more than two months and what felt like a lifetime of grazing the edge of a steep cliff.
He can hear the door close. His shooting star.
He waits, arms propped up on the railing, looking down into this sea of light and life. Stars. A universe full of stars. But the brightest of them is up here with him, just stepping outside on the balcony and pressing against his back, warm, wrapping his arms around him.
Matt.
Warm and bright, bright, bright.
“Hmm, hey.”
Matt hums, pressing a kiss against his neck, rests his chin on his shoulder, following his gaze. And Alejandro wraps his hands around Matt’s.
“Hey.”
They stand like this, watching, for endless heartbeats. And it’s like the world is turning around them. And really, he thinks, he wouldn’t mind it taking a couple of turns without them.
“So what do you say?”
He knows what Matt’s asking.
“It’s cold.”
Matt chuckles against his shoulder.
“But I like the lights.”
“Hm, yeah.”
Alejandro twists a little in his arms, brushing his head against Matt’s.
“You did promise me snow though.”
Matt sighs.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I guess we need to make another trip. Find us something that definitely has snow.”
And that. That still feels surreal. Going on a holiday with Matt? Sitting in a house with a fireplace. Snow outside. Hot tea and music and time. He can barely wrap his mind around it.
“But, you know...”
Matt’s hands start wandering down his body, brushing across his belly, down over his thighs, fingers splayed, thumbs digging in.
“If there’s no snow out here anyway, how about we just get inside?” |
c2ee7f3acc8f423db1dbbc4f7246d2a4 | ['f02638fe9ef0435eb11d982a05e07a8a'] | ”Midoriya. Kid.” All Might stopped him, then gave him his signature smile. “Fear not!”
Taiyo watched as All Might fight the brain Villain and listened to his father’s information about the guys Quirk. Was this what his dad was working on? Was this why he was away for so many years? Mineta and Midoriya carried Aizawa’s unconscious body to the entrance but it didn’t stop them from looking back. I mean, could you blame them? But the tables began to turn for All Might and he was stuck, sinking into one of Kurogiri’s many portals.
“Asu-Tsu...yu!” Midoriya called, he held a grim expression.
”You finally got it right. Nice. What is it, Midoriya?”
”Take Aizawa sensei for me..!!”
Midoriya then ran away from the group. “Midoriya!!!” Taiyo called and he began to run after him to stop him from killing himself. He couldn’t be responsible for another person’s death...he wouldn’t let it!! He reached out to grab the green’s arm before Kurogiri’s portal swallowed him up, but halted to his tracks when a hotheaded blond appeared out of nowhere.
”Deku!! GET...the hell outta here!!!”
Bakugo grabbed metal brace around the mist man’s neck and slammed him down into the dirty ground. Taiyo winced at the action and had to fight against the action to push Bakugo off. Dammit, stupid emotions. Kirishima then appeared and tried taking a grab at Tomura but the hand man dodged easily away from the attack. Todoroki appeared as well freezing half of the Nomu’s body, “So I heard you people are here to kill All Might."
"Crap!! Almost had 'Im!" Kirishima cursed.
"You're not all that. You misty took!!" Growled Bakugo.
"But scum like you could _ **never**_ kill the Symbol of Peace." Todoroki finished.
Taiyo was now visibly shaking, it felt like a ton of bricks had crashed down onto his feelings, for the way his classmates were saying about his family. Stop insulting them!!! You guys don't understand!!! If-if you knew the real reason...then maybe...
"Please..!!" Taiyo cried taking a step forward. "Please just leave."
Midoriya looked at everyone standing behind him and began to tear up himself, "Kacchan...! Guys..!!"
Tomura looked at Kurogiri who was now pinned by the explosive blond "You've pinned down our way out...well...this is a problem..." he commented.
Bakugo felt the mist man begin to struggle and he tightened his grip. "You slipped up, you bastard! And it's just like I thought! The parts you can turn into that foggy warp gate are limited! And you're using that misty crap to hide your real body, yeah?! Am I right?!"
" **Don't move!!!** " The teen warned. "If I decide you're doing anything fishy...I'll blow you straight to kingdom come!!!"
"That's not very Hero-like, dude..."Kirishima called out.
"Not only have you beaten our level, but you're all at full health...today's kids really are something....our League of Villains should be ashamed....!" Tomura then turned to Nomu who was still stuck in Kurogiri's warp gates. "Nomu. Take out the explosive brat. We need our escape route back."
The Nomu immediately pulled itself up breaking the ice that was on his right side and regenerating a new arm and leg.
All Might brought his protective arm back in front of the students, "Get back, everyone!! What the...?! I thought his Quirk was shock absorption."
Taiyo knew his father was smirking behind the hand as he answered the blond adult, Nomu leaped and charge straight towards Katsuki Bakugo without any hesitation. Taiyo felt his body being pushed back by the strong wind and he dug his fingernails into the dirt to steady himself he tried to search for Bakugo but the wind was too much.
"KACCHAN!!" Midoryia screamed in fear, only to see the blond right next to him. "Kacchan?! You dodged that?! Wow...!"
"I didn't. Shut up, you idiot." Bakugo replied, grumpy as always, but the shock in his eyes was obvious.
"Then how-"
"All Might," Taiyo paled in understanding. "He took the blow!"
The man was still standing, but blood was now dripping down his mouth. Taiyo tensed when he noticed the glint in Tomura's eye.
He understood, All Might was gonna protect us at all costs.
"Anything to save a comrade, right? Just like earlier when, uh...that one..." Tomura pointed at Midoriya, "The plain one. He came at me with everything he had. But violence in the name of saving others is admirable? Isn't it, Hero?"
Taiyo felt sick.
"You know what, All Might? _ **That pisses me off!**_ Heroes and Villains both thrive on violence, but we're still categorized. "You're good." "You're evil." That's how it is!!"
He felt sick because Taiyo agreed with his father, in this world everyone is always thinking society is black and white. That there is no such thing as gray...maybe that's why society is still flawed.
"Symbol of Peace? Hah!! In the end you're just a tool for violence, made to keep us down! And violence only breeds more violence. I'll show the world that by killing you!!"
"What a load of hooey. Idealistic criminals have a different sort of fire in their eyes. But you're just enjoying yourself, you big fat liar." Tomura sneered in anger. " **You got me. Saw right through..."**
All Might didn't understand...his father was hurting...a lot. Why couldn't All Might see this?
"It's three against six," Todoroki then remarked. "If we team up, we can take on one each."
"Kacchan already exposed the fog's weakness!" agreed Midoriya, clenching his fists.
"These guys are crazy...but if we backup All Might, we can push them back!" Kirishima assured, hardening his arms and hands.
" **NO!! _Get out of here._** " All Might however intervened, stepping before them.
"You would have been in trouble if I hadn't done anything earlier, right?" Todoroki however refused, ice forming at his finger tips.
"Right you are, Todoroki!! So thanks for that!!" All Might clenched his fist, readying a punch. "But fear not!! Sit back and watch a Pro get _ **serious!!**_ " | fdd4bc93dc4e41da90a9eed8799ff3f4 | ['f02638fe9ef0435eb11d982a05e07a8a'] | Kirishima noticed the silence so he answered for him, "Mines, Crimson Riot. He's like so very cool and manly, he's also never afraid to run headfirst into battle."
Crimson Riot. Of course Taiyo heard of him and it would make sense for students to look up to that kind of person and Taiyo too would've looked up to him if it weren't for...y'know.
"I saw you fall, through the cameras I mean. But you were really good at holding off Uraraka from the weapon, like, where did you learn how to surprise her and everything?"
"...From my dad. He has...experience and he's taught me how to fight." Taiyo answered warily.
"Wow! That's so cool! So what'a your Quirk? Mines called Hardening, I can harden any part of my body to make it almost unbreakable."
"I have two Quirks. First one is call Glitch, meaning I can teleport and Catastrophe is where I can build energy up into my hands to break things." He left the part out that Glitch wasn't his natural Quirk.
"Man, your Quirks are so flashy, you'll definitely become a popular Hero in no time!"
The lavender frowned, he truthfully didn't want to be a Hero he was only in this school to give his father more information on the whereabouts of All Might. But he didn't say that out loud.
_**VREEEEEEEEEEE!** _
"Whoa, the alarm?!" Kirishima exclaimed.
Taiyo stood up worry plastering his face as he wondered if it was a certain someone that caused this.
_**Security level 3 has been broken. All students please evacuate in an orderly fashion.** _
Easier said than done, Taiyo watched as thousands of students from the different departments crowed into each other as they desperately tried to make it to the exit. Taiyo felt a shoulder smush into him and he used his elbow to harshly hit them in the side, giving him slight satisfaction. He did the same thing to another student and another trying to give himself some room.
He spotted Uraraka, Midoryia and Iida being smushed into each other and struggling just as much as him.
"Wow!! What's going on?!" Cried Uraraka.
"Such a rapid response to danger!! I'd expect no less from this great institution!!" Iida complained.
"Maybe a little too rapid. Everyone's panicking.." Midoriya mumbled.
Taiyo then watched as Midoriya tumbled down into the sea of students. The skinny teen was then given the same fate and he planted face first into a window, _This is not how I expected my lunch time to go..._
He pushed himself off the glass and head butted a student behind him, though he paid no mind to it.
Suddenly.
" **EVERYTHING'S FINE!!"** Roared a wild Iida who was standing on the emergency exit sign. "It's just the press! There's nothing to panic about. We're fine!! This is U.A.!! Behave in a way befitting this great institution!!"
_Why does everyone make a big deal of this school?_ Taiyo couldn't help but wonder. _All it does is make people into Heroes._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Yes. Taiyo's Quirk Glitch wasn't given biologically. Get ready for next chapter.
8. Rescue Training
Okay. Now this is getting weird. For a second time Taiyo found no one at the bar and it was starting to make him worry. But alas, he couldn't question it, not at this moment at least. But now that he thought about it he remembered Tomura asking him for the staff schedule. Then the cogs in his brain began working....All Might was going to die!! It made perfect sense on why Tomura and Kurogiri weren't here and how the news reporters got in yesterday. It was the main reason he had decided to train the night before. He regretted it now because he was all sore. He wondered what his father had to even compare to All Might, though his father was determined, he wasn't dumb and he wouldn't attack All Might unless he was certain he could.
Aizawa told them that they would leave campus for the afternoon training, Taiyo's heart rate began to spike. It was like waiting for the results of an exam, he kept a straight face while his classmates got excited at rescue training. Taiyo couldn't join them, though, as he gathered up his hero uniform and joined the boy's in trekking to the changing rooms. His mind filled with static as he worried. Taiyo felt the walls caving in and the memories of the past clouded his sight, it felt like a war zone and the only armor was the clothing on his back. A part of him want to go and warn Aizawa about it. Another part wanted the exact revenge just like his father. He wanted to blow his cover and confess to all the horrible things that had happened in his life, to tell everyone how sorry he was. He didn't deserve to live. He couldn't be the reason for All Might's death. He didn't want to be responsible for another persons death.
He felt tears roll down his cheeks. He told himself to get it together, but it only made him cry even harder, he didn't deserve happiness, he didn't deserve to be here. He had to do something. He had to stop this. He wasn't worth this! He did't deserve any of this!
"Gardner!" Taiyo's entire body reacted to the voice. He jerked away and backed himself into the lockers. It was a clatter of his body hitting the metal that made everyone look at him. Bad idea. Kirishima looked at him with concern, "Are you okay?' |
d8722187a2bd40b2855c92b0fb3d9eda | ['f047c5989989452b90720f019ed6c8cb'] | He takes his first steps up the hill, ignoring how the snow goes up to his knees. Looking at the house, he can see that most of the windows are nearly completely covered up. They might not even realize the snow's died down to a calm flurry yet. Papyrus sure did -- he practically did the disco duck when he realized the storm was calming down. Wind hadn't slowed down at all, but that was alright, because a stark decrease in noise would've been jarring.
Before he knew it, he was standing at the top of the hill, and directly in front of his feet, was the cottage's roof. He put his hand up to his chin in thought. The wind whipped his scarf back and forth, but hey, at least these calm little flakes aren't as rowdy as their brethren from last night!
Hmm, there's smoke rising from the chimblee. At least they're keeping warm!
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
"NYELLO~?" He answers with a flourish.
"PAPYRUS, WHERE THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU?!"
"OH, HELLO UNDYNE. I'M ON TOP OF TORIEL'S ROOF," he says, looking at his feet, which have indeed migrated to the snow-covered roof.
"What?! Why? How?!" Some of his favorite questions!
"THE ROOF! I WALKED UP HERE! THE SNOW IS PILED UP REALLY HIGH! UNREALISTICALLY HIGH, EVEN. HOW DID THIS MUCH SNOW PILE UP IN FORTY EIGHT HOURS?!"
"...Whatever." A sigh comes through the receiver. "I'm just glad you're safe."
"ME TOO! I HAVE TO GO NOW. THIS SNOW ISN'T GONNA CLEAR AWAY ITSELF! ...WELL, IT WOULD EVENTUALLY. BUT! THERE'S NO TIME FOR THAT!"
"Paps, you think maybe you should wait 'til the rest of us get up there to help y--" Papyrus hangs up.
"NO." Papyrus smirks in amusement, then turns around. Time to get to work digging!
He leans on his hip, surveying the area.
"HUH." Perhaps he should have brought a shovel.
\---
Over the course of Papyrus' work on dispelling the snow, Frisk and Chara had gotten quite a few things done.
"Ahh! Frisk! Frisk, I'm coming!" Chara removes their mouth from Frisk's dick, trailing spit from their lips, and the pleasured sounds that follow quickly drown out Frisk's quiet little moans.
After another dance, another round of sex, another nap, another small meal, and a game of Mario Party 2, Frisk and Chara decided they were finally going to sixty-nine. Or, to be more accurate, that was Chara's chosen reward for kicking Frisk's ass ("Jesus Christ, another fucking star?").
"Ohhh, _god~_ , that's so hotttt, I'm gonna come!" Frisk groans as Chara's come suddenly spills out of them in short spurts, down onto their face, and they squeeze Chara's thighs harder as their dick starts to rapidly leak.
Chara whines, quickly returning their mouth to Frisk's cock and sucking, milking it with their mouth, suckling and running their tongue over the head.
"Hmm! Hhh!" The younger one's voice is quickly rising in pitch, and their cock thumps inside Chara's mouth -- with an adorable, whiny yell, the rate Frisk is leaking pre starts getting faster, and faster, and said nectar they were giving gets engulfed by a sudden wave of honey. Frisk audibly, throatily gasps, clearly about to yell out some adorable exclamation of pleasure; Chara presses their crotch back into Frisk's mouth to keep their voice from causing an avalanche.
"Aahhmmm!" More and more hot, sticky aloe bursts forth from their Greatest's tiny body, stinging their tongue.
"M-mmm, mm! Mmm, mmm~! Mmm~!" Frisk is moaning, trying to withstand it. Their adorable, pudgy little cock is quickly pumping copious amounts of the wolf's genes into Chara, squirting out an estimated ten percent extra (while they lightly twitch with euphoria) for every thump of their dick than what they're used to, but that's hardly a bad thing -- pleasuring Frisk is a mental high in and of itself. However, Chara made the mistake of not swallowing at any point before now, slowly causing their cheeks to puff outward -- to the point where they can't hold any more; a mostly transparent, white waterfall starts to sloowwly slip between their lips, flowing down the circumference of Frisk's shaft.
"Th-tha~t's it, t-t-take it all innnnnn--!? Nn-ooh, oo-oohn~!" Chara finally was able to swallow, and Frisk's stopped coming by now, but they love it when Frisk talks dirty to them like that so much, it's so hot. They were so pleased with the kid for doing this, in fact, that they started sucking them off again out of reflex, and the only thing that told them so was Frisk's voice quickly devolving into high-pitched, unbelievably sexy little moans.
"Huh? Buh, but I-I already came!" They're stuck beneath Chara, but since they can't be bothered to get free, they guess they can suffer through a bit of overstimulation. "I don't think I~! Mm! Chara, baby, I-I can't--! 'Cuh, can't do it--!" They sound so pleasured that Chara's getting back in the mood, too.
Alright, then, perhaps they'll slow down a bit... oh, yes, that's yielding much better results.
"I can't, I can't, I _can't,_ oh- _ohhh..._ ohhh-- _haah_ , hhh!" Hearing that raspy voice of theirs, normally so quiet and serene, calling out for them with such obvious ecstasy is just so hot.
"Mmm..." S-so fuckin' sexy... a-ah...
"Ohhh, _Godddd_ , Chara, it _feels_ so _goooood_ \--!" Chara groans loudly around their mouthful, feeling the tip rapidly swell again milliseconds before a high pressure jet of semen outright explodes into their mouth. Frisk pumps some odd twenty times in two seconds, rapidly filling Chara's mouth a decent amount, though there wasn't as much this second time. Still, the proceedings caused Chara to peak again, on and in Frisk's mouth.
_Your voice is so pretty, babe. See what it does to me?_ | 73715915835a42a6a511ce5ad99b717c | ['f047c5989989452b90720f019ed6c8cb'] | Unexpectedly, the reply was not immediate death. "What a shame." With that, the eldritch horror dissipates into thin air, somehow. After catching their breath and waiting for their heart to stop pounding, the kid climbs to their feet, and nervously peers into the sink. They shakily grasp and pull out a sparkling red key, sigh in relief, and begin to make their way out of the room.
\---
After they'd gotten back to the main room, they placed the red key into it's slot on the door, just in case they later got in a position where they could otherwise lose it, and then turned into the other side of the room, thinking this side of the lab could prove more fruitful.
They're currently regretting this decision, as a white... thing, featureless and exceedingly lank, looms over them, it's ethereal limb drifting closer and closer to them. They just wanted to take a nap, and now this spook comes here to end them. They're afraid of moving, but if they don't move, they're gonna die! What should they do?
They make a grunt of surprise when the apparition draws the bed's blanket over them. They give it a few more seconds to stab them to death before sitting up and wondering what the hell just happened. They quickly climb out of the bed after that, having every intention to skedaddle, but get the idea to pull back the covers on all the other beds, the ones that weren't immediately jump-into-bed-able like their bed had been, with it's inviting sheets, and deceptively fluffy pillow. Their angry sheet tossing eventually leads to some progress-- the yellow key!
"Phew! Let's get outta here." Chara draws an arm across their forehead, while the kid turns away from them, bringing a hand to their chin.
"There are two doors. Which one do we go through?" The kid asks. Chara's eyes flick back and forth between the two doorways.
"Left one first," they say, finally.
The room they duck into is a creepy, dimly lit hall with a shower at the end of it. Something's behind the curtain, and the closer they get, the faster the body jerks around, jostling and convulsing behind the curtain, faster, and faster. Their sense of curiosity gets the better of them, and they rip back the curtain... to find a key, glinting in the light from outside whenever the kid's shadow isn't looming over it.
Key in hand, they exit back into the hall, and move on to what may be another key location (they chuckle at their pun in spite of the situation).
\---
Intriguing. There's a huge TV in the center of the room. It's sitting atop a wooden cabinet, and a few of those black rectangles like Alphys had upstairs are strewn about. They pick up one, labelled "Tape 04" (what, this thing doesn't look anything like tape), and search for the player.
They manage to find and push open the tape slot, fumbling with the rectangle as they attempt to put it in. They succeed, and immediately after, a slightly muffled voice can be heard.
_"I… I don’t like this idea, Chara."_ Chara's eyes go wide as saucers.
"Turn it off," they demand sharply from behind the kid. They're on the floor, chin in their hands.
_"Wh… what? N-no, I’m not…_
_"… big kids don’t cry,"_ the voice says.
"Turn it off, kid!" Chara's voice is a bit shakier. Their eyes are stinging.
_*Yeah, you’re right._
_*No!_
_*I’d never doubt you, Chara…_
"Stop it! Turn it off, now," they shout, tears beginning to streak down their burning cheeks. The kid is flinging their head back and forth between their friend and the TV. They feel horrible for it, but they want to see why their friend is so worked up over some crusty old video rectangles.
_*Never!_
_*Y… yeah!_
"Turn it off, please! I don't...!" They choke on a sob. The kid's resolve wavers.
_*We’ll be strong!_
"Stop it! Stop it, you idiot!" Their voice is full of anguish.
_*We’ll free everyone._
Chara's attempts at getting them to stop has devolved to beating their back with their fists. They can barely feel it with their overall larger stature, but it still makes their heart ache.
_*I’ll go get the flowers._
The tape ends with a click. The kid immediately swivels around and pulls Chara to them.
"Why?!" Chara sobs into their chest. They pull back to look them in the eyes. Their eyes are bloodshot, tears still leaking down their face.
"Do you really hate me that much?" Chara gulps, struggling to keep their voice even remotely level. The kid hugs them tighter, beginning to weep themself. Stupid sympathy.
"I'm sorry," they rasp. "I wuh-wanted to know why you were getting upset, and I, I, I... I'm a bad person," they cry. Chara takes pity on the younger child, even though they personally wanted to kill them for making them relive that, hearing him saying those damning words again.
"I hate you," Chara whines, digging their hands into the kid's sweater and pressing their face into their chest.
The two later emerge from the room emotional wrecks, disheveled and flushed.
\---
This next room looks like some kind of mess hall, for the patients, they guess. There's a bunch of fridges, sparsely lined up in a row along the wall. Perhaps a midnight snack will calm their nerves.
"Look, kid. I'm sorry for beating you up. However, you shouldn't have done that!" Their voice wavers a little at the end.
The kid nods sadly, feeling like the scum of the earth. Chara continues, taking in a shaky breath. "I... guess I should tell you that I am Chara."
The kid looks at them, scandalized. It's made funnier by the fact that they're holding a fridge door open. |
a300bff21a7541879cc651132d3794c1 | ['f0965bf0bbe541fb878e6c2d1385dfbb'] | “What the hell, sneaky ass spider” Sam said as he got up off the couch, dropping his Santa hat on Bucky’s head. He quickly put on his shoes and was out the door in a flash. Bucky let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he walked towards the loveseat by the window in the view of Peter.
“May, come here you gotta see this” he said to her as she came into his line of sight. She carried two mugs filled with coffee, handing one to Bucky before taking a sip of her own. She sat next to Bucky, intrigued to know what was going on.
“What am I looking at?” She asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Bucky and the view.
“Just wait,” he responded, taking a sip of his coffee, he nodded his head in the direction of the commotion. “And there it is,” a smile appeared on Bucky’s face.
May gasped and a confused expression plastered her face. Sam, now donning his falcon wings, flew behind Peter, picking him up. A startled Peter almost dropped his phone, looked up to see who his capture was, and shook his head.
The moment Bucky’s phone began to ring, he answered immediately knowing who it was without looking at the caller i.d.
“I promise not to mess with you anymore,” Peter frantically said over speakerphone. Bucky chuckled, “It’s alright Peter, just some harmless fun”
“Harmless?! You call this harmless. Tell your bird boyfriend to let me down. Please.” Peter yelled, his voice slightly cracking.
May tried to hold in her laughter by taking another sip of her hot drink. She looked at Bucky and motioned for him to tell Sam to let her dramatic, lovable, nephew down. Bucky nodded his head, doing exactly as she said, he didn’t want to get on May’s bad side, hanging up the phone.
Looking out the window he saw Sam gently letting Peter down on top of the roof. The second his feet touched the gravel on the building he jumped off and shot a web in the opposite direction, swinging somewhere around Queens.
Shaking his head at the teenager, Sam took off his goggles and looked in Bucky’s direction. Bucky raised his mug and blew him a kiss. Sam reached out to grab the imaginary kiss that flew through the air, catching it and placing it on his heart.
He kept his hand on his chest for a moment or two before a familiar sound caught his attention. Sam turned turned around when the noise slammed onto the roof a few feet away from him.
“Wilson, what’s this I hear you picking on Peter?”, Tony said as he got out of the iron man suit. He raised his eyebrows as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the man in front of him.
Sam stared back at Tony, turning his head slowly in the direction of the apartment to see a shocked Bucky, mouth agape, with his phone already pressed against his ear. No doubt he was calling Peter and or possibly Steve.
Sam shook his head, annoyed wasn’t even the word to describe how he felt right now.
He murmured under his breath, “sneaky ass spider” | 4b91f8fc52754e3789c98c15abd0e3e6 | ['f0965bf0bbe541fb878e6c2d1385dfbb'] |
The Aftermath
Everything happened so fast. Everything was so calm and peaceful then not even a second later, destruction and screaming. Anxiety growing by the second, May Parker turned on the tv, quickly flipping channels to the news. Blaring through the speakers was the emergency broadcast system announcing, not in great detail, that something horrible has happened. People disappearing out of thin air, car crashes, everything was chaotic.
May shakily sat on the couch held her head in her hands. Taking a deep breath she reached for her phone, dialing Peter’s number she knew by heart. Standing up from the couch she paced back and forth.
Running a hand through her hair, she chanted, “C’mon Pete. Answer please.”
*beep*
‘Hey it’s Peter, sorry I couldn’t get to the phone in time. Leave a message after the beep.’
*beep*
May sighed before stammering out, “Hey Pete it’s me. Listen, um, something happened and I don’t know where you are. Ned called me and said you jumped out of the school bus towards a space ship in the sky?! Peter are you insane?! Don’t answer that.”
She let out a deep breathe before continuing, “Just. Let me know if you’re alright. Is Stark with you? Please call me back. Love you.”
Grabbing a fistful of hair, May took another deep breath. Pushing the negative thoughts aside as she heard a crash come from outside. Running out of the apartment, May went to push the hallway elevator button but pulled away at the last second, deciding it would take forever to get to her. She ran down the stairs two at a time hurrying to get outside to see the chaos happening.
Staring disbelief at the sight in front of her, May covered her mouth to not inhale any smoke coming from one of the explosions nearby. People were standing around everywhere, confused and extremely worried about what was happening.
Cars smashed into buildings, some people running to get to safety, ash on the ground and blowing in the wind. Her eyes widened as she recognized a black SUV with two people standing around it. Rushing over to the passenger side, she gasped.
The sudden sound caused the two people to immediately turn their heads. Maria Hill and Nick Fury stood before a gasping, worried, May Parker. With tears in her eyes, Maria pulled May into a hug.
“I thought you were gone! I tried calling you. Are you alright!? Where’s Peter?!” Maria asked frantically. She ran her hands up and down May’s shoulders, looking at her up and down making sure she was alright and not hurt. She didn’t know If they would ever see each other again, she didn’t know what was happening.
“It’s nice to see you again Miss Parker. I wish it was on better circumstances.” Fury stated as he looked around city watching the insanity unfold.
May leaned in to kiss her, their lips connecting, slow and steady. May’s hands cupped the back of taller woman’s neck as Maria grabbed the smaller woman’s waist, pulling her closer.
Fury turned to look at the two women in front of him, smiling, “Ahem, Agent Hill. I don’t mean to interrupt but I do believe we were trying to find our last recruit and possibly the only person who can save us now.”
Pulling away from one another, May began to walk away in the direction of the apartment building, not realizing Maria wasn’t following her or entering the vehicle. Pausing in her step, she felt a horrible feeling in her gut.
“May..” A hoarse whisper called out behind her. All of her horrible thoughts and scenarios came true the moment she turned around.
Maria, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and anxiousness. Stared at her hands as they slowly began to fade away. May quickly ran to her, placing her hands on either side of Maria’s cold face as the tears escaped her eyes. Her heart was pounding, hands shaking.
“No, no, no. You stay with me, Maria. It’s okay, love. I love you.” She whispered as quickly as she could before Maria disappeared into the air. Her ashes slowly falling to the ground and blowing in the wind.
Collapsing to the ground, May’s hand hovered over what was left of Maria. She was shaking, her heart was beating so loud she could feel it everywhere. Her chest felt so empty and numb. It was so hard to breathe and everything was so loud and everything felt so cold.
Looking down at her hands she noticed she had Maria’s ashes all over her, some even fell onto her shirt. Frantically she tried wiping them off, some blew into the wind, some stayed on her skin. Wrapping her arms around herself, May took a deep breath as her tears slowly fell down her cheeks and onto the concrete she sat on.
To her left, Fury hurried into the truck, grabbing something out of his bag. From what May could see from her sitting position, it looked like a pager. Pressing a digit combination until it beeped repeatedly. May looked up at Fury to see his arm slowly disappearing as well. She gasped and stared in shock.
Fury looked down at his arm, sighing heavily.
“Motherf-.” He evaporated in the middle of his sentence. The pager dropped to the ground, still beeping repeatedly before stopping on a symbol May didn’t recognize.
She stood up, legs shaking, she walked over to the beeping pager on the ground. Picked it up once it finally stopped. Red and blue colors with what appeared to be a star shape in the middle. She didn’t know what it meant but according to Fury, it was very, no, extremely important.
May quickly went to the vehicle, looked into the backseat to see the bag Fury was rummaging around in before whatever the hell just happened. She put the pager in the bag, zipped it up, then ran into the apartment building. Whatever was in the bag was important and it would be in safe hands for when her girlfriend and boss would come back.
Back in the apartment, May put the bag in the closet hallway, slowly closing the door with a heavy sigh. She looked down at her hands again and quickly ran to the kitchen sink. Turning on the water, she furiously wiped her hands to get Maria’s ashes off. They were still on her skin. The harder she tried to rub them, the more tears left her brown eyes. Her eyes were glossed over, streaming down her cheeks as the slowly dripped down onto the counter.
She turned the facet off, grabbed a dish towel and dried her hands. Letting out a shakily breath, she frantically wiped her tears and looked down at her hands that had began to turn red from all the scrubbing and pain. Putting all of her worried thought of Maria aside she thought about another important person in her life, someone who she’s responsible for and deeply loves. Peter.
He never returned her phone call or Ned’s. She slowly slide her back down the counter, her legs now curled up to her chest. She began to breath heavily, shakily, she wrapped the dish towel around her hands. She wondered if he was okay or if he was with Maria, possibly somewhere safe. She thought if he was hurting. She thought if he was surrounded by bad men, if he was bruised and in pain.
She let out a few more tears that quickly fluttered away. So many people, not just in New York, everyone suddenly vanished before their eyes. It’s like as if the entire world, no the entire galaxy, was cut in half. She tried calling Peter’s phone again.
No answer. Just his voicemail. |
49ab2a77d5e841e491ebeb45c08fa40b | ['f09dcd6aee4c49e39cfa08cee136bdf9'] | Forgotten Cigarette (Reader x Sarutobi Asuma)
**Author's Note:**
> A one shot, two shot if requested. Where is the love for Asuma? I rarely see these.
>
> WARNING: SPOILER ALERT
>
> I TAKE REQUESTS
White clouds drifted in the sky as sunlight filtered through the branches on to a certain shinobi's face. Said shinobi was laying in the grass enjoying a quiet moment away from the genin. He heard soft footsteps approaching and Asuma lazily looked over. A corner of his mouth turned up when he saw you.
"Hey." his deep voice whispered, extending a well-toned arm as an invitation.
"Hey.' You replied, snuggling into his embrace. You basked in his smell of smoke and the woods, wrapping an arm around his waist. Your moment of bliss was interrupted when Asuma shifted to dig for something in his vest. he pulled out a familiar white box and slid a cigarette stick out. He noticed your frown.
"You know those things will kill you right?" you said.
"I know." he said, not meeting your eyes. Calloused hands flicked the lighter with year of experience and Asuma took a long drag in. "It's just...things have been rough lately."
"I'm sorry. I understand, we've both been coming home late, and tensions are high as always." You replied. He exhaled and another cloud of smoke floated up. He played with your hair, running the delicate strands through his fingers. Your soft hand reached up and cupped his cheek, you smiled up at him. You pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and pressed your lips against his gently, feather soft.
"I love you." You mumbled. Your hands were on both sides of his head and your body pressed against his.
"I love you too." He replied, one hand was wrapped around your waist and other held your neck. You sat in his lap, and he licked your bottom lip asking for entrance. You smiled and his tongue darted in. Your tongues fought for dominance and your bodies pressed together. A string of saliva ran from your mouths as you gasped for air. Asuma pressed his forehead against yours and smiled. He leaned in and kissed you again, while his cigarette lay forgotten in the grass.
A tear escaped your eye. "Asuma." Your broken voice choked out. This was one of your fondest memories. Finding him lying in the grass, or at the barbecue with Ino, Choji, and Shikamaru. But today, the clouds were a smoldering gray. Your hand brushed against the name carved in the tombstone.
Asuma Sarutobi
Jounin
Beloved Son, Uncle, Teacher, and Lover
Your trembling hands reached inside his blood covered vest, and pulled out an all too familiar white box. Tears dripped down your cheeks as you lit the cigarette. Thunder roared in the distance as you took a long, inexperience drag. A small drizzle gave in quickly to a thunderstorm, but all you could do was stare in half-hearted disdain at his name.
"You idiot..." Your wavering voice managed. "What am I supposed to do now?" You asked the tombstone. You weren't even sure who you were talking to. You placed the white box back in but your finger brushed against something. Out of curiosity you pulled it out and your grip on his vest tightened. Sobs racked through you and you buried your face into the jacket, clutching the velvet box. There was a diamond ring, inscribed inside the band was 'I love you, forever and always'. Agony clawed at you, it ripped through you. Pained tears mixed in with the rain, you leaned against the rock as the rained poured on.
Next to the tombstone, with its embers extinguished by the unforgiving rain, was another forgotten cigarette. | c96217066e2344f8879414a6ae87204e | ['f09dcd6aee4c49e39cfa08cee136bdf9'] | I Love You Daddy
**Author's Note:**
> *WARNING: SPOILER ALERT*
>
> I TAKE REQUESTS
Small green eyes peeked over the frame of the window in eager anticipation for her father. They lit up at the sight of a familiar approaching figure and her delicate hands fumbled with the lock. The door opened and she jumped into her father's arms.
"Daddy!" she announced.
"I'm glad to see you too Elicia." Maes chuckled. He lifted her up onto his shoulders and ran around the house. His daughters elated shrieks and Maes own deep laughter echoed through the house.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The wind whistled as Elicia tugged at her black dress.
"Mommy?" she asked. "Mommy? What are we doing here?"
Gracia could only try to soften her sobs. Elicia's eyebrows furrowed as strange men lowered her father into a hole. They began covering the casket with dirt as Elicia's eyes widened.
"Mommy?" She repeated. "Why are they covering Papa with dirt?" Her hand was holding tight on to her Mother's. "He won't be able to work if they do that. He said he had a lot of work to do!"
Gracia held Elicia and wiped her the tears staining her cheeks, trying to do what she could to try and comfort Elicia.
"Stop" She yelled. "Don't bury him!" A small hand reached desperately out to grasp anything she could of her father.
"Papa!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A soft knock resonated from the door and small footsteps raced to it. Eyes filled with hope eyed the door knob as Elicia fumbled with it. Happiness bubbled inside of her as she swung open the door.
"Daddy!"
Outside stood Winry. Despair filed the 3 year old again.
"Hi. Onee-san." She mumbled. Elicia turned to face her mother, tears beginning to brim in her eyes. "Why is it never Papa?" Tears dripped onto Gracia's skirt as she tried to regain composure. A soft tissue dabbed gently on her face. Gracia turned surprised to her daughter.
"Papa...he always does this when you cry. Right?" Elicia said. "Since you said he's busy. I'll do it!" Despite her innocence, Elicia's face was filled with resolve.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The scent of jasmine drifted through the air as white petals brushed against the pads of her thumbs as Elicia scanned the flowers before her. Eyes as green as her father's and just as keen settled on a Forget Me Not and she picked the bouquet up.
"Found it mom!" she announced with bitter sweet joy.
"Thank you, dear."
"Back again this year, huh?" The cashier said.
"Yeah..."
The lady rung up the order and handed her the change. The coins clinked in her pocket and the bell on the door jingled as she walked to the car. Icy silence suffocated the car during the ride and Elicia could only glance plainly at the passing scenery. So fleeting, like the coming and going of time and... Human lives. The car stopped by a hill and she opened the door. A little unsteady. Very unsure. And filled with unspoken words.
The grass tickled her ankles and a glint from the setting sun reflected on the tombstone.
"Hi Dad..." She whispered to no one. "Things have been good....you know I'm turning 13 today....Mom's doing ok...everyone's doing ok. But it's....a little quiet without you. I still...I still wish it was you every time I hear someone knock on the door. I have to stop myself from running you kno-" Her voice caught in her throat and she set the flowers down. "I miss you."
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The veil felt coarse as she adjusted it and stared at herself in the mirror.
"You look stunning." A deep voice said.
"Uncle Roy!"
The man walked over and fixed the veil. "Look at how you've grown." he said proudly.
"Thanks."
"You have no idea how honored I am for letting me walk you down the aisle." He said. "I haven't... been able to bring myself to say it... I'm sorry."
A tear slipped out of her eye and she instantly moved to dry it. "You can't cry it'll mess up your makeup. God knows what your mother or Winry would do to me if they saw this." She let out a small laugh and hugged the Alchemist.
"Your father would be balling and crying right now. Taking so many pictures and bragging for years about how pretty you looked..." he cleared his throat and stopped himself. "I think it's time."
"Thank you." She whispered, he took her arm in his, gave her one last reassuring smile and led her out.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elicia held her dress up in handfuls as her heels sunk into the grass. She let out a relieved sigh as the familiar stone stood, ever withstanding the rain, snow and winds. A small comfort to the lost girl, forever a child in her father's eyes. Familiar tears dripped down her cheeks as she set her wedding bouquet down.
"I'm married dad..."
Calloused but gentle hands brushed her tears away and Elicia turned surprised to her new husband.
"You told me your dad always did this when you cried... and he's a little busy right now so I'll always be here to dry your tears when you cry."
Elicia turned to the tomb stone,
"I Love you Daddy..." |
e794f2f773074316911f9bb5187ac768 | ['f09ddd49bf0a42b19e6dee2ad1ddc987'] | “Nevermind.” He said, causing everyone around them to laugh.
“ **Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.** "
"What's a drill?" Was a common murmur that floated around the room, through many of the pure blood wizards.
"A drill is an object used to create holes, most commonly during construction." Answered the muggle studies professor, Professor Burbage
" **He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache.** "
"Well doesn't he just sound lovely?" Said Hermione sarcastically
Nearly everyone in the great hall laughed at this comment, otherwise staying uncharacteristically quiet during the reading. It was an odd comfort to Harry, who could only hope this would continue.
_ The less people who comment on my life the better. _ He thought
Trinity sent him a smile, causing a big grin to break out across his face.
" **Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors.** "
"Lovely to know she hasn't changed much at all." Lily said interrupting herself, a look on her face that almost seemed sad
" **The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.** "
A sudden laugh interrupted the reading. Draco was laughing so hard he nearly fell off of the bench he was sitting on.
Between laughs and wheezes, the words "small" and "no finer boy" could be heard.
Harry blushed, before saying "Shutup Draco." as quietly as he could muster.
James stood from his spot, walking over the Draco, his face with nothing but a blank expression present. He took one look at Draco, who was now looking up at him
"You look like Lucius. I'm going to assume your his kid, right?"
Draco nodded, fear present in the way he held himself, that was until James smiled as wide as he could.
Without warning, Draco was wrapped in James' arms.
"Oh my god, you grew up very nicely. Look atchu! You're so handsome now!"
Draco looked like he was almost more afraid at that point than before.
"Lily do you see him? God it was just yesterday for us, but you, Harry, and Neville were so close as babies!"
Lily hook her head fondly before saying
"Put him down now dear, he needs to sit so I can continue."
James pouted, but complied.
"And if you interrupt me again, I will silence you."
" **The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.** "
The entire great hall leaned in, as if this one secret was the most interesting thing in the world.
" **They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it would be possible.** "
A collective shout of anger rang across the room.
Remus's eyes flashed amber for a good minute before he tried to calm himself, though it was proving unsuccessful.
McGonagall face was bright red. She was screaming obscenities that made the student population, and many of the staff, blush.
James looked mad, though he was more concentrated on his wife, who had begun to cry.
Lily was understandably upset over the fact that her own sister would think that of her family. She decided to continue the passage before the reactions got any worse.
“ **The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters were to arrive on the street. The Dursleys knew the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn’t want Dudley mixing with a child like that.** ”
At this, Trinity drew a great big gasp, causing everyone within a twenty foot radius around her, to turn, expecting something horrible. She sat there, holding a hand to her mouth, she took her hand away to utter these words.
“Dudley? Hanging around Harry? A most disturbing thought… He may have actually learned some manners, the fat pig!”
This made everyone in the hall laugh, though none more than the Weasley twins. Fred and George had literally fallen out of their seats.
After they had somewhat composed themselves, Lily continued the chapter,
“ **When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up one dull, grey Tuesday morning our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country.Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.**
**None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.**
**At half past eight, Mr Dursleypicked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls, ‘Little tyke’ chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house.** ”
“I can’t believe he’s actually encouraging this type of behaviour!” Professor Sprout exclaimed, slightly shocked.
“ **He got into his car and backed out of number four’s drive.**
**It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first signs of something peculiar- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn’t realise what he had seen - then he jerked his head around to look again.There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn’t a map in sight.** ”
James turned to McGonagall | a4da5b66ae804b1491703afdccd530a8 | ['f09ddd49bf0a42b19e6dee2ad1ddc987'] | “ **There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley, she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn’t blame her – if he’d had a sister like that …** ”
“I don’t know what he’s on, but let me tell you, Lily is the most beautiful, kind, smart, powerful, fierce woman I know!” James exclaimed proudly causing Lily to blush almost the same shade as her hair.
“ **but all the same, those people in cloaks ... He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o’clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.**
**‘Sorry,’ he grunted,** ”
“I didn’t know that word was even in his vocabulary.” Harry said
“ **as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn’t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare:**
**‘Don’t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy happy day!’** ”
“Sounds kind of like you Professor!” A young Ravenclaw said, looking up at Professor Flitwick.
Professor Flitwick blushed before replying: “It is me…”
Everyone in the laugh started to laugh at this.
**And the old man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn’t approve of imagination. As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw – and it didn’t improve his mood – was the tabby cat he’d spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.**
**‘Shoo!’ said Mr Dursley loudly.**
“It’s not going to work.” Fred said in a singsong voice.
**The cat didn’t move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this nor-mal cat behaviour, Mr Dursley wondered.**
“Definitely McGonagall!” stated the Weasley twins.
**Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. Mrs Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over din-ner all about Mrs Next Door’s problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word (‘Shan’t!’).**
This caused many of the women in the room to mutter under their breaths about small whales having no manners.
**Mr Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living-room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:**
**‘And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation’s owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.’ The news reader allowed himself a grin. ‘Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?’**
“Were people trying to get us exposed? Like I save myself and my cousin, and I get brought before the Wizengamot. Everyone else does this with no repercussions.” Harry said angrily.
**‘Well, Ted,’ said the weatherman, ‘I don’t know about that, but it’s not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they’ve had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it’s not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.’**
**Mr Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters ... Mrs Dursley came into the living-room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He’d have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously.**
“Wimp.” Trinity stated to the entire room
**‘Er – Petunia, dear – you haven’t heard from your sister lately, have you?’ As he had expected, Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn’t have a sister.**
“That’s rough. Though one of my sisters is like that with my other sister.” Trinity said
“Really?” Lily asked
“Oh yeah. Like she’s even said that she’s basically disowned her. Then again they both were constantly fighting and bullying each other, so I guess it comes as no surprise for anyone in my family.” Trinity said in a very nonchalant voice.
**‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Why?’**
**‘Funny stuff on the news,’ Mr Dursley mumbled. ‘Owls ... shooting stars ... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today ...’**
**‘So?’ snapped Mrs Dursley. ‘Well, I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot.’**
“Her lot? HER LOT!!! YOU FAT SON OF A-”
“James!”
“Sorry Lily.”
**Mrs Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he’d heard the name ‘Potter’. He decided he didn’t dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could,**
**‘Their son – he’d be about Dudley’s age now, wouldn’t he?’** |
4de66255ab07425db7cf67ed28ddedbf | ['f0a7f96e87ad4ec990f83f979a63f45b'] | He heard her shuffling footsteps on the carpet as she walked toward the hallway of the bedroom. She put a hand to her chest when she saw Paul.
"Oh, hullo!"
Paul smiled sweetly, as if he were used to making genuine first impressions.
"Hi, you must be Mrs. Smith." He set the guitar down and walked up to shake her hand and press a kiss to her cheek.
Mimi blushed.
"Are ye a mate of Johnny's?"
"Yes. I'm Paul, Mr. McCartney's son."
Mimi's eyes widened in shock.
"Mr... McCartney? The headmaster? That McCartney?"
Paul smiled and nodded. Mimi turned to John, playfully smacking his shoulder.
"Why didn't ye tell me, boy?! Please, make yerself at home."
"He already has." John said.
"Quiet, you." Mimi answered. She insisted on asking about Paul's experiences in school and his numerous musical abilities.
Politely, Paul went on and he knew John was listening the whole time, even as he strummed his guitar absentmindedly on his bed.
"You're gon' question 'em to death."
Mimi sighed. "Can I not have a conversation with the lad?"
"He came here to practice with me."
"So that means he only talks to you?"
John's cheeks turned scarlet and he looked down at the copper strings of the guitar.
"Thought so."
Paul laughed softly. "Don't steal me too long," he said. "he gets jealous easily."
"Oh, trust me dear, I know. I raised 'em."
* * *
It was 9:30. Mimi had insisted Paul had a piece of pie before he left and John was walking him out on the front porch.
"I had a lovely time, thank you." Paul said warmly.
John looked over at the kitchen window to catch the warm glow of the ceiling light shining behind closed curtains--good.
"It was my pleasure."
Paul blushed and pecked John's cheek, but John wrapped his arms around him before he could step away with a throaty laugh.
"John, what're you doing?"
John closed the space between them so that they were nose to nose, his intense eyes looking into Paul's soft ones.
"Kissing you."
He could feel the heat rise in Paul's cheeks and he covered his lips with his own gently. After a few moments, Paul pulled away.
"...I 'ave to get home."
John cleared his throat and nodded.
"Alright. G'night, Paulie."
"'Night Johnny."
8. Chapter 8
As the weeks progressed, rehearsals became tense. Arguments broke out among the group about who was going to play what, and how well. Pete was furious.
"If McCartney's so good at everything, why doesn't he just have his own bloody band then?!" He had yelled last session.
Everyone admitted they liked Paul's stylistic bass, and that his vocals were impressive. Pete had trouble hearing pitch, but no one had complained much before. Suddenly, it was too much.
Paul didn't want to be the problem. Yet somehow he always found himself in that position.
"Johnny, does Pete hate me?" Paul was lying with his head in John's lap in a deserted little park in the graveyard near Frothlin Road.
John scoffed. "'Course not."
Paul sighed, his pretty features tensing. "Then why doesn't he talk to me? And why doesn't he want me to play?"
John was playing with Paul's hair. "He's jealous."
Paul was surprised. "...You think so?"
"I know so. He's dodgy when he's jealous. But don't mind 'em. It's mainly for show."
Paul sat up. "How do you know he's jealous?"
John furrowed his brows. "I can just tell. I've known him for three years, Macca."
Paul's lips went into a tight line and he turned to the side.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothin'."
"C'mon, ye can tell me."
"No I can't."
"Then don't pout about it, for Christsake!"
Paul put his head in his hands for a moment. "...Have you ever-- _been_ , with him?"
John's throat tightened. "Macca!"
"Have you?"
John groaned. He shifted agitated hand through his quiff.
"You have, haven't you? That's why he's mad. Not this bloody bass shite."
"I swear, I was never...intimate with 'em. I kissed him a few times a couple years ago--but that was it."
Paul looked angrily down at a fallen twig in the grass.
"Paulie, I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I'm crazy about you. Fuck, the way you breathe gets to me!"
"...You said ye've never dated a bloke."
"I 'aven't! Pete and I were never a couple."
Paul exhaled deeply, his expression softening a little around his eyes. He turned to look at John.
"...I'm sorry, Johnny. I get worked up easy sometimes."
John shook his head. "No. I should've told ya."
Paul cuddled up next to John as he caught a chill in the breeze and John wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.
"...This is probably a bad time to say this, but I dunno when else I'm going to," John said. "Pete's leaving the band."
Paul tensed. "He is?"
"Yeah."
"Wow. That's a lot to take in."
John kissed the top of Paul's head. "I know, baby."
"You realize what this means, right?" Paul asked.
John shook his head.
"I'm gonna need a bass."
* * *
The next morning Paul took his trumpet in its case and walked along the boardwalk of the Mersey in search of a pawn shop. It was sunny, minimal clouds drifting along the picturesque blue sky. The thrum of the river sounding around him.
About a quarter mile down the road he found one, it was small and old, but seemingly trustworthy. It had the look of a place owned by someone's grandmother. The bell jingled as Paul walked in the glass doors.
"'Lo sir, anythin' I can do for ye?" The shopkeeper asked merrily, a white rag in his hand as he wiped down the counter.
Paul cleared his throat. "Erm, do you buy instruments?"
The shopkeeper smiled. "Depends on who's askin'."
"...Well, I am." Paul responded gingerly. "I was hoping to sell this trumpet for a bass guitar." | 35366a7fd6524743859a5924c9b6c92e | ['f0a7f96e87ad4ec990f83f979a63f45b'] | "Ugh, I can't face me auntie like this. I hate it." John mumbled, head in his hands.
"Is she the strict type?"
"Only if you're an arse, like me."
Paul watched him as he took out a cigarette and lit it.
"But thankfully I've found ways to adapt."
"Can I've a drag?"
John's cheeks drew in as smoke billowed out of his mouth. "Sure."
Paul gladly accepted the ciggie, taking a smooth drag from it. "I've been avoiding things with my da since I was thirteen. He's a bit dodgy, that one."
A look of sympathy flashed across John's face. "Is he?"
"Yeah." Paul handed him the cigarette back.
"Well, have you ever climbed a wall before?"
"What kind of question--"
"--Just go with it."
"Yeah, why?"
"If you need a place, I've got it."
"What?"
"Be in, and be out by five tomorrow morning. Those are the rules."
Paul stuttered.
"Are you with me?"
"...Yes."
"Alright." John offered Paul his hand to shake and an agreement was made. "...You play the guitar?"
"A bit. How can you tell?"
"You've got callouses that should start payin' ye rent."
Paul looked down at his hands, neatly kept, despite their frequented adventures. His cheeks tinted. "Oh."
"Keep at it, maybe I'll give you a listen someday."
Paul smiled.
2. Come Go With Me
"Ow! That's my leg!"
"Sorry." John hoisted Paul up to grab the window ledge.
It was pitch black, the only light a dim flicker from Mimi's room.
"Why can't we just go through the back door?" Paul pulled himself up and lifted the window just enough for him to slip through.
_Thud._
"Shhh!" John hissed.
"I'm sorry that I can't fall quieter!" Paul whispered.
John covered his mouth to stifle a snort.
Paul stood and brushed himself off before looking around the small room with yellowing posters and tattered wallpaper. There was a guitar standing alone in a corner, alone and a little turntable balanced on the nightstand. John slipped through the window, landing softly on his feet like a cat.
"It's not much, but it's a place to sleep."
Paul smiled. "It's got character."
John smiled back, and for a moment they just stood there. Paul yawned and sat down on the floor where he was.
"I'm gonna go ahead and kip, mate."
"Okay." John peeled off his leather jacket and pants, crawling into bed in his white tee-shirt and underwear.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"Aren't ya gonna close the door?"
John sighed, getting up to pull the white chipped door closed as carefully as humanly possible. Meanwhile Paul tried not to laugh.
John laid there in bed for the longest, staring at the ceiling, counting the lumps in the paint. He glanced over at the leather lump lying on his rug and noted that it was asleep before reaching inside his nightstand drawer for a pair of black square glasses and a copy of 'Alice in Wonderland.' With a yawn, he sunk lower in his pile of blankets, eyes lazily skimming the pages. Paul pried open one eye and looked up at John, another smile spreading across his lips. John looked up from the top of the book and felt his heart drop.
"What?" He asked, defensively.
Paul was still smiling. "Nothing."
"You looney, what're you smiling at?"
"Nothing! I was just curious as to what you were reading and instead of the porn mag I expected it's literature. That's all."
John rolled his eyes and set the book down next to him. "Go to sleep."
"Y'know you can tell a lot about a person by what they read."
"And you can also tell a lot about a person by where they end up at the end of a long night."
Paul went pale.
John's smirk faded. "What?"
Paul shook his head. "Nothing."
John looked back down at his book, his mind unable to process the words in front of his nose even as he read over them five times. His thoughts were elsewhere. Just who exactly was this boy anyway? And what had gotten him so upset? Was he a criminal running from the law? A homeless kid? Or just a brokenhearted drifter? He seemed too clean-cut to be involved in crime, too much innocence shone in his eyes.
"What were you doing out by the wharf that late?" John asked quietly, hoping he wasn't stepping out of line.
Paul sighed deeply, turning over and pulling the side of the rug over onto him like a blanket. "Just out having a drink, mate."
"In the ocean?"
"Oh, come off it. I was trying to get away."
"Get away from what?"
"Everything, I guess."
"Life that bad, eh?"
"As of late, it seems, yes."
"What's got you down? Is your dad that bad?"
"What are you, my psychiatrist?"
"I was only curious."
"Why don't you be curious some other time?"
John went quiet a moment, absentmindedly turning a yellowed page in his book. "Family quarrels?"
"Piss off."
"I've already had a good piss off the dock."
Paul huffed and buried his face into his pillow. "Why did I ever agree to go home with you? You're off your rocker."
"So what? I've lost everything else I might as well have lost my mind along the way." John mumbled to himself.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Paul sat up, suddenly interested. "No, no what did you say?"
John put his book on his nightstand and lowered his glasses. "I said, nothing."
"Was it that girl?"
"What girl?"
Paul raised his neat eyebrows. "Don't tell me you've forgotten!"
"Oh, that tart I was yelling about." John sighed. "I mean I really cared about her, but she had other plans."
"So that's not what you were talking about?"
"It's late, the sun will be up in a mere four hours and I want to get some sleep."
"I'll go to sleep if you tell me who you were talking about." |
a3a3c0e7ef514dd69195241561694300 | ['f0a9b6eab78a4f00b4b8bcadb0b1a9a6'] |
Harry and Snape go to Pen Island
**Author's Note:**
> old work
>
> This was actually my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction I've written xD interesting to see how my writing will compare to this in the future :P
>
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
“POTTER!”
Harry blinked innocently from his comfortable position somewhere in the dungeons. More specifically, Snape’s quarters. More and more specifically, Snape’s _sleeping_ quarters.
More specifically – okay you get the point.
“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing in my room? In my bed, no less?” Snape demanded, onyx eyes ablaze with restrained fury. A vein throbbed on his forehead and his face was flushed red, whether from anger, or embarrassment, or _both_ , Harry couldn’t tell. He couldn’t be bothered TO tell. He was much too comfortable beneath his teacher’s thick quilts and pulled the blankets further up to his chin.
Harry’s eyebrows rose to his hairline and he snuggled deeper into Snape’s pillow.
“I wanted you to read me a bedtime story.”
“…”
“ _Sir_.”
“…”
“Is this…” Snape began, jaw tightened and speaking through clenched teeth, “some sort of sick Gryffindor prank? 10 points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a teacher and an additional 15 points for being out after curfew! Now get out of my quarters!”
Harry didn’t even bat an eyelash at the instant loss of points. Snape didn’t even bother to ask how the 15 year old had gotten in.
“Does this mean no bedtime story?” Harry asked, pouting with mock disappointment before turning glazed eyes up towards the Potions Master. “Or have you got something better in store?”
Snape narrowed obsidian eyes before he held out his hand expectantly. Harry grinned at him and reached under the pillow to pull out a stack of papers.
“You have to read me this. Or else,” Harry threatened darkly before smiling at Snape and snuggling under the quilts again. Snape could have sworn he saw bare flesh… _nothing but_ …
Snape begrudgingly took the sheaf of papers (he told himself it was ‘out of curiosity’), his eyes settling on the title ‘Harry and Snape go to Pen Island’ by xSnarry-fer-eveRx. Almost instantly, a feeling of dread settled over his stomach. “Potter, what-”
“Apparently, there’s a charm on those papers that activates only when you touch it,” Harry explained from his position under Snape’s blankets. Really, it would have been so endearing to see him like that, if only the evil smirk on his face didn’t go so well with the mischievous glint in his eyes. “You have to read me the story or else suffer…”
“Suffer what?” Snape asked, his eyebrow arching regally. His lips thinned with displeasure when Harry chuckled.
“Suffer…we’ll find out, shall we?” Harry murmured before finally sitting up and Snape knew that his thought from earlier wasn’t incorrect. The quilt slipped down from Harry’s shoulder’s to pool around his waist, giving Snape a view of pale, smooth skin and a broadened chest. Darkened and perky buds indicated the state of arousal that his student was in. Snape let his eyes travel over the expanse of Harry’s torso, taking in the light fuzz of hair that petered off as it reached his navel and below the blanket…
Snape swallowed. He felt _exactly_ what kind of suffering Potter had in store for him. Harry gave him a smug smile and gestured for him to sit. Snape, surprisingly, did as he was told, his knees already buckling.
“Read, Snape-a-doodle.”
Snape shot him a withered glare but his current mood did nothing to deflect the party in his pants _down there_. He glanced back at the blank printed ink on bond white paper. ‘Harry and Snape go to Pen Island’ was printed firmly on the front page and he felt growing apprehension as he turned to the first page. Was this some kind of joke? He couldn’t understand what ‘Pen Island’ was, and knowing Potter, this was probably some sort of strange muggle story used to annoy people.
Curse those Mudbloods and their muggles and their stupid muggle stories.
“I’m waiting,” Harry reminded him, lips spread into a smile. Snape rolled his eyes and began to read. “Aloud.”
Again, Snape did as he was told. So far in the story, he and Harry (at this, he was slightly disturbed) had been stranded on some weird island. As he read on further, he discovered that a tribe of pens (at this, he was starting to become further disturbed) ruled the island and were out for blood. Human blood.
Snape couldn’t tell whether this story was parody/humour (pffth, some sick humour it was indeed!) or macabre/horror. Apparently, Voldemort was once their leader and gave them free reign, only to have them turn against him and stab his guts out with pen tips, before drowning him in ink (at that, Snape felt seriously disturbed). Yet his lips continued to open, sound in the form of the words of the story continued to leave Snape’s mouth. He wondered idly if this was part of the curse. Snape read on, only to find himself further disturbed than he ever thought possible.
_Harry paused as he leaned against the shelter of a tall, overshadowing tree. His breaths now came in ragged, sporadic pants as he held onto a low branch for support and to eventually gain his bearings._
_“Professor, do you think we could –pant- pause for a moment? I need to catch my breath,” Harry rasped, taking in sharp, greedy intakes of air gratefully. His teacher turned slowly on his heel, eyes looking down at him with disdain._ | 93c5a14e103b47e89e8bdfc07c08f06a | ['f0a9b6eab78a4f00b4b8bcadb0b1a9a6'] |
1. Prologue
**Author's Note:**
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
>
> old work
>
> verses from 1 Corinthians 13:4 - Love is Indispensable
At first, Harry had thought someone had put one of Professor Sprout’s fuzzy, pink earmuffs over his ears. Then he dismissed the notion of having too much of the Weasley twins’ ‘instant earwax’ candy (it _did_ taste good, despite the name).
The temptation of believing that this was a practical joke was so great, Harry felt compelled to yell out ‘accio cameras!’. But no, instead, he settled for an expression of incredulousness, eyes rimmed with disbelief and mouth frowning with scepticism.
“I do,” the young man in front of him swore, face angry with frustration and hurt. “I do love you, Harry.”
It took all of his willpower to not shake his head and walk away. Instead, Harry stood his ground and sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. Come on, this was _Draco Malfoy_ he was dealing with. If Draco suddenly came up to you and confessed his undying love and affections, how was one supposed to react? Scratch that – if Draco Malfoy came up to Harry Potter and confessed, what would _Harry_ do?
It seemed cruel, the thought of it, but Harry did not love Draco. Anyone operating under the misconception that he was in love with the Malfoy heir was a fool. Because despite everything that he’d been told about love, about its power and its everlastingness, Harry wasn’t going to allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. The Dark Lord, Voldemort, may have been eradicated from all aspects of existence, but Harry would be weary, always on guard.
After all, what would Draco Malfoy, son of ex-death eater, Lucius Malfoy, number one rival to Harry Potter and professional arsehole, know about love? Harry scoffed at the thought. Perish it. Damn the notion to hell. Draco Malfoy didn’t know anything about love, Harry concluded.
Yet the reason as to why he was giving him a chance was beyond his own understanding.
2. Love is Patient
“Draco, hurry the hell up!” Harry grumbled as he waited for the other teen to catch up to him. Harry ran a hand through his hair, slightly frustrated that Draco wasn’t taking this seriously at all. This was supposed to be an outing with all their friends. Despite Draco still being at odds with Ron and Hermione, the other two had managed to tolerate his presence when he and Harry were together. But Harry could feel his patience already running thin – they had only been together for a mere week. Seven _days._
But you couldn’t blame Draco – he really was trying. Harry didn’t want to believe that he’d turned over a new leaf and started fresh. Harry didn’t want to believe that Draco really wasn’t the façade that had been building up over the past six years that they’d known each other. He didn’t want to believe that underneath it all, he and Draco were pretty much the same, but different in their own special ways.
And he definitely didn’t want to believe that Draco loved him. Why he’d accepted Draco in the first place, Harry did not know. The thought of Draco’s company and being able to talk civilly to one another actually made Harry feel a lot lighter, as if the weight that had been pressing down on him, where Draco was involved, was gone.
However, the proverbial road they walked along was rough, cracked with crevices and potholes. It was rocky and jagged, and walking hand in hand didn’t feel nice when said limbs were sweaty. Half the time, they were at each others’ throats, and _not_ in the pleasant way. Harry knew that from the start, Draco’s confession had only added another painful niche to his steadily cracking resolve and his patience was taking blow after blow with every argument they had.
The outing with Harry’s friends was slowly turning sour. The moment Harry and Draco had stepped foot into their area of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, his friends had all quieted down. Harry ignored them as he took his place beside Ron, with Draco at his side. Compared to the other couples in their friendship group, Harry and Draco were, perhaps, the most distanced. Metaphorically, as well as literally speaking too. There was maybe enough space for someone else to sit between them, but no one dared. No one wanted to go near the big, bad Slytherin. Harry felt a touch of pity for the boy, but Draco didn’t seem to care. He sat there quietly, waiting for the time to pass.
Harry thought that it was all going well (well, in the sense that no one was arguing), except a wayward comment about Draco not deserving Harry had gotten out of hand and the blond had snapped. Now, Harry was angrily storming away with an apologetic Slytherin on his tail, pleading for him to come back.
“I’ve HAD it, Draco!” Harry started with a firm tone. He wanted to end this. It was driving him insane and he felt sluggish everyday that he knew he would meet Draco. Not even their catastrophic rivalry from their younger years felt as mundane and hesitant as now.
Draco faltered in his step and glanced at Harry in surprise. “What do you mean? What about us?”
Harry plucked his glasses from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. He replaced his glasses and gave Draco a stern glare. “No. There isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. There wasn’t an ‘us’ to begin with, Draco! It was all a mistake from the very start. You don’t love me. I don’t have the patience for you. What would you know about love, Draco?” he spat bitterly.
There was a tense pause between them before Draco gave him a sorrowful smile and murmured, “Love is patient. Let’s start with that.” |
d8aa76a0ec8f4ef8b20d74d1713854a1 | ['f0acb619e49d4081940cc6621df6dd88'] |
Typical One Night Stand
The bar is lit dimly and everything around is loud. Ed Sheeran's Bloodstream is playing in the air, making the atmosphere sensual and sexual, well it's an adult bar what is there to expect. Some people are dancing or more likely grinding. Some are flirting in the corner, others are making out and touching each other. Practically, everyone has gone wild and then there's you seated in one of the counter stools enjoying a colour blue cocktail you enjoyed staring at because it's your favourite colour. You looked gorgeous for the night with the red off-shoulder hugging dress that emphasises you're curves, the long straight naturally black hair that shines under the darkness, and the pale skin that smooth enough to watch, nevertheless you're alone. On the stool. With a blue unknown cocktail. Alone.
The cocktail is keeping you company thanks to your wallet. Perverted retards have been inviting you ever since you entered the place, but you could give them no interest at all. And all you can do right now is talk to yourself, admiring how beautiful your colour blue - still - unknown - margarita - or - something cocktail.
"Excuse me is someone seated here?" A dark rich voice asked you getting your attention. You turned to the owner of the voice who looked sexily dangerous, but gentle at the same time.
Finally, someone quite decent to talk to, you thought.
"I believe I have been alone out here for more than a couple of minutes already." You answered.
The guy's cute, not handsome cute but irresistible cute. Blonde hair, Tall, not too dark but neither pale, small eyes and oh he giggled you spotted some dimples, quite attractive. Right mate?
"Then may I take this seat?" He asked politely
"Feel free to occupy." You answered hiding the excitement of talking to someone pretty hot for the night.
"So why is a pretty lad alone for more than a couple of minutes? I believe you have already drawn attention ever since you came up here." He asked ordering a scotch
"Well, I don't really keep company for perverts." You answered, " And I think your pretty decent, I hope so."
He chuckled at you're response, making you love his voice more, dark, sexy, rich and full. Oh you just even met, you're such a flirt.
"Kim Namjoon." He introduced giving a hand out.
You smug and took the hand shake, "Park Jihye."
The night was fun and great. The conversation with this Namjoon guy went out smoothly and the number of tequila you have drunk has been countless already. Handling alcohol is not a problem, the aftermath is. Who knows what attitude of yours take over when you're drunk?
"And we weren't able to know he's gay not until we saw them screwing each other like rabbits." Namjoon narrated in between sexy chuckles. Have you been using the word sexy to described his rich voice too many times? Well, who is there to blame he is sexy not just his voice.
"Oh my god, and you caught them in action?" You laughed finding the story funny, or are you just drunk? No? Okay, tipsy.
"Yep, tattooed on my mind." He said drinking his shot of tequila in one shot.
You admired him more as the night gets deeper, the way he's Adams apple bob up and down, the glistening of his skin because of the sweat and beauty of his plumped pinkish lips. You wonder how does it feel beneath yours, probably hot.
"You know. You are quite sexy." You confessed not holding up your thoughts, leaning your forehead to that glass of tequila you've been holding, already on the verge of getting drunk or are you just on the verge?
He gulped his tequila just in time and chuckled putting down his glass. He licked his lips and you can't help but wish it was yours he was using those sinful tongue for.
"Want to know how sexy I can be?"
You smirked, gulped your tequila down and checked him from head to toe.
Come on! You're drunk, giving in to the alcohol influence is not a bad idea, not like it's your first time. And so of course you asked,
"Where is your place?"
The next thing you knew, you guys are bumped up to his car door, making the hell out there and not even bothering if anyone sees you. Tongue's fought for dominance, and you won.
"I won." You declared pulling off the kiss, giving him a last peck and then running to the front seat.
"Oh I just let you won." He protested, defending his pride.
"Uh - huh? Accept it douchebag I'm a good kisser." You teased.
"Guilty as charged." He said starting the engine letting go a few chuckles.
You texted your only sister that your gonna be home in the morning and that you're still alive.
The ride was not long, it's either his house is just near or he drove too fast, no he's not excited, of course not, don't get your hopes too high, the house is probably just near.
So he lives in this condo unit in the 8th floor so you guys will have to take the elevator, of course since its probably 1 or 2 or whatever time at dawn it is in the morning you were alone in the elevator, and of course round 2 happened and unfortunately when the elevator dings,
"You cheated! You bit me!" You complained
"Uh - huh? Accept it princess, I'm a good kisser." He said mimicking you.
"I hate you." You grumbled acting as if you'll walk away.
But just after a step, he grabbed you by your arm swirling you around and capturing your lips giving you a sweet peck, "I know you won't afterwards." He whispered too close to your face, maybe less than a centimeter, making you smell that tequila you both enjoyed earlier, making you feel drunk. | 902d433ff65e4f71813eecb8f7649491 | ['f0acb619e49d4081940cc6621df6dd88'] | Very slowly he started thrusting and you don't know why but stars started reappearing and laughing this time. Stopping yourself from moaning, you reached for his faced and kissed him so passionately he can't do anything but obey the words your tongue conveys. And he did, thrusted faster, thank the heavens for your power of conviction and seduction. You meet up with every thrust he gives clinging to him for dear life and knowing that there'd be scratches and some nail marks tomorrow on his wide back. Changing angles as he thrust faster he poked something fragile, "Fuck!" You muttered finally finding your sweet spot. And so he started thrusting faster and faster sweat glistening the both of you, wetting you guys and making the moment hotter than it currently is. No words were exchange but the sound of slapping skins and inaudible moans and grunts of names filled the air. Reaching both of your climax, you cried out each names and cummed mixing up the juices you both released and having some leakage, filling up the air some stench.
Good gods, since when did you had such good sex in a decade? Too long to be remembered right?
Both of you panted as Namjoon managed to thrust a little more riding his orgasm out and finally laying next to you, putting a good arm around your waist.
"Hey." He whispered just next to your ear. You hugged him back hiding your face on the nook of his neck.
"Yeah?" You answered.
"I didn't wear a condom." He said.
You giggled at him which drew a puzzled face on his cute one.
"What?" He asked confused
You finally faced him, "You think I'll enter an adult club looking nonchalantly hot and unprepared for this? I took pills before entering the sickening bar."
He then shoved it off giving an okay - fine look which made you giggle and pinch his nose.
"Ouch! Hey that hurts!" He complained rubbing his nose, "You're gonna pay for it."
"Really? I'm so scared." You teased with a few laughter.
"Beg for your life cause I'm not gonna let you breath." He said before kissing you passionately, in which you didn't object. Who would?
You were awaken by the draws of sunlight the white curtains are open slightly-- wait WHITE?! But you're curtains are blue then since when did your pillow became so hard? And oh dear your head is throbbing if only you're not used to the feeling you could've not been able to complain and think well just like now, narrating your thoughts. You were still absorbing and controlling the throbbing pain in your head when your pillow moved wait-- pillows don't move and they don't have abs and whitish tan skin and an Adams apple and a plump pink lips and a cute nose and long eyelashes and your pillow is not a guy you met last night at a club named Kim Namjoon-- Ting!
Everything hit you like a wrecking ball and you remembered the good 3 or 4 rounds, perhaps? You can't help but giggle you did enjoy it, and because you giggled you stirred young Adonis who was sleeping soundly just before you giggled, great.
"Hey." He called in his deep groggy morning still sexy voice and smiled showing the dimples he have. "Hey, sorry did I wake you up?" You asked. "No I barely slept until I heard you giggle." He said with his sexy deep morning voice. You can't stop smiling and you're trying so best not to attack this sexy fellow and rock him the best of both worlds because of his sexiness.
He moved to your side and hid his face on the nook of your neck, making you feel the hot breath he's exhaling. Wow, everything about him is just hot, ayt mate?
The clock read 7:00 AM, it's still early it's probably fine to stay for a while.
"Hey Namjoon." You called out, and he replied with a hum. How can he's hum be so deep and sexy too? Can't this man live without being a walking temptation? "Sadly it's inborn." He answered. "What?" You asked confused, "You just blurted out your thoughts missy." He said, leaning on his elbows. "I did? Oh my gosh." You blurted. He gave out that sexy chuckle again and said, "Well you should hear my brother if you're all about deep sexy voices" He said chuckling the last part, "He has deeper voice than I do."
"You have a brother? Can I hit on him too?" You answered jokingly. "What? Of course not!" He greatly disapproved with furrowed brows. Acting cutesy, you then continued, "Well, I was just thinking if he was a better kisser." You teased. "Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "Well........" You teased furthermore. "What are you saying "well"? Wanna try it again huh?" He played along showing a puckered lips with some tickling. "No hahahahaha Namjoon stop hahahahaha" You tried stopping him but no luck. "Why are you such a tease." You said laughing the last couple of laughter when he finally decided to stop. "Because I'm a pornstar." He said wiggling his eyebrows, you laughed at remembering the rap he said last night at the bar to you. "Where are we? Oh yeah, I'm proving you I'm not a bad kisser, you even enjoyed it!" He whined. You can't stop but giggle at his cuteness and teased all along, "Sorry, I can't remember~ it must've been the alcohol~" You said. "Well then I'll make you remember it." He said closing the gap between you two and once again kissing you. The moment was getting passionate and quite intense when
"Hey Namjoon it's already past 7 are you not--- OH MY GOD JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH!"
You pushed Namjoon quite hard he fell off the bed, he then grabbed the thankfully near towel and wrapped it around his lower body. |
01d20e3fe42c493292cac63c13dd7b38 | ['f0ae1be4bf09458e95c0e56dcc62cf33'] | Even Archangels Love Candy
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
"GABE! GET BACK HERE!" Michael yelled, hoping his little brother would come back.
"NO! CANDYYYYY!" Gabriel yelled back, running to his older brother Lucifer, who had a bag full of candy.
"Gabriel no. No candy. Not yet." Luci said.
"BUT WHYYYYY?" Gabe yells.
"Gabe no." Michael says walking over the them.
"FINE I'LL JUST GO TO GALLIFREY! THE GALLIFREYANS WILL GIVE ME CANDY!" Gabriel screams.
"Gabriel no! Wai-" Luci starts to say, but its too late. Gabriel snapped his fingers and he was gone.
* * *
"Doctor, can I have some candy?" Gabriel says to a Time Lord.
"No Gabriel. Not yet." the Doctor says, walking away.
Gabriel walks the other way and goes to another Time Lord.
"Master, can I have some candy?" Gabriel asks.
"Gabriel. I have no candy. _You ate all of my candy._ " he replies, walking away angrily.
"WHY WILL NO ONE GIVE ME SOME CANDY?" Gabe screams, snapping his fingers, going back to heaven.
* * *
Gabriel goes and sits against a wall in the garden in heaven, crying.
"Gabe, what's wrong?" Castiel asks, walking over.
"I want candy." Gabriel says as he stops crying.
"Wellllllllllllllllll." Cas says smiling, holding his hand behind his back.
Gabriel looks at him confused.
"surprise!" Cas says, adorably, holding out a handful of candy.
"Ohhhhh Gabeeee!" Luci says walking in dropping the bag of candy in front of him.
"Hey Gabriel, here you go!" The Doctor says smiling, dropping a candy bar in front of him.
"I still have no candy for either of us." The Master says. Gabriel hands him a piece of candy and the Master smiles and leaves.
"you do realize you could have just snapped your fingers and gotten candy right?" Michael says throwing Gabriel a piece of candy.
"YAY!" Gabriel yells, jumping up smiling. He snaps his fingers and he disappears with the candy.
* * *
Later that day, he finally understood. It was another angel holiday! He was one of the 10 angels chosen to get whatever they wanted. Ever since then, he was trying to get other people (like humans) to give other people things, so that's how birthdays were created. Gabriel kept doing this every year to every angel on a different day. | beb7b0c723ce48a78ec92513a704321f | ['f0ae1be4bf09458e95c0e56dcc62cf33'] | it's all over now
**Author's Note:**
> DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED.
She saw the blood flow from her wrist. He screamed for help and didn't get a reply. She hit things and runs around her room wondering when the pills would start working. No one could save her now. He looked around for the last time thinking of the person he loved before he stepped off. The girl found the body hanging with him barely breathing. She said it distracts her when he asked about the cuts. He agreed looking down at the cuts on his own wrist. One last time she thought of jumping but didn't succeed. The boy smiled as he continues to bleed. She sobs at the thought of living. He smiled as he thinks of death. ‘Tomorrow is the end’ is her constant thought. ‘I'll stay if she does’ he thinks every night. She cries once she sees him. He cries knowing he can't stop her. She smiles as she talks to him on the phone. He cries as he walks to the top of a building. She runs to him, blood coming from her wrists. He smiles seeing her. She falls down to the ground, covered in tears and blood. He runs down, just in time. An ambulance is on its way. She gets taken to the hospital. He is left alone. She knows what is going to happen. He goes back to the building at midnight. She breaks out of the hospital. He sits at the top of the building, and she goes too. He cries as he looks at both of their arms, covered with cuts and burns. She cries knowing someone will see them up on the roof. He faces her and kisses her quickly. She smiles thinking he will stay. Alarms are heard all around. He smiled and they run down to the ground. She laughs as people try and catch them. He smiles knowing she's happy. She and him found a car and drove away. He smiles and thinks of death less. She laughs and agrees that everything will be okay. Just when everything seemed okay, he realizes what's really happening. As she lays there in his arms and the ambulance is on its way, he knows she is quickly dying. He picks her up and drives home in his car. Once they get there he tied up her wrists to stop the bleeding. She's breathing. He's panicking. He stays awake for hours and hours wondering if he should live and if she will wake up. She wakes up seeing him passed out from overdose. He wakes up minutes later to her crying. She regrets not cutting deeper. He smiles, happy to see her alive. Police come to his house knowing he took her. They walk to the door. He cries knowing he is going to lose her. She cries knowing she will be leaving him alone. He cries when she's gone. She hides all the sleeping pills they gave her, waiting until she has enough. He lays awake all night, thinking about everything. She gets enough pills and takes them all at once. She falls asleep and he is her last thought. The police go to his house to tell him the news about her not being dead somehow. But it's already too late. She called him right after she took them. He heard her last words and she heard his. The police try to get him to talk but he refuses. They see he wrote something down in his skin. They read through the blood and see deep cuts spelling out her name on his wrist. On the table next to him are her last words. He cries and they take him away. He takes the paper with him. ‘Day one. Great. Maybe I could die quickly.’ He thinks. They take him to the hospital and he sees her fighting against some doctors. He smiles and runs over to her. She sees him and grabs him, both crying. “One day will be better” he whispers to her. She nods and smiles through her tears. The doctors don't separate them, knowing what will happen if they do. Eventually they leave, safely living next to each other. Slowly getting better, slowly becoming okay. One day he breaks. Suddenly worse again. He hides it from her but she already knew. She could tell somehow. Her mind breaks too the next day. After taking too many pills and recutting her name in his wrist, he wrote a note:
“to the world that became too much to handle, goodbye.
to those who cared but never showed it, i am sorry for ever living.
to the girl who always brought me hope, i am so sorry. i have many reasons for this. i didn't want to leave you, it was all too much. im sorry for what i put you through. i want you to know you are perfect to me. i love you, but goodbye.”
She walked in and he was already gone. She wrote a note:
“to anyone who cares. to anyone who is like us. to anyone in the entire universe. please don't end up like this. some may not make it, but others will. there are many reasons why i have done this, and he can agree. i never thought it would end this way. it started so simple. but things got worse. the world was stupid. it had to end. no one cared except the person dead next to me. the world caved in and death won the war. but it's over now. goodbye everyone.”
She closed her eyes and took a bottle of pills. She carved his name in her wrist and carved the word ‘sorry’ in the other just like he had done. She whispers her last words to herself, “This is it. It's all over now.” |
fe5cb65b4aed4110aa637f9dd44cf3d6 | ['f0c233ad2d0244eebb56e812a26f8e06'] | you are the only exception
**Author's Note:**
> another big word jumble, i hope you all know this isn't how i view donghyuck it's just me using donghyuck to talk about how i'm feeling rn as i always get a lil blue after it passes 12. i'm sorry hyuckie i'm a horrible writer and you don't deserve this.
Donghyuck remembered why he doesn't stay up too late, the thoughts, the wonders, they're all a big pain in the ass.
he's never been good at friendships, choosing to distance himself from a certain person when he feels like he said too much, opened up a little, had his heart on his sleeve, donghyuck is sad.
Donghyuck is sad and he knows why, it's him, donghyuck's the problem, he's not sad because of anyone, he's not sad because of something someone did to him, he's sad because he's donghyuck. because he can't talk about his mental health and he can't talk about his feelings, he physically cannot, (the one time he told mark about one of his struggles, he felt so utterly pathetic and laughable he swore to never do it again) and he bottles and bottles them all up until his poor head can't take it any longer and so he bursts into tears as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Donghyuck is sad because he loses interest in things and people so quickly, he hates himself for being so ultimately uninterested in everything, he's not studious, he's into art but he doesn't have the will, he's into music but he doesn't have the talent, he's into meeting new people but he, he wants to get to know them and he does, because donghyuck has a way of talking to people and making them open up to him, he has a way of making them believe he'll always stay by their side and never betray their trust and he doesn't, he doesn't betrayed their trust but he doesn't particularly stay by their side. as soon as one of his friends confides in him and tells him their problems and worries, donghyuck feels swamped, he feels so horrible and he feels horrible for feeling horrible about this matter that doesn't even concern him, when people open up to him he takes it as his own emotional baggage, he feels awful and he feels like suddenly he is the worst human being and friend alive.
his friend is struggling yet he can't get himself to talk properly to them again as it's just too hard, he doesn't know what to say and he doesn't know how he can help them.
Donghyuck is sad because he's just so bad at everything and he hurts the people he loves, he's sad because he's not good enough and he doesn't deserve friends and he doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as them or eat the same food, he feels unworthy of every single thing possible and it's tearing him apart. he feels like he's slowly drowning because it's so hard, everything is so hard and painful and he's fallen into a big cold puddle, he's blue and painfully aware of everything around him.
but there's a loophole, and that loophole is mark, mark is there, mark tries his best to understand, mark comforts him without knowing the matter, donghyuck finds solace in mark, although he doesn't feel worthy of him, he can never let him go, because mark is mark and to donghyuck mark is the only exception, for everything, mark is donghyuck's comfort, he's donghyuck's home. | d3b72abb5d7c41efb0e4ecd6e7924f91 | ['f0c233ad2d0244eebb56e812a26f8e06'] | My frail self stands, a bit dangerous
**Author's Note:**
> hi i'm not a writer and this isn't good but i thought that maybe writing will make me feel better.
donghyuck was okay. he was doing okay.
he was fairly satisfied with his talents and he loved his job, he loves his members and he talks to his family frequently, he has a loving boyfriend and thousands of people fawning over every move of his.
donghyuck didn't know what was the problem, he had a fairly productive day of practicing and spending time with mark, his overall mood for the day was decent and he was trying to be his most positive self but as soon as he said goodnight to his members and went to bed, his worries started to arise. he started questioning stuff he had never questioned before, he was always confident with his voice and his dancing but now he isn't as sure anymore, taeil had a better voice, jisung was better at dancing, jeno was more good looking, what's his role in his group? what's his role aside from throwing in jokes here and there? what would he been doing right now if he wasn't an idol? can he do a good job at whatever he would be doing?
he thinks back to his school days and he thinks that his grades weren't that impressive either, and he wasn't good at memorizing bland things from books, he wasn't that good at maths and he never had much interest in history or chemistry, what does he have interest in that isn't singing? would his boyfriend still like him if he wasn't an idol? if his situation was different? would they still be together?
millions of thoughts raced through his head, he was starting to feel frustrated but he couldn't exactly put a finger on why, he currently wishes mark was there next to him in his bed, kissing his forehead and telling him it's gonna be okay (whatever it was, donghyuck wasn't sure).
interrupting his inner monologue, he sees a text notification illuminating his phone, he sees that it's way past 1 now, the time he decided to "sleep", he opens the text and he notes that it's from mark, asking him if he's still up, he didn't know that at the time but mark knew that whenever he's still awake by that time and he's not practicing, he is either feeling queasy or overthinking things, and mark knew it was the latter.
donghyuck responds confirming that yes he was indeed still awake and a few seconds later he hears a knock on his and jaehyun's door, he sees someone approaching his bed and he soon sees that it's none other than the boy he was day(night)dreaming about, mark.
he goes under the covers next to him and hugs him by his waist, pulling him close.
mark decides that for tonight, that will do. |
e69c642af6cb48c9b77c335260cd445c | ['f0e445ece89b4d029753e9ec147c6966'] | “Perfect, let’s move out,” Junhee declared and the agents headed back through the door.
“Here,” Yuchan said as he went to hand the gun to Junhee.
“No, you keep that, you and Donghun are our best shots so it’s best that you two keep the guns,” Junhee replied. Yuchan nodded and handed Junhee his knife instead.
The agents had made it to the second floor when the intercom system crackled overhead again.
"You're running out of ti~ime," the voice singsonged.
No sooner did the voice click off then the sounds of heavy footsteps echoed through the factory.
“Quick take cover separately and shoot only to injure, unless the start to overwhelm us,” Junhee instructed.
Each agent took refuge behind a column as the thundering footsteps drew nearer. Gunshots suddenly rang out and Donghun and Yuchan waited patiently for an opportunity for a counter attack. When there was a lull in the fire, Donghun nodded to Yuchan and they both took half a step out from behind their columns. Donghun hit two men in the thighs, while Yuchan hit one in the shoulder and another in the knee. They quickly retreated back behind the columns.
“Cover me, Chan,” Donghun said as he snuck towards the downed men to disarm them. He picked up two of the guns and was moving onto the third when the man who had been hit in the shoulder leapt at him. Byeongkwan quickly stepped from behind his column and buried his knife in the man’s back. The man growled and tried to turn around but Donghun shot him before he could get very far.
“So much for just a recon mission,” Byeongkwan muttered bitterly as he withdrew his knife and pushed the man’s body to the floor. Byeongkwan quickly grabbed the other two guns and retreated to his column, sliding one of the guns across the floor to Sehyoon. More footsteps sounded as Donghun headed back to take cover. He passed a gun to Junhee and ducked behind a new column, just as a second round of fire sounded.
“Shoot to kill, there’s too many of them,” Junhee said. “At the next free moment we move out. The longer we stay here the riskier it’s going to get.”
Each agent simultaneously cocked their weapon and prepared to move out. Sehyoon caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around to shoot the assailant that tried to sneak up on him. Junhee and Donghun moved into the aisle to get better vantage points. Yuchan took down two men from behind his column before joining the two in the middle. Byeongkwan had put his gun in his belt in favor of the switchblade and was able to sneak up behind the new group of men that had come up the stairs. He slit the throat of one and went to move to the next, when one of the attackers spotted him. Byeongkwan scrambled for his gun as the other man raised it, but he didn’t need it because the man suddenly crumpled to the group.
“Be careful,” Sehyoon warned from across the room and turned back to the man that had approached him. Donghun had one of the men in a choke hold and was using his body as a shield to take down the rest of attackers. When they were gone he kicked the man to the ground and Junhee buried a bullet in his brain from behind. Yuchan finished off the last two men that climbed the stairs with one bullet each.
“Let’s go!” Junhee called as the agents took off for the stairs. The sailed down the flight and were halfway across the first floor when ten masked men stepped in front of them.
“Split up,” Junhee ordered as he took off to the left flanked by Sehyoon and Donghun, while Byeongkwan and Yuchan went right. The agents easily felled the men that had the misfortune of trying to block their path and sprinted out of the door. They rushed back to the van and Junhee hopped in last closing the door behind him.
“Go go go!” Junhee panted as he slipped to the floor. He pulled the envelope out of his shirt and hid it in the lock box under the passenger seat.
“Chan isn’t back yet,” Byeongkwan replied nervously.
“What do you mean he’s not back yet?” Jun replied, eyes wide. “What happened?”
“I don’t know he was right behind me, but when I got here he was gone,” Byeongkwan replied chewing on his lip.
“We have to go ba-,” Junhee began, but was cut off by something suddenly slamming into the side of the van. Donghun quickly drew his gun and opened the van door to reveal a very bruised and disoriented Yuchan. Donghun immediately dragged him into the van, while Byeongkwan shut the door and Sehyoon began to drive off.
“What happened?” Donghun asked worriedly as he traced over Yuchan’s bruised cheek and busted lip with his thumb. Byeongkwan handed Donghun a first aid kit and he quickly began dressing the younger’s wounds.
“They surprised me as I took a corner,” Yuchan winced as Donghun applied rubbing alcohol to one of the many cuts lacing his neck.
“They’re following us.” Sehyoon said dryly as he glared into the rearview mirror. Byeongkwan quickly hopped into the front seat and began tapping away at their radar hoping to find a way around the pursuiters.
“We’re surrounded,” Byeongkwan growled as he slipped into the back to reload his gun. Yuchan reached for his own gun, but Donghun snatched it away.
“You are in no shape to fight now. We can handle this.”
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than gunshots began pelting the van. One sailed through the drivers window hitting Sehyoon in the shoulder and another punctured a tire causing the van to careen towards the side of the road. | 5af4386952454449b6b68e7ce648be36 | ['f0e445ece89b4d029753e9ec147c6966'] | She quickly ripped her arm from Junhee’s grasp, “I’m not concerned about the danger, when my brother could be dead because of those men. I am going to get him and you are not going to stop me.” She practically growled the words causing Junhee to take a reluctant step back.
“Fine, but if you go I’m coming with you.” Junhee stated rather indignantly.
“Jun, don’t do this.” The pet name softened Junhee and he slumped his shoulders, but he quickly straightened back up in hopes of convincing Jewel to allow him to go with her. He knew it was fruitless to try to convince her not to go. Jewel was incredibly stubborn, and once her mind was set on something, she was getting it.
“Why not? I know how much your brother means to you and I want him back as much as you do, but it’s too dangerous for you to go alone. It's my job to protect you.” Junhee said this while taking a step toward Jewel and taking her hands in his and interlacing their fingers.
“I can protect myself.” Jewel whispered as she looked up at Junhee. “Plus they need you here, Eunsuh would be distraught if anything happened to you. Let me go and I promise I’ll be back with Chan before you can even miss me. Please, Jun.”
He didn’t answer and instead, cupped her face in his hands, leaned down, and connected their lips. Jewel didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, tilting her head upward to gain a better angle. Their lips worked in perfect sync and they only broke apart to catch their breath.
“I love you.” Junhee whispered as he buried his face in Jewel’s neck reluctant to let her go. He finally pulled back and looked down at Jewel. “I miss you already.”
Jewel stared up into Junhee’s brown eyes and whispered the words she had been waiting to say for ages, “ I love you too, Jun.”
He grinned and captured her lips once more with his, “Come back quickly.”
Jewel nodded and they left turned to leave and rejoin her family in the main room.
“Jewel.” Sehyoon cautioned when he saw the look in her eye as she exited the room. Her eyes shot daggers in his direction, and he knew there would be no convincing her to stay.
“Just be careful.” She nodded, and allowed Junhee to place one last quick kiss on her lips.
“Be careful, please.” He whispered as she turned away and exited the door. She walked quickly, but inconspicuously towards the green. As she got close she saw no trace of her brother, except for one slightly bent branch of the ferns that surrounded the lake next to the green. She began walking over to the ferns, looked around to make sure no soldiers were watching, and stepped through, careful not to bend anymore of the plants. Once she entered the clearing, she saw a small foot poking out from under a bush.
“Chan, its Jewel. You can come out from under there it’s just me,” she whispered loud enough for only her brother to hear. Yuchan poked his head out and ran to his sister. She knelt down and cradled her brother in her arms.
“That was so smart of you to hide here, Chan, but we have to get you home.” Jewel stood up and took her brother by the hand. He looked up at her and nodded.
They stepped back through the ferns, and turned towards their home. They only managed to take a couple steps when two voices stopped them in their tracks.
“Hey look what we have here.” Jewel turned around to see two soldiers stalking over to her with smirks plastered across both of their faces. She stepped in front of Yuchan to shield him from the men. The first soldier stalked over and took Jewel’s wrist in his hand and yanked her towards him. She quickly pulled her arm from his grasp and glared fiercely at the man who dared to grab her.
“Oh she’s a feisty one huh? Where are you going, girl? More importantly, where are you coming from?” Jewel ignored all the soldier’s questions, and only addressed her brother.
“Chan, go home. I’ll be there soon.” Yuchan quickly ran off, and the second soldier moved to follow him, but Jewel stepped in front of him.
“Out of my way, girl!” He spat, while shoving her to the side. “Do you dare to impede the work of the King’s soldiers?” Jewel did not reply or move, only maintained the same venomous stare she had for the first soldier. After getting a closer look at Jewel’s face, the first soldier’s angry snarl morphed back into his original smirk.
“I think we found what we’re looking for.” He smiled precariously close to Jewel’s face, but she refused to take a step back. Her eyes widened ever so slightly in fear and confusion, but she quickly returned her stare before the soldier noticed.
“There’s so many girls in this village, how can you be sure she’s the warlock’s daughter?” the second soldier replied, while taking a step closer to inspect Jewel’s face. Jewel could no longer hide the fear that seeped across her face, but she remained quiet.
“Her eyes,” the first soldier smirked. Jewel quickly looked down finally breaking eye contact with the first soldier.
“You’re wrong,” her voice was icy and held no trace of the fear that was so evident on her face.
“Ha! We’ll see what the King has to say about that,” the first soldier said as he grabbed her arm. Jewel immediately struck the soldier and turned to run when he let go, but was too slow as the second soldier has already grabbed her. She kicked him causing his grip to loosen, but not enough for her to slip away. The first soldier walked over and roughly grabbed her face. |
132e22d57015472b879940ee28c5398a | ['f0e63e08f0f0460e8a848366ae6fe297'] | Neither Thought nor Memory
(asterisk)
Veronica checks her car twice before
she enters. Under, because in middle
school her health teacher told her about girls
getting their legs slashed in grocery store
parking lots (then: rape). She imagines them
sometimes. They cannot run, and the blood pools
in their shoes. Inside, because - well. Because.
She tells herself that a real phobia
would immobilize her. This is simply
a mild case of PTSD (or, what
are they calling it these days? certainly
not the good ol' shell shock of World War II).
If Veronica carries an extra
cell phone in her bag for emergencies,
it's only because her carrier has
the nifty five dollar a month charge
for her family plan, and who doesn't
take advantage of a steal like that?
Lying in her purse next to a sharpened
nail file, she's got two flashlights (brand new, and
she changes the batteries every month,
whether she used them or not). She admits:
that might be a little over the top.
Who needs two flashlights in their purse, anyway?
One used to do her fine. Times, they do change.
She doesn't get rid of the second, though.
Just in case (it might be an OCD).
At night, after her father has fallen
asleep and she's lain in bed quietly
for as long as she thinks she can, she tries
to find the fragments and pieces of her
(self) and the person who she used to be.
There's a trick to it: Veronica holds
her breath and wraps her arms around her soul,
clutching tight fistfuls of it when she can.
Veronica's afraid she might lose it
any other way. Now it isn't safe
to breathe anymore. She stays very still
until she bursts out a great gush of air.
She gasps and labors for the next breath and -
Obviously, she must keep it inside
(again). How else will she live? Her Lilly's
abandoned her now, and she's forgotten
how to exist without her in the back
of her thoughts. Veronica's terrified
that soon there will be an entire day with
neither thought nor memory of Lilly.
Maybe that'd be okay for the dead girl,
but the one still alive can't allow it.
"You need to see a therapist," he says,
tossing a couple of socks in the air.
"I thought you were supposed to support me
when I unloaded." And Veronica
doesn't meet his eyes but stares at the floor.
"Well, this stuff is messed up, Veronica.
How do you function with all of it up
there in your head racing about like that?"
"That," she says, "is the sixty-four thousand
dollar question." Conversation over.
(Only that doesn't happen, because she
has seen in her mind's eye how exactly
her confidant will freak, and she can't deal
with it going like that. She can't handle
him telling her to visit a damn shrink
when all she really needs is just this thing:
to never, ever forget Lilly Kane -
and how can Veronica find someone
to remember Lilly quite like she will?)
Veronica watches old home movies
to save Lilly, because she's the only
one who's trying to keep her anymore.
And, maybe, saving Lilly, she can save
herself.
(asterisk)
finis | baaa1acff85441f9a6d08e1fae6508fc | ['f0e63e08f0f0460e8a848366ae6fe297'] | Or maybe it was because the very subject just wore her to the point of exhaustion; she sighed and reached for Luke. He pulled her into his arms, and they stayed like that for several minutes. She tried to concentrate solely on matching her breathing with his until there was nothing else on her mind. Soon, even that was lost as she listened to the thump of his heart in his chest.
"I'm sorry," Lorelai said.
"Me too. I know how your mom is." He pulled away from her and looked her in the eyes. "Lorelai, if you won't call your mother, you should at least call Rory. That's a relationship that I _know_ like I know you and me."
"Rory doesn't need me to call her. If she really wanted to talk to me, she could call me herself. I'm respecting her wishes, something that Emily Gilmore knows nothing about."
"You know, I'm pretty sure that's the exact same thing she said at the wedding reception," said Luke, smiling at her in a bitter mix of amusement and sorrow. "You two keep saying that if the other makes the first move, you'll talk. One of you has to make that move, Lorelai."
Lorelai stepped back.
"Can we not talk about this right now? I have to pick up Davy from Sookie's at four. He hasn't had a day out by himself since Belle came, and he's feeling sort of lonely. Jackson and I figured that some sugar and caffeine with Auntie Lorelai would cheer him right up."
"Lorelai -"
"Luke, honestly. We'll postpone it." Lorelai touched the side of his face, and his eyes caught hers. She smiled. "Last night, Davy peed on Belle. He's feeling a little neglected."
Luke softened. She knew that he would bring it back up, but she also knew that he understood her need to take it slowly. If he forced things, there very well could be another decade before she and her mother had a civil conversation. She put her hands in his and laced their fingers together.
"You can't just give the kid candy and coffee."
"Coffee? Never! He's at least three years too young," Lorelai admonished. "No, he's getting some cola. Only, I'm calling it root beer, because Sookie knows that root beer is caffeine free."
"You're a terrible aunt."
"Well, Uncle Luke, you could come with us and spend some quality time in the park," she offered. "I got him late enough that he's already exhausted - I made Sookie move his naptime up a half hour, and you wouldn't believe how much that quiets kids up later in the evening."
"If they take it."
Lorelai opened her mouth and shut up with an audible snap.
"Crap. Cranky kid, aisle three."
They were in luck - when they arrived at Sookie's house, she told them that he had indeed lain down for his nap and slept through it. Davy did seem to run around with a little lag, and Lorelai wasted no time in scooping the racer to her for a big hug.
"Auntie Lorelai!" exclaimed Davy. "Uncle Luke!"
He broke away from Lorelai and ran straight for Luke. He solemnly held out a hand, and Luke took it in his own and shook it.
"Hey, Dave," he said.
"Hey," replied the little boy, just as gruffly.
Sookie laughed delightedly, clapping her own two hands together.
"If that isn't the most adorable thing in the world, I don't know what is," she said, pulling out her camera. "Stay there for just a second - " and before Luke was at all certain what was happening, Sookie had taken half a dozen pictures of him and Davy in a handshake.
"Aw, geeze," said Luke, dropping Davy's hand and fixing Lorelai with a beseeching look.
"Sookie!" chided Lorelai. "Luke is not _adorable_. Luke is manly. He's a manly man. He fixes houses and shakes hands. He drinks _beer_. Adorable men do not drink beer."
"Jackson's cousin Trey drinks beer," she pointed out. "And he's a man's _man_ if you catch my drift."
Jackson hurried in from the kitchen with a small bag in his hands. Lorelai suspected that it was filled with snakes for Davy - she'd have to ditch those at her house before they went out to eat delightfully anti-nutritional things at Al's.
"It doesn't count if the beer is imported and has a fancy name," he said, handing the basket to Lorelai. He turned to Luke. "Hey! Didn't know you were here!" And Jackson pulled Luke into half a hug. "There's enough in there to feed you all, plus enough to last us through the next famine."
"Oh, Jackson," Sookie said, "there is not."
Jackson caught Lorelai's eye and mouthed that, yes, there certainly was. She grinned at him as she bent down to pick up Davy.
"Oomph," she said. "You're getting heavier. Next thing we know, you'll be driving a car."
The three of them managed to maneuver their way out of the house in record time, tasting only three or four dishes upon which Sookie was testing her culinary skills. Davy was strapped into his pram, secured as surely as if he were going to be skydiving, and the parachute opened somewhere from within his vehicle.
Luke wanted to eat at his diner, and if that didn't pass, he wanted them all to visit Snuffy's.
"But _Luke_ ," Lorelai said, "this is Italian week at Al's. He's got half a dozen pizzas to choose from and lasagna and spaghetti. Are you going to be denying Davy spaghetti?"
Luke was not to be dissuaded.
"Snuffy's got all that, plus hamburgers and french fries, and it's on a _kid's menu_. Al's doesn't have a kid's menu, and we'd have to portion it accordingly for Davy."
"Al's is right here, though. We can _walk_."
"They've got a coloring set that they hand out for little kids," Luke added. "And Snuffy's has good coffee."
Al's had terrible coffee.
"I'll drive." |
af91a21c4f2f47aa827b5ac21313e4ad | ['f0f98f494ce747c1b641b3ef91b1649b'] |
the only one who can beat me, is my basketball
**Author's Note:**
> I'm sorry this is unplanned, unedited, and I really don't know what I'm doing. Except making a harem around Aomine's basketball skills.
**Momoi Satsuki**
They're in third grade when they talk about getting married. It's Daiki who brings it up, smiling at the way Satsuki's transfixed by his shots, her eyes practically glowing in wonder.
"You know," he says, thinking of his cousin's wedding the day before. "If we got married, we could play basketball together forever. All the time."
Satsuki rolls her eyes at him, even starting with the "Dai-chan, you idiot" before cutting herself off and scrunching her brow in concentration.
Daiki's breath catches because he's seen this look. He knows this look and every instinct in his body is telling him to run far far away from the cute pink haired elementary school girl.
"Okay," she says.
"Wait, what?"
"I said it's okay, but if you're gonna play for the NBA in the future and I'm gonna play WNBA in the future, we can't be on the same team."
"Oh." He hadn't thought of that.
"Well," she says, elongating the last syllable. "I saw a show about how a girl pretended to be a boy to get close to the boy she likes, so I think we can do the same thing with you and the WNBA."
Her eyes rack over his form shamelessly and Daiki suppresses the urge to run away screaming in favor of defending his manly pride.
"I don't look like a girl!"
Satsuki starts off with a patronizing of course you don't and starts talking about he's probably going to get even more taller and muscular, and Daiki tones her out, because honestly he wouldn't have got it if he was paying attention anyways. Besides, why would he spend energy trying to get everything she said when there was _basketball_?
He's about to go in for a layup when he heard her talking chest sizes and the basketball drops from all too numb fingers.
It bounces once, before rolling out far away into another court, possibly following Daiki's thoughts. Far far away.
"How big?" Daiki says, his voice a little raspy.
"Huh?"
"My boobs," he clarifies, making gesturing motions to the air in front of his chest. His voice comes out a bit too loud, carries across the courts, prompting a mother to drag her child away. "How big are my fake boobs gonna be?"
Satsuki gets a glint in her eyes, and says her next words with all of the confidence in the world.
"Bigger than that basketball, Dai-chan. As big as your, no, our dreams."
In his eight (and a half) years of life, Aomine Daiki had never heard words this beautiful. Never felt his heart beat this fast out of a game.
(This was before he was introduced to the wonder that is Horikata Mai, of course.)
Mimicking the romance movies he had most definitely never seen or cried through, Daiki ran towards his friend. Pulled the girl into his arms and smashed their mouths together in a motion that ended with him getting a black eye as Satsuki clutched her broken nose, loudly demanding a divorce.
****
**Kuroko Tetsuya**
Okay, this was going to be hard.
Harder than that math test (that he was pretty sure he failed) last class. Harder than he was after _that dream_ about Tetsu the week before.
Which he just had to think of. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Simply put, all he really had to do was tell Tetsu that he was really amazing so if he'd be up for it, they could hold hands and stuff under the cherry blossoms. Together. Without anyone else.
Maybe something about possible future makeouts cause Tetsu was kinda hot in that **creepy staring endlessly into your soul** way. Which was totally different from creepy weird hot (like hooking up with vampires and other dead things) on the sole basis that Tetsu was way too cool to end up in the bargain bin.
Speaking of Tetsu, the dude's kinda been staring at him for the past minute. Did he say this stuff out loud? Did Tetsu get mind reading powers with misdirection?
What if he heard everything? No worse, what if Satsuki heard everything?
Oh god, he was going to die. She'd know and want to talk about _his feelings_ and he was going to die before a professional team tried to recruit him.
"Don't worry Aomine-kun, nobody can read your mind."
How does he know. How.
"I could tell from your expression. Aomine-kun is a very simple person, after all."
Tetsu's face is as blank as ever but he's giving off an air of expectation. Probably waiting for him to start.
"Okay Tetsu, the thing is... "
"Yes?"
"I'm kinda... I mean, you're kinda... "
"Please hurry up. I still haven't gained the ability to read minds."
"I had a sexy dream about you."
Oh shit. Why'd he bring up the dream? Don't think about the dream. Don't talk about the dream. Great, now Tetsu's going to think he's a weird pervert and he's going to die. Without even playing professional ball.
Wait. Tetsu's getting closer? Does he like him back? Did this mean they were going out? Did he need to learn to make homemade chocolates for next Valentines?
Holy shit, was he touching his face? Was he going in for a kiss?
"It seems you don't have a fever."
And he just walks away...
"You should learn to hurry up, Aomine-kun. It wouldn't be good to be late for practice."
Practice happens and Tetsu doesn't talk about it. It's not like he has to. But it's kinda annoying, the way he just stares at his shots. Not sure why.
**Kise Ryouta**
Everything is Kise's fault. All of it. | c13a63cf6ba746409fb4b95bc823a6a0 | ['f0f98f494ce747c1b641b3ef91b1649b'] |
Any Kind of Tomorrow is Good
**Author's Note:**
* Inspired by LINK by LINK.
> Here's the usual warning that I still haven't edited any of this. Here's the usual promise that I'll get around to doing that.
In the end, Ibuki was just another one of Void's pawns. Another person who had their mind poisoned by Void’s will, seduced by the power it promised, until all that remained was a machine of destruction, a twisted shadow of the person they used to be.
It makes Aichi sick.
When he defeated the other Takuto ( _the abomination who dared to use his friend’s face, that almost crushed everything Takuto had worked hard and suffered for. That Takuto had **died** for_ ), he thought that it was the end of Void. No more Reverse, no more Link Joker. Both Earth and Cray would be safe from it’s threat forever.
As the incident with Ibuki had proven, he was completely wrong.
He could keep pushing Void back, defeating it at every turn, but the truth was, unless if he could find away to defeat it forever, it would always come back.
Given how close all these incidents were together (it hadn’t even been a year since the Asia Cup), unless if Aichi had a definite solution, or the beginnings of one, there would be another disaster lying in wait.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. He remained ignorant for most of the Reverse incident, not being there when Kai needed him, oblivious to Kourin’s strange behavior, and spent hours moping around when he finally did find out. To the point that he dumped un-reversing all of Miyaji Academy on Naoki and Shingo (what kind of Cardfight Club President was that?). He owed it to his friends, who stood by him this whole time, who supported him and believed in him when he couldn’t, to fix this.
His psyqualia had gotten far stronger since Takuto’s death, where Ren, Chris, and Leon’s hadn’t. While Aichi’s not on Misaki’s level, he isn’t stupid. He knows what this means. He knows what Takuto entrusted him with. He knows what he needs and what he can do.
With determination burning in his eyes, Aichi set off to Card Shop PSY.
****
The hug that Kourin gives him is unexpected, but still nice. She holds onto him as if he’s a lifeline, that if she lets go, he’ll disappear along with her. Aichi relaxes into the embrace, slowly breathing in and out as her hair brushes his chin, both giving and drawing support. He contemplates staying like this for a while, but then Suiko coughs, reminding them of the other two people in the room, and they break apart with identical blushes.
“So,” Suiko says, as Rekka wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You wanted to ask us something?” Despite her words, there’s a faint trace of amusement in her voice (which Aichi decides to ignore for his own wellbeing).
“What can you tell me about sealing things away?” His voice comes out hurried, almost slurring his words together.
Suiko looks at him for a few seconds, nodding to herself in understanding before answering.
“You can’t seal away something without a physical form. Takuto was an exception, since his body was being controlled at that time, and even then the seal wasn’t particularly strong.”
“What if it had a body? All of its fragments in one host?”
Kourin’s eyes sharpen at these words, but Suiko holds up her hand in the universal gesture of “not now”.
“It's possible but the person would have to have a strong will and good control of psyqualia to attract Void to them and keep it suppressed until they are sealed."
She pauses and Aichi nods.
"I wouldn't ask anyone else to do this to begin with," he affirms.
"The seal itself would be hard to construct," Suiko says, leading them all to the backroom. She rummages around for a bit before pulling a misshapen manilla folder out of a drawer.
Aichi's name is written on the front and Suiko smooths it out a bit before handing it to him.
He pours out the contents, a collection of cut gemstones and precious metals, onto a table Suiko directs him to. They range from tiny to large, are probably worth more than his house, and give off a feeling similar to the crystals in his pair of vanguard fighter gloves, only far far stronger.
"For it to remain stable, despite outside interference, you'll need something powerful to maintain it."
There's a large piece of paper left. Carefully, Aichi pulls it out of the folder and unfolds it once, a second time, then third.
It's a world map, large enough to cover the whole table, with certain areas circled, lines running between them and GPS coordinates written next to them.
"Ley Lines," Aichi says, realizing what they are. His voice is soft, breathless in its awe but it carries across the room.
Rekka beams at him.
"Oh," she says. "You caught on pretty fast! Here I thought I'd have to explain the whole thing to you~"
Aichi blushes, murmuring something about fantasy novels, his gaze trained on the floor near his feet.
There's a pause, a moment where they’re unsure whether to break out in forced laughter or start sending out condolence letters. It stretches into a minute almost two, before Aichi turns to leave.
“Thank you”, he says, sincerity shining through on every word. “For everything.”
“Wait.”
“Kourin-san?”
“I’m coming with you.”
It takes a Aichi a second to process this, not because it’s strange (Kourin has always treasured her friends over everything else), but by how quickly she decides to join him. If she stays, she’d still keep her memories, she’d be able to enjoy her free time with the cardfight club, she’d be able to spend more time with Misaki. With him, all she’d be able to do is watch him waste away.
“Are you-” |
1d9a013a70914e31a406f7df22f2f0ec | ['f12f6960a4684a9db60527ea275e35b0'] | Personally Robert didn’t see how anyone could work with so little, but he had to admit that it was better than doing nothing anyway. They were grasping at straws and he knew it. They had almost nothing on their suspects. Even the smallest thing was welcome now, just to give them something to do. Doing something at least gave him the feeling that he was being useful. The lack of results was starting to undermine his confidence though. They had a pretty clear view of what the Death Eaters were capable of and even of why they were all working together, but the two most important things they needed to find out were still as mysterious as they had been when they had started this operation: where they were and what in Merlin’s name they were planning on doing next.
The team was tense, but no one more so than Ros Myers. She didn’t pace the room like a caged lion, the way Adam Carter did, and didn’t send angry glares at the screen like Harry Pearce. She was standing completely still. She could have turned into a stone statue for all Robert knew.
The silence was become so awkward that the Gryffindor was almost glad when something happened on the screen. It was better than waiting here whilst not knowing what they were waiting for. A chair was levitated into view, which indicated that magic was indeed involved in all of this. Not that Robert had expected any different from a thing – even if it was something as Muggle as a website, whatever that was anyway – that was related to Death Eaters.
It was not the magic that took him by surprise, but the person sitting in the chair. No, sitting was not exactly the word he was looking for. The young man in the chair was more slumping than sitting, only held in place by the bonds at his wrists and ankles that secured him to the furniture.
Burke, his mind supplied and it was right. Julius Burke was the one on the screen and Robert’s stomach turned to ice instantly. There was not a single doubt that the Slytherin recruit was not involved with the Death Eaters, not in the way Robert had believed him to be. He barely seemed conscious at all and he was badly bruised. One eye was shut because of the bruising around it and he seemed to be bleeding from various wounds on face and hands. The Auror had a strong suspicion that he was bleeding elsewhere as well, but his clothes prevented him from making sure. He was not sure he wanted to know anyway.
There was a piece of parchment on his lap, but Julius did not look at it as he addressed the people who were watching him, even though he could not see them. ‘My name is Julius Burke, recruit in the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic,’ he spoke. He may be bruised and battered, but his voice was steady and he was in control of his face. ‘I am also a blood traitor, who conspired with Muggles and Mudbloods to undermine the wizarding society.’ If there was any emotion Robert could name – and that was difficult enough with Julius sounding as cold and unemotional as usual – then it would be loathing. It was however difficult to determine who the loathing was directed at.
‘For this I will be sentenced to death unless my boss complies with the following requests: the immediate release of all Death Eaters still in Azkaban and a reassurance from the Minister of Magic that they will face no further persecution in future. Furthermore it is demanded that all cooperation with Muggles will be abandoned forthwith. At no time in the future will you be allowed to seek out Muggle aid in wizarding affairs, lest they corrupt aforementioned society.’ The loathing became more obvious now, more pronounced. It seemed like Burke hated the fact that he was reading this. And even though he was clearly badly injured, he did not show it. Calm, collected and cold, those were the words to describe him. It was pure-blood arrogance, a Slytherin attitude, but Robert found that in this moment he might even be in immediate danger of admiring his colleague.
‘They can’t mean that!’ Amy exclaimed. She was staring at the screen in horror. ‘It will be anarchy on the streets if they do that.’ She bit her lip, looking at the messenger. And it didn’t take a great intellect to work out what she was afraid of. It was rather obvious. If they did not comply with the Death Eaters’ requests, then Julius would be killed and after that it would be Manchester debacle all over again, all over the United Kingdom until they had gotten their way, after which it would presumably only become worse. The prospect made Robert West want to vomit on the spot.
He’d always known that these people were serious, but so far they had never known what it was that they were so serious about. The attacks had dragged on for months and months, but never before had they voiced their goals. Why was that, he wondered? Was all that just a prelude to what was to come, to show what they were capable of, to get the Ministry’s undivided attention? It could be one of the three, or simply all of them. What was certain was that these people did not care about the lives they took, not at all. | cf1061251e6649a6a6e0b520b9592844 | ['f12f6960a4684a9db60527ea275e35b0'] | From Kate’s notes: _How stupid of me to only think about that now. Let me tell you, there’s much wrong with the book and the way Smaug finds his end there, but if there’s one good thing about that, it is that according to the book, he at least died in a place where he was no inconvenience to anyone. If only we could be that lucky._
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Next time: more unwanted visitors, Kate loses control of her tongue and Thorin has issues, a lot of them.
> For those of you who missed it, I’ve finally gotten round to writing some more for Duly Noted; I’ve put two chapters up since I last updated this story. I’ve finally managed to write some of the requests I’ve had for that story, but I’d love to get a few more, so request if you feel there’s something that deserves a one-shot of its own.
> As always, I’d love to hear what you think about this chapter. Please review?
71. Unwanted Visitors
_How to remove a dragon in ten days, or rather, one month. I think that is easily the summary of our activity in the days that followed. When we first entered the Mountain with just one purpose – killing the dragon in it and thus reclaiming Erebor for Durin’s Folk – we had not thought for one single moment about the consequences of killing a dragon in his lair, especially when it was the idea to use aforementioned lair to live in after the deed was done. In hindsight that was something we should have been thinking about. Smaug was undeniably heavy and difficult to remove._
_We spent two days trying and failing to come up with a plan that was slightly better than dragging that bloody corpse all the way from the treasury to the front door and out. In the end we had to acknowledge the fact that there was no such idea, not in the absence of a wizard, and so we settle for that plan, be it a mite bit reluctantly._
_Dwalin took me on a walk to show me just how long that route was. On foot it won’t take more than ten minutes, seven if you’re a fast walker. And that is the shortest route. We needed to take one with doorways large enough to get a dragon through. Unfortunately that involved a slight detour and a steep staircase we had to drag the infernal beast up before we could shove him down the staircase that led down again. Just seeing the route we would have to take made me despair at if we would ever be able to manage it. You lot of course know that we did; after all you have never seen a dragon in the halls of Erebor._
_Thorin was the lucky one in this, the one who could sit back and watch the rest of us do battle with the beast. I think that is the best description for what we were doing, truly. The beast was impossible to move. We had ropes and chains – taken from some store deep inside Erebor that Balin still remembered – aplenty, so we secured those around paws and neck and then acted as glorified horses to get the drake into movement. That was the only way we could get anything done. Naturally a lot of chains and ropes broke, the most memorable occasion being halfway up the steep stairs and the dragon tumbled down again and slid down the hallway, undoing two days of hard work in the process. It turned out that a dead dragon was even more of a nuisance than the live version had been. Who’d have thought?_
_And that was leaving another rather unpleasant aspect out of consideration: the smell. Smaug was a carcass after all and dead dragon stinks, especially once the beast has been dead for some time. Smaug alive had been spreading a smell of something burning. Now that he was dead, this less than pleasant scent mingled with the stink of something rotting. As Smaug was big, there was a lot of dragon to rot._
_Elvaethor had been unable to come up with any more strategies that could work, so we had sent him on his way to deliver the good news of Smaug’s demise to the town of Esgaroth. The elf was escorted to the back door, which was closed behind him almost right away. Who knows how many spies were roaming around out there and we had no wish to get visited by any more intruders._
_We were of course entirely unaware of the proceedings in Lake-town. I only heard later and much of it is hearsay, but it is part of the tale and to leave it out would only lead to confusion on your part, so here goes. A few days after our departure Thranduil himself and quite a fair number of his men came to the town, demanding that we be handed over to him. The Master of Esgaroth regretfully announced that we had gone and that there was no getting us back, because by now the company would be close to Erebor and no one dared to venture near the Mountain itself. The great elven king himself had no ambition of doing that either._
_They decided to sit back and wait. Well, spies were sent out, but it turned out that Elvaethor was the only one brave enough to go anywhere near the Lonely Mountain itself; his companions thought a two day journey from it was close enough._ |
9ad77e41081c44e3bed380bbcf7c151f | ['f1332c4e40464d6492e4e5cbd2e5c7c8'] | "Wh-What do you think of us as...?" He asked quietly as he felt Lance stiffen.
"Well- that all depends on you Keithy," Lance replied playing with the hair of the other.
Keith blushed softly and mumbled something.
"Hm?" Lance asked curiously waiting for a reply.
"I-I mean....i'd like for us to try..being b-boyfriends..or whatever," Keith said after a while.
Lance smiled softly with a light blush.
"Well if that's what you want then I agree fully because I want to as well~" He hummed with a slight purr.
Keith's eyes seemed to light up. "R-Really??" He sat up looking at Lance happily.
"Mhm." The brunette smiled with a small chuckle seeing how happy the other was.
Keith threw his arms around Lance before nuzzling him excitedly, causing Lance to laugh softly with a quiet purr.
"You're so cute~," He said softly not really minding that Keith was "scenting" him.
Keith blushed and made a small noise of protest.
The Cuban just hummed afterward, while letting Keith stay where he was.
"I-I love you..." Keith mewled after a while blushing more.
"I love you too Mullet~" He replied kissing Keith's head gently.
~Later On~
Pidge had noticed that Lance and Keith didn't show up and no one seemed to say anything about it.
'Weird-' She thought after Allura had dismissed them.
The youngest of the Holts made her way through the halls, as she tried looking for her Cuban friend.
She approached Lance's room to find that he wasn't there.
"What in the name of quiznack- where did he disappear off too!" She groaned. "I guess I'll go ask Keith-" Pidge grumbled before turning around and walking toward Keith's room.
Keith could hear Pidge approaching from down the hall, he froze and looked up at Lance.
"What's wrong?" Lance asked with a frown noticing Keith's reaction.
"Pidge is coming-" He replied quietly as his body relaxed and he shrunk into Lances body while hiding his face.
The brunette rubbed his lover's back gently. "It'll be ok Keith- she doesn't have to come in." He said softly as he finally heard Pidge's footsteps outside the door followed by a knock.
"Keith?" She called from the other side of the door. "Are you in there??? I'm trying to find Lance because I noticed you two weren't at the meeting with Allura-"
"Yeah sorry about that Pidge- Keith doesn't feel good so I've been taking care of him," Lance replied for the other.
Pidge raised an eyebrow. "You? Taking care of Keith?" Pidge laughed quietly. "Please tell me you're kidding-"
Lance rolled his eyes. "I'm serious Pidge-" He looked down at Keith who seemed to have calmed down and was just being quiet now.
"Oh, my quiznak- I can't wait to tell Hunk about this!!" She laughed running off to find her other friend.
Keith sighed letting out the breath that he didn't even know he was holding.
"You ok?" Lance asked softly once he knew Pidge was gone.
The other just nodded lifting his head up. "Thank you-" He mumbled.
Lance just smiled. "You're welcome." He hummed nuzzling Keith a bit.
The Galran purred as he relaxed and let Lance's scent surround him. It was really calming to him and he seemed to not be able to get enough of it- probably had something to do with his heat.
Which, speaking of- Keith suddenly let out a breathy moan which caused Lance to stiffen a bit and blush madly. He had forgotten that the smell of an Omega's "dominant" loved one could make an Omega's need worse than it was before.
"A-Alpha!" He mewled clinging to Lance desperately, his eyes shining with pain, need and so much more-
7. Update!
Hello, my cookies!!! I'm sorry that I haven't uploaded!! I'll be honest I haven't even started the new chapter yet but that's only because I've got so much going on- like school and the con that's coming up along with the lorika book- I'm so sorry guys I promise I'm working on it!!!!
8. The Need~ !SMUT WARNING!
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Lance has to make a decision- shall he give Keith what he wants- or refuse him?
Lance froze, Keith had just called him Alpha- and he knew it would be wrong to take advantage of the raven-haired male, but at the same time Lance knew that if he didn't do something Keith would either not leave him along about it or possibly bother someone else to get what he wanted- and Lance COULDN'T have that...
"P-Please!~" Keith cried gripping Lance, his eyes filled with need, his actions begging the brunette to do something. He wanted it so bad that he had started to grind himself on Lance's leg.
"Keith...." Lance mumbled biting his lip. "What a-about the deal...?" He looked down at him with a gulp.
"I don't care about the stupid deal Lance McClain! Just fuck me already!!" The galran male practically growled at the brunette, his eyes glowing a bright yellow.
'Shit....' Lance thought to himself, he was weighing his options heavily. Do it- or not?
He had run a hand through his hair a bit gripping it slightly as he continued to think while trying to ignore the whines and whimpers from the male below him. Who was currently trying to pleasure himself on Lance's leg with tiny pants, his ears tilting as he bit his lip. Keith's mind was hazy, all he knew was what he needed it- and bad.
"L-Lance...." He groans looking up. "Please.....~," He said softly with pleading eyes.
Lances shoulders slumped as he sighed. "Fine- BUT- I'm not fucking you- I will help you in whatever way I can...." He mumbled faintly under his breath, silently regretting this.
The other only nodded, he didn't care anymore- he just wanted sweet release. "H-Hurry!~" He moaned, rolling over and 'spreading' himself for Lance. | 18bcdf4de4ec43bb834f88d74eb7301b | ['f1332c4e40464d6492e4e5cbd2e5c7c8'] |
1. the beginning
The paladins were sitting in one of the rooms of the Garrison as they waited for news about the progress for the new Castle Of Lions. Although not long after they had gotten to sit down, Lance had been dragged away by Veronica because she needed 'help' with something- the others took it as her just wanting to spend time with him.
Keith sighs as he held his head in his hands. He's been having constant headaches all day and to be honest he's not even sure why- at first he thought it was just from the stress of everything that had been going on but now he's not so sure.
"You ok there Keith?" Shiro asked with a look of concern on his face. "Y-Yeah...I think so- I've just had this really bad headache all day and I don't know what it is." Keith mumbles glancing up to just barely look at Shiro.
"Huh- well I think I know what part of your problem is," Shiro said as he ran a hand through his hair while Keith just gave him a questioning look.
"You're ears, Keith!" The older man groans from the shorters cluelessness.
"What about them??" Keith lifted his hands up to feel them and felt fur. "You've got to be kidding me!" He groans before getting up and running out of the room.
"Keith?!" Pidge called out in confusion as the green paladin went to follow him.
"Katie!" Pidge's father called out to her. "Come over here! I need your help!"
Pidge shook her head in Keith's direction before going off to help her father with what he needed.
Shiro chuckles. "Seems like everyone is busy today-" He looked over and spotted Hunk. "You alright?"
"Hm? Oh yeah- sorry Shiro I was just...thinking of Shay." His cheeks heat up a little at the mention of her.
"Ah- ok." He grins. "For now though, how about me and you go check on the lions- or the progress of the castle? How does that sound?"
The man in yellow jumped up with a smile. "Heck yeah! Can we stop by the cafeteria first though? I'm getting kinda hungry."
"Sure Hunk." The taller hummed as he got up to follow Hunk out of the room.
-With Keith-
Keith groans. "Nononononono! Why today of all days!" Keith groaned with a small whine as he poked his glaran ears. He looked at himself in the mirror and noticed the flush in his cheeks along with the purple spots scattered across his face where his ears met his face. "And yet I thought today was gonna be a good day-" He mumbled under his breath before deciding to throw on a beanie over his ears to cover them for now. He knew people would question it but he'd just try to ignore it...for now. "Let us just hope that Lance doesn't try anything today.." He let off a little growl at the end as he turned off the light and left the room he was currently staying in.
As he made his way into the hall he spotted Veronica- with of course- Lance.
'Great' Keith thought to himself. 'Just what I needed-'
As he walked he tried to keep his face hidden from Lance so he wouldn't be called out. He was also secretly hoping that Lance was too busy in his conversation to even notice him.
But as he walked he found himself stopping just a couple feet away from Lance after hearing his laugh. Why? He had no clue- so he tried to ignore this sudden urge to wrap around Lance and cuddle with him by biting his lip kinda hard to distract him enough that he'd be able to walk away without embarrassing himself in front of Lance and the other people that were around.
"Come on Keith, keep walking." He mumbled as quietly as possible to himself.
Unfortunately, Lance JUST happened to turn around to notice the raven-haired boy. "Keith!~" Lance grinned.
Keith froze and looked up at him. "Hey, Lance..." Keith mumbled at the tall Cuban boy.
Veronica just raised an eyebrow. "Well then- I'm gonna leave you two alone then." She laughed before ruffling Lances hair and walking away.
"Oh, what fun-" Keith sighed as he looked at Lance fully.
"You ok there Keithy boy?" Lance teased as he pointed as Keith's purple eyes.
"Just peachy Lance- just peachy." He grumbled while giving Lance a glare. To be honest Keith did look pretty tired but it didn't help that he had a constant headache keeping him up at night.
"Alright, then Mr.Grumpy-" Lance hummed happily as he wrapped an arm around Keith.
Keith blushed but didn't bother to move. Plus Lance was warm and Keith HAD been cold all morning- (or has he-) so he just sighed softly and let Lance lead him to..wherever it was that they were going.
-With Allura and Coran-
The princess sighed as she looked around at the new and improved Castle Of Lions. "How are things looking on with the power Coran?" She called down to Coran who was working on the power core.
"Just fine Princess! I'm almost done! Just need to twist a little here..and here. Maybe a hit here or there..and done!" He grinned as the castle powered up.
"Nice going Coran!" Allura clasps her hands happily. "I'll go tell the paladins that everything is ready to go!" She said before leaving the Castle and heading inside the Garrison. "Palad- huh?" She looked around in confusion, the room was empty. "I thought Shiro said they'd be here-" She sighed.
"Allura!" Pidge called happily as she ran over. "Is it done?!" Her eyes sparkled as she looked at the Altean.
Allura chuckles. "Yes, Pidge the new and improved Castle Of Lions is done! Do you happen to know where everyone else is?" |
931477bd667e4233823ca294cfbdbdc4 | ['f143096e2e5f4b4dabcc25d53efd95ce'] | Admiration
**Author's Note:**
> sorry this is so short, guys! i wanted to make it longer but i hardly had any inspiration, anyways enjoy this short cute drabble! <3
Misty sat comfortably next to her girlfriend, Cordelia, on the bed they shared together. They both were quiet tonight, not many words were said between the two, but they hardly ever needed words to know exactly what the other was thinking. Delia read from one of her favorite books, while Misty silently sat next to her, admiring the supreme with such love and adoration. The swamp witch analyzed every detail of her girlfriend's face, while a small smile was etched onto the younger girl's feature as she admired the supreme.
"Hey, Delia," Misty finally broke the comfortable silence between the two.
Cordelia looked up from her book and turned her attention to the Cajun witch next to her. "Yes, dear?" She said, letting an easy smile take over.
"Did ya know that you're so damn beautiful? And so damn cute?" The Cajun girl replied, a grin now forming across her cupid bow lips. Misty was always one to compliment Cordelia every chance she got, she loved the way her girlfriend would smile and blush at her compliments.
Cordelia blushed accordingly, feeling her face heat up a bit from her girlfriend's words. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat before replying. "Thank you, Mist."
Misty watched Delia's eyes, how they always had the glimmer in them everytime she'd look at the swamp witch, Misty loved the brightness of Cordelia's eyes. The compassion they held, the gentleness.
"I love you," Misty said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cordelia turned her head to her girlfriend once again, a wider smile taking over her full lips this time. She grabbed the Cajun girl's hand and pressed a loving kiss to her fingertips. "I love you too." Her voice was as quiet as Misty's.
A few more moments passed before Misty had leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Delia's lips, quickly the supreme melted into the kiss without much thought. Misty brought her hands up to cup the older woman's face, their lips still against each other.
They stayed like that for a moment before Cordelia was finally the one to break the loving kiss. Their foreheads pressed against one another, while the two women panted softly.
"That was amazin'." Misty smiled and traced patterns into Cordelia's cheek with the pad of her thumb.
"I agree," Delia uttered before quickly pecking Misty's lips. | a4f6118c615e479d8a0c5ba70e107d13 | ['f143096e2e5f4b4dabcc25d53efd95ce'] | "Well, hello there, stranger." A familiar voice announced behind the women. Debbie turned but in a cruel twist of fate, she already knew what was happening. Not five minutes had gone by and already the same stripper was standing behind her.
"Hi." Debbie finally managed to stutter out after staring wordlessly at Lou for a few seconds. Her mind went entirely blank every time she caught sight of this gorgeous woman.
"I was wondering if you would like a private dance? Would you?" Lou smirked at Debbie like she already knew the answer.
"Sure, why not," Debbie nodded and mentally slapped herself for agreeing to it. She knew she wouldn't be able to control herself one bit and that she'd probably just embarrass herself.
"Come with me, baby." Lou purred. She took Debbie's hand in hers and began to lead her away to the back where the private rooms were. They entered one of the booths and Debbie sat down in the leather chair that was in the room.
"So I only have one rule," Lou started as she straddled the brunette. "You can look but no touching unless I say so. Got it?"
Debbie nodded her head in agreement, not trusting her ability to speak right now. She looked down and licked her lips.
"Like what you see?" Lou smirked at the nervous woman under her.
Debbie just nodded again.
Lou's hips moved over Debbie as she danced on top of her.
Debbie couldn't help the moan that escaped her as she felt Lou's body so close to her own. She hoped the music was loud enough so that the blonde didn't hear the sound she made. Seeing Lou's gorgeous body so close and seeing her hips move like that was starting to send Debbie's blood flow down south.
“You know you’re pretty hot,” Lou spoke up once again. “I’m sure you could draw in a crowd if you got on stage. We host an amateur night once a month.”
The brunette laughed. “I doubt it,” Debbie found herself finally able to speak to the other woman.
“I’m serious,” Lou poked at Debbie’s biceps, then her toned stomach. “I’d throw a few bills at you.”
“I can’t move like that,” Debbie was referring to the way the blonde’s hips were moving so seductively.
“I could teach you,” Lou whispered in her ear.
A barely audible moan escaped Debbie as she thought about it.
"You can touch me now if you want." Lou breathed huskily in Debbie's ear.
The Australian took Debbie's hands and placed them on her swaying hips. She looked the woman dead in the eye as she continued to dance on top of her.
Debbie swallowed hard and tried to steady her breathing. She felt her heart rapidly beating in her chest, she thought she was about to pass out.
"What's your name, baby?" Lou finally decided to ask the woman.
"Debbie."
"Debbie." Lou repeated the brunette's name with a smile forming on her lips, loving the way the name sounded in her mouth. "I like that."
Debbie blushed and quietly muttered a thank you under her breath.
"Can I put my lips on you, Debbie?" Lou wrapped her arms around Debbie's neck and maintained eye contact with the gorgeous woman.
"Yes, please," Debbie nodded, her words came without any hesitation.
Lou responded by placing her lips on Debbie's neck and nibbling on the sensitive skin. The brunette moaned again and didn't even try to hide it this time. She felt herself practically getting wetter each second.
Lou sucked Debbie's pulse point, making sure she would leave a mark behind for everyone to see later. After a few more moments of sucking on the soft skin, Lou finally pulled away and licked her lips at Debbie.
"Do you wanna get out of here and go to my place by any chance?" Lou asked, another smile forming on her lips.
"I would love to, Lou." |
0cef2549dae94bba8044775119e5b1cb | ['f14e5084b66a48829e115118af85a83c'] | The Heavenly Divine
**Author's Note:**
> uhh halfway through this i forgot what i was ranting on about and that line is pretty distinguished on accident but hope y’all enjoy it anyways!!
Breath still coming out a soft huffs, Wolfram stood on shaky legs with the silk sheets draped across his body in efforts to cover what he already knew the other to have seen, though this fact didn’t avert the flush that came from the idea of being seen in such an intimate state. Golden eyes found themselves locked in their own reflection as he stared into the mirror hung proudly before his vanity.
Their little meetups had been going on for what had to be a month now, beginning with their lingering stares and soon ended with an hour’s worth of passion pursued by yet another portrait that would take two more visits more— if the painter wasn’t so busy entangled with the future king. It was by far the best excuse to be, his room was to be filled with only the finest of works and who was anyone to judge the prince’s own opinion as to what he disagreed upon as long as his beloved artist was able to spend more time in his quarters.
“Quite the angel, aren’t you?” Came the soft voice that spoke up from the bed.
Eyes flickering from himself to the naked man who sat hugging the pillow, the prince let out a breathy laugh as his eyes were now downcast to the finely sanded wood of the table, “Hardly any of heaven’s divine. Had a saint seen me in such a state I’d be but a pile of ashes in God’s wrath though similar a feeling wavers from mine own family.”
Bard refused to respond to such a statement and instead shook himself free on the bed’s lavish comfort in order to join his partner who sat flush in the chair, a chaste kiss being planted atop the man’s head. “Get to bed,” he murmured into the locks, scooping the manicured hand into his much rougher one, “no point mourning over that in which we’re incapable of controlling.” After a brief moment of protest, the prince finally trudged back to the large bed and was joined by the painter a moment later, a hair comb now in hand.
“Turn around.”
“And why so? I’ve no need to hide our activities when in the comfort of my own chamber.”
The blond rolled his eyes, an action that would surely have resulted in the utmost punishment had he down it in the presence of any ruler less forgiving. “You’re always going on about being the future king, shouldn’t someone of such status be presentable at any given moment?”
A soft smile crossed his features when in turn the prince grunted a sweet “fine…” in response and soon, the golden comb slid through equally heavenly locks without a single tug, the vanilla oils he’d consistently been bathed in making the hair to be thousands of silk strands, all awaiting their turn to be woven into the beauty that was the beloved future kingdom holder.
While working through his lover’s hair that needed no further help, the blond busied himself by pressed short kisses against the male’s spine, lips nudging the few notches visible when he slouched in the bed they’d both sunk into. With a few minutes of mindlessly combing through the man’s hair, Wolfram finally batted at the other’s leg, “Alright, alright I think it’s good now.”
Shifting around, muse and artist stared at one another with lidded eyes, left with nothing less than their endearment as each awaited the other to speak. Plush lips opened softly, a pout to his smile as he placed a gentle hand to his painter’s shoulder, “Stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Bard’s face fell at the hand and half expected he’d have been urged out of the room or accused of taking up too much of the royal’s time before listening to what he had to say. Head eagerly peaking in the direction his partner had taken off, his brow furrowed upon seeing the male stop just before the cushion in which the prince’s crown sat only to scoop it up to be taken back to the bed.
Without a word, Wolfram smoothed down the blond’s hair before carefully slipping on the heavy, yet delicate, gold encrusted headdress. His heart rose to his throat as he managed to grasp a surprise Bard’s chin in his hands, choking out, “Don’t ever let anyone else see you like this.” There was a lingering sweetness in his harsh tone that he hadn’t originally meant, though the possession in such a statement called for. It churned in his stomach, the thought of his lover being able to rule at his side as they were freed from the burden of the cheap societal views created by none other than the _ loving _ Lord that smite men like the two who merely wished to rest in their own Eden.
“Of course,” Bard breathed out, sinful hands slipping beneath the prided jewels to hold it in front of him, “but I’m afraid this looks far better atop your own crown.” Flashing a smile, he hummed, “Far too heavy for a painter I’m afraid. I suppose for now you’ll just have to wear it for the both of us.” | c773eb4d49754e01871d8e099db8077b | ['f14e5084b66a48829e115118af85a83c'] |
From Eden
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
Sebastian had been dismissed an hour or so ago, the young nobility having little care for the servant as they busied themselves with whispers of sweet nothings to one another through the thick silence obtained in the library’s corridors. Before dismissing the unusual servant, the pair had requested that their armchairs be settled against one another, allowing their arms to brush over one another in a gesture of comfort as it was the only brief intimacy they were allowed in their times together, and although it’d taken a soft push and plea the man agreed to such. As any common man would assume, the scientist and noble aged beautifully-Ciel now stood at the average height for a boy his age, much to the shock to those he’d surrounded himself by. The petite scientist remained dainty as ever, skin of porcelain and black hair thick as wool which had grown to her newfound breasts, surpassing the childlike cut she once beheld not so long ago.
Ciel and Sieglinde bathed in the warmth of the fire built before their chairs, safe behind the tiles that collected the log’s plentiful ashes as their bodies pressed as close as they could be with the chair’s arm in their way. The onyx haired girl held her head beneath the boy’s chin, giggling among the folds of his cotton collar as they teased one another lightly, both of their books long forgotten as they sat neglected in their respective laps. “Did you ask of him to meet us tonight?” Plush lips spoke silently, worried that his own butler may overhear, despite the knowledge that the man had most likely found the secret held between the servant, the girl, and himself..
Nodding lightly, Sieglinde pulled back and allowed the noble to see the bright smile that flushed on her face, “Of course I have! Wolf argued that he must aid the servants within the kitchen before arrival, he should be here in a bit.” When hearing the floorboards creak under heavy footsteps, she flew back in her chair and struggled to open the book that held between her thighs as she hoped to look natural for whomever was to arrive through the thick oak doors. Looking up to see who it had been, she gave a weak smile as she feigned innocence only to let out a sigh of relief as she saw her partner.
“You just about gave poor Sully a heart attack,” the slate haired boy called out the the approaching blonde through his chuckles, waving a hand towards the pair in invitation the the oncoming man. When Wolfram had finally come close enough, the aristocrat reached upwards to retrieve a handful of cravat, using it as a leash to pull the servant into a kiss before releasing his grip on the uniform. Ciel watched as the girl got to her knees, still settled into her chair, to press an elongated kiss to his lips before pulling back with a hum, obviously content with her work.
A flush ran through his face as the two greeted him, still baffled at the idea that the two of such importance wouldn’t mind-no, _ yearn _ for a lowly servant such as themselves company. “I apologize, there was a bit of an incident with the oven-”
“Oh hush,” a pale hand tossed itself outwards to lightly push the standing male, “It’s fine but, you must be tired.” She grabbed his gloved hands in hers and smiled ear to ear, “Take a seat, Ciel and I were just talking,” she looked about, only to find that all seats were located far from where they sat, and that Sebastian would find it odd to find three seats missing from their organized places.
As the scientist busied herself with searching for a solution, Ciel slid off his plush chair and crawled closer to the fireplace, still a safe distance away, “If you two don’t mind, I think it’d be lovely had we a night on the floor.” Turning his head upwards to check their approval, he was met with soft grins and nodding heads as the servant now carried Sieglinde, who still clutched onto the novel she’d been reading, to the spot of polished tile beside the boy.
It hadn’t taken long before the three sat fairly engaged with one another’s conversations, topics trivial and simple for the most part. Within the hour or so that they’d sat conversing, they’d all managed to switch from their originating places; Wolfram now lay flat against the floor with his head rested back in between Ciel’s folded lap, Sieglinde leaning back into the man’s rib cage. “Wolf, will you read to us? I feel as if I’d pass out have I done anything productive,” she crawled forward, speaking the tease onto his lips as she offered up the book.
“Oh…” Pushing himself upright, their lover fiddled with his hands and struggled to find a proper excuse for not wanting to read but found none, feeling the youngers’ curious eyes burning into him as they awaited his response. Tongue compressed against the back of his teeth, Wolfram explained softly, “I never learned to.”
“That’s alright,” the boy broke through the silence, “your English has gotten much better and you should be able to translate the words far easier than you would have before.”
“No, I never learned to read at all,” Wolfram countered, “the military academy never taught us, said a right soldier didn’t need to study it.” To call it an academy was laughable and outright wrong, having been more of a prison, a cockfight to the orphans that’d been sent or birthed there rather than that of a luxury to higher classes.
Instantly, the two nobles turned to him with twin furrowed brows, shocked yet at the same time not at their new discovery, understanding that the vast majority of servants hadn’t the money nor time to learn such frivolous luxuries as literature. “You have to let me teach you!” His lovers shouted in unison, both excited for the lesson but withdrew when he shook his head tiredly.
“It’s far too late to learn-I’d probably forget it all by morning-, but, if he wouldn’t mind, perhaps Ciel could?” Words were meager as he quickly added on, “I’d love to be taught, maybe if we have time tomorrow but I myself am quite tired.” Nodding lowly, Ciel agreed and the two understood that the man had been worked all day with the various tasks he’d been asked and offered to do in place of the other servants.
The slate haired male dragged his body towards the blond, pressing a kiss against his forehead as he retrieved the book that had been given to him by the other teenager, “Of course, you’ve had a long day so please relax.”
Sieglinde and him took turns reading, alternating throughout each and every other page of the book that’s cover was flush with leather binding as well as golden thread that was strung up among the sides. Soft words began to sound more of a faint lullaby to the servant that rested comfortably between Ciel’s legs, falling into a deep slumber due to the thick warmth of the fireplace and the overall comfort of being between the two that he loved most. It had taken the scientist until she heard a heavy snore erupt from the man to notice that he’d fallen asleep at all, too caught up in the book to recognize any sooner and she tapped the lord opposite of hers arm to notify him of such.
They both let off a quiet laugh, not wanting to wake the exhausted man from his rest as Ciel pushed away the thick novel and they began to rearrange themselves. Now, both teenagers held onto Wolfram’s waist and curled into his sides, Sieglinde lifted up his limp arm to wrap it around herself and press her head against his torso. Pressing a faint kiss to the crooked bridge of the man’s nose and leaning over to do such with the girl before settling himself on his stomach to drift off into thoughts of his adoration for the others.
**Author's Note:**
> This drabble was inspired by @cielpansyhive thanks to one of their anons who suggested Wolf/Ciel so I decided, why not make it poly? I’ll definitely try to write more of these three or just the two later on!
>
> Feel free to send asks to my tumblr @missperseph |
ad6c3622ec0c43b4b1ed576f7d339d14 | ['f15017bd23d3437cadbba23d158fd224'] | "I'm kidding," the guy pouts at Namjoon's non-reaction. "I just work here, I don't set the prices. It's because of the location, the rent here is crazy. It's good coffee, though, I promise."
"Let me guess, it must be good, because you make it?"
The guy rolls his eyes, but laughs. "No, I'm a mediocre barista at best. But it's just a latte, it's hard to mess up or elevate. It's good because we pay a shit-ton to get it imported."
"Oh, you mean you're not the one coffee shop in Seoul to grow its own beans? Well, shit."
"Nope, that's a different one," the guy crosses his arms. "Why, you gonna go find it? Only 17,999 more coffee shops to check."
"What?" Namjoon narrows his eyes.
"That's how many coffee shops there are in Seoul. Eighteen thousand. Per capita consumption for this country is 2.3kg of coffee annually."
"No, I know that." Coffee guy raises an eyebrow. Is he questioning Namjoon's knowledge of coffee trivia? Looking like this? Foolish. "I meant, did you just encourage me, a customer, to leave and go buy overpriced coffee somewhere else?"
"Sure. I don't get paid on commission, I don't care. Godspeed!" He waves a little, gesturing at the door.
"Fine, then. I'll take the mint green ice latte macchiato mocha or whatever. Biggest size, please."
"It's an iced green mint mocha, and we only have one size." Coffee dude gestures at the menu pointedly.
"Okay, that. I want that." Namjoon shoves his card at coffee man. "Thanks," he adds after a second.
Coffee Dude runs his card. "Coming right up." Is he smirking? He's totally smirking. What an ass. "Bathroom password and wifi are on the receipt."
Namjoon takes the buzzer and receipt and stomps over to a table. He gets a window one, which is big and nice and what he wanted. It's also directly in front of the counter, where Coffee Man is still staring at him. This is fine. Totally not a big deal.
He sits down and takes off his backpack, glancing at the receipt to see the wifi password. He sees the price instead and tries to tell himself it was worth it to... win an argument? End an argument? Start one? God bless credit cards, he probably would've lost his conviction halfway through had he had to actually count out the individual bills of his spite-purchase.
Namjoon shakes his head and begins spreading out all his research on the table. Not that he really needs it all to write the essay, but if he’s spread out, it’ll justify him taking the big table by the window for just one person. Now it’s filled with research for the paper as well as old handouts and most of the random paper in his backpack and no one can judge him for taking it. Or, well, they can, but now he can reply in his head that he clearly needs all this space, and didn’t just take it because he wanted the relative privacy of the corner and the view from the window.
He watches out the window for a minute, admiring the busy street. A large crowd is gathered around buskers he can't see but can just barely hear, over the cafe's ambient music. It's peaceful. The dark night and warm air lit up by store fronts and neon noraebang signs, the calm busyness of Sinchon. Namjoon takes a moment to just breathe, take it in. Feel a little less alone in the quiet chaos of everyone else going about their separate lives.
The buzzer sounds, an angry noise vibrating the table and sending a few papers flying. Coffee Man is at the counter again, holding an obnoxiously green drink and flashing a smirk in his direction.
Namjoon steps up and swipes it from Coffee Guy's hand, trading out the buzzer. The drink is topped with more whipped cream than is aerodynamically or gastrointestinally safe.
"Enjoy!" Coffee Bastard says cheerfully.
" _ Die slowly! _ " Namjoon thinks.
He returns to his table, carefully positioning his drink between the papers. Strategically placed by his non-dominant hand, of course, so that he'll be less likely to sip it idly. That's the key with these places—you've got to make one cup of coffee last as long as humanly possible. And always order iced, so you can extend the life cycle of it by slowing drinking until all the ice cubes are melted and what you're really drinking is merely a memory of what real coffee once tasted like, which should fill you with enough sadness and bitterness to motivate you to finally finish whatever you're working on.
… At least that's what Namjoon does.
Anyway, he's got coffee, he's got papers and folders spread out like a Real Student, he's got his laptop out and a document open. Time to finally write this essay. This really important essay, the grade for which determines the worthwhileness of his entire summer and possibly his entire college career. Time to do that. For sure. Right now. He's just gonna type his name first. Needs a title too. ‘A Feminist Critique of’—no, too academic. ‘Erotically Liberating Romance or Yet Another Fetishization of Female’—no, too opinionated. ‘The Handmaiden (2016) - A Review’. Yeah, that’ll do. Essay is… coming along really nicely now. Now for sentences. Full ones, ideally.
Hmm.
Coffee Bitch sits down across from him at his table. "Whatcha working on?"
Namjoon's sigh can presumably be heard from the roof. "Important essay. Why aren't _ you _ working?"
"It's called customer service." He plops his elbows on the table and rests his head on his hands, scattering even more of Namjoon's useless papers. “I'm being a kind and caring employee. Can I get you anything?" he asks, voice faux sweet.
"Solitude."
"Only in death, my dude." the Coffee Nuisance answers. Since when is Namjoon 'his dude'?
"So be it then," Namjoon answers, rolling his eyes. | bd9a052889e2411791d3ed9e2e73fb1d | ['f15017bd23d3437cadbba23d158fd224'] | Seokjin opens his mouth, to say only god knows what, and the doorbell sounds behind him. A young woman carrying an umbrella walks in and stares carefully at the cake display case.
Namjoon checks and—yep, definitely not raining outside.
Seokjin stands up quickly and squeezes back behind the counter. He takes the girl's order, packaging up the cake for her. Time check: yes, it is indeed 2:14AM. Who the fuck is this lady. How long is she going to be here. Can she stop looking at Seokjin like that, maybe?
Namjoon observes the interaction over the lid of his laptop, definitely very stealthily. He’s surprised to notice that the Seokjin this lady gets is… infinitely more reserved. He speaks quietly, avoids eye contact as he rings up the order. She says something and laughs loudly and Seokjin smiles back, polite but still restrained.
It’s not what Namjoon had expected. At all. It looks a lot more like… well, like most interactions at coffee shops in Seoul. A quiet affair rushed through from both parties, staying squarely in the category of ‘disinterested’ and never touching the concept of ‘friendliness’. It’s definitely nowhere near ‘mildly aggressive menu choice questioning’. Namjoon is… perplexed. He can’t help but wonder what was different when he talked to Seokjin. Why he had seen Namjoon and, instead of his standard taciturn etiquette, apparently decided it was Time to Fight.
Namjoon sighs and turns his attention back to his paper. He'd never admit, especially not to Seokjin, but the ideas flow easier after their discussion. The second point gets restructured, incorporating a few of Seokjin's ideas. He changes his conclusion a bit, too, pondering about the nature of film analysis.
Namjoon downs a bottle of water from his backpack, carefully leaving one small sip of coffee in his glass. He lifts his feet up obediently at 3:25AM when Seokjin dry mops the second floor. At least, he thinks that's what's going on. His eyes haven't left the screen for almost an hour, so who knows.
At some point, the music changes from ambient R&B to American rap. Namjoon catches himself dancing slightly to it and stops immediately, flushed. It had just been some slight shoulder movement, maybe a little foot tapping. Seokjin is watching him with a small smile. Namjoon artfully avoids all eye contact and resumes typing.
Namjoon finishes the paper at 4:36AM. Assuming time is real at all. It doesn't feel very real right now. Namjoon's teeth are chattering. He's not cold, though. It's pretty hot. Being July, and all that jazz. For a second he considers taking his shirt off, then remembers he's only got one on. Shit. One of Namjoon's eyes is definitely twitching. It's in time with the flashing sign advertising Cass at some bar across the street. Actually, flashing is too kind of a word. It's flickering, not through an intentional advertisement technique but pure folly and a desire to hurt Namjoon's eyes. His hands might be shaking too. Namjoon isn't tired though. He has become tiredness, consumed it whole until nothing remains. He is time, he _ is _ the essay. He is more alive than ever. His blood is coffee. Wait, no, that isn't true, actually. He's had one coffee, it was too expensive to drink enough replace his blood. He just wishes it was true. Maybe it'd be cheaper intravenously? He should ask Seokjin.
Right, Seokjin. Where's Seokjin?
Seokjin is watching him again. He should stop doing that. It makes Namjoon feel even antsier than normal. And normal here is extremely sleep deprived and caffeinated, so. Think on that one.
Anyway. The essay is done.
Holy shit, the essay is done. Namjoon stands up abruptly, hands in the air. The essay is done! And like, multiple hours before the deadline. Who is doing it like Namjoon? No one. No one is doing it like Namjoon. He sits back down. Seokjin is laughing at him. This is fine.
Seokjin is still laughing at him, but he's exiting from behind the counter and sitting down across from Namjoon and sliding him a glass of water.
"I take it the essay's done?"
Namjoon nods excitedly.
"I was going to make you a celebratory drink, on the house. Show you my real baristery skills and everything." Namjoon doesn't point out that Seokjin had already said he was not, in fact, a skilled barista. "But then I looked over here and saw you vibrating and thought better of it."
"Valid," Namjoon says and takes the water, downing most of it immediately. "I don't need water, though. I'm not drunk. I mean, cognitively, maybe a little. After only about 19 hours without sleep, cognitive tests have shown performance to be similar to a blood alcohol level of 0.05, which is higher than some places' legal driving limit, you know. So in effect, maybe a little. But otherwise, I'm sober, so you know. Don't need the water. But thank you though! Still nice. Yeah. Thanks for the water," Namjoon finishes his rant and the glass of water, significantly warmer by the end of it.
Seokjin is laughing into his hand, nose scrunched up and cheeks puffed. It is so cute Namjoon feels physically affected. He definitely stares. Seokjin definitely notices but doesn't say so. That's kind of him. Seokjin seems kind.
God, Namjoon is tired. Maybe if he just closes his eyes for a second...
"Hey, hey, no sleeping in my cafe!" Seokjin says, reaching across to shove Namjoon's shoulder.
"I doubt this is _ your _ cafe," Namjoon mutters. "And I'm not sleeping. Just... resting..."
"Okay, no, that's it. Get up," Seokjin grabs Namjoon's arm and pulls him up. "There we go, good." Namjoon stands up, leaning a bit against Seokjin's arm. Seokjin doesn't move him.
"Thanks."
Seokjin laughs. "Sure... Okay, let's get you moving. Wake you up, yeah? Do some jumping jacks or something."
"Are you telling me to exercise? _ Now _ ?" Namjoon asks incredulously. |
5b3680e4d04b4ab08e486d033119f8a0 | ['f15c43f59d6b4220839c5fb85cc38ee6'] | “I was sure you’d find it.” Dana leans her shovel against the newly uncovered hull of the _Charlotte._ Holtzer and Harris are at the wheels of the snowcats now, bulldozing away the piles of snow the rest of them have dug out of the ship; the figurehead, the upper deck, and the remains of the masts are visible for the first time in nearly two centuries. “It was just a question of when. Not nearly as crazy a venture as people wanted me to think.”
“I’m just glad I’m not as crazy as everyone thought,” Alana confesses. “Or my mother. Or my grandmother — I wish she’d lived long enough to see this. I’m sure she could have if she hadn’t broken her hip.”
“…Well. Alright.”
She’s said something wrong for sure. “Let’s check out what’s inside this ship.”
“Absolutely.” Dana pulls a walkie-talkie from an inside pocket of her overcoat and says something short and cryptic into it. Holtzer strolls up to them within a minute, and by the time he arrives Alana has waved Jared over as well. “Time to find some treasure.”
The four of them head down a ladder, icy in some spots, to the second deck. With all the portholes still under the snow, it’s far too dark to see; Alana removes her glacier glasses and turns on her flashlight, and three more streams of light soon join hers. Several rope hammocks hang from the overhead, some attached by only a few intact strands.
“We should spread out,” Alana says. Jared veers off to the left, while Dana and Holtzer move to her right. Within ten seconds, there’s a crunching noise and muffled swearing ahead of her. Swinging her flashlight to the source of the sound reveals Jared, with a fist pressed to his mouth, and a frozen, mostly skeletal corpse on the floor at his feet, not far from one of the hammocks.
“You know,” Jared says eventually, scraping the sole of one boot against the floor, “I probably should have expected dead bodies on the creepy two-hundred-year-old ship lost in the Arctic.”
Alana nods. “Especially on the berth deck.”
All four of them reach the ladderway at the other end of the ship without stepping on any more human remains or finding anything of value. Dana leads them down to the next level this time.
“How big is this boat, anyway?” Holtzer says in an undertone.
“It has three decks, including this one,” Alana says. “And the cargo hold below this deck.”
Holtzer mutters something unintelligible and steps off the last tread, shouldering open the door for Dana.
Half the floor space of the deck is taken up by casks and barrels in a range of sizes — some could barely fit a gallon of water, some could easily hold a person. (Hopefully none of them contain a person.) A small desk strewn with paper and quill pens stands off to one side. Dana heads to one of the barrels, pushing the dangling ship’s cables out of her way, and yanks out the plug. The barrel tips over, spilling out a black substance; Dana grabs a handful and smells it.
“Gunpowder,” she says, before opening her hand and letting it trickle between her fingers onto the floor.
Jared and Holtzer start poking through other barrels. Alana advances further along the deck, scanning back and forth until her light falls on a second ice-crusted skeleton. She does flinch — it’s an unpleasant surprise despite her anticipating it — but her curiosity wins out soon enough, and she moves closer.
There’s a rifle in its hands and a tricorn hat at an angle on its head. The captain, then. A frayed loop of rope winds around its waist and the barrel it’s sitting against, secured by a knot in its lap. Alana studies the knot; from the way it’s tied, the captain must have made it.
So why would the captain have tied himself to a barrel?
“Maybe he was guarding it,” Alana says, aloud but still to herself. “But why this one?”
The top head of the barrel is missing completely. Alana tugs it to the ground with her ice axe, and gunpowder cascades out, bringing with it an object wrapped in canvas and tied with twine.
“All of these barrels are just full of — oh, hey,” Jared says, walking up behind her. “That looks like an important thing.”
“It might be.” After pulling off her gloves and unsuccessfully picking at the knots in the twine for several seconds, Alana slices through it with her pocket knife, which she sets on the floor. The twine falls into the pile of gunpowder, letting the top flap of the canvas unfold.
“How’d you get that past the TSA?”
“Checked luggage.”
“Found something?” Dana appears at Alana’s side. Her boots are covered in a fine layer of gunpowder. “More luck than I’ve had.”
Alana unwraps the rest of the canvas and tosses it aside. The object within is a lacquered wooden box, with golden trim and an image of an eye carved into the lid.
_The all-seeing eye._
She flicks open the hasp and lifts the lid.
Inside the box, on a satin-lined cushion, rests a smoking pipe, with a sleek mahogany stem and a gleaming ivory-colored bowl, carved with towers, parapets, and knights on horseback with banners flying.
“Oh my God.” Alana lifts the pipe from the box. “Do you guys know what this is?”
Jared squints at it. “Is it… a famous dead white guy’s pipe?”
“Meerschaum.” Dana takes it from Alana’s hand, glancing it over, then passes it back. “I have a few. That one’s pretty well done.” | 19062f6529de43749576c1ddbd61432f | ['f15c43f59d6b4220839c5fb85cc38ee6'] | “The design of the bowl looks just like the Convent of Christ Castle,” Alana says, rapidly flipping it over and around to look at all the sides. “It was one of the Templars’ strongholds. And the scrollwork on the shank is incredibly detailed.” Actually, the longer she examines the shank, the less the etchings on it look like abstract designs. More like… lettering? A message? But it’s impossible to read as is.
“Is it a famous dead white guy’s _expensive_ pipe?”
“Better than that.” Alana grips the bowl in one hand and pulls on the stem; it pops loose, and the shank comes with it. Most likely a custom design. “It’s a clue. And it means we’re getting closer to the treasure.” She gets up off the floor and hurries over to the desk, setting the pieces of the pipe down to rummage through the drawers and search the desktop.
“Closer?” Dana echoes. “Didn’t you say the treasure would be here?”
“I said it could be. ‘The secret lies with Charlotte,’ remember? It might mean the treasure itself, or it might not.” Alana slams a drawer shut. “Why isn’t there any ink here? There should be ink.”
“Dead men write no letters,” Holtzer says, smirking. When he’d stopped looking through the barrels, Alana has no idea.
She looks down at her own hands and bites her lip. “Jared, could you give me my pocket knife? And then you should probably look away.”
“Uh, sure,” Jared says, searching for it in the gunpowder puddle. “Happy to do you that totally normal and not at all ominous favor.” He hands her the knife handle-first, holding the guard between two fingers as if he’s worried it’ll sting him, then stares at the floor as soon as it’s out of his grasp.
Alana sets the tip of the knife against the pad of her left thumb, grits her teeth, and digs the point in until blood wells up around the blade. One-handed, she swaps the knife for the stem of the pipe, rubbing her thumb across and along the shank to cover it in blood. It stings terribly, and she’s kind of kicking herself for not having anything else to use.
“Is that your blood?” Sounds like Jared looked up. “What the fuck.”
She shrugs. “There wasn’t any ink.”
Dana and Holtzer are still watching her without speaking, arms crossed, leaning against a pair of barrels. Alana rolls the shank of the pipe along a sheet of paper on the desk. Two columns of tiny, closely set text appear, interspersed with images of compasses and squares, Greek crosses, and crescent moons. Unexpectedly, the letters are printed forward — no wonder she couldn’t read them on the pipe, then — but they’re so patchy and curvy that they’re impossible to read in the dimness of the ship. “Could someone give me a light?”
Jared points his flashlight at the scroll of paper. Alana tilts the head of the flashlight down a fraction and reads the message aloud.
_The legend writ_
_The flame revealed_
_The key in Silence yet concealed_
_Fifty-six in firmest hand_
_Matlack it need not withstand_
“So what does that tell us?” Dana asks.
“It’s a riddle.” Alana drops the flashlight to start pacing. “‘The legend writ’ could be the legend of the Templar treasure. A lot of the Knights were burned at the stake, which was what led the rest to leave France with the treasure, so ‘the flame revealed’ might mean the Templars’ execution revealing the treasure’s existence.”
“Well, that’s morbid,” Jared says. “Is ‘the key in Silence yet concealed’ actually about killing someone to shut them up and hiding their body?”
“Most likely not.” She puts the paper back under the light, studying the first three lines again. “The way this is written, ‘the flame revealed’ could also mean that the key was revealed by the flame, but that can’t be right if the key is still concealed.” If the Masons insisted on being so cryptic about the wording of their clues, she thinks, they could at least have punctuated them a little less ambiguously.
Jared spins the flashlight around in his hand. “Maybe the legend _is_ the key.”
He sounds like he’s joking, but he might have a point anyway. “If the legend is the key — oh!” Her fingers twitch with a sudden, mundane memory of copying words and definitions from a middle school geography book, bold text on thin, glossy pages. “The legend and the key are the same thing on a map. It’s a map, one that’s yet concealed, still hidden, but that could be shown using a flame.”
“Like invisible ink?”
“Exactly. So a map, a hidden map, with a key that’s ‘in Silence.’” First strange punctuation, now strange capitalization. Although… “That might refer to —”
“Where’s this invisible map, then?” Dana strides over to Alana and plucks the paper from her hand. “And what does the second half of this mean?”
“That I’m not sure about. Fifty six might be a year, but I don’t know what the ‘firmest hand’ would be.” The word Matlack is familiar too — a name, she’s certain — but the context escapes her.
“The king?” Holtzer suggests.
“Are we just saying words now?” Jared says. “Subaru. Dragonfly. Vampire.”
Holtzer glares at him before continuing. “He was a tyrant, wasn’t he? Ruled with an iron fist? Sounds like a firm hand to me.”
“Maybe.” Metaphors are fine, she can do metaphors, but Holtzer’s explanation feels just a bit _off_ all the same. “If this is referring to a map, a paper map, ‘hand’ probably means something that was written or drawn. And whatever was written was firm. It was unyielding, it was adamant, it was… it was resolved —”
_Resolved, that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States…_
She’s got it. |
65b06ffd12674625b079f2aaa9a886f0 | ['f168d8a3478b4c45847e30a57e0e7412'] | Good Morning
When Ratchet awoke, he had momentarily been surprised that he wasn't in his own quarters, and even more so to see a sleeping Drift next to him. As his sleepiness faded away into waking thought, he started to remember last night's ceremony, the pomp and circumstance of it all (Mostly at Drfit's insistence), and the sheer joy on Drift's face during the whole thing. Ratchet would have been find with something quieter he was sure, but he also knew in the back of his processor that the crew needed some joy after everything they had gone through. He sat up and looked over at the sleeping mech next to him.
The form laying next to him stirred and rolled over, greeting him with a warm smile and the most loving look Ratchet had ever seen directed his way. It was as if a dam had been demolished and every feeling Drift had been holding in (to the best of his ability) was flowing out of his optics. Ratchet felt his face plating grow warm at the look. Drift sat up and moved closer to Ratchet, pressing himself flush against the medic.
"Good morning" He said softly.
"Good morning" Ratchet whispered back. Drift's smile grew into a full grin and he wriggled happily. "You okay?" Ratchet asked, clearly amused with this behavior.
"Mhmm" Drift nodded and nuzzled Ratchet's helm. "I'm just happy."
"Doesn't really seem like it's 'just' happy." Ratchet replied, smirking and enjoying the contact. Drift paused, looked away and grew suddenly somber, to the point where Ratchet had worried his playful comment had somehow hurt Drift. Drift looked up at Ratchet with that same look from before on his faceplate. Ratchet didn't realize he had been holding his intakes in and released them with a heavy sigh of relief.
"I'm elated." Drift said, cupping Ratchet's face and running his thumbs over the plating. "You've been a strange constant in my life, Ratchet. First you save me from the slums, then we meet again here. When I left...you came after me." Ratchet leaned into Drift's touch and nodded.
"I did."
"You missed me."
"More than anything." Drift pressed his helm to Ratchet's again.
"Despite everything I've done?"
"That's the past. This is now" Ratchet replied calmly, pulling Drift closer to him. "We've all done things we aren't proud of." Drift went to protest but Ratchet placed a finger to his lips. "I know. The things you've done aren't small, but you've worked to repent, and that's what I care about." Drift nodded, optics locked onto Ratchet's. Ratchet offered his own gently smile and he could see Drift's spark melting. He chuckled and shook his helm, his own spark fluttering.
Then his tank rumbled and Drift burst into a fit of laughter. "I guess in the now we should get you some energon?" Ratchet nodded sheepishly as Drift practically dragged him out of the berth and out the door. | 233a4423b8b94671b715677232233e16 | ['f168d8a3478b4c45847e30a57e0e7412'] | Testing Boundaries
Prowl's wings were high on his back, engine rumbling excitedly as he looked at his leader, former leader? Leader; sprawled across the berth with bound servos and bound legs. He chuckled, knowing Optimus hadn't tried something like this before. Much to Prowl's surprise, Optimus was more...vanilla? He wondered if the term was too harsh, having really only heard it used condescendingly towards less experienced deviants.
He shook his helm and sat on the berth next to the much larger mech. "It's not too tight, is it?" Prowl's voice was a low whisper. He wondered if the constructicons were paying attention, and tried to block them out if they were. Could he block them out? No matter.
Optimus' low voice rumbled "It's not too tight, I made sure of it." He had shuttered his optics too, as Prowl had asked of him. Too bad for Optimus, Prowl didn't leave much to chance: He picked up the blinder and clipped it to Optimus' helm.
"Much better" the SIC purred, placing a chaste kiss to Optimus' face mask. "You remember the safe word right?"
Optimus nodded "Devastator." Prowl was glad Optimus couldn't see because he visibly cringed. He shook it off and moved so he was standing to the side of the berth, leaving Optimus to wonder where he actually was. He decided the best place to start was to gently trace a digit down Optimus' chest plating, over his torso, and down to tease his crotch plating, feeling his engine start to rumble under him.
Pleased with this reaction, Prowl pulled his servo away to the protesting groan of his leader under him. He wanted to test Optimus. "You are not a strong leader anymore, Optimus." Somehow he knew Optimus was frowning. "I'm willing to be the bad guy for you, to have a scapegoat that others can blame, but you are weak." It wasn't all true, but this was what he was going to do. This was the game they were going to play. Prowl's wings fluttered once and he went back to tracing seams in Optimus' armor, watching the large form wriggle under him. It pleased him to know he had so much control, when it seemed like everything else was slipping through his digits. He picked up an energon cube he had set nearby, and slowly started pouring the cool liquid onto Optimus, leaning to lick up the spill. Optimus groaned and Prowl felt it in his own body. Prowl's engine kicked on and started to purr.
"You were never meant to lead, Optimus, you were meant to serve. Serve me." Prowl said, putting on his most serious voice. "Serve me and I can make you feel this good for as long as you function." Prowl reached to touch the area just under Optimus' chest plating, a known weak spot from prior encounters. The large mech let out a low groan and his body shook with pleasure. "Say it. Say you'll join me. Join me and we can rebuild Cybertron better than before. " Prowl urged.
"D-Devastator" Optimus gasped out, much to Prowl's disappointment. He sighed and slid off the mech, taking off the blindfold and slowly removing the bonds.
"Well, you tried." Prowl spoke softly.
"It was hitting a little too close to home, Prowl." Optimus said, standing up. The pang in his spark and the memories of Shockwave as Optimus knew him, a Senator with big ideas, Optimus' hero. He left the room and went immediately to the wash racks, keeping his bubbling emotions to himself. |
0f2a5517e3dc4e249f65139c530d11e9 | ['f17ef695195b4ab980a922555fd12e71'] |
Something New
**Author's Note:**
> First, I will never apologize.
>
> Second, thank you to the loml for beta reading and for Beau for inspiring.
>
> Enjoy!
When Cordelia shows Misty their newest toy - nearly two and a half weeks after they had ordered it together from that _awfully_ tingle inducing website - her first thought is a sudden, nervous one. _Is that going to fit?_ It’s large... nearly two inches thick, Misty guesses, at its middle point. The color is midnight blue, with a simple shape; long and girthy, much like a traditional phallic toy. Except, not so traditionally, this one is hollow from base to tip.
“I like it,” she comments finally, swallowing at the dry feeling in her mouth. She’s already gotten undressed, save for her mismatched socks - one yellow and one green. Her muddy boots lay near the bedroom door, next to Cordelia’s sensible heels.
In the box alongside the toy is a satin bag, the weight of which is not lost on Misty as she picks it up. The couple had decided to pass on dissolvable eggs, as the resulting sticky white mess was sure to ruin Cordelia’s favorite bedsheets. Instead, they chose a more reusable option. The round shapes inside the bag bump against one another as the satchel rests in her palm. Her fingers pull at the drawstring curiously. The spherical toys inside are easy to see with their neon pinks and greens, hues that saturate the thick silicone balls. Each one is easily an inch in diameter... or thicker. _How many did she order?_ Misty rolls them in her hand and lifts her head in question.
“Do you like it?”
Misty’s inquiry hangs in the air between them, innocent enough, not privy to the fact that Cordelia had been desperately dreaming of the idea of the dildo in her grip being used to, well... fill Misty up. The buckled harness hugs the curve of Cordelia's ass, already tightened and ready for their newest toy. An impressively large bottle of clear blueberry lube sits on the nightstand. Cordelia takes a deep breath, lips still shining from their earlier activities - an attempt to prepare Misty for what’s to come. Her scalp smarts where Misty’s fingers had curled into fists in her hair, but the sight of the younger blonde laid out on their mattress with her legs spread quickly drives the sensation from her mind.
“I love it,” Cordelia confesses, nodding, her fingers struggling for a moment to lock the base of the toy into the harness. Her knees sink into the blankets beneath them, teeth pinching the tip of her tongue. For some reason, the sight of the toy strapped to her own hips brings a flush of redness to her face. She’s excited. Cordelia feels herself become giddy; she wants nothing more than to tilt her hips forward and bury it inside of Misty as soon as she can.
But when she reaches to hastily take the bag of silicone eggs from Misty’s hands, she’s met with resistance. The fingers surrounding the little black satchel simply tighten in response.
“No,” Misty starts, her voice lowering just slightly. The quieter her voice, the more her Cajun accent seeps into her words, coating them with sweet Southern honey as she tells Cordelia with an air of affection, “let me do it.”
In a matter of seconds, their positions have swapped, and Cordelia finds herself on her back with Misty hovering over her. Just as quickly, Misty begins loosening the harness just enough to slip her hand under in order to access the opening at the base of the toy. The length and thickness indicate the sheer capacity of the toy, easily able to accommodate the eight eggs they’d purchased. Misty tucks her curly blonde hair behind her ears, attempting to wrangle the unruly strands that frame her face. Her eyes drift shut, and as she leans down to lay an open-mouthed kiss on Cordelia’s lower stomach, her rear lifts up into the air slightly.
“Good girl,” Cordelia breathes, and the praise sets Misty’s spine alight with arousal. A string of kisses across Cordelia’s inner thighs is marked with red rings and a trail of saliva that clings to Misty’s bottom lip. In her head, Cordelia considers what to say. There are both too many options and not nearly enough. Settling back into the cushion of pillows below her, Cordelia tells Misty, “Get the lube, honey.”
When the cap pops open, the sweet smell of berry flavoring fills the room. The lubricant is clear and slippery; Misty’s hand shines with it as she coats the toy. The slickness of it has her hand slipping down, wrist bumping against Cordelia in a pleasant way.
“That’s nice,” Cordelia says, contently, her eyes drifting down towards Misty between her legs. It’s _ very _ nice. The lubricant spreads easily, and the watery fluid leaks from the toy as Misty squeezes it in her palm. “Put them in, Mist.”
_ Them _ . Misty wastes no time in reaching for the bag and emptying its contents onto the bed. The toys roll and bump against each other. The colors clash horribly against the sheets. Misty’s hand closes around one of them; the feeling of it between her fingers sends another jolt of arousal through her system.
She needs to lubricate the eggs, and without attempting to warn Cordelia, quickly decides that the amount of lubricant that’s dripped between her legs is the perfect option. The breathless gasp that follows is one of shock; Cordelia’s heart skips a beat in giddy surprise. The solidness of the ball rolls against her clit, then dips down for a second. Misty slides it upwards slowly, the movement soft and torturous. The teasing stops briefly as Misty slips the egg into the base of the toy, only to start again when she reaches for another ball. | 4506295eb9af4f799c6d6f4e210da1c1 | ['f17ef695195b4ab980a922555fd12e71'] | Sure, if you asked Jillian, Erin might have been the best thing that happened to her and Abby and Patty. But their all family now, a tight knit group and even Kevin is treated like a brother, so it’s unspoken.
There’s a lot of unspoken things. Like how all Holtz has to do is look a little distressed about her current project and Patty will offer piggy back rides and a promised movie night. Or how Abby always brings in their favorite Chinese food on Fridays. Or how Kevin’s painting his room. Holtzmann is pretty sure he’s not suppose to do that.
There’s also the thing that the resident engineer might have a itty bitty ( _it’s not itty nor is it bitty_ ) crush on their brilliant particle physicist. But Holtzmann ignores that last one. Hopes everyone doesn’t even notice the stares.
Erin is straight.
Holtzmann is _not_.
It just can’t work out. But she flirts, for fun, to ease the pressure off her chest and get through it. A embarrassed Erin blushing wildly is better than none at all, it gets her through.
Apparently, her heart doesn’t agree.
It really doesn’t hurt, is the thing her mind settles on when she wakes to the warmth resting against her chest. Still stuck in a place of sleep, her lips turn up in a smile at the feeling. Her dream fades into the dark, but not before she remembers bits and pieces.
_Red hair, freckles, awkward dance moves_.
Oh no.
Holtzmann bolts to sit straight up in her bed, eyes widening to an almost manic point, trained on the heart-shaped pink ball of energy bouncing almost playfully on her lap.
“Shit!” The blonde growls, the real one in her chest thumping with nerves as her hand shoots out and actually grabs the heart, it almost makes a sound like a squeak, surprised.
Then it pulls.
She’s dressed in a tee and boxer shorts, lacking a bra and most of the pins in her hair. The sheer amount of hairspray keeps her style up, except a few wild strands hanging loose. The sheets come with her as the energy pulls her clear off the bed, it’s dragging her toward the door.
“No!” She tries to scold as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake everyone else in the firehouse. “You can’t just go-“
Her hand loses it’s grip on it, the heart bouncing into the door two times, enough for Holtzmann to almost reach it, before swooping down and squeezing under the door. The woman dives for it, grabbing thin air at the last moment.
Her hands tremble as she turns the knob and steps into the hall, looking up and down before spotting the little thing to her left. In the dim light of street lights, Holtz can see it rubbing it’s form against a door.
Erin’s door.
Her bare feet make a little noise as she darts down the space, mumbled curses coming out from under her breath. The energy sees her though, and squeaks indignantly as she pulls it away from the door. Just as it opens.
“Holtz?”
Erin’s voice is sleepy, doused with the rasp of it. The first thing the blonde does is shove her hands behind her back and hide her heartbeat, and the second is notice Erin sleeps in matching duck patterned flannel pajamas.
The energy in her hands grows.
The older woman’s hair is tangled slightly, a bit of drool dried on her chin, and a very confused look to her darker blue eyes. “Uh, hi.” Holtzmann greets, shifting on her feet.
“It’s three in the morning.” Erin states, “Did we get a call?”
“Nope!” Holtz hurries, feeling her heartbeat jump at Erin’s voice. “Nothing’s wrong just was wondering if you had… a paperclip!”
_Smooth_ , Holtzmann, _really_ _smooth_.
She didn’t really think through how stupid that sounds, but it makes Erin look down to the desk by her doorframe and locate the silver office supplies. Jillian’s heartbeat goes wild again, reacting to the kindness Erin shows. No questioning the quirky woman, just helping.
It gets away.
The little energy ball zooms forward and hovers behind Erin, almost comical in the way in happily bounces there. Holtzmann’s palms sweat profusely. This isn’t good.
Erin hands over the clips, actually smiles at Holtz this early and wishes, “What ever those are for, try not to hurt yourself too much.”
The heartbeat picks then, when their hands brush against each other’s in the exchange, to float over Erin’s shoulder and glow brightly between their parting fingertips.
“Oh.” Is what Erin first says, Holtzmann stares at it like a sick animal. Pitiful, guilty, and an overwhelming pain taking over her features.
“I didn’t mean to.” Is what the blonde mumbles, when she finds it in herself to speak. Like it can be controlled. Maybe she could of.
Erin doesn’t really react, just takes Holtzmann’s hand and pulls her forward into her room. The heartbeat follows, the elephant in the room. The redhead gestures for Holtz to take a seat on the bed, and she does.
Then she opens her top drawer, not far away at all, and the pink glow is visible as soon as it cracks open. Then Erin reaches in, and lifts out a large jar, like one would use for firefly catching.
But the glowing inside is not a bug, but instead a pulsing energy similar to her own. Same color, size, and shape.
“Erin?”
“The night after the mansion.” Erin admits a bit sheepishly. Like that’s embarrassing to her. “I didn’t know if you returned those feelings so…”
“You literally bottled them up.” Holtzmann’s reply trails off in a small laugh, watching the energy bounce around in the jar, trying to get out. |
dc2ef30eaa374885a573a3e88973560e | ['f18ced66fd6546dcacef390ea9ecd219'] | She nodded, “I guess it makes sense. We hold ours in our arms, rock them gently…,” she demonstrated with an invisible infant, “Ah, since it’s not so obvious for you, maybe I’ll… also…”
She pulled the skirt down and the shirt upwards; she held it right over her chest, exposing her torso.
Intrigued, Mrotchelyng moved closer and sat next to Hofogera. They slowly reached out and cupped her left breast. She giggled and twitched from excitement. She could see how they licked their thin lips and shuffled them as if to distribute moist evenly. …It seemed sexier before she thought about it the way she did. She looked away and gasped, realizing she held her breath for a bit too long.
“Is that all it takes?,” they joked.
“No,” she laughed out loud and covered her face.
They hummed with delight and moved another hand towards her. They traced her face from her forehead to her jawline. She finally found courage in herself and laid her hands on their shoulders.
Their warm bodies, glistening with the lamp’s golden highlight, demanded more.
She started by smooching their upper lip.
And colliding with each other’s noses.
They muttered a laughing grumble, “Do you know what to do?”
“Yup.”
“Then, what was that?”
“A miscalculation,” she suppressed another laughter, which distorted her speech.
They kissed her cheek, “Try again.”
This time, she made their noses touch and glide, and then pressed her lips. She twitched again, reacting to her clitoris. Kissing continued; Mrotchelyng joined in, learning how soon their lover releases her mouth. Hofogera embraced them and stroke their upper back; she grew impatient and kissed faster. They replied by caressing her from her breasts down to her waist. She moaned in their face; they sensed an herbal scent.
Their blushing bodies wanted more.
She raised her leg and wrapped it behind them. They guessed what she planned to do; they held her buttocks and fixed her against their stomach. She secured herself with the other leg and began rubbing.
The cloth stimulated her and her clitoris throbbed in bliss. By gods, how she needed this. Mrotchelyng kept her close and reached for her neck: one breath, two, and a passionate kiss.
She smiled, “A bit to my left…”
The second kiss tickled her. She was rubbing herself significantly faster.
“Stay there. And don’t bite.”
“As you wish,” they licked her instead.
They continued until Hofogera gave a louder moan. She could feel her labia as the cloth got wet and smooth. With a grin, she leaned to her lover and kissed her shoulder.
She wasn’t done yet. Mrotchelyng rested their leg on the bed and allowed Hofogera to sit on their thigh. She took her shirt off and unwrapped her cloth. She made sure her clitoris touched her partner’s leg and resumed.
This time, there was a constant rhythm in her rubbing. Breathing with her mouth only, she clinged to their body and cleared her mind, ready to give in entirely. Meanwhile, they were caressing her, drawing lines next to her spine.
“What’s that wet substance for?,” they asked.
“A phallus slides in easier. Or fingers.”
“Hm. I’m guessing they’re not flexible, then.”
“Phalli? Nuh, they’re stiff and they throb.”
“You tried one?”
“Yes. Quite fun, but I think…,” she stretched out and went faster with short movements, “I prefer it when all the fun’s outside,” her playful voice thrilled them.
A new portion of fluids covered Mrotchelyng’s thigh. Hofogera’s moaning peaked again. She slipped closer to her lover and gave her a thankful kiss.
“Are you ready for your turn?,” she whispered.
“Are you ready for the sight?,” they teased her.
“Show it to me,” she stood up.
Mrotchelyng made themselves comfortable on the bed, raised their hips and took their cloth off. Indeed, their genitals differed from hers: their clitoris was hanging softly, an inch of bendible tissue and a small glans, grey and pink, with a closed sphincter.
Hofogera gazed at the organ, “Can you move it?”
“No.”
“Is it sensitive?”
“Oh, yes. You could suck it or squish it.”
“Mm, I don’t know if I still have… those,” she reached to an end table and checked its drawer, “Ah, I do,” she almost sang, picking up… a piece of stretched out frog skin.
“I hope it’s not poisonous.”
“No, we’ve got experts who farm and prepare those. It might feel funny, though,” she winked, licked the protection and wrapped it all around Mrotchelyng’s clitoris.
It did feel unusual to them, but it also released a warming sensation that stiffened their glans.
Hofogera crawled closer, caressed Mrotchelyng’s thigh, took a mouthful and watched their face as she was carefully playing with her tongue and their genitals. The protection stuck as if glued on, so her lover quickly accepted its presence.
They were pleasantly surprised. Despite Hofogera’s initial awkwardness, she did know how to make her lover twist in arousal. Mrotchelyng was panting and subconsciously spreading their twitching legs.
“More, darling…”
She pressed her lips, squishing their clitoris all the way from its root to its glans. “You mean?”
“My womb is craving for you.”
She took a look under their clitoris, but she found only smooth skin. Next, she stroke their pubic hair above. There it was: a small opening, revealing the pink inside. She returned to her drawer, opened a jar and gathered a slimy gel with circular motions. She closed the jar with four fingers holding the lid.
Mrotchelyng made no comment, anticipating their partner’s move.
Hofogera returned to oral sex and aligned her finger with the vaginal opening. Slowly and gently, she screwed her way in. The walls inside responded to each wiggle like a sponge but their surface felt like a paper sheet.
“Mro?,” she called with her mouth full.
“You’re close,” they spoke back, breathing shallowly, their eyes closed, “Push deeper, there’s a hard spot; you’ll feel it.”
She trusted them and went a bit further. Indeed, beneath the walls, an oval organ was pounding like Mrotchelyng’s heart. She grazed it with just a fingertip and her lover turned again with a gasp.
“You got it. Go on!,” they begged.
It didn’t take long. Mrotchelyng sank deeper in the bed, panting and swaying their hips. Hofogera kept screwing and pushing against the spot while sucking the clitoris. Then, the opening tightened around her finger and the walls pushed back, holding it still. She waited. Her partner exposed their upper teeth biting their lower lip; their breath whistled back and forth. She watched. Finally, the dark elf fixed their hair and wiped away a drool. The vagina loosened up and released the temporarily trapped finger.
“Well done. You’ve charmed me,” their voice lowered from the orgasm.
She slipped her mouth away and grinned, “Thank you. It’s always more fun with another person.”
Mrotchelyng sat up. The half-elf climbed up and licked their ear.
“Behind,” they hinted.
Hofogera obeyed, kissing repeatedly behind their ear. They hummed and felt her breasts once again.
The oil lamp was running out of both oil and wick. Soon, there was a friendly darkness and mildly annoying sounds of heartful kisses. | 0fd49d4b06594fd783091ea8b475045e | ['f18ced66fd6546dcacef390ea9ecd219'] | V would snap her fingers next to the camera to mark takes and cuts. She used my tripod for calm scenes, where the heroes were strolling, exploring, or discussing something; also, whenever she recorded her teddy bear in a pink hoodie, sitting on the grass. She’s not a skilled computer animator, so she didn’t want to overcomplicate the job that awaited her in post-production. But when she was filming Ajantis and Hadi’a during the fight scenes, she held the camera with both of her hands, running behind… the actors, turning, tilting, zooming in and out (by walking; the proper zoom option was loud enough for the microphone to catch it), even acting as the beasts the characters fought. As in, she kneeled and thrust the device in front of her friends.
She hit Ajantis in the nose. It took her a second to realize that. She stopped recording, dove into her bag and gave him a tissue, apologizing repeatedly. Ajax was upset at first, it clearly hurt him a bit; but then he laughed it off, despite his nosebleed.
“You know what, keep that take if it turns out good. Just don’t hit me again.”
V nodded, her cheeks and ears blushing, her eyes fixed on the ground. “I’ll try. I think I got too excited, imagining how that fight should look.”
“I figured.” He checked his nose with his fingertips and stood up.
He had a tiny stain left under a nostril; it stayed there for the rest of the fight until the next scene, quickly added by the crew, where Hadi’a cleaned Ajantis’ face. Of course they helped him; not because _sexism and stuff_ but because, as mentioned earlier, they did everything in that plot.
We took a break under a lonely tree. We were eating sandwiches and salads, gazing at a lake in the distance.
And I was stricken with the ingenious thought.
“Hey, V. Don’t you think that Hadi’a should be the protagonist?”
She tensed her face in a silly, almost caricaturistic expression. “Maybe? But it’s a bit too late for that. I wrote the whole thing for Ajax. His conflict, dilemma, like… uh, yh, em, I would have to change the script _right now_. And that’s risky. I’ll get inconsistencies. Maybe… maybe Hadie could become a protagonist of a sequel.”
What have I done.
“What do you say, Hadie? Would you want to act in the sequel?”
They smiled with a piece of lettuce stuck on their lip. “Yup.”
“Then, that’s settled.”
I chugged a whole bottle of milk shake to wash down the embarrassment.
In the end, V tweaked the last dialogue, after Imoen’s death, to indicate that the journey inspired Hadi’a. Thus, the paladin was torn and the mage wanted seconds.
We finished in the late afternoon. I went home, ate cold dinner and hid in my bed. I dreamt that my legs fell off my torso and a viper bit my behind. ...I’ve had worse dreams.
I met V the next day. She was bouncing, swaying, shaking her hands by twisting her wrists, humming and giggling. Explaining to me for minutes how she edited the footage. No, I don’t remember it; not a single sentence. My mind turned off.
I was listening to her content voice. To her unique diction. To her tone radiating with fascination.
She had fun, and that’s all that mattered.
2. Non-mystery
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Teenagers will be teenagers... But V has none of it.
Now. About my first meeting with V.
I should begin by describing our high school. It’s shaped like Elven letter L; its centre body and the long wing existed since the nineteenth century, while the short wing was built over thirty years ago. There’s a basement, the ground floor, the first floor, a gym room, a boarding house… and the second floor exclusive to the short wing. Good job, the architect who came up with this. Every time we had exchange students, they stared at the second floor with wry mouths. The thing looks like a tower, kinda.
Teachers are sent to one fixed classroom, and pupils move from one room to another every hour. The rooms are usually left open and going outside between lessons is optional. Why? Who knows. But it felt better that way. We could sit and revise material for exams, eat without flies or wasps flying around, or rest after physical education. But more importantly, we could doodle on the blackboard.
Those were the best days. Single desks, doing homework right before we were meant to send it, browsing memes on our telegraphics, and drawing eyes.
Yes. Eyes. I’ll explain later.
Initially, I didn’t even notice V. Looking back at our high school years, I can tell why: she focused on the teachers, asked them questions about the curriculum, homework, exams or absences, and took notes for future reference. She doesn’t stand out during her Focused Mode, at least not when one sits behind her.
But then.
On the sixth day, after the new-break, a sunset of six braids shone upon me. Asymmetric, messy, distracting braids with ribbons in vivid colours. Additionally, she moved on from her Focused Mode to Half-Focused Mode, where she allows herself to daydream and stim.
Look. Back then, I wouldn’t be able to recognize an autistic unless they were completely mute. I didn’t know about stimming, okay? Rocking back and forth? I thought that was a result of trauma. Waving one’s foot? A lot of people do that. Touching one’s hair? Uh… No connotation.
And then, there she was, constantly checking her hair – the shape of braids and general texture of hair, as she explained to me months later. And she is _never_ done: she touches one braid, another one, comes back to the first one, traces the lines on her scalp… You may ask, “What about loose hair?” No difference. She examines her locks. |
cdd8509dee014283a773208c65e16261 | ['f190d607c07945af9a80ce32f1862778'] | Jihoon has noticed this of course but he has not done anything about it and could not bring himself to anyway, choosing to wait for Soonyoung instead since he trusted that his friend could tell him that he wasn't interested in becoming more than friends if he truly felt that way.
At least, Jihoon hoped so.
He had also noticed that while Soonyoung was drifting away from him, the latter's relationship with Seokmin only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. Now, Jihoon had his suspicions but the two haven't said anything that could even hint at they were together and Jihoon did not think that it was his business anyway.
Sure, he had a thing for Soonyoung but his relationships were none of his business. They were not in a relationship anyway.
Also, the key word is _had_.
Yeah, Jihoon's feelings for Soonyoung were not as strong as they were before and he was actually surprised with how fast he seemed to have gotten over the boy especially since he has liked him for a while now. Huh.
Maybe, it was the time they spent apart from each other or maybe, Jihoon saw a list of things about Soonyoung that he knew he would not want to have in a romantic partner. Perhaps it was a mix of both.
Whatever it was, Jihoon was not too concerned about whatever the issue was with Soonyoung and he just wished that his friends would follow his lead and just let it go.
"Listen, it's been more than a month-" Jihoon tried to end the topic but it seems that Jeonghan was having none of it until he got all the details sorted out.
"Exactly, so why the fuck are you two still not talking?" Jeonghan grabbed the notebook from Jihoon who was trying to study for their upcoming finals but it seems that was not going to happen any time soon.
Jihoon sighed, giving up on the whole idea of studying for now, maybe he could just retreat somewhere else outside of campus another time so he could finally concentrate since Jeonghan obviously showed no concern for his friends' curricular performance.
"We talk," Jihoon's tone went higher at the last syllable and he continued before Jeonghan could point out how unsure he sounded, "just not as much. I mean I wasn't really expecting things to go back to the way they used to be after the confession, you know?" he shrugged his shoulders.
"Yeah, but it's been a while and-" Jeonghan sighed, resting his chin on his hand while keeping his eyes on Jihoon, "it's just weird, okay? You two are the best of friends and now-"
"I get it. It's weird but I don't know what's going on either." Jihoon admitted.
"Maybe you should talk to him." Joshua piped in, breaking his silence during the whole exchange. Jihoon would have forgotten that he was there if he wasn't sitting so close next to Jeonghan, fixing the latter's hair every now and then during their conversation.
Ugh, how are they always so sweet together? It was disgusting.
"You think I haven't tried?" Jihoon sighed, resting his head in his arms on the table.
"No, I mean-" Jihoon lifted his head back up to look at Joshua, "Confront him about this whole thing." the latter gestured both of his hands in a circular motion in the air as if he was trying to choreograph for a performance of the 'Circle of Life' or something, earning a giggle from Jeonghan.
Somewhere behind the bookshelves, someone shushed the trio and they all whispered a chorus of ' _sorry'_ to whoever it was and proceeded with the conversation with a more appropriate volume for the library.
"Do I have to do it in person?" Jihoon asked as he revert his attention back to the couple.
"Well, yeah. That's how you confessed so.."
_Damn it._ Jihoon was hoping that he could do it in text or something since he wasn't sure if he could face Soonyoung because of their current predicament. Hell, he could barely put up a decent conversation with the guy for more than 2 minutes so how the fuck was he supposed to confront him?
"Fine. I'll talk to him."
"Come on, it's Soonyoung. I'm sure you two can talk it out." Jeonghan assured him with a smile.
"Yeah? I hope so."
\----------------------
3 weeks.
That's how long it took for Jihoon to talk to Soonyoung again.
Well, he did ask about homework in the one math class that they had together but it took him three weeks to confront him about whatever the hell this is that they were having. It wasn't a fight or anything like that but there was still some shit to be resolved.
Also, it's not like Jihoon _meant_ to postpone it for that long but they did just have finals and he managed to get Soonyoung's attention and time on the last day of their classes before their winter break and Jihoon brought back the courage he had the time he confessed - well, half of that; he wasn't nearly as aggressive this time - and finally confronted him about this whole ordeal.
"Did you talk to him?" was the first thing Joshua asked after letting him into their apartment.
"Uh yeah, I did." Jihoon sat down on the couch and began playing with his hands, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"And...?" the older did not sound convinced that Jihoon did in fact do as he was supposed to.
Well, he did talk to Soonyoung, but it was very anti-climactic as well as awkward as fuck, so Jihoon isn't even really sure if that counts.
"I'm not sure." Jihoon admitted with a sigh before lying down, using Seungcheol's, who was already seated on the other end of the couch, lap as a pillow. The owner of the said lap began playing with his coloured locks, a comforting smile on his lips. | 0b9c02b010f3422887dae215deccb200 | ['f190d607c07945af9a80ce32f1862778'] | Even though their little adventure was out of the blue and started at around lunch time, they still managed to do quite a bit. For the most part, it was just Jihoon following where ever Seungcheol wanted to go or rather Seungcheol dragging Jihoon where ever he wanted to go.
Not that Jihoon was complaining.
The day had ended too soon and Jihoon was back in his dorm room. There was no sign of Mingyu anywhere so he figured that the kid must be with Wonwoo or something. He has been seeing more of the emo-looking waiter ever since the date incident and noticed just how close he was with his roommate. Whether they were together or not was unclear but Jihoon was just going to assume that they were.
Jihoon was tired from the event of the day so he tossed the Jigglypuff plushie he got earlier and decided to just shimmy off his pants and lay down in bed. He hadn't realized how tired he was but as soon as he plopped down onto the mattress, he could feel his fatigue catching up as the initial adrenaline slowly drained away.
How the hell did Seungcheol have so much energy?
Jihoon sighed and closed his eyes, he started reminiscing on the time he just spent with Seungcheol.
( They found a nice restaurant a few blocks away from the cafe they were originally supposed to spend time in. It wasn't anything too fancy but their menu did consist of pasta and other stuff that they don't usually eat.
"Jihoonie, say aah" Seungcheol had a fork full of lasagna in front on the younger's lips.
Jihoon blinked and stared at his friend until the other started pouting.
The younger just opened his mouth still skeptical about the action but soon it was changed with satisfaction as the meaty taste of lasagna met his tongue.
God, that shit was good.
Seungcheol seemed pleased with himself and Jihoon could feel his cheeks heating up.)
Again, Jihoon could feel himself blushing at the memory and he buried his face in his pillow to make it more bearable.
He was convinced that he was blushing due to embarrassment, remembering that there were other customers in the establishment who looked at them.
Jihoon pat his cheeks to cool them down but it didn't last too long when another memory hit him as he accidentally locked eyes with his new Jigglypuff plushie.
("I bet you can't win this, either!"
They ended up in the arcade for some reason but no one was complaining since they rarely get to go these days.
Jihoon was sulking since Seungcheol was laughing at him for failing the claw machine for the nth time.
It wasn't his fault!
Those things were always rigged to just drain all your money with empty promises of a cute plushie.
Seungcheol slowly stopped laughing and was only reduced to some pretty unmanly giggles before he spoke up, "And what If I do win?"
Jihoon blinked at that and raised his brow as he met eyes with the taller male, "Then you get a plushie, duh."
Seungcheol grinned and ruffled Jihoon's hair, earning a groan and half-hearted punch from the younger, "Alright, I'll give it a shot."
Jihoon started laughing at Seungcheol's second attempt and kept laughing at the older's consecutive failures.
It was on his 7th attempt that Jihoon's laughter died down as the claw had managed to hold onto a Jigglypuff plushie and brought it to the drop off.
Jihoon pouted at Seungcheol who held onto the adorably pink ball of fluff with a proud grin on his face.
The younger didn't say anything and just simply walked away all the while frowning and grumbling about rigged arcade games and cheating friends.
"Jihoon! Don't leave me!" Seungcheol called out - well, more like whined - and ran after his sulking friend, all the while waving the Pokemon plushie above his head.
People eyed Seungcheol with varying degrees of judgement. The university student didn't seem to mind but Jihoon was trying to hide and pretend that he had no idea who Seungcheol was despite talking just moments before.
_I don't know him. Please don't look at me._
Jihoon tried to convince the people around them through his mind but it wasn't working, especially not when Seungcheol finally caught up and grabbed him by the arm, cradling Jigglypuff in his other arm.
Jihoon's gaze shifted from Seungcheol's pouting face to Jigglypuff and back to Seungcheol.
"Congratulations, Choi Seungcheol." Jihoon said, "You have caught your first Pokemon! Now, you're on your way to becoming the very best like no one ever was." He continued on with fake enthusiasm, kinda like those infomercials.
Seungcheol laughed anyway and let go of Jihoon's arm before handing Jigglypuff over to the younger.
Jihoon looked up at Seungcheol, peeking from behind Jigglypuff since the pokemon was right in front of his face, "what?" He asked.
"You can have him."
Jihoon was dumbfounded by the offer so he shook his head, "No, you caught him so he's yours."
Seungcheol smiled and placed Jigglypuff in Jihoon's arms who looked down at the adorable plushie, "Nah." He gave Jihoon's cheek a light pinch which earned a frown from the younger.
The older pulled his hand away and laughed while Jihoon rolled his eyes and looked down at the pokemon in his arms and squished it.
"Plus, the only real catch around here is you."
It all happened too fast and suddenly Seungcheol was sitting on the ground while holding onto his jaw as he stared up at a blushing Jihoon who was still clutching onto Jigglypuff.
A crowd was already forming around them and Jihoon wanted nothing more than to run away.
Did he really just headbutt Seungcheol in the middle of a busy street with a Jigglypuff in his hands?
Yes, yes he did.
Was it because of Seungcheol's stupid pick up line?
No, absolutely not.
...
Okay, maybe just a little bit.) |
c8e4ff609fdc40d6a53f26720df8e931 | ['f198abb114fe434db0affc0d6185a9d7'] |
1. Thumbs Are Important
_Death’s patience knows no bounds. However, it might be severely tested when up against the inconvenience of finding oneself in what appeared to be a different dimension. In an unquestionably non-humanoid body._
While Methos has lived for far too long to be anything but in absolute control of both his external and internal reactions, he had also learned the downsides of completely suspending his more emotive sides. Though his current circumstances were without doubt cause for some mild alarm there was yet any need for full on hysteria. As such he vehemently shushed the more apprehensive voices calling for blood and ashes. After then reaffirming that he held the only Quickening in the area he focused on what was in front of him. Or rather what wasn’t.
He immediately decided that the lack of thumbs was going to be a problem. Swordsmanship was unfortunately highly dependent on the ability to actually hold a sword. Which would be detrimental if he found himself in a mano-a-mano with an immortal or otherwise. This line of thought would have to be saved for a later date due to the evident scarcity of swords in the general vicinity.
A second point of consternation was a detestable inability to produce anything but the barest of familiar syllables. When he tried to express his completely understandable displeasure over his now thumbless state, the noises created were what could best be described as unique. All further articulation attempts failed at producing anything but similar noises. It would seem this form’s larynx wasn’t up for speech. Which he felt was even more regrettable than the sword difficulty as verbal communication in many cases was more essential than any physical prowess. He additionally refused to consider the thumb dilemma in conjunction with writing.
He instead diverted his attention to the curious case of the Tail. Which was attached to him.
His old adage of survival toiled like bells in the back of his mind. His ultimate goal was to Live. But he would first have to adapt to his new circumstances and grow stronger. To do whatever would be necessary to survive tomorrow. Even if Death now walked on paws.
2. Trying to make sense of the world of pokémon is not for the faint of heart.
After spending some time figuring out the basic movements of walking with four limbs and getting over the incredulity of the situation, Methos focused on getting a feel for his surroundings. His senses were a frustrating mess of jumbled information. Sight at least was comprehensible even if his inner biologist wanted to monolouge about difference in colour perception and canine sense of smell. While some of his voices were more persistant than others he pointedly put scientific reasoning for later.
He had woken up in a forest. Filled with tall trees he couldn't quite place. The sky was clear and the wind was warm. He checked the positioning of the sun and started walking. Water would be a priority. Death by thirst would never be his idea of fun.
It took a few hours until the scenery changed. While the trees thinned into a small meadow he could only stare at the sight in front of him. It was what could only be described as three living plants dancing and chanting under the sunlight. With skirts of leaves and two blooming red flowers on their heads. And very expressive faces.
During his long, long life Methos had come to accept that he would never know everything. That there would always be new things to discover no matter how old he became. This however was skirting on the surreal. Instead of confronting that he must have either survived some sort of atomic level apocalypse and lost his memories or something similar he decided to back away and find a place to shelter. If this sort of thing remains after sleeping he will simply have to deal with the new kind of absurdety the world has decided to put him through.
* * *
Sleep didn't help. He was still in the body of something distinctly fox like. And waking up to a night sky with completely different constellations was not comforting. He had become a bit obsessive about learning about the stars positions all over the world as the world changed around him. A habit he had become increasingly attached to as he became aware that not even the stars themselves stayed the same. Brushing up on specific obscure knowledge was something that the modern era had helped him with immensly.
Nothing was familiar. No sense of direction. No knowledge of where to run.
He can't entierly ignore the growing thrill of something completely unknown.
* * *
_“Hello there! This is Prof. Oak speaking, how can I help you?”_
_"Ah, surely even with your addled brain you remember the voice of an old rival?”_
_"Agatha, this is most certainly a surprise! It’s been too long!”_
_“Don’t sound so enthusiastic. I’m simply calling you on the authority of the Elite Four. We’ve gotten multiple reports on pokémon acting out of the ordinary all over the Kanto region starting early in the morning. It centered on those of ghost and psychic type, which of course put me in charge of the handling of the matter as my own were directly affected._
_"Has any pokémon been hurt? How has their behaviour changed?”_
_"It is not entirely consistent but my Gengar and Haunter are laughing in a corner and chanting a short tune about how Death has arrived. My Misdreavus is sneaking up on everyone around and shrieking at them. When Alakazam is awake he translates this to be something about decapitation and playing ‘The Game’. And yes, he made it obvious that it should be capitalized. You can see how this is a bit concerning for everyone involved."_
_"How far reaching has the fenomena gotten? Is it spreading through any discerning vektors? The pokémon of this research lab doesn’t seem to be affected as of yet.”_
_"I’ll make sure you get full access to the data on the situation. There is still not quite cause for immediate emergency actions since the pokemon in question haven’t had any violent inclinations but I prefer to be cautious about it. I’ll send out some teams to investigate how the wild pokémon are affected and send a few messages to other regions if anything similar is happening.”_
_"Of course. I’ll do my best to look into it and send out a few feelers myself. I’ll keep you posted on any progress.”_
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> LINK
>
> LINK
>
> LINK#Origin) | 055eb6e5555a4410aad301fee9049453 | ['f198abb114fe434db0affc0d6185a9d7'] | We are still unsure exactly how she did it but perhaps it is for the best. What we know is that she was attempting to figure out the possibilities of chakra storage before it was anything but a pipedream. The very practices we use for our larger and more chakra demanding projects today is based on that same study. And yes, I know you're curious. I will find some copies of her original work for you to investigate. It's very interesting to see how she progressed from that first proposal. Ah, I've digressed…
This girl was very talented. You've heard of her both in and out of the village. Seen her praised and feared in various history books. What you need to understand is that she was not one single thing. She was a Nara with a goal and terrified of losing her loved ones. What would you be willing to do if put into that position? What would you give up of yourself?
Her sacrifice wasn't immediately noticed. She didn't display any of the warning signs for reaching too far into the black. No apparent loss of motivation or obvious withdrawal from those closest to her. Yet as she fought in the war of terrible monsters she survived the impossible again and again. She was stabbed in the heart yet lived. She managed to describe the first shadow prostheses when her twin lost one of his arms. A Hyuga is noted to have described her as terrifying as seen through his byakugan when she turned into shadows during a spar. And when her body in the end gave out, a shadow shaped as person remained.
It has been speculated along the lines that she physically entered the black yet retained her spiritual connection to the living by blending natural energy. She had trained in the Fire Temple and learnt more of their sage art than any other Nara and it is still one of the mysteries. I'll make sure to give you the papers she wrote after her training in the monastery. Her thoughts on shadows of different elements and the spirituality of non-living entities are simply fascinating.
What must never be forgotten is that she was a person worthy of respect. A Nara just as much as you and I. And one of the secrets you will be the keeper of is that she remains so even today. She yet lingers.
_Would you like to meet her?_
3. A poem on the shadow state
_Who is to say I am the reflection?_
_Am I only worth mentioning in the silence of the night_
_Is my perspective not enough to present a reality of itself?_
_Will I forever remain less, always part of your Shadow State?_
_As you continuously blaze your lanterns light_
_Leaving a trail of emptiness in your wake_
_As I lie in wait_
* * *
_What am I?_
_As I share my heart as well my darkened soul_
_My desolate existence lurks in the remnant of a previous life_
_Know that I remain with you_
_Together we fuse as one_
_A shared fate captured in the Eighth Gate_
_Know that you are not alone_
_A silent Shadow in the night_
* * *
_But know this_
_Gelel did more for me than you_
_And though Death might haunt you_
_I am already its servant_
_Use the Stone as you will_
**_I exist_ **
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I am basically a bit stuck over how natural chakra was described as being affected by the living and becoming sentient. I've also become a bit obsessed over spiritual effects of shadows and how you can lose parts of yourself that lurks in the shadows. Can shadows themselves become alive without influence? Or could a chakra entity attach itself to shadows a bit like how Shikako speculated about the possibility of infusing shadows with aspects of elements after her training at the temple.
>
> Is the Nara forest an alive chakra infused shadow entity?(but of course asleep)? And what if Shikako’s reincarnation is only a symptom of something else?
4. Kakashi on Life & Death
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> I got Kakashi feels that won't let go of me. He is probably highly aware of his own decline and has been for quite some time before Shikako et all does their thing.
> Imagine his hyper ninja paranoia in weakened and deteriorating state which is only kicked up another notch from being responsible for highly sensitive baby-ninjas with targets on their backs, that _he-has-to-keep-safe_ but _he-brings-danger-to-those-he-loves_.
Once again he wakes up to the crips smell of disinfection and old sickness that defines the Konoha hospital. Here is one of the few places where the famed Hatake nose becomes a direct disadvantage to his general sense of his surroundings, since all the necessary identifiers gets shrouded by the overarching wrongness that clings to every corner and muffles what even horrifying week old rot may not.
_Tenzo was the one to truly take action on account of the slow but sure deterioration of his capabilities. The tree sprout that was torn away from the dark roots and later planted into the fertile shadows beneath the leaves, had always focused to much on the being behind the Hound that saved him. As the well meaning Cat forcefully ripped the Mask away he didn't pause to consider that there wasn't anything left behind it, only the thin facsimile of a made up boy long since forgotten at a time where he found his tattered family legacy buried in the gut of the one who last wielded it._ |
4df1c616db4a4907ae8ace73d78ec13e | ['f1a44866676a485ea676adec9762dbb2'] | Born of time and wolves.
**Author's Note:**
> Tabetha Tyler is an OC and the daughter of the Ninth Doctor and Rose Tyler.
>
> Start of a series of ficlets dedicated to @PiqueTemerity on twitter.
Rose yawned and stretched out in the oversized bed. Feet poking out of the covers that seemed to be drowning her in warm thick but soft fabric. Even the Doctor was beside her, just the top of his head poking out, face buried in Rose’s blonde tresses. He let out a groan when a small little finger poked him in the side.
If he would move he’d see a small little girl with big brown eyes to match those of her mother’s and chestnut coloured hair that framed her face in curls. The Doctor always said she looked like Rose much to his wife’s protest. Sometimes Rose could see it, other times she thought their daughter looked just like him. Eyes always wide with wonderment as she absorbed everything she possibly could, whether it was the tales her father told her or the way things seemed to whiz and whirr inside their home that could travel anywhere her heart desired.
“Da...Da...Daddy wake up...please.” A well worn teddy bear was snuggled up underneath her chin.
“What is it Tabetha?” The Doctor kept his voice low so as not to wake Rose up, turning slowly so the little girl came into view. There were small tears forming in her deep chocolate eyes as one arm reached up for him. Sighing he tore the blankets back and scooted over to allow her to climb up into bed with him.
“I had a nightmare…” Her voice was a little squeaky as she curled up into a ball against his chest.
“Shhh it’s alright Tabby. Me and mum are right here.” Gently he scooped the three year old up into his arms. His face burrowed into the mess of her hair in order to breath in her scent. Funny enough she smelt like bananas and cinnamon. Something he picked up on when she was still just a little baby in the palms of his hands. Maybe it was something Rose did. Banana scented lotion perhaps or shampoo? Domestics still baffled him even at this stage in his life.
Tabby sniffled and rubbed her face in his jumper. “You promise? Cause...I dreamt it was just you and me and we didn’t have mummy no more and you were really sad.”
For a moment it seemed his hearts stopped beating. That was his worst fear. Watching Rose grow old and then...His breathing hitched as he held his daughter as tight as possible without crushing her. Sometimes it was possible to stay strong. Keep a stoic face so Tabetha couldn’t see how much it pained him to think of a life where Rose wouldn’t be in theirs. There was a sigh that came from him but he managed to press a kiss to her temple.
“I promise. It was just a dream love.” It pained him to lie to her. She didn’t know. Or maybe she did but just never let on. When Rose was still pregnant he made a promise to never lie to their child about anything. But he had to break that promise right now. To tell this beautiful little girl that she would outlive her mother, watch her leave them and then continue to exist with a grumpy old man inside a police box until the end of time.
Tears fell onto her hair but Tabby didn’t notice. She was still too concern about her mum. Laying there with her feet twitching, rubbing the Doctor’s chest as she did so with her thumb in her mouth.
Rose finally stirred, turning over to drape an arm over her husband only to find a lump on the other side. “Tabby is that you?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep as her hand came to brush her fingers through her daughters hair.
“Uh huh.” Tabby nodded quickly barely making a peep.
“Theta…” Hearing his name brought the Doctor out of his stupor.
“Yeah Rose?”
“What happened this time?”
Before he could utter a word, Tabby was on par with her own answer. “Bad dream you left me and daddy all alone.”
“Oh sweetheart. Come here.” With that Rose scooted back to make a small area between her and the Doctor for Tabby to slip into.
The Doctor turned with the pouty girl in his arms so that she may lay in the middle of the bed. Rose’s eyes opened up fully to take in the sight of the two of them. Just the look on the Doctor’s face told Rose what was going on inside his head. Her arm wrapped around the two of them and she kissed them both.
“I love you both. And Tabetha...I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
Just those simple words put the little girl at ease for the time being. Happily she rolled around in the centre of the bed until comfortable and once again fell asleep between her parents. The Doctor quietly stroked her hair until his eyes fell close and Rose laid there, staring at her little family silently promising to find a way to stay with them forever. | 2aaa7645989b409aaf891abc228ba79a | ['f1a44866676a485ea676adec9762dbb2'] | The rain had already begun. Tapping gently at the glass of the windows enough to bring Sherlock’s mind to the most recent events. Molly. Rain. Walking. No cab fare. The sudden realisation made Sherlock Holmes drop what he was doing. _Of course!_ He very nearly could have smacked himself upside the head. Frustrated by his own blindness to the entire picture.
His eyes closed, picturing Molly just there as she was not twenty minutes ago asking if he had a few quid for a cab. Oh how could he be so stupid. Stupid and rude. It was quite evident that she wore a look of despair on her face. Mouth drawn down in a sad almost hurtful manner. Obviously someone had yelled at her earlier. The tears he could now picture in his mind brimming around her reddened eyes.
_Oh you idiot!_ If he couldn’t assist her on her way home, the least he could do is make sure she would get there safely. So with his experiment abandoned, Sherlock pulled his thick black coat back on, his iconic scarf and headed out of Bart’s to hunt the woman down.
Molly was actually crying softly to herself as she walked. Her bag tucked safely under her arm and her arms were pressed hard against her sides while her hands remained fists inside of her pockets. The rain was just mist at the moment, dusting over her jacket and moistening her frizzy hair. It’d been sometime since she’d left Bart’s, stopping occasionally to duck into a shop to warm herself up. The cold was turning the tips of her ears red, her nose was sniffling and pink. It would have been lovely to be in the warmth of a cab. Even a warmer coat would have sufficed. It was nice out when she had gone to work. So that morning when she headed out, insisiting upon walking, little did she think the weather would turn against her and little did she think to actually check the contents of her bag for that stupid wallet.
The cash she had jingling around the bottom of her bag was used to buy her lunch in the canteen. When she had dug it out was when she should have noticed the missing wallet. Afterall it was her job to notice things. Poor girl could look a corpse over for roughly five minutes and come up with some sort of suspicion about what was wrong, but couldn’t for the life of her notice the contents of her own belongings. _Well, we all do silly things_. She thought to herself while stepping into a nearby bookshop to get out of the rain.
It was coming down heavier now. Large droplets forming puddles on the pavement and streets, causing Sherlock’s trouser cuffs to splash with water, the material soaking it up as he darted through the streets, weaving in and out of groups of people carrying umbrellas, talking on phones, not paying attention where they were headed, knocking into him, knocking into each other with dirty looks and mumbled _‘Sorry’s’_ The whole while he scanned the crowds. Mind working in the direction most convenient for Molly to take home. She couldn’t have gone far really. The light fabric of her jacket would cause her to freeze up, get the chills, stop into places looking like she would buy something just so she would warm again, move her hands freely without a grimace. Holmes knew the pathologist well. Did he not spend hours upon hours surrounded in her company? And now he felt like a tit for shoving her out. Now to figure out where on Earth she was hiding.
4. Part Four
Thunder cracked overhead followed quite quickly by a lightning strike. The sound of it all echoed throughout the small and quiet book shop, giving Molly quite the start. The book she was over looking at the moment fell down to the dusty tiles. One hand, the left fluttered up to her chest to feel the heart pounding away inside of it. The right one cupped over her mouth, smearing her light pink lipstick into her palm. Molly needed to get home before the storm got any worse. Before the rain came down so hard she wouldn’t be able to see in front of her. Before various onlookers in shops and cabs stared at her, feeling sorry for the lone girl walking in the rain. Before whispers carried throughout all of London about the girl in the rain, stories starting.
With a heavy sigh she managed to pick the copy of _Grey’s Anatomy_ up from the dirty tiles with a trembling hand. It was soon back in its spot on the shelf amongst the other books on human anatomy, physiology and even older out of date medical books. She found it all fascinating really. How everything was done in the early days of medicine. How corpses were sold on the black market by grave diggers to medical colleges. These thoughts stayed with her as she started out of the store, fingers toying with the ends of her hair while she wore a look on her face as if she wasn’t really there.
Sherlock was still dashing around, weaving in and out of people. Annoying. Stupid. Cheating on his wife. Burglering. His mind was racing, matching the pace of his feet. He had used his extensive knowledge of the streets of London to his advantage. Knowing precisely where Molly’s flat lay and where St. Bart’s was centrally located he was able to pin point the way she would be taking. As for the places she would have stopped into, she wouldn’t have lingered for too long. Just enough to make it look as if she was interested in buying something, make up her mind not to proceed with the purchase and leave, thanking the store associate. |
b959131d46324412a081184973f50449 | ['f1a567582c6d4e34b87dddc81a9f32b8'] | It never ceased to amaze Lance that he felt so little, so useless to everyone. Even back on Earth coming from a large family, he felt this way. You'd think he'd be used to it.
_Swallow and bottle- you know what? No. Don't swallow and bottle. Let it out for once._
Lance gritted his teeth, his hold on his glass tightened, “Hunk! I said enough already! I don't give a quiznack! So just shut up already!” Lance's raised voice grabbed the attention of the others.
Hunk became a sputtering mess, confused before he to raised his own voice, “what? What is up with you?! You've been acting weird!” Lance narrowed his eyes, he opened his mouth to speak but Shiro interrupted.
The eldest of the four paladins approached cautiously, it was rare to see those two raise their voices in anger, even rarer to see them argue with one another.
Shiro aired on the side of caution when he spoke, like he was addressing a scared animal, “knock it off you two, this isn't like you guys to figh-”
Lance whirled on Shiro, “no! Enough of this! I've been standing by silently but no more! What am I to you guys!? Am I even needed? Let alone wanted?” The blue paladin’s voice cracked, stunning the rest of the team into silence. His thoughts voiced, his tongue unable to quite keep up so everything came out as a jumbled but coherent mess.
Lance's expression twisted until it was a mix of anger and sorrow, un-shed tears were now a steady stream that traveled down reddening cheeks, “am I- am I a nuisance? I'm not some guy who wants to live under a shadow forever...”
He hiccuped and used his sleeve to wipe his eyes, “I admire each and everyone of you but what am I to this team? I don't have anything to contribute and i'm obnoxious to say the least.. I'm done with this.” Lance removed his arm from his face and sniffed.
He deflated; exhausted, there were bags under his eyes that weren't as obvious before his meltdown, cheeks red and stained with dried tears.
The brunet sucked in a sharp breath, blue eyes widened in fear and regret, _shit._
Lance's chest ached in more ways than one, he couldn't breath, he tried.
One hand placed on his chest and gripped his shirt for dear life.
He felt his anxiety began to gnaw away at him, the severity of what just transpired weighed heavily on his mind. Hunk went to place his hand on his shoulder, sympathy expressed on his face like the rest.
Lance flinched but did not turn away, his shoulders shook.
That was until he saw Keith step forward, his eyes swirled with a mix of emotions, he wanted to say something, anything to help the situation.
Cerulean eyes met with cobalt eyes before Lance grimaced solemnly and turned away, he muttered an apology before he ran out of the hanger.
No one dared to follow.
* * *
The hanger was silent minus the gentle hum of the castle's engine running and the pitter-patter of the mice.
Shiro frowned and stepped forward but his path was blocked by Hunk who held up his hand and shook his head, "no, let him cool off." He instructed, his voice nothing above a whisper, he'd seen his best friend like this only once at the Garrison after being shut down from his commanding officer.
Lance liked to be alone until he said otherwise.
Pidge, who had been reading something about Altean languages, closed the holographic page and joined in, "we need to fix this," they said matter-of-fact like.
It was clear as day to them what Lance had been talking about, yeah Lance was good at hiding his true feelings with just a smile and his sparkling personality but Hunk and Pidge had been around Lance for a long time.
Longer than the rest of the team.
Shiro glanced between Hunk and Pidge, arms crossed against his chest, brows knitted in concern but otherwise determined to help, "well we can't fix anything unless we figure out what's truly going on.. Hunk. Pidge."
The two who were addressed side-eyed each other and sighed in unison.
Hunk started, "Lance feels like he's under Keith's shadow, he thinks we only see him as someone who could be replaced at any given time. As Allura put it when this adventure first began, the blue lion is highly acceptable to anyone." Pidge took up the last half of their conversation and placed their hands on their hips, "insecurities aren't to be trifled with and without actually realizing we've been stepping on Lance from day one."
Keith waved his hands with a shake of his head, looking both offended and confused, "whoa okay wait. So this is my fault? Because he thinks he's in my shadow? What kind of idiotic nonsense is that-"
Allura cleared her throat, drawing all the attention to her, "that 'nonsense' has just spiraled out of control and I have a plan that might just help us out."
Hunk's shoulder slumped in relief, fixing the princess with a smile as did the rest of them.
Well, Keith just looked her way with that same stoic expression he always wore. But inside he was a mess, questions buzzed through his brain, his stomach churned for the worse as worry took over.
Yes he was worried for Lance just like everyone else but it ran deeper.
He liked Lance just as much as Lance secretly liked him. He'd rather bicker and hide his true feelings from the blue paladin, afraid of rejection of his unrequited love- his thoughts were cut off by a loud beeping noise coming from Coran's control central.
The mustached Altean clicked some buttons before spinning around, hysterical, "the blue lion is leaving the ship! Lance took off!" | d2dfadaea8c1477982170f80f9ac65cb | ['f1a567582c6d4e34b87dddc81a9f32b8'] | "Allura, I'm sending the lions away so Zarkon can never lay his hands on them. We cannot win this war and you know it." He explained before he climbed down from his station and stood in front of his daughter, "you're just as stubborn as your mother was... Look after your brother." Before Allura could protest Alfor put her asleep. He explained to Coran the rest of his plan and with little protest Coran accepted their fates.
Alfor returned to his station and contacted his son. The video com pulled up and it took everything in Alfor's power to keep a semi straight face. Lancel's visor was cracked, he had blood trailing down his chin from his mouth and his abdomen was pierced through probably from when Lancel exited his lion to help a few citizens in need. Half of Lancel's concentration was on the battle before him, swerving away from Galra flighters and their guns as much as possible, "what's up, daddio?" He asked, falling back on humor in attempt to relieve some stress. Beads of sweat enveloped the boy in fine coating, he looked like he'd been running a fever for weeks and judging by how pale he was Lancel had lost a lot of blood.
"I need you to come back to the castle, we're separating the lions and I need you to protect your sister and Coran." Alfor issued, he earned a side glance from Lancel, eye brows furrowed at the odd order but he was in no condition to argue, "I'll be there in a tick and I'm gonna come in hot." The video com ended there.
Alfor contacted the rest of the paladins and finished giving them their orders to separate and hide the lions where Zarkon can't find them just as Lancel stumbled through the door, one hand pressed against the wall for support while the other put pressure on his wound. Alfor was by his side in an instant.
"Lancel, I'm going to put you in a medical pod, then I want you to put yourself in the cryogenic pod along with Allura and Coran," his tone was light but commanding as he swung Lancel's arm over his shoulder and they began to quickly hurry to the medical wing. Lancel gave his father a frown, "and what of you? What... Are you going to.. do?" He looked like he wanted to say more but was too weak to do so.
The medical wing was completely empty. All the helpers the castle usually had were long gone to see to their own families or fight against the Galran Empire. With a few buttons pressed a medical pod rose from the floor. There was no time for Lancel to strip down into a medical suit but they did remove the chipped and broken chest armor and arm armor before he was loaded into the pod. His question wasn't answered immediately and Lancel wasn't quite expecting one either but Alfor pressed his gloved hand against his son's cheek and smiled just like he smiled at Allura earlier, "I'm setting the castle on auto pilot, it'll take you to another galaxy entirely and you will be safe there. I will take one of our flighter jets and buy the castle time- Lancel, my son," he paused and it looked like Alfor had aged ten more years, Lancel could tell his heart was heavy with grief. Lancel shook his head and smiled, "no need to say anything, I'll protect my family at all costs, you can count on it."
Alfor smiled and nodded. He took a step back and gave Lancel one last look, "I'm proud of you son." Then he pressed a single button and the medical pod closed itself, encasing Lancel instead, knocking him out cold so it could begin the healing process.
The king of Altea retreated to the control deck and entered a random set of coordinates into the system's auto piolet, the countdown until the castle jumped through a worm hole began. It was enough time for Alfor to enter a hanger and take a flighter jet. Yes he would distract the Galran flighter jets long enough for the count down to reach zero. Alfor smiled to himself, recalling the peaceful memories he had with his children and Eliza, how Lancel became one of them, how Allura grew up beautiful and strong, how Lancel wanted to prove himself worthy even though he was already worthy in his eyes.
One last look at the castle showed it warping through a wormhole. His tired smile pulled at the edges of his lips as he relaxed. A single alarm blared in the background, alerting him that flighter jets were surrounding him, that their missiles would land their mark if he didn't do something.
He did nothing.
* * *
"One cameral latte, Lance!" Allura called from her station at the front counter, she finished writing a name on the white Styrofoam cup before handing it off to her brother who returned her smile with a charming grin, "you got it sis!" Allura rolled her eyes but her smile remained as she helped the next customer.
The mornings was always the busiest time of days but the most welcomed. It took their minds off their wandering thoughts but Lance's mind always drifted back.
_It'd been a half a year since their ship crash landed on planet Earth, Lancel had been the first to wake up and do a bit of recon before he went to wake up his sister and Coran. When he did he had to give them the mind shattering news that Alfor, their father, perished to protect them, to protect Voltron, and that 10,000 years had passed since then._ |
36877bbba2b542d6bed30d06aebc62d8 | ['f1a5e7a2876b4ab8891c8c5abb0e2998'] | And oh! Wasn’t that fascinating, wasn’t that lovely, but Sherlock was still fixated on watching John Watson move through the world. This form of him was a little darker, a little more cautious with the soul that shone through his eyes, as if some part of him remembered what it was to feel the losses of age and death. Even that, however, had not changed the fundamental deviance of him. He was still intrinsically good, with no hint of evil.
Sherlock watched him shoot the serial-killer cabbie through two windows and his transport trembled all over with joy.
Add another mystery — Moriarty — and Sherlock felt as though boredom had never been farther away.
———————-
Moriarty was a demon.
He was the same demon, in fact, that had condescended to play with Sherlock in his first era. Sherlock found himself flattered and amused by Moriarty’s overtures, and played the game with gusto.
It was tempting, perhaps, to give in to this unsubtle seduction. Sherlock knew through Mycroft that the millennia ahead would be cold and mindless without action, and the idea of another equal, a partner in the time to come was comforting. Moriarty had clearly had eons to hone and craft his coping mechanisms. He was so far into the Wheel that he made Sherlock and Mycroft look like babes in the wood.
Sherlock toyed with texting him. “Call me when I’m older,” seemed sufficiently coy. After all, right now he had John, and the cases still amused him, and London was a delightfully diverting shelter, but in 70 years or so John would be gone again and Sherlock would need a distraction.
For the finale of their little game, Moriarty stole John and strapped a bomb to his torso. Fury Sherlock had never known rolled through his chest, and he decided then and there that even if he stayed on Earth till the sun burnt to cinders, he would never be Jim Moriarty’s ally.
Moriarty saw it in his face, and smiled a slyly, as if he knew something Sherlock did not.
Then John grabbed the demon and cried, “Sherlock, run!” and both of them were so startled that the game came to an abrupt and fizzling end.
———————
The Earthly plane was one of cycles, and Sherlock found himself fascinated by how similar this one was to the one he’d shared with John Watson before.
John had become the winning piece in Moriarty’s game, so that no matter how much he longed to refuse, Sherlock had to play. Once again the two Gods fell, once again Sherlock rose to take down the last pawns before he could return to his human.
Once again he returned to find John married, although this time “Mary’s” eyes gleamed with a hint of hellfire.
“I won. Give him back,” Sherlock hissed. “Mary” bit into an apple, amused.
“He loves me,” she said simply, and Sherlock shuddered and let his head drop into his hands.
John’s faintly uneven tread sounded on the stair and Mary’s voice lowered. “Honestly, how did I miss this before?” she wondered. “He’s so…”
“If you think you can break him, you’re wrong,” Sherlock interrupted, hating how it sounded like a challenge.
“I don’t want to break him,” scoffed Moriarty. “Not this time.”
————————
“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” John whispered. Sherlock shook tilted his head on the thin hospital pillow. Why indeed?
“It will be hard to leave her,” John told him, beginning to weep, and the heart within Sherlock’s transport thudded against his ribs like a kick. “But God help me, I…”
“What, John?” Sherlock whispered.
“I love you more,” said John, and kissed him.
———————
Mary fell mysteriously pregnant the moment John tried to break away. Sherlock ached with an unholy pain for two weeks while John struggled with the blast.
This would be the moment. This would the the compromise that stripped John’s soul of its purity and left it vulnerable to the dark, he was certain. And then…
“I’m sorry,” John told her. “I will always love you, and I will love our baby, but I cannot live a lie.”
“You made a promise to me,” hissed Moriarty.
“I made it without all the facts,” John told her. “And I don’t… I don’t think you did, Mary.”
Moriarty glared at him.
“You knew I loved him,” John said slowly. “You knew that and married me anyway. And when he came back…”
“I shot him,” Moriarty relented.
“I’m still having a bit of trouble with that really,” John sighed.
“I knew it wouldn’t kill him!” Moriarty groused. “You people get so hung up on these things.”
John looked as if he had been slapped, then rose from his seat. “Oh, don’t go,” Moriarty said with some alarm. “I love you terribly,” she continued. “Don’t you know how rare that is?”
“I… don’t,” John said, nonplussed. “I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t do this anymore.”
Moriarty watched her funny little human walk away from their flat, and dialed Sherlock. Modern cellphones really were a revolution. “You win this time,” s/he announced.
“Excellent,” Sherlock’s baritone replied. “Now go away.”
“Dibs on the next cycle,” Moriarty trilled and hung up, but not before hearing Sherlock’s indrawn breath.
————————
Sex with John was different than sex with any other human lover. It produced the same delightful flurry of data, but this time each data point was meaningful. It was personal.
“You alright?” John smiled up at him from where his head was pillowed on Sherlock’s hip. From the way Sherlock’s transport was shuddering and gasping, he supposed it was a legitimate question.
Sherlock was thinking once again about the end of the Earth, but this time he was thinking that even millions of years later, when everything had gone dark and cold, he would remember the feel of John’s shiver when he put his lips to the nape of that tawny neck. When this universe failed and all the planes collapsed into one, and there were no more gods or demons, the beauty of being encased in John’s body would remain. The music of his human moans would endure beyond all finality.
“Perfect,” he gasped. | 4bae60a1db704d72bdbfeca4e0e0247a | ['f1a5e7a2876b4ab8891c8c5abb0e2998'] |
Perfectly Imperfect
Sherlock had never been very interested in the supernatural. It bored him.
Oh, he was not an unbeliever, no, on the contrary: purported supernormal activity bored him because he was intimately familiar with the workings of gods and devils, angels and souls. He was a member of the trapped, a being unfortunately caught in the necrotizing confines of the “Earthly” plane, and all the little ghosts and poltergeists, ectoplasm and echoes from the beyond, bored him entirely stiff. Most of what humans saw as paranormal was actually far more interesting than the real thing, because it was born of human machination. The real thing was just… reality, painfully expanding itself into a flat world.
Gods became demons because Earth decayed things. It was the nature of this plane to cycle through, to provide energy for the change of life with the finality of death. Immortal beings didn’t thrive in this medium; they were built to last, and the constant erosion of death and strife and struggle made them into monsters. Sherlock knew this, knew that after eons of enduring the wheel of human time, he too would seek to ally himself with death and destruction rather than principle. But in these first few centuries, wasn’t it grand?
The bloom of fascination hadn’t faded for him yet. He’d only been here a few moments. His brother — if you would call him that — Mycroft, had been on Earth for 800 years and was just beginning his inevitable descent into the chess game of fate. Sherlock could see it in his ruthlessness, his increasingly frequent disregard for individual human life. Sherlock supposed it was only logical. Life, after all, was so ordinary here, and Mycroft’s relative uniqueness warped him as it would warp them all.
Sherlock still took joy in watching rather than meddling. Humans had so many flaws and foibles. The contrast was delicious. The struggle to maintain all the trappings of life - food, shelter, a feeling of purpose — had evolved in men over the millennia into a strange society, a complex balance of interpersonal needs that still had to remain flexible enough to tolerate individual aggressions. Sherlock took great pleasure in delving into the minds of deviants, teasing out the innate desires that came into conflict with the requirements of the whole, the heuristics and passions that seemed so understandable in one individual, so common to man as to be negligible, but when put against the hive-mind became problematic. It was a lovely sort of mathematics, was crime-solving.
Humans were so common. There were billions of them. They were all basically built from the same blueprints, but tiny imperfections led them to live out a near infinity of iterations. Only the truly bored immortals would seek to add new variables to the equation.
Some humans, of course, deviated enough from the norm as to be exceptional in their own way. When Sherlock had first become trapped on Earth, he had met one he thought worthy of special attention. This human did not radiate genius or divine artistry in any way, it was just that he was so entirely good. Dr. Watson had been such a righteous and upright creature that no manner of hardship he endured was able to introduce in him a particle of true malice, and a relatively young Sherlock had found that beautiful.
Sherlock had kept Watson near him for as long as his cyclical life would allow, aging with him as humans do until the good doctor’s soul had departed for whatever place human souls went to when they left Earth. Trapped as he was by his very nature, Sherlock could not follow, and so he began anew for the first time. Alone.
———————
This cycle marked the first time period where Sherlock was truly bored.
Once again born, in the way of men, and once again paired with Mycroft (who he suspected of maudlin attachment in his middle age), Sherlock whiled away his first few decades of this wheel-turn playing with the physics of the world. While laughably simple, they were at least elegant, and Sherlock felt that a good sense of play was the secret to youth.
He played his way through university, where he met a young man named Victor who had some measure of genius but no true uniqueness. Victor’s brilliance was enough to keep him vaguely amused for a time, and Victor’s consistent stash of modern cocaine was certainly fun. Sherlock experimented with his human transport until Mycroft appeared, looking dour and bitter, and sobered him up.
“Vice corrupts,” Mycroft told him, and that warning was enough to keep Sherlock clean. He didn’t, after all, want to become a demon before his time. Instead he fell back on old habits. He befriended (after a fashion) an up-and-coming police inspector by the name of Lestrade, and began solving crimes again. As London’s population had increased in diversity, so did the nature and complexity of the crimes he solved, and Sherlock felt himself reasonably contented.
Even if the bright edge of humanity had dulled. Even if Sherlock felt, increasingly, the outside pressure of immortality begin to harden him.
How soon was too soon to give in? Sherlock found himself wondering this as his transport fiddled with teratogens in the lab of St. Barts. Mycroft seemed determined to keep his younger brother in a kind of infancy, but after a few thousand years, would it even matter? They would be equally disillusioned then, with only themselves or other mad gods as equals.
That was when Mike Stamford brought his friend up to be introduced, and Sherlock’s thoughts were swept away in an agony of wonder.
——————
“It’s happened before,” Mycroft told him. “Reincarnation. You see it enough over the years that even humans have noticed the phenomenon.” |
2b823397344c413d8e551688a98822f9 | ['f1d286b1cb0d4912b0cac26698af3c1e'] | He looked over at Ray, the TV's light harsh illuminating on his face in the pitch black room. This allowed Ray to get another kill. "Haha! Suck it!" Ray looked over at Ryan, and their eyes locked. Ryan paused the game and put his controller down. Ray did the same.
"Ray." Ryan said, which sent a shiver down the younger's spine. "Yeah?" Ray asked. Ryan scooted over to him. "I can't keep beating around the bush. I... like you. I have for a long time."
Within an instant Ray had leaned forward and their lips were touching. They both felt like every single kissing cliche out there, but it did describe how they felt.
They pulled back to look at each other. "Ten out of ten would kiss again." Ray said with a dorky smile. Ryan rolled his eyes and tackled Ray into a kiss.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> When I say fast burn I mean fast burn
4. Trouble With The Boss
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> WARNING- RAPE
As Ray left Ryan's apartment, his thoughts drifted towards the Vagabond. He would have to deal with him sooner or later. He preferred later, but he knew that could change in an instant. While walking on the streets he got a call from his boss.
"Hey Joel." Ray greeted.
"Hey sweetheart. Got a job from you. Bit different from what you usually do, but Lindsay is on maternity leave and Michael's staying with her. Think you could be a bit explosive for a day?"
\------------
Ray was running as fast as he could away from the cops. The explosion went off and he made the mistake of staying to watch. Suddenly two strong arms wrapped around his waist and he was pulled into an alley way. He was about to scream but the man covered his mouth with his hand. The cops all rushed past the entrance, not paying anymind to the two men. Once they were gone, the mystery man stepped away from Ray. The Vagabond.
"Well, long time no see. What's up man?" Despite Ray's calm demeanor he was on full alert, hand hovering over the pouch on his thigh where he kept his knife. It was pink, of course.
The Vagabond was taken aback by Ray's nonchalant comment, but he did not show it. 'He may be a dork, but he's my dork.' He thought to himself.
"So you still wanna kill me? I understand, nobody can resist me." There he goes again. The Vagabond shook his shoulders, indicating that he was laughing. This made Ray smile.
"Fun chat, but I gotta go." Ray said before running out of the alley way and into the hustle and bustle of everyday New York life.
\----------WARNING-RAPE---------------
When Ray arrived home, a man with messy brown hair was sitting on his couch.
"Welcome back Ray." He greeted.
"J-Joel. What are you doing here?" Ray asked, cursing himself for stuttering. Joel stood and made his way over to him, cupping his face with his hand.
"I've seen you with that man. That Ryan fellow. You're not trying to replace me are you?" Joel asked. Ray shook his head.
"Of course not!" Ray said franticly.
"Hmm. I don't believe you." Joel said. And just like that Joel surged forward and their lips were connected. Ray had no choice but to kiss back. Joel's hand crawled it's way down and rested on Ray's waist. The other hand palmed Ray through his shorts. He tried to pull away but Joel's hand held him there.
"Joel, I don't want this." Ray pleaded.
"Too bad. I have needs Ray, but you've been neglecting me lately. You know what I need? I need my cock shoved so far up your ass that you'll need me to help you walk for the next week." Joel whispered. Ray shivered.
Joel pressed him against the door, hungrily attacking his neck. Ray tried to push him away, but Joel was too strong. Ray should've got his money's worth on that gym membership he bought for New Year's.
Joel gripped the bottom of Ray's shirt and yanked it up, tossing it somewhere in the living room. He was just as rough with his shorts and underwear.
"Turn around, slut." Joel threatened as he undid his pants, letting his large cock spring free.
If Ray was being honest, he was scared. He used to love Joel, but that love went away the day Joel first hit him. But Ray needed this job. He had to save up enough money to finally move away and be free from him.
Ray refused to move. Bad idea. Joel slapped him hard across the face, then grabbed his hips and forced him to turn around anyways.
Joel didn't prepare Ray at all, just pushed in his entire length dry. Ray cried out, trying his best to get away.
"Please no! No stop!" Ray pleaded.
Joel started thrusting at an unbearable pace.
\-----------
Ray was left in the middle of the floor, his hole bleeding and abused. He dragged himself over to his phone, he desperately wanted to call Ryan but he knew he couldn't drag him into his problem. So, he called his best friend.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Both plot development and my attempt at writing a longer chapter. Don't worry, Joel being a jerk will progress the plot.
5. Leaving
**Summary for the Chapter:**
> Ray can't stand being in New York anymore, and decides to leave.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> ENDING NOTES ARE IMPORTANT
"Michael, I need your help." Ray croaked into his phone.
"Ray? What the fuck happened are you okay?" He heard the Jersean man say.
"I... it was Joel." Ray said quietly. He heard shuffling and banging.
"GOD DAMMIT I SWEAR IM GONNA KILL THAT FUCKER!" Michael yelled.
"I have to get away from Joel, can you help me?" Ray said. | da7de89a6ce54f309846a12815b0975b | ['f1d286b1cb0d4912b0cac26698af3c1e'] | “Boys, boys, let’s not fight. Let’s make a civil bet. First one to get a successful date and/or get laid by a non-stripper by the end of the month gets twenty dollars from the loser. If both of you lose both of you give me twenty.”
“Dad, no-”
“I’m in!”
“Cole-”
“What, you scared you’ll lose?”
“I absolutely am not. In fact, I accept the bet. May the best man win.”
So, after a day’s worth of thinking how to woo people while filling out paperwork the two brothers got ready for a night of clubbing at the new club that had just opened up, Electric. Connor thought it was stupid, while Cole loved the cheesiness of it.
“Try not to get raped and killed!” Hank called from the couch.
“Will do!” Cole shouted back before getting into the passenger seat of the car.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. I don’t even have time for a relationship!” Connor complained as he drove off.
“A life without love is a sad life indeed.”
“Don’t get all philosophical on me or else I’ll get pissed off.”
“Alright alright, does stupidly obvious sound better?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Hmm, shocker. So what’s your game plan tonight? Woo some guy alone at the bar, do some dirty dancing, play knight in shining armor to an almost-rape victim?”
“First of all, don’t joke about rape, second of all, I’ll decide when we get there. But what about you?”
“You know I’m 'bout to wow everyone with my awesome dance moves.”
“You dance like a duck with no feet.”
“How rude! I’ll have you know that my moves have scored me dates in the past.”
“Middle school winter dances don’t count for anything.”
“You’re just jealous I got Nick Forrester and you didn’t!”
“I am not. If anything you’re jealous I got Carson Brate.”
“Low blow man, low blow.” Cole put his hand on his heart for emphasis, and Connor chuckled as he parked.
“You ready?” Cole asked as he got out of the car.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Connor replied, adjusting his jacket confidently. The club was busy, and the two could hear the electro-pop coming from inside. After getting through the line and showing their I.Ds, they were finally in. It was decorated with lots of bright flashing light fixtures, neon balloons and dance floor, and eccentric barely-dressed people jumping around to the DJ waving glow sticks. Connor looked over at Cole, but he was already on his way to join the dance floor. After a quick scan of the area, Connor opted to head over to the bar. There was a lonely man, nursing a bright blue drink, an empty barstool right next to him.
“Hello, my name is Connor.”
“Rupert.” The male, Connor, smiled at him.
“You seemed lonely, thought I’d join you,” Connor asked the bartender for whatever Rupert had.
“My friend Andre dragged me here. Honestly, I’d rather be home with all of my birds. I’m sorry, that probably sounds really weird.”
“No, please go on, it takes a lot to weird me out.”
“Well, I’m a bird person, if you couldn’t tell. There’s just something about them that makes them really good company, y’know?”
“Hmm, I’ve never really had a bird, but they seem really cool.” The bartender set down his drink, so he thanked him. He took a sip, but quickly spit it out.
“Oh god, what kind of gross chemicals are in here?” Connor said, making Rupert laugh.
“It’s their house special, the Electric Eel. Pretty sure the bartender put expired vodka in it and other gross stuff.”
“What, like actual eels?!” This made Rupert laugh even more, grabbing his stomach and hunching over. Connor felt his laugh was beautiful and became slightly flushed.
“You’re a really funny guy,” Rupert said once he recovered. “So, you live here in Detroit?”
The two began talking more, and both ordered plain water. Connor learned Rupert lived in Detroit all his life, lives alone, and works at the Zoo in the bird exhibit.
“Y’know, I’ve got some wine at my house if you’re looking for some good alcohol,” Rupert suggested.
“Yeah, I’ll text my brother that I’m leaving then we’ll go.”
“Alright, sounds good. I’ll text Andre.”
Connor: Going over to this guy’s place, don’t wait up on me.
Cole: Fuck you have fun
Rupert: Scored a date! Taking him over to my place for some wine.
Andre: Congrats man! Is he hot?
Rupert: Super hot, and super funny, and super nice.
Andre: Awesome man! Proud of you.
The car ride to Rupert’s house was full of chatter and radio shows, turns out Rupert likes alternative music.
“Welcome to my humble abode!” Rupert threw his arms out as Connor looked at the building.
“I like it, is the one with the bird feeder yours?” Connor asked, pointing to the balcony with said object.
“You know it,” Rupert said, getting his keys out and unlocking the doors. Suddenly four birds came flapping over, all landing on Connor.
“Oh dear, it’s on my head.”
“Don’t worry, they’re all really friendly. The blue parakeet is Crystal, the green parakeet is Merlin, the finch is Raspberry, and the parrot is Fruit Basket.”
“Fruit Basket?”
“When I got him that’s all he would say, so I thought I’d name him that. I’ve taught him other stuff since then.”
“Oh, well it’s nice to meet all of you.” Once the birds were satisfied in their investigation of the stranger, they flew off to different places in the apartment.
“So, would you like some wine?”
“I would very much like some wine.” Connor took a seat at the island while Rupert got wine from a high cabinet. Both had already taken off their jackets, so Connor was able to see what the other really had on. He had an old looking Linkin Park shirt, while Connor had a blue Detroit Police Academy shirt. |
64b024cf85ee4d0782b0f0b2ef438af8 | ['f1da87a1a6e246e98ff6954ef0756a57'] |
**Author's Note:**
* For LINK.
> A request from the lovely Lia who was the first person I really started talking to about skk and the one who invited me to join the skk discord chat, no regrets there lol. I said drabble but it got a little long? (I haven't really touched much on what you really wanted but we'll get there *winks wonk*)
"It's happening again."
A stare so intense it sent shivers running down his spine. Chuuya didn't understand why he constantly felt like he was being watched. Like a prey who caught the attention of a very hungry predator. The mere thought of it gave him goosebumps.
Dazai joked about it once, saying that he's gotten himself a stalker of all things but Chuuya laughed and brushed it off as "absolute bullshit". He's really starting to rethink that now.
"I swear I'm not making this up, Dazai. And no I'm not drunk." Chuuya said with a sigh, distress evident in his voice.
“Would you like me to walk you home then? If it'll make you feel safer.”
For the first time that evening, Dazai sounded genuinely concerned. Chuuya contemplated the suggestion. Logically speaking he would indeed feel safer, not to mention maybe his so called “stalker” would back off if they saw him walking with someone else. If he even had one in the first place anyways but there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn't accept this offer, call it his gut instinct or what not.
He decided not to trust it, and that was his first mistake.
“That'd be great, thanks. Pick me up at the coffee shop we usually go to?"
"Sure, I'll be there in 10 minutes. See you then."
He hung up the phone, sipping on his cup of coffee Chuuya wondered why he had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't as if he asked a stranger to walk him home, it was Dazai for goodness sake. They've known each other for years. He'll be fine.
_So why isn't this feeling going away?_
_____
The sound of a camera going off reaches Chuuya's ears. It's faint but he can hear it from a mile away with how he was feeling right now. Going home with Dazai only made things worse. The stares became more intense than they were before and he feels like his pictures are being taken no matter where he goes.
He looks around for the source of the sound but finds nothing. He's been doing this for almost a month now, looking around for anything suspicious wherever he goes, whenever he thinks he hears the sound of a camera going off in his direction. It's gotten to the point where he's losing sleep over how paranoid he is.
It's gotten to the point where Dazai actually _asks_ if he's okay.
He's not. He knows he isn't. It isn't healthy the way he's dealing with his current situation, with little to no sleep, lack of appetite and the decreasing amount of actual human interaction. The only person he speaks to nowadays is Dazai, and as much as he hates to admit it Dazai's company was his only comfort these days.
Dazai made him feel just the tiniest bit safer.
“Chuuya, you should really get more sleep.”
Dazai says this with a frown on his face after Chuuya fainted due to exhaustion today. His eyelids feel like they weigh a ton and he barely manages to open his eyes. He can't afford to fall asleep like this, what if something happens in the time he's not awake?
“I'll be here, Chuuya. I'll protect you so rest assured nothing will happen to you.”
Oh. So he said that out loud.
“I want this to be over Dazai. I really do.” he whispered softly, unable to speak any louder with how tired he feels. He's tired of whatever's watching him in the shadows, he's tired of being paranoid all the time, he's tired of having to rely on Dazai for everything.
He's tired of living a life like this. It's all too much for him and he just wants to rest.
“I'll get rid of all your problems for you okay, Chuuya? So just rest.”
He nods just as his eyelids slide shut, soon enveloping him in hours of darkness. He sees a smile on Dazai's face just before he loses consciousness but he didn't think much of it. Neither did he think much of the words Dazai said.
Another mistake he didn't notice until it was too late.
_“Leave it to me, partner.”_
_____
Strangely after that, Chuuya didn't feel like he was being watched anymore. He didn't hear the sounds of shutters clicking, he didn't feel that paranoid anymore and his life went on as if the past month or so never happened.
Or at least that's what he'd like to think.
That everything was okay now. To be honest it is better now, he really didn't feel the stares anymore and the sounds were gone too. He eats better now and has more than enough sleep to go through the day without feeling horribly tired, courtesy of Dazai of course.
Dazai never left Chuuya's side. No matter how paranoid or how troublesome Chuuya was, Dazai never even thought of leaving. Staying by his side he listened to all of Chuuya's problems, giving him advice, comforting him, taking away all of his insecurities. They're becoming closer than he ever imagined and Chuuya doesn't mind it.
_“Maybe Dazai really did get rid of my problems”_ , he mused. He was there to protect him the whole time. Chuuya felt safe with him. | 4500d80e9d2e4fb398df7e151c3ca42d | ['f1da87a1a6e246e98ff6954ef0756a57'] | I wonder if bringing Kunikida along was your way of saying “yeah I've got a new partner now and he's way better than you. You'll never be as good as him, you'll never be good enough.”
If so, you're a grade A asshole and I just wanted you to know that.
Or maybe it was just you telling me to move on.
“Everyone has problems to deal with, you're not the only one. Move on, get over yourself.”
I can accept that.
I stopped trying after that.
I tried to pretend that I was myself that night. It got tiring after a while, so I just kept silent. What's the point of pretending right until the end, I just wanted to be _myself_ even if it's only for one night. I kept silent, the conversation continued with just you and Kunikida. You didn't bother including me in the conversation so I just listened instead.
I listened and drank until I felt numb to everything.
And then I stood up and left.
A part of me wanted you to come after me, for you to tell me not to go. To stay. But the rest of me was done with just about everything. It doesn't even matter because you didn't come anyways.
I didn't say goodbye. You didn't either.
And now you'd never get that chance to do so, ever again. Not while I'm still alive anyways, you can say it over and over again after I die and nothing would change.
I walked home that night feeling cold, the night breeze unrelenting. I left my coat in the bar. I wonder if you took it with you when you left the bar.
I found this tape when I got home. Do you remember it? You gave it to me once upon a time, said you wouldn't use it and it suited the old-fashioned me more. I wasn't old-fashioned I just appreciated vinyl records more than CDs but still I took the tape. I was planning on making a mixtape but I never found the time to do that, so I recorded this instead.
I'm giving this back to you Dazai.
…
Hey Dazai.
I loved you, you know that don't you?
I still do.
But you didn't care enough. Neither did I.
And I'm sorry.
But I need you to know that things were getting to much for me to handle. I didn't want to try anymore, I just wanted everything to stop.
You were a reason why I died but I'm not blaming it on you. Because this one's all on me. Funny how suicide used to be more of your thing, huh.
I'm still dead. Nothing is going to change that fact.
But I didn't want to leave without telling anyone what really happened to me. It doesn't matter if you don't do anything after listening to this, I just wanted to tell you the truth. I didn't want to just be... gone.
So remember me, Dazai.
That's all I want you to do.
**Author's Note:**
> Thanks for reading, feedback, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Come scream with/at me on Tumblr (http://USER.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter (@seitsuyax), I'm also on discord so yeh (USER#1464) |
a431439f43c14ff68f12960a32fc1c85 | ['f1f50808522545769b9a4201395a3694'] |
Distinctly Primal
**Author's Note:**
> This was actually supposed to be based off of episode three, where Mason, Brett and Liam go into the woods, but I didn't get to see that episode and MTV has it on lock down till the 7th -_- Anyways I did the best I could with the Gif's I saw on tumblr, so tell me what you guys think^^.
Now Mason wasn’t a werewolf, a were coyote nor a kitsune with amazing supernatural abilities, but he wouldn’t need anything but a pair of eyes to see how on edge Liam had could be sometimes….And yeah obviously going searching through the woods where enough bodies have been found to consider Beacon Hills a modern day post-apocalyptic war zone; and would put any person or werewolf on the tips of their toes.
And ok…Liam normally had some aggression problems, even though with Scott’s help, he’d been getting better with the whole IED issue. But tonight was a whole different story. Getting a ride from Brett to get to the edge of the woods probably hadn’t made it any better and the fact that Liam could probably smell Brett all over his skin had made the situation ten times more awkward.
Thinking back on it, multiple times before He’d even known about anything supernatural actually existing Liam had told him to stay away from Brett, not even think about him; “that he was an asshole, jerk off, stupid giant made up of pure evil”.
Of course Mason didn’t take it too seriously, but for Liam’s sake Brett hadn’t come up in any of their conversations, until the last Lacrosse game of their freshman year when Brett had helped Liam up off of the field during the time they’d had killer hunters coming after them.
Of course Mason hadn’t known about the killers, all he saw was his best friend and “apparent mortal enemy” looking like they’d come to some sort of truce. So safe to say when the full situation of supernaturals flocking to beacon hills, his best friend being a werewolf, and that group of seniors Liam was always hanging out with actually being a pack of supernaturals with one human in the mix was made known to him via Liam, there was no way Mason couldn’t be a part of something so awesomely intense and amazing.
One thing led to another and in fact just only a month ago he’d found out about Brett being a werewolf…which made him seem a hundred times more sexy than what he already was..if that was even possible. Every time he Liam and Brett had to be together, investigating, at a club or at games, Liam would cringe at the thick pheromones of attraction radiating off of Mason, telling him too cool it because he was contaminating his precious breathing air.
Mason knew there was something more than irritation itching under Liam’s skin, something primal and down right defensive.
And once Brett had started to return even an ounce of affection towards Mason, everything burst into a huge cloud of claws, fangs and glowing eyes.
.....It hadn’t been soo long since the incident had happened…and of all days..on a full moon…
***Flashback***
It was always Liam, Mason and Brett..never just Mason alone with Brett, and Liam made sure that would never happen for reasons he would refuse to specify …but that of course that didn't stop Mason from talking to Brett casually through text. And somehow he gotten Brett over at his house at some ungodly time of the night with a promise of letting Mason borrow one of the books stashed away in Satomi's library…something dealing along the lines of a bestiary, more complete and correct than the one he’d gotten himself with a whole months’ worth of spending money.
Of course he’d picked a day when his parents were on a “date night”, meaning that the house was empty and he could do what wanted.
Mason let the window open to let Brett in and surprisingly things between them weren’t awkward at all..Brett wasn’t all harsh words and cocky attitudes like he normally was, instead he was joking and sweet, talking about how hard it was for him to sneak the book out of Satomi’s library.
But Mason had been terribly distracted and sort of flustered not because Brett was wearing just a sleeveless tank and not because his arms were glistening with a light layer of sweat, but because he was actually genuinely smiling and laughing, something he’d never seen before.
They were standing at arm’s length and Brett was grabbing the book from his hand saying something along the lines of “Just look at this-“And then he had paused staring down at Mason curiously.
Mason felt his skin heat up as he looked around nervously, hand coming up to wipe at his own cheek.
“Umm…Is there something on my face?”
He’d gotten about a two second warning before Brett’s eyes flashed bright gold and simultaneously there were hands on his cheeks, Brett leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss on his mouth, the heat of skin burning hot as he pulled back a few seconds in time to see Mason looking up at him with wide, surprised eyes.
Mason lost his footing a bit and took a step back into the wall adjacent to his window, making a small noise in the back of his throat when Brett reaches out to steady him, firm hands gripping under his elbows to keep him on his feet, the golden glow in his eyes disappearing.
Mason tries to open his mouth to speak but all he could do was look like a fish out of water. He let his hands drift upwards to Brett’s chest placing his hands there carefully, still looking at his own hands pressing down onto Brett's shirt as if he’d done some sort of magic. | 8994f34aa22e4409be6de82c4a6284ed | ['f1f50808522545769b9a4201395a3694'] | > Here was his chance at getting back at him for being such an overly protective selfish ass, and Derek wasn’t going to pass this up..besides..Liam is nearly a full grown young adult..plus it’s not like he could raise his hand in health class and question the teacher on how to keep himself from growing fur and fangs every time he got turned on by someone.
>
>
>
> And knowing Scott, he would probably stutter his way through a long explanation filled with reasoning’s to keep Liam from even trying to do anything. So Derek quirks an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak as he turns into the parking lot of the police station.
>
>
>
> “You wanna know a secret?” He questions, smirking when Liam’s eyes widen a bit, nodding slowly as he rubs the back of his neck hesitantly.
**Notes for the Chapter:**
> Ah...too tired to tease..just continue reading on for more pack bonding and surprises at the Sherriff's station. Leave comments below to help keep me going, your thoughts fuel mine.
Somehow Liam manages to get Derek to take him along to the station too, asserting himself as part of the pack and wanting to help..not to mention the constant whining and begging, throwing sparkly puppy dog eyes at Derek every time there was a red light or stop sign.
And to be honest there really wasn’t much of an argue, Derek scoffed at him the first few minutes, rolling his eyes and putting in a side comment about how inexperienced he was and that it would be dangerous, but by the time he’d decided to give in, they’d already passed the street Liam’s house was on.
And it would be a lie if Derek said that he didn’t think it was adorable when Liam fisted pumped, giving Derek a bright smile in return, and promising to be some sort of a secret exposer.
“What do you mean “secret exposer”..?”
Liam leans back in his seat, turning his head to face Derek, licking over his dry lips before speaking.
“Just like what I did tonight..when Scott tries to keep important things from you; in some sort of sorry attempt to protect you, I’ll always be the first to tell you.”
Derek keeps his eyes on the road, lips pursed eyebrows slightly raised.
“Now why would you want to do that..?”
Liam snorts, shaking his head.
“Don’t think this only for your sake…it’s for my sanity too..the few times he’s kept from telling you certain important things, all he does is reek apprehension and guilt ALL DAY LONG..and since I’m his first bitten beta….-”
“You feel all the overpowering emotions he feels….makes sense.” Derek finishes for him, stopping at the light and glancing at Liam before putting his signal on and turning to the right.
“..Yup..exactly….by the way, why did the air in your loft smell so heavy and..some other scent I’ve never smelt before..it was like a mixture of you and Scott and …I don’t know..but it was something really really strong….’’ There’s a pause in his words like he’s contemplating on finishing his sentence, and Derek gives him a quick glance when Liam looks like he’s about to continue on.
“Is that what sex smells like..?”
He asks it in such an innocent way, expression curious as he shifts his feet back and forth, blue green eyes sharp and staring intensely at the side of Derek’s head.
Derek’s eyes widen for a second, and then he smirks, stepping on the accelerator a little more when the speed limit goes from thirty-five to forty five.
He gets a few flashbacks from when Scott had been newly turned and infatuated with Allison, showing up at Derek’s house a few times when they’d planned to go out and search for Peter when he was a blood thirsty alpha…and who probably still wants to be one at the moment.
More times than Derek could count Scott had showed up at his old burnt up family house, clothes tidy in place, hair messy, but then again it was always like that..his heart pounding in his chest and reeking of sex, perfume and Allison. And enough of Allison’s scent to nearly suffocate Derek and every living werewolf in at least a mile radius.
Back then Derek had taken a few steps back, sniffing the air and half smirking half confused by how heavy the scent was, Scott’s cheeks flushed as pink as they could against his naturally sun tanned skin, cursing at Derek before rolling his eyes in annoyance.
He was sure Liam wasn’t even aware of the slight color spotting his cheeks, a light flush as he stares up at Derek, eyes searching. But it reminds him soo much of Scott when he was Liam’s age..Completely unaware of all he could do with such new found strength and abilities, skin soft and clear, hair all over the place, and if Derek could smell like he used to, probably dripping with hormones.
“Yes..what you were smelling was four day old sex…” He turns his head just in time to see Liam’s cheeks flush even further, hands fiddling with the front of his shirt before quickly looking away when he meets Derek’s eyes.
“You okay kid…?” He asks, voice not hiding his amusement.
He makes the last left turn they get to before the station, just about three quarters of a mile away.
“Y-yeah..”
Derek is having too much fun with this, and he nearly forgets about having to confront Scott…almost.
Here was his chance at getting back at him for being such an overly protective selfish ass, and Derek wasn’t going to pass this up..besides..Liam is nearly a full grown young adult..plus it’s not like he could raise his hand in health class and question the teacher on _how to keep himself from_ _growing fur and fangs_ every time he got turned on by someone. |
bfde6455e84d46098bdbe6ba146c277e | ['f2081cdf076b4905a07214b4c1f366ad'] | Bronn made to draw his gun, but the huge man's fist crunched into his jaw, knocking him out cold. Another two men, also large and gruff-looking, came up behind the huge man. Tyrion grinned awkwardly.
“Well, that was a little unnecessary! Care to come for a drink? I assure you, let me and my friend go, and you'll have a lifetime VIP pass at my club! Sound good?”. Tyrion knew it wouldn't work, but if he was going to die, he might as well make his killers laugh.
The three big northern men laughed. “Fuck your club” said the leader. With a backhand across the face, Tyrion's last memory was of hitting the pavement before he was knocked out cold.
++++++++++
“What do you MEAN, you don't know!” Cersei was yelling. “You let the little BEAST run away? Didn't you! Didn't you!”.
Jaime shrugged. “I didn't let any beasts run away, Cersei. If you mean Tyrion, well, he's no beast, but he is safe. Safe from YOU.”
It was six in the morning, and they were in the kitchen; Jaime was exceedingly tired, so, through Cersei's yelling, he poured himself a coffee and took a long sip. He had a feeling it would be a while yet before he got any sleep.
But Cersei did not yell. She gave him a cold, hard glare. The same glare she gave Tyrion the day before. The glare that she gave which basically said 'I am going to have you killed in your sleep'; she'd given that glare to several people in the past, and those several people had all died fairly soon after, apart from Tyrion.
Jaime was not lost to the meaning. Cersei believed that HE was a part of this alleged conspiracy against her beloved little monster, their son. And he knew HE would have to keep himself safe. Two days past, if anyone had told him Cersei wanted him dead, Jaime would have laughed it off. Cersei loved him, or so he thought. Now, he wasn't so sure. The thought of it made his eyes sting with tears, which he held back. Then he became extremely angry. He furiously kicked at the nearby bin. “FUCK!” he yelled. He sighed as he looked out the window into the large gardens of the Baratheon manor. Then he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.
He turned around slowly. There stood Cersei, holding a small knife, dripping blood. He stumbled backwards. “Cersei” he mumbled, in shock.
“You want to kill him! You want to kill Joffrey!” she screamed. Her eyes were red with anger. She really was going insane. Jaime had no idea what to do. He should probably draw a gun on her, to defend himself, but he couldn't. He loved her, and all he could do was stand there, in shock and horror.
“Calm the fuck down!” he said, stuttering slightly, but calm down she did not. In fact, she seemed to get all the more angry as she lunged at him again, knife in hand. Just in time, he lifted his hand, the hand that had recently been shot, to defend himself. The blade plunged through the cast, through the flesh of his hand, and out the other side.
The next few moments were a blur to him. He was oblivious to the pain in his hand as he grasped Cersei by the wrist. He bit her hand roughly, causing her to yelp in pain and drop the knife, which he took with his good hand. He was not planning to hurt her, but in the heat of the moment, the pain, the anger, the heartbreak, and his primal urge to defend himself kicked in, and he drove the knife into her neck.
Her blood ran over his hand. She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes as blood poured from her mouth and neck. He fell to his knees. I've murdered her, he thought to himself, as he numbly scooped her into his arms. Tears poured down his face. He'd killed her. Cersei. The one person he'd ever loved, and he'd murdered her. A part of him screamed that it was not murder, that she'd have killed him if he hadn't killed her, but he ignored that part. “No..” he muttered to himself. “No, no, no” he screamed, looking at her lifeless and pale body.
He stumbled through the hallways, vomiting violently halfway through. He shoved himself through the front door, into the early morning light, and climbed into his car. He tore his shirt to rags and bandaged the two wounds, the one in his hand and the one in his shoulder. Then he drove. To where, he didn't know. Thankfully, there were no cars on the road; his vision was blurred with tears, his judgement clouded by pain. Eventually, he stopped driving at a bridge crossing a highway. He looked at his wounded hand and shoulder; at the least, his rough bandaging had stopped too much blood loss, but he supposed it did not matter. He had nothing left. He was going to jump into the motorway.
He'd murdered the woman he loved, and even if he wanted to live, the Mafia would be after him. He entertained the thought of going to Lannisport and joining Tyrion, but he decided against it. He felt awful; he'd killed plenty before, but no-one he'd loved as dearly as his sister. Without her, his life had no more purpose. He stepped out of his car, and walked slowly towards the railing of the bridge. It was then that his phone rang. He looked to see who was calling. Tyrion. He decided to answer. If he was going to throw himself off a bridge, he supposed he ought to have one last conversation with his brother. He held the phone to his ear. “Tyrion?”. His voice was a croak; partly from the blood he'd lost, mostly from the grief. | 73a7b2f3d7e4413cb0e41f2953b7dc6a | ['f2081cdf076b4905a07214b4c1f366ad'] | He was shaking BECAUSE Snow was the least dangerous target he'd ever gone after, Jaime realized. It was guilt, not nerves, that shook him up. Jon Snow's eyes were grey, like his brother's, but where Ramsay's eyes were cold and merciless, Jon's eyes were wide and fearful. Jaime couldn't quiet bring himself to look the boy in the eyes, for fear that Jon might see the weakness in his own.
“Try to run away, or scream, and I'll shoot” Jaime warned Jon. He hoped Jon would not be able to read his poker face and see his bluff; because, as much as he hated to admit it, he KNEW he wouldn't be able to shoot Jon if it came down to it. Luckily, Jon seemingly took Jaime's threat seriously, and did not say a word or try to get away as Bronn bound his hands behind his back.
After loading Jon in the boot and starting the drive back to the Bolton's warehouse of torture, Jaime and Bronn were wordless. On the drive there, Bronn was making witty or insulting remarks the whole way, but now Bronn was silent. Perhaps he saw Jaime's guilt. Or maybe he himself was feeling the same way. Jaime did not know. What he did know was, as soon as he got home, he'd really NEED that shot of whiskey Tyrion had promised him.
++++++++++
It was eleven in the evening when Robb heard a knock on his front door. “I'll answer the door, shall I?” asked Vayon Poole, the Stark's personal butler. “No” responded Robb. “Thank you, but... I'll answer myself.” Robb had never been a religious man, but he'd been praying. Praying for his cousin, and for Theon. He loved both of them; Jon was more like a brother to him than a cousin, and Theon was his closest friend, the one he shared all his personal secrets with, in spite of their family's differences.
When Robb opened the door, he was disappointed to see Asha Greyjoy. He held nothing against her personally, but as families, the Starks and Greyjoys had never gotten along, with the exception of himself and Theon. “Asha” he nodded. “You wish to see me? Why?”. Robb didn't mean to sound so rude, but in the last couple of days, his father had been murdered, his best friend had gone missing, and now his cousin, too, had disappeared; he was meant to have come home from school five hours ago.
“Not me, in particular. But Theon. My uncle, too.” Robb breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Theon come up behind his sister, but his breath quickly hitched in his throat when he saw the state of his best friend. “Theon!” he said quickly, pulling him into a hug. It looked unprofessional, of course, but Robb didn't care. Theon was his best friend, after all, and he'd been panicking like hell about him since yesterday. Theon clung back to Robb as though Robb was a source of life for him. Robb could tell from Theon's eyes that he'd been crying; this shocked and angered him, as Theon NEVER cried.
“What the fuck happened to you?!” Robb inquired, looking towards his friend.
“That's what we want to talk about.” A large man, whom Robb recognized as Victarion Greyjoy, spoke up. “If I may, we'd like to come in.”
Robb wasn't in the mood for half the Greyjoy family in his living room, but he simply said “Come in”. Theon looked too broken for Robb, in good conscience, to turn away at this hour.
In the living room, Robb sat on the large armchair that had been there since his great-grandfather's time as the owner of Wolf house. His father had always sat at that armchair, and now his father was dead, he supposed it was his spot. Theon and Asha sat besides one another on a couch, and Victarion seated himself at another armchair, almost directly opposite of Robb.
Asha was first to speak. “The Greyjoys and Starks have never gotten along, I know that. The Iron coast doesn't like the North, and the North doesn't like the Iron coast. But we don't come as enemies. We come because we have a common enemy, now.”
“The Lannisters” growled Robb, as his left hand clutched into a fist. Those bastards, they were the ones who had done this to Robb's closest friend. He wanted to hurt them all. For what they'd done to Theon. To what they'd done to father. Robb felt sick as he realized how likely it was that he'd soon be finding out what they'd done to Jon, too. He wanted to cry for his brother, his father, but he didn't. Robb was a man, and men don't cry; at least, not in company. Robb did cry, like any other man; when he was alone. He'd seen his father cry, too, though only once, after his sister's passing. He presumed his father had cried when Brandon, his older brother, died as well, though he hadn't seen him.
“Yes. The Lannisters. They captured Theon. Two of Joff's pets, Roose Bolton, and someone called Ramsay Snow, Theon said.” murmured Asha, appearing to be just as angry about it all as Robb.
Theon nodded, and it looked as though he was about to be sick. Whatever they'd done to him, it had really traumatised the man.
“Ramsay Snow. Jon's half-brother” said Robb.
“Ramsay... Ramsay's the one who... who...” Theon trailed off.
“Raped him. Beat him. Cut off two fingers on his left hand, ripped five of his teeth out!” yelled Victarion, slamming his fist down on the coffee table. The impact of Greyjoy's fist against the table cracked the wood. Victarion seemed a little embarrassed, though Robb did not blame him for his fury. Theon was making no effort to stop himself crying now.
“Ramsay was related to Jon?” asked Theon, in a cracking voice.
“Was?” inquired Robb, raising an eyebrow. |
55fe15fc7c274601b5f0e282c892f782 | ['f220e00363c54c35988fa4927c245378'] | "Why didn't you fucking say something earlier?" Seriously! All his brother had to do was reference Snow White and he would have been on board. Wincing, he tried to pretend it had not been close to a full day since his last meal.
"I did. You just weren't listening. Now open all of your food and tell me what they smell like."
Okay so he had just washed his hands. Seizing his toilet paper, he rolled a bit over his fingers to use as a makeshift glove. Dropping down on the floor at the edge of his cot, Tommy leaned over and took a hearty whiff of one of the apple slices. Sweet. Crisp. It didn't particularly smell strongly of anything though.
"My apples are cut up and they look like apples," he fumbled for a good description, swearing and smacking the floor with his palm and ignoring the sting. "They aren't discolored...does that mean they're poisoned?"
"No." Oliver sniffed, a 'you idiot' pinned to his reply that blew the wind out of the brunette's sails. "Does it smell like anything else? Any visible puncture marks?"
"They smell like nothing. A little sweet. And hang on." Fumbling with his practically mummified hand, he turned one of the slices over in his hand. "This one doesn't look to have marks. I suppose I should check the others too?" Receiving no reply, he grumbled and winced when the stitches in his back protested, but continued to move from slice to slice to inspect the fruit. "I don't see anything!"
"They should be fine to eat then."
"Now you tell me," Tommy groaned, peering at the apple slices scattered over the floor like a tornado had hit them. Seizing the nearest one, he devoured it whole and swallowed in scarcely two bites and moaned appreciatively.
Oh God, red apples were amazing! If they ever got out of this, he would have to add them to the shopping list!
"Just smell your cucumber and your sandwich." God his brother was going to be Slade's perfect, nagging wife someday.
"Fine," the alpha grunted. Reaching for the packages, he ripped them open held them up to his nose. The sandwich reeked of salty ham and processed cheddar but nothing obviously wrong aside from how icky it looked. Skimming his nose along the surface of the cucumber he paused; taking a second, deep sniff he paused and inhaled deeper, picking up something that seemed out of place in the phallic shaped veggie.
"The sandwich seems okay but the cucumber reminds me of shop class in high school... even though I spent most of my time making out with omegas, I still remember that smell."
"Heavy metals poisoning. Don't eat it."
Not much of a hardship there, Tommy waved a dismissing goodbye to vegetable that he highly doubted for palatability as he chucked it off to the side of the room.
Gathering his apples and sandwich, he laid them out on his mattress and grabbed his cup from the sink and filled it with water for good measure. Sitting down for his first rationed meal since...ever, Tommy felt indecisive and somewhat reluctant to eat. Oliver's disquieting mood indicated that this organization was definitely not trustworthy, but surely they would not starve them after going to all this trouble to kidnap them.
_But then why had they drugged one thing and not all?_
"Oliver?" As an alpha it rattled his pride to rely on a family member his biology dictated 'he' should be protecting, but in this situation he was little more than a dimwitted novice to his experienced sibling. "Should I save any of this?"
Please let me eat, Tommy thought listlessly, tugging on a crust of the wheat bread and munching on the ill-tasting grain with enthusiasm.
"No, eat it all. You need your strength more than we can afford paranoid tactics."
Way to bruise my ego, bro. Not needing to be told more than once, Tommy tucked into the sandwich ravenously. Ham was not his favorite, nor was the bread at all tasty but it satisfied the bitter ache in his gut and allowed him to relax marginally. The apples were crisp and delicious even if the lukewarm water was not the best accompaniment to his meal.
Definitely not complaining about his dad's cooking ever, ever again.
No longer in the throes of hunger, Tommy extended his legs in front of him and stretched his arms out in a maneuver Slade taught him to ease aches and loosen his muscles. The side effect of these exercises was his brain's inability to shutdown his thoughts.
Laurel.
Tommy had not spoken to his girlfriend since Sara's death and his father's hospitalization. All his procrastination had lead to only more pain. Instead of doing the right thing, he had waited and now it was too late to spare the woman he cared for further pain. Not only was she being forced to weather the storm of Sara's death alone, but the beta also had to contend with her boyfriend's disappearance.
Guilt was miserable and it made the brunette nauseous the more he imagined the harm he had inadvertently done to someone who deserved it the least.
"Is this what it's always going to be like?"
The sound of his voice should have shocked him by how over-burdened and forlorn it was, but Tommy figured it was par for the course considering the last couple weeks of his life included becoming a cop-killer, his father's close-shave with death, and now becoming an unwilling guest of a secret government agency. Really, they ought to have their own television show: Keeping up with the Merlyns! | c67c49ec3618489884d337477da50d1c | ['f220e00363c54c35988fa4927c245378'] | Feeling invincible, he noted Oliver flipping one of his attackers to his back and snapping the man's neck. Satisfied with his mate's temporary safety and no time to spare, Slade vertically sliced his next opponent from groin to nose, spurts of scarlet fueling the bloodlust as he pivoted, aimed, and threw one of his swords toward Ivo's fleeing back watching him collapse with a satisfying scream, only for it to become choked as his lungs flooded with blood. The bullets, while doing little damage were annoying and so he set about executing the resisting fighters, the soldier in him still amazed by how quickly his opponents fell and did not get up.
Finally there was no more resistance, only mottled corpses, most by his hand but a few with arrows sticking out of their vital organs. Face flushing with pride, he turned to see Oliver, at the far end of the freighter, with an arrow aimed at the treacherous snake quivering like a three year old by the railing.
"Hand over the serum and I won't kill you."
Just look at him, Slade thought while exuding admiration for his omega handling the traitor. Leaving his lover to finish his business, Slade moseyed over to the fallen Anthony Ivo, tugging his sword out of the limp corpse and used the death man's trousers to clean his blade. That done, he sheathed his swords and turned his face into the wind, silently telling Shado they had avenged her death and left a feast for the gulls. The breeze carried the tang of copper intermixed with the salty, ocean wind and made it quite simple to tune out the pair behind him. Tilting his face upward into the sun, a dark cloud blotted out the light and Slade looked up, eyes widening in horror.
"Get off the boat!"
Inhuman speed or not, Slade knew he would never make it to the omega in time. Feet moving just the same, he whipped around barreled toward where Sara was holding that damned vial toward Oliver--too little too late--while the pair of them froze like a pair of deer in the headlights.
"Oliver get off the boat!"
But there was no time! A missile meant to avenge Shado was now to be the instrument of their deaths. Leaping over obstacles, his vision narrowed on Sara gasping in fright whose poisonous whispers were intended to seal Oliver's fate. And so they had, but her face was not what he wanted to see before the end.
Oliver met his eyes with a kind of helpless regret that he would have given anything to soothe. _'I'm sorry,'_ he could not hear the words, but he could read the movement of Oliver's lips. ' _I love you.'_
Endless possibilities. A dream with a thousand possible conclusions for a happy ending they would never realize together. They were going to die on the edge of Purgatory and he was not going to make it. There would be no last chance to take the other man into his arms and whisper promises into his ear. Mirakuru was not enough to save the man he loved.
Inevitably the blast hit him, throwing him up and backward until he was falling, crashing against wood, metal, and water and enclosed in a watery grave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maintaining control was a necessity with the Undertaking nearly at hand. Life as Malcolm knew it had been uprooted with the power of a single phone call that rocked his world paradigm. Discovering a second child had tested is limits of control, but Oliver rapidly became a necessity that he could not abide sacrificing. The list had been momentarily problematic until Moira unwittingly sabotaged her relationship with Oliver with her kidnapping fiasco. And if his son still wanted to cross names off the list, the alpha reconciled that loose ends were being swept under the carpet, and that would be that.
The killing itself was surprisingly therapeutic. Certainly he had killed as Ra's prize student on more than his fair share of occasions, but it was a release to go out with his son and watch the evil being cleansed with every swing of his sword. The monster raging had quieted and the alpha was not sure how he felt about that.
And then, Oliver's presence in his life kindled a relationship with Tommy that he long thought was beyond reach. They were speaking and interacting without--mostly without--exploding into a horrific argument. Tommy trained with him for over a week, secretly impressing the father with his resilience, and had even quietly inquired about a job with Oliver and Felicity that was a roaring success judging from the trio's first day. Malcolm Merlyn had a family again and he was not about to let anyone take it from him.
Not Slade Wilson. And certainly not Simon Cage.
The warehouse was eerily silent save for the stuttering whimpers of the crumpled man at his feet. Utterly dark with only mice and rats occupying the abandoned space, it amused Malcolm to no end how the cowering sack continued to stare toward the shattered window pane with desperation that no doubt mirrored his own victims. Despite his notorious hatred for the Glades, the apathy of its citizenry gave the location temporary value: a perfect kill site. People to hear the screams and ignore them. Give the abandoned crayon factory a look while stubbornly ignoring the weak draw of conscience. There would be no sympathetic calls to the police from a populace polluted with fear and suspicion. No one to interrupt. And no one to care.
"No one is coming to save you, Mr. Cage," Malcolm did not bother concealing his voice. A lack of cameras and witnesses made him bold and it was not as if the trembling cultist before him was going to survive to tell the tale anyway. Besides, a body performed that job adequately without interference. "Certainly not your followers that you left to burn alive with my son." |
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