#‘i worn throw down the oil before you but i can cheer you on from the sidelines’

[anachronistic-falsehood]

qlandduo are LITERALLY the guys ever. there is something about what bad has with foolish that he does not have with anyone else

#qsmp #‘i worn throw down the oil before you but i can cheer you on from the sidelines’ #‘i wanna see how fast you can get this earth spinning’ #I FEEL INSANE. THERE IS SOMETHING HERE THAT SEEMS VERY SURFACE LEVEL AND SILLY BUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP RUNS BONE DEEP

[bigdumbbambieyes]

Happy New Year!! a kiss for each of you! 🤍 (this ficlet is nsfw btw)

✨✨

Do you think I’d get in trouble for killing Brian?

Steve smothers a smile as he leans against the kitchen counter, his thumbs tapping a quick reply.

If you kill your boss, who’ll pay you?

I’d become the boss. And I wouldn’t make anyone work on New Year’s Eve.

It’s cute how irritated Billy is about working for a mere 5 hours instead of 8. Sure, he had to wake up at his usual time (at the asscrack of dawn) but at least he’s off earlier and off tomorrow.

It doesn’t stop his boyfriend from complaining, of course

Only two more hours and then we can spend the rest of the night snacking and watching movies :)

They don’t have any ‘real’ plans for tonight. They went out last year, to some bar with Robin and Heather, and it had been so goddamn busy that after Billy got a drink spilled on him, they promised each other to stay in next year.

And here Steve is, in their apartment, decorating for their cozy evening and preparing the snacks and drinks. He even got a bottle of champagne to pop at midnight.

Billy doesn’t text back so he figures someone came to pick up their car from the shop, so Steve continues his attempt to string up the small ‘Happy New Year’ banner across the wall above their couch.

✨

Stupid fucking clients and their goddamn cars.

Billy frowns to himself as he clocks out, waving ‘bye’ to his boss and throwing a “Happy New Year,” back at him as he ducks out into the cold.

Parked right in front of the shop is the Beamer, waiting idly, and Billy rips open the passenger door to get in — and freezes as the lights come on inside and Steve’s sitting there with a smile, looking cozy and warm and happy.

It makes the tension bleed out of his body just to see his boyfriend.

And then he flicks his gaze down to the seat and there’s a bag of McDonald’s waiting for him. His usual order, probably.

His empty stomach rumbles with hunger and he sighs in relief as he picks up the bag and sits down, shutting the door before leaning over to pull his pretty boy into a hard kiss.

He feels Steve hum in surprise but reciprocates easily, chuckling as Billy pulls away and all but rips open the bag to stuff a few fries into his mouth.

“I figured you’d be hungry and cranky,” Steve grins, “So I got your usual.”

“You mean you came prepared,” Billy smirks softly as he opens up the little box of nuggets.

It’s fucking sweet how attentive Steve is to him. How he knows how to cheer him up after a stressful day. Billy’s beyond lucky to have him.

Five years and still going strong.

“Thanks, baby,” Billy hums as he leans over again, gives Steve a salty french fry kiss as they’re pulling out of the spot.

“Mm, you’re welcome,” Steve smiles, loving him.

✨

They get home and Billy heads to the shower to wash off the scent of oil and grease from the shop as Steve gets into his usual soft shorts and a worn t-shirt — his usual ‘stay in’ clothes.

They’re also easy for Billy to remove, if needed.

He slips on a pair of sweats and nothing else, joining his boyfriend on the couch amongst the blankets, pulling Steve against him immediately and kissing at his cheek and jaw, mumbling into his ear, “I didn’t kill Brian.”

A soft laugh leaves his pretty boy before he turns his head, pecking his lips and humming, “Good, ‘m glad.”

The TV isn’t even on yet and they’re already making out like teenagers, bundled up under the duvet pulled from the bed and rubbing their hands along each other’s bodies, warming up from the cold.

It’s sweet and slow, soothes Billy’s nerves from his stressful day of last-minute clients showing up with broken whatever’s and busted this and that’s. All easy fixes, but annoying people rushing him and constantly checking in on him — and Brian telling him to ‘hurry up’.

It was the old bastard’s fault for opening for half a day.

But, none of it matters now, not when Steve’s pressing his lips to his ear and mumbling ‘missed you’ into his ear like the lovesick man that he is.

“You missed me while I was at work?” Billy grins, sweet on him and gently brushing the tip of his nose against his boyfriend’s.

Steve gives him a quiet nod and whispers, “Missed my baby.”

Because Billy is his baby. Steve’s to spoil, to love, to care about. It’s soft as fuck and so pussy, but Billy loves it. He loves that he can be soft and sweet with Steve like this, in the privacy of their home.

His eyes half-lidded and staring into those brown doe eyes, Billy smoothes his palm along Steve’s thigh and whispers back, “Missed you, too, sweetheart.”

And they smile at each other, both filled with that mutual love and adoration, sitting in that warmth together until Steve finally gets up to turn on the TV.

✨

It’s close to midnight and they’re on their third movie, Billy laid back across the couch with Steve half on top of him, both of them watching the screen until Billy feels restless.

Maybe it’s the warm, tipsy feeling he has from the snacks and drinks. Who’s to know.

But, he smoothes his hand down Steve’s back under the covers and goes lower, dipping his hand underneath the soft shorts to grab at the flesh of his boyfriend’s ass, feeling firm muscle and soft skin.

“Mm,” Steve hums, acknowledging but not protesting.

Billy gives the muscle another squeeze, a little harder, and mumbles, “Cute decorations.”

Steve hums again, replies with a soft, “Thanks.”

“Did it take you long to put them up?” Billy asks, feeling his boyfriend’s dick begin to press into the side of his hip.

Count on Steve to get hard with just a squeeze of his ass. The guy is hornier than Billy, despite what their friends believe.

“No,” Steve whispers as he turns his head to press his mouth against Billy’s throat, licking across his skin, inhaling the scent of shampoo there.

Billy grips the flesh in his hand again, inches his fingers down to rub at his boyfriend’s rim, feeling the heat of him there and hearing the soft sound he makes.

Steve ruts his hard dick into Billy’s hip again, sighing out a moan into his neck.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Billy hums playfully, feels the flutter of Steve’s hole against his touch.

“You,” Steve huffs, pulling away just to look at him, and that’s when Billy gets to admire the flush on Steve’s face and the way his eyes are half-lidded. “You gonna shut up and do something or you wanna keep talking about the decorations?” He asks in that bitchy tone Billy likes, even quirks a brow.

Billy’s smile grows at that and he pulls his hand out of Steve’s shorts, licks two fingers before putting them back against his hole and humming, “Okay, I’ll do something. I’ll play with your hole until you cum in your shorts.”

The press of his fingers is made slick with his spit, his fingertips rubbing circles against the puckered skin while Steve stares at him, slack-jawed and his blush going from pink to red as the words settle in his brain and he hooks his leg across Billy’s hips, rolling his own to grind his dick there.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” Steve whispers, as if he doesn’t love it, panting as Billy doesn’t stop, rubbing and rubbing while they never look away from each other.

Brown on blue the entire time, until Steve’s panting open-mouthed and his face twists pretty, cumming in his shorts just like Billy said he would.

“Mm, there we go, that’s it,” Billy praises softly as Steve ruts his hips, feels warmth bloom against his hip as the cum soaks through Steve’s shorts and against his sweatpants.

Steve’s pulling him into a hard kiss then, sucking on his tongue and still moaning, let’s Billy take over and kiss him deep, licking into his mouth and gently biting his lips.

From the apartment downstairs and above them, they hear cheering, and both of them glance over at the clock on the wall.

12:00am.

They look at each other with matching grins and chuckle, sharing another kiss — this one chaste and sweet.

There, on their couch, they whisper ‘Happy New Year’ to each other between kisses and quiet laughter.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lemon #bambiwrites

[emf005]

Knock On Wood

Oliver Wood x Reader

Warnings: The Puns are real, fighting, fluff... (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Please Like and follow and let me know what you think!

What a lovely day to bother the Gryffindor quidditch captain, Oliver Wood. You swung your legs off Fred’s lap and ruffled George’s hair as you went to your dorm.

“Where are you off to?” George asked, tossing the pranking ball at you. You caught it and tossed it right back before it could release the gas from inside that smelt like a dead skunk bathed in vomit, a smell of your own invention you were proud to say.

“I overheard that Ollie was going down to the pitch for some extra practice. Think I need some work on my,” you flipped your hair dramatically. “Chasing.” The two scoffed at your horrible pun, considering you were the best Chaser in all of Hogwarts. Both figuratively and metaphorically. You ran up stairs and grabbed your gloves, threw on your riding boots and grabbed your broom. Everything you owned was pretty worn out, you were muggle born and your family wasn’t exactly the richest. Actually you were poorer than the Weasleys', and there were only four of you!

They looked back up at you as you jumped the last four stairs and walked out of the room to go bug the keeper. You loved bugging Wood. His name was meant for puns. It's just perfect! I mean, Oliver, obviously a good nickname for him was Ollie, which he pretended to hate. And then Wood. There were so many there. And then he was a Keeper. Like, he just made it too easy for you!

“Ollie!” You called happily from the bottom of the pitch. He glanced down and you could hear his eye roll. You flew up and met the Keeper in the air. “What a surprise meeting you up here, hun!” He rolled his eyes and turned his broom around so you wouldn't see the blush on his cheeks from the nickname you had given him. Well, one of the many nicknames you had given him.

“What do you want, Y/L/N. I’m practicing here.” You frowned and leaned forward on your broom.

“Maybe I wanted to practice with you, Ollie. I’m hurt you want me to leave so soon. I got all dressed up just to see you.” He glanced at your attire.

“Honored. You should really get new riding gloves and boots,” he mentioned.

“Yeah, they’re on my list right next to a cyclops.” He rolled his eyes at your sarcasm. “Come on Wood, I bet I can get a few past you,” you grinned, sitting back up on your broom.

“Ha! You wish, Y/L/N!”

“Scared?”

“Never.”

“Then Wood you go get the ball and we can have a go at it!” He groaned at you pun.

“Stop it.

“Stop what? I just told you to go get the ball,” he flew down and started to walk away from you.

“You know what!” You smirked. He showed back up a few minutes later as you were speeding around the pitch. He watched you go in awe at how fast you were flying. How perfect your form was. And how good you looked doing it.

Stop it. He told himself as he called up to you. He tossed up the Quaffle and you zoomed over catching it in one fluid motion, going so fast you nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Lets go, Ollie!” You shouted down to him, tossing it up in the air and catching it. “I gotta beat you by four!” He mounted his broom and flew up to you.

“Why? What's at four.”

“Fred, George, and I have some… business to attend to.”

“Which hallway do I have to avoid this time?” He sighed, making his way to the posts.

“There's no fun in that, Olive oil! You might stop people like you did last time,” you pouted.

“Did you just call me Olive oil?”

“Your name is Oliver, did you not expect me to make an olive pun?”

“I was hoping.”

“I guess you could say you were-”

“Don’t do it.”

“Knocking on Wood.” You smiled.

“I hate you.”

“Nah. You love me,” you blew him a kiss making his cheeks heat.

The game was close the whole time, but you ended up winning by one point. Though, he did not accept his defeat.

“That wasn’t fair!”

“Just because you were too busy laughing at my joke, Ollie, doesn’t mean it wasn’t fair. You always tell me to be more focused. Maybe you should follow your own advice instead of gazing longingly at me,” you joked as the two of you headed to the locker room.

“I don’t gaze longingly,” he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah ya do, mate,” George said, coming over and putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Only at her though,” Fred clarified, doing the same thing on the other side of you. You laughed at the two trouble makers.

“I’m just flawless, he can’t help it. Right, Ollie?” You joked, but he just stalked off to the showers frustrated. You frowned and creased your eyebrows. You didn't take it too far, did you? “Did I say something offensive?”

“No.” they said together, smirks on their faces.

“Hey, Ollie!” You yelled to Oliver, running towards him in your Gryffindor uniform. It was the Slytherin v.s. Gryffindor match today, and you were ready to kick some serpent ass. Oliver just nodded to you and kept walking. You frowned and stopped watching him go. What was that? Fred and George came up behind you.

“What was that about?” George asked. You shook your head and looked after the boy you longed to talk to. It was a well known fact amongst the three of you that you liked him. They had tried to get you to tell him on multiple occasions, but every time you went to say something, a pun just came out because of your nerves.

Harry came over to the three of you and looked past you to see Wood walking away with his shoulders a bit slumped.

“He’s been like that all day.” Harry said, shaking his head. “Don't know what's gotten into him. Maybe throw him a pun or two today, Y/N. Looks like he needs one.” Harry left you three to stare after Wood as he made his way to where the majority of the team was, ready to walk out and begin the game against the Serpents’ house.

Brutal. That was the only way to describe how they played. Well, that was also how your team played. The rivalry between the houses fueling the urge to win. Skill increased, adrenaline flooded through everyone on the pitch. Rooms zoomed through the air, the wind combined with the cheers and boos from the crowd was deafening.

It was brilliant.

Y/N zoomed through the air perfectly, avoiding everyone as she threw the Quaffel into the top goal post. Gryffindor cheered and she smiled, flying her broom around in victory as the Slytherin’s booed her. Y/N watched the Quaffle get tossed around by a few Slytherin’s and zoomed over to them. As it was tossed in the air she intersected it and flew around towards the Slytherin side again, scoring yet another goal. The Slytherins sneered at you and, unbeknownst to you, had a plan up their sleeves.

The Quaffle was tossed to you again and then you were being chased, but this wasn't your normal chase. You had two Slytherin players in front and back and two on your sides.

You swore to yourself as they got closer. Suddenly they all just dispersed. You were far up in the clouds at this point and it was hard to see. You began to speed back down when something hit you in the head, knocking you off your broom.

You fell. You heard screaming, but you didn’t know if it was you or someone else. You felt yourself slow down but you were still going fast, the Quaffle still tightly in your grasp as you hit the ground. Everything went black.

Wood watched the Slytherin team surround you and take you up into the clouds. What were they planning? The team dispersed and flew back into view, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen. Then he saw your figure falling. His heart stopped. Dumbledore cast a spell to slow you down but you were still going too fast.

“Y/N!” him and the twins cried in unison, flying down to meet you on the ground. Your body bounced and you were out cold. The rest of the quidditch game was canceled and everyone made their way out onto the field to see what happened, Madam Hooch in front of them all. The three boys stared down at you unmoving body thinking that the fall killed you. The Slytherin’s walked off the field, not caring anymore. They had won. But that wasn’t the reason Oliver Wood’s blood was boiling. They had hurt you and that was not ok. Ever.

Madam Hooch took you to the hospital wing and Fred and George were about to follow when they noticed Oliver heading towards the Slytherin shower area with his fists clenched. They followed.

“Oi!” The boys clad in green turned around at his voice. “Was that really necessary? She could’ve died!” Marcus Flint scoffed.

“Not our problem.” Wood clenched his jaw.

“It is your problem.”

“Why, pissed off we hurt your mudblood girlfriend? Can’t even buy herself proper riding-” Flint didn't get to finish his statement thanks to Wood’s fist in his face. He stumbled back and Fred and George grabbed Wood’s arms pulling him away form the fight.

“Say that again. I fucking dare you!”

“Wood, shut up mate!” Fred hissed, struggling to pull him away.

“Lets go right now! I’ll fucking take you all down. Right here right now! Lets go!”

“Wood!” George hissed. “No. If you won’t come with us for your own sake, at least do it for her sake.” Wood growled, making the twins lean back. He just growled. They had never seen him get so defensive over something. So protective.

“Yeah! Go running to your mudblood girlfriend, Ollie.” The three froze. The twins dropped Wood’s arms and in three seconds he was on top of the Slytherin’s beating the lot of them to a pulp. They looked at each other and slowly backed away.

Wood could take care of himself. That much had always been clear. But this… This was just horrifying.

You started to stir a bit, everything in your body aching, you head pounding. You felt sticky, but not your normal sweaty sticky. You groaned and opened your eyes. The lights of the infirmary blinded you a bit.

“Y/N?” The twins? Your eyes adjusted and you saw two redheads staring at you from above. It all came back to you and your blood boiled. “How do you feel?”

“Can I please have a knife?”

“First off, no.”

“Second off, why?”

“I am going to stab each and everyone of those Slytherin pricks so they bleed and hurt and beg me for mercy.” You groaned.

“She’s up?” Your head snapped up at Wood’s voice, but you couldn't see him.

“Yeah.”

“But she’s in a killing mood again.” The twins patted your leg, silently telling you they’d be back later. Oliver came and sat by you, you turned your head so you could see him.

“You look good.” you smirked sarcastically.

“Yeah well, you don't look picture perfect either.” You cringed mockingly.

“That hurt Ollie. Almost as much as these broken bones.”

“You're lucky you're not dead.”

“I mean, there's still time for that. So…” you stabbed his shoulder three time with your fist. “Knock on wood.” He let out a laugh and you smiled.

“You laughed.” He looked at you.

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you never laugh. Why do you think I always try? Who knew falling off my broom would get you to laugh.” “Yeah, well. Don’t go doing that again. You gave me quite the scare.” You laughed, cringing at the way you felt your ribs shift. He looked panicked. “What happened? Do I need to get Madam Pomfrey?”

“Relax, Ollie. It was just my ribs shifting. Nothing to over react about. So, what did happen to that pretty face of your? You look like a woodpecker attacked you.”

“You really can’t turn the puns off can you?”

“I just got to get Olive them out.”

“Wow. That's pathetic.”

“You never answered my question. Are you alright?”

“I just had a row with the Slytherin team. They called you a few… unsavory words.”

“Pour mudblood?” You asked without breaking. His eyes widened, surprised to hear you say the slur. You shrugged. “Yeah. They say that a lot.”

“And you’re just fine with that?”

“Well, I mean. No. But, what am I going to do about it? Take on all of Slytherin house?”

“I did.”

“Which was incredibly stupid. Why would you even do that?”

“Because they insulted you!”

“Ollie, why does that matter? I’m no one important!”

“Yes you are!”

“Really? To who?”

“The twins! The team! To me!” You fell silent and he heard what he said. He was about to cover it up.

“I’m important to you?” He swallowed.

“Yeah. Always have been.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Always will be. Y/N." He started to gain more confidence. "I have been in love with you since our first year when you made a Woody woodpecker joke at my expense. Whoever that is.” You laughed, remembering the cartoon.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I was scared.”

“I scare the Oliver Wood? That's an accomplishment.”

“I’m trying to confess my feelings here!”

“If you just kiss me, I think I’ll get the hint!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” He grabbed your face and, as gently as his adrenalin allowed him, brought it to his, putting his lips on yours, finally. You two would have continued to make out if not for a clearing of someone’s throat. Oliver disconnected your lips and looked back to see Madam Pomfrey.

“Miss. Y/L/N needs her rest, Mr. Wood. I am well aware of you two strained and prolonged crushes and am glad to see you two have finally stopped acting like buffoons and gotten to it already. But she has just fallen from an extraordinary height so it is appreciated if you would keep it to a minimum until she is well enough to at least walk.” She turned on her heels and walked out. You started to laugh and Oliver placed a kiss on your cheek.

“When you finally get out of here, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to,” he whispered into your ear. He pulled back with a smirk on his face and you gaped at him.

“Ollie!” You laughed. “Didn’t know you had that side to you.”

“Lots of things you don’t know, love.” he kissed your head. “Get some rest.” You smiled, your eyes already closing.

“M’kay, Ollie.” You were on the verge of sleep when you muttered out a question. “Hey, Ollie?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’ll still kiss me when I wake up, right?” He chuckled.

“I don't think I can stop now.” You smiled, sleepily.

“Good. I don't want you to.” You fell asleep and he watched you for a moment.

“Neither do I.”

Let me know what you guys think! I love feed back!

#oliver wood #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood x you #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood fic #oliver wood fluff #oliver wood angst #fluff #hp fluff #hp angst #fluff and angst #hp x y/n #hp x you #hp x reader

[1kook]

commercial break; SEVEN

this is part of my netflix & chill series ! happens a few months before part 7 

summary; And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan.  warnings; horny jk, jk wants to roleplay... everyone point n laugh, mentions of his impreg kink lol, making out, tits, honestly jk is just very horny n in love lol, jk in a vampire costume w fangs O_o rating; mature (18+) wc; 2k

notes; if u don’t know who lindsay is first of all ur sick, second of all here’s my queen’s top moments. also i just gotta say, this was originally gonna be a larger fic (a halloween special) for my ncouple, but i got a lil busy with school n ultimately didn't have time to invest in this as a whole installment so..... enjoy this commercial break instead!!

Jungkook loves Halloween.

He loves the pumpkin carving and the decorating. Loves the spooky music and the abundance of candy. He loves it, absolutely adores it, and for the second year in a row, he gets to spend it with you! Yet another person he loves very much.

He doesn’t remember ever being this excited for Halloween. Last year, you had roped him into going to some frat party with him, had egged him on, begged so cutely that it was your last year in college, baby until he caved. The two of you had spent the night drinking until you blacked out, Ubering home with your costumes half on, and then unceremoniously fucking in his living room with the blinds wide open.

(The next neighborhood meeting had been very awkward for Jungkook.)

It was his first time ever drinking with you like that, and he vaguely remembers, through his own drunken gaze, how cool you had been. Had absolutely owned a bunch of greasy football players at beer pong in your little sexy nurse costume. And when the crowd cheered your name, shrieked in awe, it had been him that you turned to for praise. “Did you see me, baby,” you had giggled, crowded him against the wall of this random house until Jungkook was sweating profusely. In lieu of a costume, he had worn a silly jogger set with a skeleton design that was supposed to glow in the dark, according to Amazon. You had told him he looked adorable, had kissed and squeezed his cheeks until Jungkook was a flustered mess.

It was still early into your relationship— if Jungkook did the math, you were only about five months in at that point —so he didn’t know how else to cope with the rapid thundering of his heart, the confession sitting on his tongue, the then scary L-word begging to be heard. So, he took you home and fucked you until your little nurse cap slid off your head and you were begging for him to let you cum, thus earning him his first ever offense for violating the neighborhood rules (i.e., traumatizing a group of middle schoolers by fucking in plain sight).

Long story short, Jungkook loves Halloween, and he loves it even more when he gets to spend it with you.

(He’ll never admit it, but he’s a hard romantic. He wants to do cheesy things with you, like cuddle you into his arms when you get scared, pat your head until you can look at whatever is happening on screen again. He wants you to feel safe in his arms, wants to be your refuge when things become too much. He likes to think he’s done a pretty good job so far.)

Jungkook’s plan goes like this:

First, welcome you with that Halloween basket you’ve been sending him tweet links about all month. The cute little Jack-O-lantern candy bucket stuffed with candy and hair ties and a soft Halloween themed blanket. It’s so cheesy, makes him blush when he catches sight of it in his closet, but Jungkook will do anything to please you.

Next, after presenting you with your Halloween gift and having you coo and tell him he’s a good boy, he’ll invite you to break your new soft blanket in. The living room will be prepared with an assortment of your favorite foods, the flat screen ready to play whatever horror movie the two of you settle on.

And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare.

It’s a perfect plan.

It’s the best way to spend his favorite holiday, with his favorite girl by his side and some of his favorite horror films on the big screen. Jungkook spends all of October geeked up for it, even considers hanging up lights around the living room to really set the mood. He’s so excited, can’t wait to spend another wonderful holiday at home with you, that he doesn’t fully realize why you haven’t brought up the long awaited topic of costumes.

“You like?” you ask, standing at the door of his bathroom with a sultry look in your eye, tits practically pouring out of the tight top you’ve wiggled into, skin oiled up scandalously. He fumbles with the fake vampire fang prosthetics he’d been trying to glue in for the better half of an hour.

He had heard the door open downstairs when you got here, had called out his mandatory greeting as he heard you come up the stairs. But none of that had prepared him for the sight of you in… whatever this was.

Jungkook doesn’t really understand exactly what you’re supposed to be dressed up as until the two of you are back downstairs—blinds drawn, full moon slipping in through the cracks—with some random horror movie pulled up on the TV. “I’m Lindsey,” you whine, brand new fluffy blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It shields your boobs from view, but he’s not sure if that’s a win or a loss. “From Total Drama Island!”

He settles in beside you, doesn’t get too comfortable because it’s nearing sundown now and he knows the herds of children are bound to start flowing in. “Uh huh,” he says mindlessly. His collar feels itchy, the overly-detailed vampire costume he meticulously scoured the internet for being one size too small. You snuggle into his side anyway.

“You don’t know anything about cinematic masterpieces,” you frown, avidly tuned into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, because apparently you love horror movies all of a sudden, a fact that genuinely throws Jungkook off. He’s not sure what it is about you that had deluded him into thinking you would be a scaredy cat, but he doesn’t take the new bit of information too hard.

The doorbell rings right as the first gorey scene ends and you make a big show of huffing and whining as he rushes to answer it. But it’s only the beginning of the long night that awaits, and, as Jungkook comes to find, running back and forth from the door to the couch is harder than it seems.

Anyway, Jungkook’s neighborhood is a little posh, or ‘bougie’ as you like to claim, and trick-or-treating hours end a little before eleven pm. By then he’s tired, having refused your offer to switch places in fear that your boob might fall out of that scrap of fabric you call a top and earn him his second neighborly offense.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s opposed to your boobs falling out in private.

“Stupid,” you giggle when he gets caught in his long cape, the sound slowly melting into a whimper as he slips his hands beneath your top, fighting with the ridiculous push-up bra you’ve donned tonight. Hands tangle in his hair, mess up the careful side part he’d styled up for tonight, and legs lock around his waist. “Your curtains closed?” you tease.

He huffs, catches your chatty lips with his roughly, presses and presses until your mouth must bruise. He belatedly remembers about those sharp fangs he’d glued on—hey, if he was going to dress up as some gaudy monster it might as well be realistic—and doesn’t realize until he tries to bite your neck and you let out a little yelp. Truthfully, he feels bad right away, but then you’re practically dissolving in his arms so he plays along. “Shh,” he hisses.

The roar of a chainsaw and terrified screams fill the living room, almost drowning out the soft sounds you release by his ear. “O- Or what?” you pant, flinch when he pushes your sad excuse of a skirt up over your waist. “Gonna b- bite me?”

And so Jungkook does.

You shriek. “That hurts, you idiot!” you scold with a tiny whine in your voice, but Jungkook’s cock is so hard. Your tiny, tight outfit does you no favors. Tits in his face, tiny thong against his bulge. He wants to make you sob, litter bites and marks all over your skin until his love makes you ache. You must see the crazed look in his eyes, because you drop the scowl. “Hey,” you say slowly, hand on his chest. “You look like you’re gonna eat me.”

He lets go of a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wonders if you can feel his thundering heart beneath your palm. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning away to regain his senses. Was it something in the air? Was it the fatigue? The full moon? Why did he want to fold you in half and fuck his cock into you until you were a crying, shivering mess? Something about you tonight, laid out for him to take, makes him feel absolutely insane. Starved and psycho; he just wants to take and take until you don’t have anything more to give. He purses his lips, tries to ignore the hot feeling in his lower abdomen when your hardened nipples register to his eyes. “I think I’m becoming evil.”

Of all the idiotic things his brain can come up with, this one is definitely top five. His cheeks flush right after, fueled by the boisterous laughter that escapes your lips at his statement. “Oh my god,” you gasp in glee, hands falling down beside your head. “You’re becoming evil?’

Jungkook frowns, flopping down on top of you to hide the embarrassment that paints his face. “Shut up,” he mumbles against your neck, warm and safe.

A hand cards through the back of his hair, nails dig lightly into his scalp. “Aren’t you the cutest little vampire,” you coo, seemingly ignoring the rock hard cock Jungkook presses against your thigh. He’s still so horny, has this sick thought that he could just pin you down right here, tear that silly costume to shreds and swallow you up in his lust. But your voice is so sweet, has his eyes fluttering shut as you gather him in his arms. “Silly vampire,” you hum, one leg thrown around his hip, a subtle roll of you hips up into him.

Jungkook huffs, licks a flat strip along the base of your neck. It draws a shaky exhale from you, has your hands digging into his back when he begins to slowly lap against the skin, nibble and tug until your back is deliciously arching up into him. “Wanna push you down,” he confesses quietly, hands securing themselves against your hips as he leans back. You're all dazed, eyes trained on his fanged mouth when he hesitantly adds, “l- little human.”

You could laugh, tease him for his sudden weird need to role play with you, but you don’t. A look of understanding crosses your face, sly smirk slowly following. “Oh?” you grin, hand coming around to cup his cheek. “The little vampire wants to use my body?” Jungkook tightens his jaw at your jab, but nods nonetheless.

You’re a feast before his eyes. Boobs in his face, pussy begging to be filled. You’re his, just like Jungkook is yours. And when you indulge him and his stupid whims—kinks, he should say, occasional interests that sometimes make him question himself—his heart feels warm and full. Proud and unashamed, like the truest version of himself when you look at him with those eyes. And your words only confirm it.

Your hands reach down for your top, pull the flimsy material over your head in one swoop that has your bra coming off with it. It drops to the floor. If it makes a sound, Jungkook doesn’t hear it over the shrieks of terror on screen. the blood deaths, the suspenseful music. All he hears is he hammering of his heart. 

It’s two of your sneaky fingers that come up to play, pinch one nipple tenderly as you meet his eyes. “It’s all yours,” you purr. “I’m all yours.”

And the thirst he feels, well. It’s a little vampiric, to say the least. 

—

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡ #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jeongguk smut #mine

[themousefromfantasyland]

THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY

What about a transgender fairy tale for Pride Month?

This variant is a English translation by Andrew Lang of a Romanian fairy tale called Ileana Sînziana. In this long, but fun tale, a powerful new Emperor wants in his court all the male heirs of the Emperors who he already dethroned. Knowing her father doesn't have any male heir, the youngest daughter of an old Emperor decides to dress as man and goes out in a journey.

In the end she is "cursed" to be a man, becoming Făt-Frumos, here translated as Fet-Fruners, a stock Romanian character in folk tales, a knight hero similar to Prince Charming. Făt-Frumos can be roughly translated as handsome infant or child or handsome boy.

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.

Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.

One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.

Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.

At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father:

'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know.'

'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is not one of you a boy!'

'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'

'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave—that is all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'

'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It will not make matters worse if we know!'

'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'

'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father only shook his head sadly.

'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'

'Go then!' he said.

The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set aside enough things for a whole year—dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.

When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.

The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.

But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.

He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.

The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.

The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?'

The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.

But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'

The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I shall get the better of that wolf!'

'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one? You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered,

'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'

Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said,

'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'

'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.

Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'

'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.

'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'

'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme.'

'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'

So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.

Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully,

'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I will do it.'

'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as counsellor?'

'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your father, if you will only listen to what I say.'

'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'

'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.

The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.

A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.

Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.

The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.

The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a lion.

But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.

At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.

The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.

Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight. She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.

'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'

This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.

The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.

The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.

The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.

Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse.'

When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.

The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners! deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried, 'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, Sunlight.'

Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.

So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.

The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.

But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.

It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.

At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.

After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man. But the old woman was not convinced for all that.

She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world—some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones—and beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take Sunlight with her.

And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.

The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:

'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and—now that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it—I am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'

'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do.'

'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'

Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.

She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.

'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.

They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.

He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.

[Quick pause. This is a very funny trope that I keep finding in very old cross-dressing stories. The male characters find themselves mysteriously attracted to the female character pretending to be male. Think of Li Shang from Mulan.]

However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.

The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.

She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.

Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.

When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.

The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.

The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to be found—the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:

'Golden Hair. The fields are green,'

And that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.

When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly:

'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more kindly than all my other pages.'

Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in the place where you stand. Now go!'

In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.

At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'

On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.

'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'

'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.

The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the voyage began.

For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.

They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.

The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'

Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.

The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.

Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.

They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word, the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.

It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,' said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'

The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.

They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer—always, always—till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.

Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'

This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.

All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.

When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.

The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.

But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.

So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:

'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'

When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and said:

'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'

'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I am to bring you?'

'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them.'

The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she told her tale, and then said:

'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'

The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.

As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.

The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body. Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.

By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer—all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.

Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.

The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.

By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.

At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.

The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time.'

'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'

'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'

Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.

'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck.'

So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.

'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'

They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst—all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.

The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.

Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.

But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.

By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'

'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'

But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.

So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.

His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners before her, and addressed him thus:

'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water. And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'

'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!'

#fairy tales #romanian folklore #pride month #trans pride

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Return to Me P.II | Lindir

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Lindir x Human!reader

Genre: Fluff, pure fluff

Warnings: Potential toothaches...??

Words: 2,174 

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page! 12 years later we get Part 2 and the reunion of my two beans ♡

The sun is partially bright on this day, it seems, as if the sky itself is celebrating the return of Gondor’s king. Wind dances through the courtyard, making dance partners with everyone in the crowd, moving your dress with its beat. Your hair, pinned in a simple hairstyle often worn by the elves, is curled to perfection, bouncing in tune with birds singing in the distance. There’s a stupidly large grin on your face, one that you don’t care to try and force away. Everything in the past year or so has led to this very moment, every impossible moment and near death experience made it possible for peace to truly be restored to the realms as Aragorn takes his throne. The crowd is silent, watching the coronation with bated breath and wide eyes, excited and hopeful for the new chapter in their lives. Some people near the front desperately move around, trying to get a better look. 

“Now comes the day of the king, may they be blessed!” Gandalf proclaims as he lowers the crown on Aragorn’s head. Aragorn smiles up at Gandalf, the same soothing smile that makes it easy to understand Arwen’s love for him and makes it even easier to understand the love the people hold for him. He stands from his kneeling position, turning to face the cheering crowd. His cloak billows dramatically behind him, showing off his perfectly polished armor, that glimmers with the regalness expected of a king. One hand rests on the pommel of his blade while his other is outstretched. 

“This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world; that we may share in the days of peace.” He holds both of his hands out, his voice soft, yet confident, speaking as Elessar, the King of Gondor, the rightful heir returned to his throne; not Strider, the Ranger in the North. He commands the attention of everyone just by simply being in a room, never needing to raise his voice higher than a comfortable talking volume. 

You glance at Gimli beside you, his wild red hair and beard somewhat tamed for the special event, the beads in his hair that accessorize his braids glint brightly in the sun. He holds a plush velvet pillow that moments prior Aragorn’s crown that adorns his head used to rest on. He wears a large grin you’re sure is also on your face, as relieved and ecstatic for the new era as you. You move your gaze back to Aragorn, white blossoms from The White Tree blowing in the wind, captivating your attention. Like a child catching snow, you hold out a hand, hoping to capture a blossom or two. You manage to get three. You close your hand around them, feeling the silky petals on your skin. A moment later, you open your hand and blow on the flowers, urging them to continue flying through the wind. 

And they do, they dance in the air, a beautiful waltz you could never hope to mimic. 

Aragorn descends down the stairs, nodding his head at every familiar face he passes. The procession of elves march forward, but it’s not the uptight and rigid way they march into battle, no it’s too relaxed and loose for that. Legolas steps forward, wearing ceremonial garb fitting of an elven prince, him and Aragorn clasping each other's arm. Aragorn says something to him, too quiet for you to hear. Legolas smirks, and moves his head to the left. The elves behind him move forward, one of them holding a particularly large banner, the sigil on it familiar. 

A bright smile forms on your face and your eyes practically glow in excitement. You’ve seen that banner a million times, when you would walk up and down the halls of Imladris, hung in the Hall of Fire, and even in your bedroom. She’s here, she’s really here. You knew that she wouldn’t leave for Valinor without a fight, but seeing her here, in person, puts out any lingering doubt. 

Slowly, she moves the banner aside, confirming it to be Arwen, beautiful and radiant as ever. She wears a pale green flowy dress, it’s fabric light and airy, the style common for elves, a stark difference to the heavy and thick dresses of Gondor and Rohan. A headpiece forged from silver and inlaid with dozens of glittering gems adorns her head, crowing her lucious black hair that falls down her back like a lazy waterfall. Her pale skin glows in the warm sunlight, her eyes sparkling from the tears forming. 

For a moment, Aragorn and Arwen stare at each other, one watching the other with amazement and love in their eyes. The crowd is dead silent, everyone intently watching the scene unraveling before them. Then Aragorn steps forward, grabbing onto the banner and pulling it away. And then he lunges forward, capturing her lips into a kiss. She laughs in delight, throwing her arms around his as he lifts her into the air, spinning her around. They pull away for a moment and she places her dainty hands on his face, leaning forward and placing a short and sweet kiss on his lips. 

The crowd around them begins clapping loudly, warmly greeting their new queen. And it didn’t register in your mind that this might be the first time most of these people have seen an elf this close up. But then you saw the looks of wonder and amazement on the faces of some citizens, children excitedly pulling on the skirts of their mothers, pointing wildly at Arwen and the other elves. 

You continue watching the newly reunited pair, your face growing numb from the large smile that is permanently etched on your face. You scan the crowd, seeing Lord Elrond, with a soft smile on his face; Glorfindel beside him; Elladan and Elrohir behind his father to the right. You continue scanning the crowd, but then your heart stops, only to begin beating again faster than ever before. 

Standing amidst the other elves, wearing silken and beautiful ceremonial garb, probably the most pristine outfit he owns, is Lindir. His black hair is glossy, every strand in its place, pulled back in an intricate elven braid. He wears a silver circlet, fitting for an elf of his status, the tip of it resting on his forehead. His skin is glowing, not as intensely as Arwen, but captivating to you. His cheeks are stained a pale red, a beautiful smile on his face. His blue eyes move to you and for the first time in over a year, your eyes meet. You feel a jolt of electricity run through your body, heart beat increasing in pace. 

Your smile widens, if possible, and you can’t tear your gaze away from him. Even when Aragorn and Arwen begin to move through the crowd, your eyes stay locked on him. When you, along with everyone else, bow for the Hobbits, your eyes only flit away for a second before returning to their previous position. And when the crowds begin to disperse, everyone mingling with one another as they lazily move towards the feast portion of the Coronation, you stay locked in place. 

“You coming, lassi?” Gimli’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts, but his voice is so far away, you weren’t sure if he was still by you. You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, moving your gaze back to Lindir, still in his same spot. 

“Yeah...I’ll be there in a moment,” you mutter, not sure if he even hears the words that fall from your mouth. He scoffs in amusements and shakes his head before moving away with Gandalf, muttering something about young love.

You take one step forward, Lindir mimicking your movements.

You take another step and so does Lindir. 

Once your feet touch the stone steps, your mind suddenly comes alive, as if water got thrown over your body. As if you only have a few moments to live, you rush towards Lindir, weaving through the lingering people with the grace of a baby elephant. But you can’t bring yourself to care about the wild stares or accusing words falling from people’s lips. The only thing you can focus on is Lindir, and feeling his lips against yours. 

Three.

Two.

One.

The distance between you two disappears as you throw your arms around him, enjoying the feeling of the soft fabric of his robes beneath your fingers. He’s warm and inviting and everything you missed while travelling with The Fellowship. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, snuggling as close as physically possible. The smell of mountain air, fields of grass, and rose oil hits your senses, pulling you deeper and deeper into your bliss. He’s real and he’s here. You deeply inhale once more, allowing this moment to sink in, immersing yourself in the moment.

You move your head to face him, throwing your head back in delight as a stream of laughter leaves your mouth. You move your arms to wrap around his neck, one of his hands winding around your waist and the other lightly cupping your face. Like magnets you move closer to one another, staring deeply into each other’s eyes with dumb smiles on your face. 

“You came back to me,” he whispers, the words tickling your lips. 

“I came back,” you reply.

You don’t remember who did it, all you know is his lips are now on yours, connecting them in a kiss. His lips are soft against yours, filling your whole body with a fire, burning away the ice that formed in his absence. Your heart soars, long past the point of just beating rapidly against your chest. You feel light, like you’re made of air and you’ll fly away any second without Lindir holding you in place. All the noise and background people fade away, until there’s nothing but this moment. And you can’t help but smile in the kiss when Lindir laughs, the noise swallowed by your mouth. 

And in that moment you decide there’s nothing better than kissing someone while they laugh. 

You pull a whisper away, moving a hand to trace the outlines of his face. His skin is smooth and perfect, the shining example of the perfection of elves. His blue eyes are like oceans, clear and bright and vividly blue. And if every ocean looked like this, you wouldn’t mind drowning as long as it was in him. 

“I told you it would take more than Mordor to get rid of me,” you mumble softly, smiling brightly at him, shining like the sun currently bathing the two of you in it’s radiance. 

“Apologies for ever doubting you, meleth-nin,” he responds, returning your smile tenfold. 

Another breeze rushes through the courtyard, rustling your dress and Lindir’s hair. You laugh, the sound being swept away in the wind, singing in tune with the birds that have swept into the courtyard. Some spare white blossoms continue dancing through the sky, gently landing on Lindir’s head. He reaches up, delicately grabbing it, careful to not crush the pristine petals. He moves his hand to your hair, tucking the flower into one of your braids near the front of your face. You're practically glowing now, a beaming smile overcoming your face. And with your body practically vibrating from happiness, standing under the sun, you look like an otherworldly being. And if not for your round ears on clear display, some passersby might mistake you for an elf.

You lean forward, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to his lips, tasting the remnants of sweet berries on his lips. They were always his favorite, a fresh bowl of them always resting on his desk, only to be devoured within an hour. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, still smiling like an idiot. 

“No more than I love you,” he responds, a teasing undertone buried in his words. You pull back, eyes alight with overwhelming happiness. It’s over, everything with Sauron, Mordor, orcs, and that stupid ring is over, it has been for months. But now it feels real, standing here, wrapped up in Lindir as he smiles sweetly at you. 

“I respectfully disagree.” 

“And I respectfully disagree with your disagreement,” he fires back, grin getting wider and wider with each quip spoken. 

“And I respectfully disagree with your respectful disagreement,” you respond, matching his teasing tone, laughter hidden under each word.

“Well I --” he’s cut off by a hand touching your shoulder. Turning around you see Glorfindel standing there, obviously holding back the laughter that’s bubbling inside him, a beaming smile on his youthful face. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, my friends, but we do have a celebration to attend to,” he says, nodding towards the crowd of people leaving. 

“Of course,” Lindir replies, moving to stand to your left, holding out his arm to you. You slip your arm into his without hesitation. “Let us be off, My Lady.”

“With pleasure, My Lord.” 

                                                 o0o0o0o0o

Tags: 

@lunatichaotiche | @atenr | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones​ | @moony-artnstuff​ | @ranhanabi777​ | @kenobiguacamole​

#lindir imagine #lindir x reader #Lindir oneshot #lindir #LOTR #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings Drabble #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #Imladris imagine #imladris #imladris elves #rivendell elves #rivendell imagine #post lotr #fluffy

[will-die-without-chai]

I have great taste!

A/N: This is my entry for Muskan’s 500 followers celebration! Congratulations again on this follower milestone Muski ( @thebookwormslytherin​ ) and I can’t wait to write for more such follower milestone celebrations. Also, thank you for hosting this!!!!! Love ya!.And forgive me for this less than subpar submission.

Also this is the first time I’ve tried writing for Sam Wilson so all feedbacks and criticism are most welcome! Hope I haven’t done too bad lol.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x desi!reader (she is not as desi as I wanted but whatevs)

Words: 2752

(College au, roomates au)

Warning: A couple of swear words (And this fic isn’t beta-ed...so)

Prompt: “You got a crush on me? Ew”

Summary: Y/N gets cheated on and had to move out of her ex’s boyfriend’s house. Luckily, Sam’s roomate is moving out as well creating a vacancy. Who knows what outcome staying with your friend can bring about? 

----------------------------------

“I know I am stupid and I never should’ve moved in with him so soon” Y/N sniffled and rubbed her red puffy and tear filled eyes dry with the sleeve of the shirt she had on as she whispered and hiccupped through berating herself after the revelation she had made that very morning. “But I cannot stay in that house Natasha! Not anymore! What do I do?” Natasha, ever concerned, patted her back, sympathy etched deep into her features whilst Y/N continued to whisper her despair into the table top where her head lay. . 

Y/N had just that very morning discovered her boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend with his tongue deep in some other person’s mouth, while naked, on the bed they shared. Y/N had been out for the night, studying with Natasha for the upcoming exams and had unexpectedly gone home early in the morning to grab some notes only to be met with the devastating sight.

Needless to say, Y/N bolted out of the very apartment she called home for the past few months, holding back the bile and the tears rising to surface rapidly and rushed back to Natasha’s place which was only a couple of blocks away to unleash the slew of tears and heartbreak.

The sound of the jingling of the lock and the shuffling of shoes against the hardwood announced the return of the boys who had left the girls the night before to  their own devices and had shifted themselves to do whatever it is that college boys do. Steve, Sam and Bucky certainly hadn’t anticipated the sight before them and already had their hackles raised, ready to have a faceoff with whatever had caused unease to their friends, but instantly settled down when Natasha motioned them to. Y/N also had significantly been drawn out of her crying stupor at their entrance.

The boys had the decency to not pry into the matters and let things be told to them, they had learned from previous experiences after all. Nat looked at Y/N and she nodded.

“Y/N went to her apartment this morning and saw Rumlow sticking his tongue deep into someone’s throat. So…” The room went into an uproar and chaos ensured as if all hell had broken loose. A chorus of “Damn it” and “I’ll fuck him up” and certain more colorful words were heard, which were then stopped and the rage was coaxed down by one menacing gaze from Natasha and a tearful sob from Y/N.

Steve immediately found his place beside Y/N and held her under the crook of his arms, hugging her tightly and Bucky and Sam settled for sitting across from them, sympathy and rage and sorrow in equal measures creeping into their features as she once again resumed crying into Steve’s shirt.

After loads of incomprehensive mumbling and sobbing till her throat felt like sandpaper and she could go no further due to exhaustion, Y/N raised her head to face the rest of the group around her. “Now that I have sufficiently rubbed tears and snot all over Steve’s clothes” She snorted causing chuckles to emanate from other’s mouths, “I have to figure out where I am going to stay, given my imminent homelessness.”

“Stay here!  I can crash on the sofa, you can take the room. Nat and Buck already sleep in their room.” Steve piped in from beside her. Bucky nodded in agreement as did Nat.

A small frown took over her face. “No, no” She shook her head. “I can’t. You three are already… I can’t make you sleep on a couch in your own house, Stevie. And I cannot couch crash with the amount of stuff I have. I am definitely not going to let that asshole keep my furniture. They’re too cute and costed a fortune” This was enough to cause smiles to spread on their faces.

“That’s my girl!” Bucky cheered on.

“Yeah so I need more permanent options.”

“What about Tony? We can talk to him—“

“Not Tony!” Y/N cut Bucky off mid sentence. “I am not going to stay with Tony for the same reason Steve won’t. He wouldn’t accept rent and I’ll feel guilty and highly uncomfortable living in that state of art house. How the fuck do you have sex there Steve? Aren’t you afraid you’ll break something?” Steve turned red at the mention of his sex life and Bucky and Sam snickered like a schoolgirl. Natasha, noticing the very apparent discomfort cleared her throat pointedly.

“What about your old apartment?”

 “I think the landlord already rented it to someone else.”

Sam, who had been silent thus far finally decided to speak up, “Riley is moving out in a couple of days. I haven’t looked for anyone yet and I am sure I can’t afford the rent by myself.” He looked at her meaningfully.

Y/N’s eyes brightened. “Of course! Oh you’re a savior Sammy!” She jumped up to hug him and sagged in relief when he wrapped his hands around her.

“Yeah, yeah.” He tried to say nonchalantly but the tender kiss he placed on the top of her head that was buried into his side and the tense look he shot at Natasha who had been wiggling her eyebrows at him betrayed his emotions to the rest of the occupants of the room if not to the object of the emotions.

~~

All of Y/N’s stuff had been picked up and packed into the second-hand pickup truck Bucky owned. ‘It has a certain amount of personality’ he had said when buying it against the wishes of everyone around him. Certain choice words had been spat at Rumlow and papers had been thrown at his face dramatically and tears had been held back satisfactorily. Sam had to be contained to avoid him throwing punches and the party had been successful at extracting all important things from the apartment, furniture included.

It didn’t take much time for Y/N to settle into her new living space. She was fairly familiar with the apartment given all the time she previously spent there trying to make sense of her chemistry notes with Sam. And even though it was a house previously lived in by a couple of boys, it was surprisingly very clean. Her furniture, after a lot of moving it around was satisfactorily placed and dare she say complemented the preexisting stuff in the house very well. (The blue of the couch matched the gray of the curtains Sam had picked very well. He did have a good taste after all!)

It took merely 2 months for them to settle into a nice routine. Sam, the early riser, was responsible for breakfast. Pancakes or waffles or eggs and bacon. He was a masterful breakfast cook and Y/N was forced to adopt healthy eating habits after not much persuasion. Sam had replaced his caffeine fix with Chai*. Although chai was left to be Y/N’s department of expertise. He had tried making it once and it ended with what looked like a grimace and a forced smile on Y/N’s face. Tea making was a talent he didn’t possess.

After her classes finished for the evening, Y/N would go and hang out in the café Sam part-time worked at so they could head back home together. Dinner was on Y/N and her grandma who guided her through video calls had apparently taken a liking for Sam. He had definitely heard whispered conversations in a language he didn’t understand much of and his name being mentioned often. Anyhow, study nights were all the more easier when both the members of the group occupied the same house and there was no fear of notes getting mixed up and rushing over to each other in between lectures to exchange them back. . Life was a well oiled machine when lived with appropriate people, after all.

They had also adapted the system of movie nights. Both had found each other lacking in their own definition of pop culture and had decided to teach the other and make them a respectable member of society, wise enough to get popular references. Saturday nights were mostly unoccupied and hence were conveniently movie nights. Each picked one movie, unseen by the other on alternate weeks. And oh boy, it was an event.

The couch was loaded with throw pillows and blankets, temperature was brought down and hoodies were worn for utmost comfort. Popcorn was popped, candies were bought a plenty and if the occasion called for it, or the ambience of the movie, beer was welcomed. And on occasion, they even fell asleep on the couch (If their backs were witches, they would’ve been cursed by now).

One such night, after loud exclamations of ‘How could you not have watched it!’ and ‘She was my bi awakening!’ and ‘This would not be borne’, Pride and Prejudice was the movie they settled upon. By the end of the movie a half asleep Y/N had ended up draped halfway over Sam with her head comfortably nestled into the crook of his shoulders and neck, her every breath peacefully lulling Sam into the state of drowsiness. Sam knew from previous experiences aplenty that he would regret sleeping like this in the morning but he couldn’t be bothered right now. Future Sam could deal with a bit of back pain.

“It would be nice to have someone to tell you that they love you most ardently. I wish I could have someone tell me that they love me most ardently and mean it.” Y/N mumbled with her eyes closed.

“I will if you let me.” Sam subconsciously let it slip and then tensed up immediately when he realized what he had said. When he did not feel any reaction, he relaxed back again but not without a frown. He half wished she were awake and could listen to what he had said. At least that way it would have been out and on the table. It would also be terribly painful if she didn’t feel the same and ended up feeling uncomfortable around him.

It had taken a very long time for Y/N to again be comfortable and confident after her breakup. She was apparently very serious about the asshole and he had broken her heart. Good thing Sam reciprocated by breaking his nose! (Don’t tell Y/N though. She thinks Brock broke his nose when he fell down the stairs. This was not completely a lie… Sam did push him down the stairs as well. Don’t worry. There were just 5 steps)

Anyhow, it was getting tough for him to control his emotions around her. He couldn’t help but stare at her when she laughed so openly at his lame jokes. He couldn’t help but stare at her lips when she tasted his newest experimentation on pancake batter. He couldn’t help his eyes when they inadvertently went towards her table, when he was supposed to pay attention to the order in front of him at the café. He couldn’t help but deviate towards her at any given chance. He couldn’t help but savor all her little touches. And he was afraid that he was painfully obvious. If not to her then to everyone else around him.

All these thoughts kept encircling his brain and he fell asleep, clutching Y/N a little bit closer than before, burying his nose further into her hair. Morning came and Sam surprisingly woke up alone with a blanket draped over him. Generally he was the first to wake up. He got up and followed the noises coming from the kitchen to see Y/N making breakfast. And of course, chai. Some old Hindi song played on the radio softly and he could see the hello kitty apron he had bought for her as a joke hastily thrown on, its back untied.

It was a picture of serenity, to an outsider maybe. But Sam knew there was something off. Y/N getting up this early, cooking and old hindi songs playing was a deceptive picture that screamed something was bothering her.

“You cooking something, hon?” He said out loud as he made his way to the dining table. Y/N jumped slightly at being startled and then nodded enthusiastically. Almost too enthusiastically. Sam narrowed his eyes. Without turning to face him Y/N explained further. “You were asleep. I woke up early and thought I could make something. It’s been days since we’ve had poha*, no?”

Sam kept quiet and decided to take out plates and set the table instead. They kept working silently but the silence was too heavy. It settled over his skin thickly and Sam didn’t like the feeling. Once they were sat on the table Sam decided to bring up the subject again, the silence and awkwardness becoming a little troubling.

“What’s wrong Y/N? You know you can share it with me. I am here.” He said, placing a comforting hand on hers. Her eyes that were focused on her plate shot unto his face.

“I heard what you said last night.” She blurted out, eyes still trained at him. Sam was stunned into silence and his heartbeat rose rapidly. It was incredibly unexpected and sudden and Sam was caught off guard. Incredibly so.

“You- you did.” He stammered stupidly. Y/N nodded. “I was on the verge of drifting off and I heard it and I-“ She fell silent, her eyes slipped to where his hand rested on hers, her teeth automatically trapping her bottom lip between them.

“I like you. Like like you. I have, since the day we met at Steve’s party and you went on and on about tea and how to make it and how coffee could never compare and you weren’t even drunk!” Y/N let out a chuckle at that and Sam continued. “I couldn’t help but fall for you and I looked for reasons to spend time with you, snatching every opportunity to have you around me. I know I am sounding like the cheesiest cheesy person, like a kraft’s dinner but add cheddar to it level of cheesy, but you being happy makes me so fucking happy! And that’s the point. I can bear to see you be sad and if this makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop. I will. I won’t mention this ever again and we could go back to being us and you aren’t obligated to reciprocate my feelings or anything. But I think I don’t have it in me to keep it in anymore.”

He finally looked up to look at her and maybe take a breath after the rant he just had in one go and found her still staring at their hands. Assuming that it made her uneasy, he proceeded to take it away, his heart sinking. But he was stopped by her fingers grasping at his sleeves.

She peered from under her tear laced lashes to look at him. “You have a crush on me? Ew” she let out a sound that sounded like something between a sob and a snort and a smile spread across her lips. “I thought you had better taste.” She joked albeit a bit bashfully.

Sam felt a weight lift off his chest and the urge to bang his head against an iron pole reduced significantly. “Hey, I have great taste! I picked up those gray curtains that go so well with your blue couch and that you love very much. Also I introduced you to real maple syrup and took you away from that ‘aunt jemima’ bullshit you were poisoning yourself with.”

“Hey I am a college student who earns just enough to fulfill my bare necessities so give me a break! That shit is costly. And I was the one who introduced you to Mukesh*, okay?” She held his hand now and intertwined her fingers with his.

“Goes to say how good my taste is.”

“I like you too.”

Silence fell over them once again as they giddily looked at each other and held hands, the chai long gone cold and the poha turned a little stiff. But the silence now was palatable, pleasant even.

~~

A couple days  later, chaos ensued again in their little group when Y/N planted a sound kiss on Sam’s lips before separating from the group with a quick cheeky ‘goodbye’ to go to her class. The chorus of ‘How?’ and ‘When?’ and ‘I want details’ and a quiet call of ‘who won the bet then’ left hanging in the air for Sam to answer.

~~

*Translations:

Chai: Chai is tea ofcourse. But its also more than tea. Its an concoction made of tea, water, milk, sugar and spices all meticulously brought to a boil and then heated some more. It is a thing that requires practice, but also some magic.

Poha: Poha is a breakfast food made of flattened rice flakes sauted with onions and other vegetables and spices, according to one’s preferences hich is served warm with a dash of lemon and a sprinkling of coriander (Varun Thakur’s stand up, anyone?) 

Mukesh: A very illustrious, very very famous indian musician from the 60′s and 70′s. He had the voice of an angel.

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Hope this was a bearable read! As said earlier, feedback and criticism is always welcome!

Tagging: @spiderrpcrker​ @officially-tonynat-shrine​ @hoeticulture​ @dragoncreek319​ @severelytinyeagle​ @lgbtonystarks​ @cynical-ravenclaw​ @fandom-is-my-middle-name​ @emilyshurley​ @fiovske​ @bispiderson​ @moonbeambucky @revengingbarnes @shurisneakers @kuuhakublank00 @stardustandbucky @infj-slytherclaw @anjali750 @your-villainous-neighbour @viktorkrumn

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[artnerd1123]

Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

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Chapter one is always quiet. Until the end, that is. Henry knows this better than most. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier. 

DTRH!AU masterpost AU askblog

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This is my first fic for BATIM, and my first fic i’m posting anywhere! I’m a lil nervous, but mostly excited! Hope y’all enjoy!!!

                                                   ————

Chapter one was always quick. Sure, he could drag his feet if he wanted. The breathing room did him good some days. But there was only so much to do. Only so much to explore. The only other “person” up here was a wolf’s corpse. Not exactly the most welcoming environment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all a hundred times, anyways. He could do the whole thing blindfolded if he wanted. Not that it mattered. Everything in this place ground to a halt eventually. Every movie has its credits. Every book has its final page. And every chapter has its ending twist. It was as inevitable as his next loop around this godforsaken studio. Might as well get it over with.

                                                  ————

Henry Ross strolled slowly down the halls, gaze flicking around him. He knew it was safe. Old habits die hard, though, and so would he if he didn’t keep an eye out. And he was pretty sure there’d be a cutout jumping out somewhere soon. He eyed the end of the hall suspiciously. “Last thing I need is to get startled into fight or flight early,” he mumbled to himself. One more step. Nothing yet. Another. Still nothing. Huh, he thought, brows furrowed. Maybe it was down the other hall? His mind was drawing a blank. Always an encouraging sign. Or not. The toon shrugged. Whatever. He had a valve to turn. He took one last step, and the sharp trill of a violin sent a violent chill up his spine. His hand flew to his chest as his body shivered comically. A hollow grin peeked out at him from around the corner, ducking back around before he could do anything more than gasp. “Oh- oh c’mon, that wasn’t even fair,” Henry complained. “Cutouts don’t even do anything. Sheesh.” He rubbed his temples as he caught his breath. It’s still chapter one. The scriptwriter just wanted to throw him off his rhythm. As per usual. Once he quit his toonish shivering, he resumed his stroll down the hall. The cardboard cutout earned itself a slightly stern look as he rounded the corner. “You best behave yourself,” he told it simply. At least he still remembered the projector room’s tricks. Henry strode right in. He didn’t even blink as the projector suddenly sputtered to life. Its light spilled onto the wall, ready for an audience long gone. The animation was simple. Just a cheery demon doing a jaunty dance. Unseen speakers crackled along with it, an old recording whistling over the sound of film spinning. Henry couldn’t help but smile. There he was. The little devil darling. “Right on cue, bud.” The demon kept right on dancing as Henry ducked under the projector. Sure, he could’ve walked through the light. But it’d been a long while since he’d seen bendy dance. He wasn’t about to stop that, even if it was just a fleeting ghost of the past. Henry whistled softly along with the recording, straightening back up on the other side. The valve was right where it should be, next to where he’d grabbed the plushie earlier. Not for the first- or last- time, he wondered why he couldn’t have turned it earlier. Why Joey has me running all over kingdom come is beyond me, he thought. Gripping the sides of the valve wheel, Henry gave it a strong yank to one side. It loudly protested the movement, the grating groan of old metal ringing out. He grimaced at the sound. “C’mon, you can’t be stuck now,” he huffed. Though the racket made his ears want to bleed, Henry pulled harder. The groan resounded again, rusty joints straining as much as the toon, before they finally gave up. He let out a satisfied grunt as it spun a few slow turns. “There she goes.” The valve ground to a stop after a moment or two, clanging as the pipes above it started to rumble and creak. They might have been old, but they held the pressure of rushing ink well enough. Henry gave it a nod of satisfaction. Good. Ducking back under the projection, he gave it a thumbs up. “Step one done, bud,” he told it. “I’ll see you in a b-” What more he had to say was cut off by a very loud pop. A mini monsoon of ink burst out of a pipe directly overhead, gushing onto the toon below it. Henry gasped and sputtered like an angry cat as he scrambled out from the ink. He tripped over the step on his way out, flopping onto the floor with a wet splat. He was utterly drenched. Soaked gloves slapping against the floorboards, the poor toon tried to prop himself up. “Augh- that stuff’s spoiled- uck-” he choked, hacking up some ink. It burned on the way out. As if it was trying to stick to him. The sensation made his muscles tense as he struggled to get his feet under him. No. Not now. Not ever. His breaths wheezed as he swiped ink off of his arms, shaking out his legs and hair. Ink flew everywhere in a haphazard fashion- as if a dog was shaking itself off instead of a man. It was all gone in moments. He was clean again. Never had Henry been more grateful to have a trope at his disposal. “Eugh… talk about a bad time to be short a shower…” Henry said shakily. Looking over his shoulder, he could still make out little bits of light through the spurting ink. The cheerful whistling still reached his ears over the little waterfall roar. The sound eased some tension from him. Even under all the ink, Bendy was still there. Let’s hope that stays true, he thought grimly. Henry’s footsteps quickened as he traversed the halls again. The noise of the machine grumbled along behind the walls. Just one switch to flip, then he could really get this nightmare started. And he was gonna do his damn best to make this loop count for something.

The relic room was the same as he left it. Well, almost the same. Everything sat silently on its pillar. Dust still sprinkled over the floorboards. The screen next to the lever, however, flashed with a single word- READY- in big, bright letters. The rumbling of the pipes confirmed as much. Henry stared grimly at the screen from the doorway. Sure, the machine was ready. And him? “... ready as I’ll ever be,” he said softly. Time to start the show. He crossed the room without another thought, setting a hand on the lever. Despite the state of the studio around it, the metal was warm to the touch. As if someone- or something- had put it to recent use. He didn’t care to think on it further. Henry tugged it down with a grunt. The screen darkened for a moment before the letters changed. “RUNNING,” they declared. At once, the machinery along the wall sputtered to life. Slow at first, but getting faster as ink oiled the worn gears. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when the lights suddenly dimmed. The only light left in the room was a bright circle- illuminating the machine’s life-giving power source. And, of course, the toon standing before it. He turned to the door as the clanking, rumbling, and groaning of old mechanics and ink ticked up louder. Step two was over. Now, he had a meeting to keep. The halls- once lit brightly- were now as dark as a tomb. More fitting, he mused, than the false mirth the old lights had given off. All that was left now were candles and emergency lamps. He passed by them quickly, trying to ignore the way they flickered and dimmed. Just one foot in front of the other. Another turn to the right, and a sign greeted him. It proclaimed itself as the “ink output schedule.” As he neared it, a couple other signs came into view. “EXIT,” one said. “DANGER, KEEP OUT,” cautioned another. He slowed to a stop before them. The ink machine was close. One more turn. “... this thing’s gonna need some serious updating,” Henry muttered, giving the output sign a tap. “As for the rest of these…” He snorted, shaking his head. If I could actually follow them, I’d be set, now wouldn’t I? But no, he’d ignore them. Again. He peeked around the corner instead. The way to the machine was boarded up already. How the boards got there, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed a little protection from what was in there didn’t hurt. The fact that he needed it, though, did. Could the demon see him? Did he know he was here? Was he already out of the machine, lurking just out of sight? Was he just a whisper of script? Words yet to be written? Or rather, words yet to come to fruition? He didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. Answers or not, the toon still knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped over the pipe before him. The floorboards creaked lightly as he closed the gap between himself and the boarded up doorway. He raised a hand, forcing his fingers to flatten out. Though the determined look on his face couldn’t hide how he shook. Behind the boards, the room was quiet and calm. Deceptive as the rest of the studio. Just touch the boards, Ross, he thought to himself. Get it over with. You’ve done harder. It’s not like you can go back now. His hand wavered. Moved forward, pausing again. Trembled. And quickly, before a moment more passed, he pushed his hand against the old wood. The studio around him instantly burst into inky chaos, a devilish grin erupting before him. Clawed gloves swiped out from the gap between the boards, a loud shriek accompanying their deadly strike. Demonic talons dug themselves into Henry’s chest before he could so much as flinch. The movement knocked him off his feet, the toon crashing backwards into the floor. He let out a strangled wheeze, stars bursting across his vision. All the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He couldn’t get in any air- he couldn’t breathe- oh g- fuck- c-c’mon- By the time he managed to suck down a breath, the demon was long gone. The remnants of its appearance, however, were still very much in effect. Henry’s chest heaved as he lurched to his feet, clutching his torn shirt. Morphing stains laced over the walls as ink poured from the ceiling. There was so much- too much- that it was flooding the halls. Move move mOVE MOVE, his mind screamed, nothing more than wheezing coming from his mouth. The ink was already lapping at his feet while he struggled to get over the blasted pipe in the hall. Dark liquid clung to his legs, splashing up against the walls the more he struggled through it. He just did what he could to keep moving. Each new crash of ink rupturing old planks made him flinch. But he didn’t need the herding of inky waterfalls to get to his destination. The toon pressed on towards the door he knew was waiting for him. Henry caught a glimpse of a scrawled message on the wall- DREAMS COME TRUE- before another cascade of obsidian sludge obscured it. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all. The only dreams that come true here are fucking nightmares. He let out a strangled chuckle, grabbing onto the corner to pull himself through the rising ink. It was up to his waist now. A slow burning sensation on his legs spurred him on, the toon now throwing himself around the next corner. His hands scrabbled desperately against a chest of drawers against the wall, breaths hitching in his throat. He could see the main room to his left. The exit would be right around the corner- right there! He was close! Just a little farther, Ross! Chest leaking ink, ceiling overflowing with sludge, and spoiled liquid eating at his form, Henry splashed his way around the last corner. The sliver of light shone enticingly in the darkness. Once again, he couldn’t help but wish he could reach it. So he tried. Lurching forward, Henry all but jumped towards the light- -only for his foot to pass through nothingness. His outstretched hand was illuminated for only a moment before the rest of him pitched downwards. He let out a cry- both of fear and of rage- as he tumbled, once more, into the depths of the studio.

                                                  ————

A loud splash and a stream of curses announced Henry’s arrival at the bottom of the pit. He sat up with a groan. Ink still leaked down from above, pattering against his dark stained clothes. He swatted at it halfheartedly. Frankly, he’d already had enough of it. His free hand reached to gingerly rub his back, the other keeping him from flopping backwards. He got up as carefully as he could. How in the world he didn’t break his spine from that fall was beyond him. But, he thought ruefully, it wouldn’t be much of a story if the protagonist died right away, would it? At least the pain and injury would fade quickly. The trope of animation errors at its finest. “Alright… alright,” he grumbled to himself. “I better get a move on. Where’s those blasted valves…?” A glance around the room didn’t reveal much. It was a simple space. What wasn’t cut off by a small ink waterfall was still half flooded with the foul sludge. A metal shelving rack sat against one wall. A pipe with a valve was against another. Easy enough. Henry was about to wade to the pipe when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head towards it, not caring that his neck protested painfully. What looked like a thin box glowed softly on one of the shelves. Henry’s brows furrowed. If it glowed, it had to be important. He paused a moment to see if he could recall… “… Oh!” he snapped his fingers eagerly. “Right! Tapes!” He splashed clumsily over to the shelf, giving the “box” a look over. It was an audio log. He could see that clearly now. A little beat up and stained, but unmistakable. A small smile twitched at his lips as he ran a hand over it. He couldn’t quite remember who this one was… but he didn’t think it mattered. Any trace of his old friends was good enough for him. The voices made him feel less alone. He could do with a little less loneliness. Henry gently pressed the play button, watching the little machine come to life. The tape clicked softly into place. There was a moment of quiet whirring before a grumbling voice rang from the speaker. “It’s dark and it’s cold, and it’s stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure that I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot,” a man barked gruffly. Henry recognized it instantly, his smile widening into a grin. “Tom!” he said brightly. “Good to hear from you, old friend.” Ah, yes. Thomas Connor. The studio’s repairman. Henry shook his head as the tape continued, the memories of Thomas complaining about pipes drifting up in his mind. … of course, a few choice phrases in the recording made the toon’s smile slip. “Like a dying dog on its last legs,” Thomas said about the pipes’ noise. He wasn’t wrong, but the mention of a dying dog… “This whole darn thing… just isn’t natural,” Thomas grumbled uneasily. “You could say that again,” Henry muttered darkly. Of course, it was the last phrase that really sobered him up. “You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” The final click of the recording echoed in the silence. Henry gave the log a long, hard look. “... well, you weren’t wrong, Tom,” he finally sighed. “You certainly weren’t wrong.” Reaching for the log, he flipped it onto its back. If he remembered right, he could probably get the tape out of there… a muffled click let a smile flit across his face. “There you are. C’mere, you.” He slid off a panel in the back to reveal an old tape. It had a labelled transcript taped to it, thankfully. That’d help keep track of names. He carefully slipped the tape into his pocket, setting the empty audio log back on the shelf. With the tape listened to and taken care of, Henry turned his focus to the task at hand. Draining all this awful ink. He slogged through the black sludge that stuck to his knees, making his way to the first valve. It turned easier than the one upstairs, but still made the same godawful groaning noise. “Geez Louise, you were right about the noise, Tom,” he winced. The ink level was falling, though, so he didn’t complain more. He was just glad the valves worked. “One down, two to go.” Glancing around, he spotted the door to the stairwell through the waterfall of ink. Because… of course it would be back there. Where else would the door be but behind more ink? Henry put his arms over his head as he jogged through the inkfall, shuddering at the feeling of old ooze on his limbs. He continued his jog down the steps, grumbling as yet another waterfall blocked his path. Stepping through this one gained him more than a shudder, though. It was a downright uncomfortable grimace. His foot had splashed right down into another deep puddle of ink. “Aw, c’mon now,” he sighed, wading down once again. “Can’t ever leave things simple and easy, can we?” At least this valve’s right in front of the stairs…

Another two rounds of groaning pipes, descending ink, and running down steps deposited the now soaked-and-grumpy toon in a rather cramped room. Calling the space a “room” was almost too generous. It was more like a glorified broom closet. A very drippy, very busted up one at that. “We’re gonna need a dozen teams of restoration architects in here,” Henry said flatly. “And that’s at a minimum.” Ink dripped slowly down from his hair before he flicked it away. A quick shake off had him relatively clean, minus some staining on his shoes. Once he was satisfied, the toon turned to the one other defining feature of the room. A closed door. It didn’t remain that way for long, the knob turning easily in his hand. He knew his way clearly from here. The door swung in to reveal an old workshop. Henry strolled right in, gaze sliding over the sparsely furnished area. All that was of note were a few stacked barrels, and an old workbench, and a boarded up doorway along the far wall. The bit of graffiti spattered around- a venomous declaration that “THE CREATOR LIED TO US-” drew a soft snort from the toon. Yeah, you could say that. Overall? The room was nothing of interest. No, what he was really looking for sat on top of the workbench. An axe lay out on top of it, its blade glinting dully in the dim light. Henry picked it up, testing its weight thoughtfully. It looked pretty sharp. Pretty durable, too. An axe had always served him well… “Hmm… yeah, I could go for a new one,” he said decisively. Swapping the axe into one hand, he shoved the other into one of his side pockets. He pulled out another axe a moment later. This one was slick with damp ink, its blade blunt and its handle full of hairline cracks. It had certainly been through the ringer. He gazed at it fondly as he set it on the bench. “So long, bud,” he sighed softly. “We had a good run.” Henry took a minute to swing the new axe around. This room was as good as any to test it out. It was a little different than he was used to- no doubt because it was newer- but it swung and balanced well. He gave it a pat of approval. Approaching the doorway, he glanced it over, sizing it up. “Now-” grunting, he hefted the axe over his shoulder- “new friend of mine-” tightened his grip- “let’s get-” and swung hard at the boards before him- “to work-!” The splintering of wood made a wonderful soundtrack as Henry chopped his way through the final hall. The work went quicker than he liked, but it still felt good to swing a proper axe again. Breaking boards was easy. Breaking boards was kinda fun. And, most importantly, breaking boards meant progress. At the end of the short hall, he leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The new axe really was nicer. Hopefully it’d last a few loops. One last door was before him, three boards holding it shut. He eyed it somberly. At long last, there it was. His entrance into chapter two. The toon straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The axe dragged against the floor as he walked purposefully over. One more door. One more room. And one more unfortunate headache. Flipping the axe up, he promptly slammed it into the old wood. All three boards gave away like butter to a hot knife. Satisfied, Henry tucked the weapon behind his back. It was better to save things in his hammerspace than to trust that a certain scriptwriter would provide him another axe later. The door opened with a slow creak after he turned the knob. Before him was a small room, lit only by candlelight. Some sort of large ritual circle was drawn in the center of the floorboards. Candles sat flickering at six points around its edge. Edging in, Henry kept an eye on his feet and the circle. That thing might be his ticket to chapter two, but he didn’t want to jump on the train early. The location didn’t feel fuzzy as he looked around, but… well. You never know what could pop up next in this studio. At the wall across from the entrance, two coffins leaned side by side. A boarded up door was to their left. On the right side of the room, three chairs were set up. On the left side, there was an empty shelf. Whom the chairs or coffins were for, Henry couldn’t say. The sight of the door, at least, was reassuring. All that was left now was to step into the circle. “... you better make this quick, Joey,” he muttered.

Without further ado, he planted a foot squarely in the inky circle.

The pain he felt was immediate, surging up through his leg and into his head like a lightning strike. He couldn’t help but gasp, hands flying to his head as he doubled over. An image of the ink machine flashed before his eyes. By the time he squeezed them open and shut to dispel it, the pain had lurched him sideways. An image of a wheelchair greeted his newly opened eyes, and he groaned desperately. The pain was cranking higher- higher- so much he could barely see straight. He fumbled around, vision clouding up as he tried to turn back to the door. All that greeted him, though, was one last horrifying image. The ink demon was standing there. Illuminated by the light of an open door behind him. Reaching for him. Some distant part of Henry felt his body stumble backwards. His mind finally fell into darkness. And then… Then… … Nothing.

Nothing but the dark of the ink.

E̶̷̸̮͍̮̤̪̠͔͚̬̻̼̰̤͉̱͔̝̰͠Ņ͈͉̙̣͙̜̣͖͔͍͍̯̟̬̭͢͠ͅD̷̨̼͇̖̮̙ ̶̴͎̪͓̯̮̲̼͠O͏̶̸̸̞̣̦̟̫̦̞̪̳̤͎͚̯̦̝̳F̶̵̥͚̘̣̮͔ ̣̫̞̰̬͚͞͞C̭͎̥̠͔̩͕͕̯͉͍̤̬̩̙̟͎̱͉̕͠͠͠͞Ḩ̢͜͠҉̲̥̮̫A̴҉͕͚̬̳̲͙̮͙̝͡͝P̵̩͎̩͓̲̬̕͟Ţ̯̱̠͍̝̲̠̗̼͜͜E͏̷̮̬̪̬̠̙R̷̡̹̖̥̖͘͜ ̧̪͈̥̝̞̘̰̬̻̺̞̠͎͟͟͞Ó̠͙̲̞̰͔͕͡N̵̬̜̣̜̬̻̖͈̙͍͍̻̰̤͎̙̜͜͝ͅĘ̰͎̩̺̙̱̯͈̭̬͙͇͔̕.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

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#batim au #arty writes #dtrh!au #down the rabbit hole au #dtrh!henry #dtrh!bendy #dtrh!thomas #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #this is queued bc its like midnight as i'm formatting this lksjdflkjfkls #anyways!!! #here!!! is the thing!!!!!!!!!!! #someone yell at me to rb this to my askblog if i haven't later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #i'm v v happy with this tbh ^^ #idk exactly what i wanna say abt it #but yea i did this in like. three days of adrenaline filled hyperfixation LSKDJF #go me!!! #i hope u guys like it!!! ;w;

[love-fireflysong]

Day 1: Rainbow

Fandom: Until Dawn Character(s): Emily Davis, though all the others are mentioned. Words: 1058 Rating: T (Character death, swearing) Author’s Notes: Welp, I honestly didn’t intend to even write anything for this writing challenge but here we are! I decided it would be fun to just see what ideas came to mind from one or two of the prompts has a joke, and thought it would be hilarious to give Rainbows to Emily of all people. And well, that was my first mistake clearly. You can find the original post here for any others that want to try!

I will not tolerate any Emily hate. She may not be my fav character in the game, but I still love her a lot and having a gun shoved in your face would mess anyone up.

Personally, Emily had never been a huge fan of rainbows. It wasn’t that she hated them per say, she had just always been indifferent to them. There were far more exciting things out there than looking at a spectrum of light that didn’t actually exist cause it was just light that reflected off of water droplets that sometimes appeared in the sky after rain.

None of which was helping her as she glared at the mug of coffee that one of the officers at the police station had given her.The chintzy rainbow adorning the one side was way too cheerful and uplifting for the shit she had endured and somehow survived. Jess had once told her that rainbows were supposed to be a symbol of hope or promise or of good things to come. If so, then they were pretty shitty symbols in her opinion. Nothing that had just happened at been any of those things.

(Unlike her, Jess loved rainbows. Her blue eyes would always brighten up when one appeared in the sky after a rain shower. She would squeal in childlike joy when she watched the colors dance across her hand when cast through a window.

She didn't want to think about Jess.)

She took a drink and grimaced at both the taste and texture. The coffee was more like black sludge, thick and bitter. Em had a feeling that no amount of sugar or cream would be able to save this tar in a cup. She stopped trying to drink it. The color and consistency reminded her too much of the oil that had been everywhere in the mines, that stained her hand and clothes.

(Matt should have been in the mines with her, but he had failed to save her and fell with her when the tower finally collapsed further into the mines. And when she had woken up, leg tangled in rope and miraculously alive, he was nowhere to been seen.

She didn’t care about Matt anymore.)

She had found Beth’s head in the mines. Had found Hannah’s journal in the mines. Had been chased by that, that thing in the mines. She had barely escaped the mines with her life.

(Sam and Mike had gone down into the mines to find Josh. They never came back with him.

That was fine. She hoped he froze to death and rotted down there.)

In an effort to stop staring at the glazed image on the mug, and to stop from throwing it at the wall with a soul shattering scream, Em looked towards the officer that was standing nearby to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t too sure why, leaving the safety of the building to go outside was the absolute last thing she wanted to do with her time. But to her horror, her eyes caught on the carefully holstered pistol around their waist. The same way her eyes kept catching on it throughout her interview.

Unbidden, Mike flashed across her mind, the barrel of the gun flashing in low light of the monitors and aimed at her face.

(Mike was dead now. The sickening crack of his spine shattering as he was thrown against the pillar ensured that there was no way he would ever walk out even if the lodge hadn’t burst into flames.

She didn't feel anything when she used the commotion as a distraction to run outside.)

There had been so much screaming. Worse had been Ashley and Chris egging Mike on, adamant that Emily was going to turn into one of those things and kill them. Her hand that encircled the mug still stung from when it connected with Ash’s face, but it was a better sting then the bite on her shoulder.

(They were dead now, too. She had been running behind them, away from the wendigos chasing them down the hall, but they had been too slow. So, she had shoved Ash out of the way and into the wall. But because Chris had been holding Ashley’s hand, she hadn’t been able to brace herself and fell, taking him with her.

She wondered if they had died still holding hands. She hoped not.)

Sam had been the only one to stick up for her. Trying to convince Mike to lower the gun and for Ash and Chris to calm down. Em still thinks she should have tried harder, should have ripped the gun from Mike’s hands.

(Sam was also dead, though she didn’t see it happen. A few seconds after she had made it outside, the lodge had quite literally exploded with Sam still in it. She didn’t know if Sam had stayed behind in repentance for closing the cinema room door and locking it despite Chris and Ash still being in the hall. Didn’t know if it was Hannah or the flames that killed her in the end.

She decided that she didn’t care either way.)

The sound of the only door to the room was enough to rip her eyes away from the gun, and very nearly dropped the rainbow mug in her shock. Jess stood in the doorway, huddling deeper into a very old and worn leather jacket that Em had never seen before, and she looked like shit. Jess’s always immaculately styled hair was coming out of her braid, her make-up was running down her face, long and deep gashes covered what little of her chest Em could see beneath the jacket, and every bit of her available skin was covered in blood and dirt and gore and who knows what else.

Before she could even move though, Jess saw her and ran towards her, flinging her arms around Em’s neck with a sob and broke down. The two of them sat in the same chair, rocking each other back and forth, as they both cried and apologized and swore that they would never let a stupid guy get between them again. Slowly, the two of them calmed down; emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted and all cried out. With nothing else to do, Em offered her the mug of coffee still in her hands and watched as Jess’ baby blue eyes lit up just the smallest amount at the rainbow on the side.

(Maybe Jess had been right. Rainbows were a symbol of hope.

Not that she would ever admit it.)

#until dawn #pride month prompt challenge #emily davis #jessica riley #which was my first mistake clearly #not how i intended to try my hand at writing em and jess but here we are i guess? #you: pride month is all about love and acceptance! #me: fuck you sole survivor em and jess #my writing #guess im kinda indebted to keep up with the rest now huh?

[beerecordings]

Just a quick sweet one-shot about fae Jameson comforting Henrik. I got to thinking about JJ’s dog forms after that ask and how they’d probably need like a fake service dog harness to get him into places when he doesn’t want to be human, and then I was like “well it’s not really that inaccurate, because he would protect and keep them steady like that through panic attacks or anything like that” and then I typed this up real quick. it’s got all the myth boys in it but it’s mostly about Henrik and Jamie looking out for each other.

Trigger warnings for mentions of imprisonment, stalking, blood, and animal attacks.

The long nails of his black paws clack cold on the linoleum floor of the doctor’s clinic.

“It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming!”

He lifts his small snout in the air, but he knows every scent already – bubblegum shampoo and a well-worn red sweatshirt that smells like nothing else, the salty ocean sting that never stops clinging to Chase’s skin, the clean heat burn of the star spirit in love with humanity.

Nothing is coming.

“It’s going to drag me away!” screams the human healer on the wall behind him. “No, no, no!”

The human can howl like a wolf left to die. The black dog bears fangs and holds still as hot fleshy human hands dig deep into the thick curls of his fur.

How long, he wonders, was the human pursued, chased across mountains and rivers and country lines, away from his family and all that he knew? Jameson can see him now, thin and pale on the seat of one of those speeding metal slugs that run along railed teeth, stinking of oil.

Train, his brain offers, something Marvin taught him in his frank, self-satisfied way, happy with himself for remembering a human thing, happier now to pass the knowledge along to Jameson. When he said it, Jameson realized he had known the word already, but the excitement of watching the humans build and build and build, faster and bigger and blacker every day, has long since left him.

The plastic rims of the human’s glasses shove into his side. Still he does not move.

Wet salt and broken hiccuping sobs pant against his fur. Soft hands stroke down his spine, tugging at him, scraping at him, dragging tears across his body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” wails Henrik. “I’m sorry, don’t leave me alone.”

He bows his small dark head, motionless. Tonight he does not move. Tonight the man can touch him. In the whole world, only two men are allowed to do so, two men and a star and a sealboy.

After all, Henrik would do the same for him. Henrik was the one what stitched him up on the night he was dying and didn’t want to live anyway. He bit and snapped at his hands and trembled like a wild animal, and the human must have seen the memory of his old hunter flickering on the surface of Jameson’s body, but still he did not turn him away, just took deep breaths and held him down and stitched him back together, his hands slicked in fae blood, saving his life in silence but for the sound of his hand brushing along Jameson’s heaving flank.

He turns slightly, so his body guards Henrik where he huddles in the corner, grasping at his fur.

Nothing is coming.

Henrik presses his face to his fur, crying.

Nothing is coming.

“You don’t know how big it was… how it would stare at me… great golden eyes, the heady horrible face of the bull… or the wolf’s teeth pricking at my throat, draining out blood I never asked for. I never asked to be lucky. Never asked to be hunted just because I have six big brothers and six big uncles and more vision in my eyes than I know what to do with.”

Nothing is coming.

He puts his paw on Henrik’s knee.

The human breathes, shaking, snotty and crimson-faced, his glasses askew on his nose and his shirt stained with sweat. Jameson doesn’t care. When he was very small he didn’t understand why humans cry, but he does now. He has now. It’s okay. Nothing is coming. Henrik scratches his chest. He is a curly black sheepdog. Sturdy and small. If anything ever came after him he would tear its ankles to shreds and then turn into a bear.

Nothing will harm him.

For hours they’ve been curled up on the floor of the clinic, hiding from the others. Henrik doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. All he had to do was step into the mudroom where Jameson sometimes chooses to stay, the fake service dog harness they bought illegally clutched in his shaking hands, and Jameson got up and lead him to the safety of his secluded little clinic.

Everything’s okay. Nothing is coming.

“I’m sorry I’m such a coward,” Henrik whispers, listing against his side. “I’m sorry I – I’m sorry I… I’m so tired of being scared all the time, for nothing, for nothing. It’s gone, and still, it never stops haunting me…”

Jameson stares dead ahead, still beneath Henrik’s hands. He remembers the cold iron bars of an abandoned, unrusting cage, the tiny onyx body of a kitten shaking against the sting of it, feeling his essence turn molten, eaten alive for a hundred years, until at last the golden hands of the star and the heavy red gloves of the man came for his emancipation. And yet he feels himself constantly surrounded by the cold white wrath of the cage that bound him.

Tonight, though, there are no bars. There are just the human’s hands, hot and grasping, brushing slowly down his back, and the steadying sound of his quiet breath.

Henrik leans heavier on him. That’s okay. He makes himself grow. A bigger sheepdog now. Henrik slumps against his back. He makes himself a big black husky. Henrik is asleep. It’s okay. He can be a bear-hunting dog. Big and black, with a human laid across his back, exhausted. He can be anything Henrik needs him to be. It’s a good thing he took the harness off already.

The little rectangle of metal in Henrik’s coat begins vibrating. Jameson stares at it, his dark eyes blinking, his soft dog’s chin laid out on his paws and Henrik laid out on his strong ribs and spine. The voicemail tone sounds and Jameson closes his eyes, listening to the familiar voice of the sealboy frizzling through the speakers.

“Uh, hey, Schneep, just calling to check in. I was going to see if you wanted to watch something, but you’re, uh, not in your room. Hope everything’s okay? You know if you need anything you can call me, okay? I – ”

“Amata!” Marvin’s voice is eager and bright. Always. Jameson’s ear twitches warmly. “Is that my doctor? Henrik! I love you! Where is he, let’s play a game! No, wait, let's watch a show!”

“Marv, he didn’t pick up. I’m just leaving – ”

“Didn’t pick up!” A third voice, immediately worried. “Why didn’t he pick up?”

“Come on, Jackie, I’m sure he’s just – ”

“Schneep, when I said nobody was allowed to disappear without telling me why after what you pulled last month, I wasn’t joking. Where are my sneakers, Chaser? We're going to the clinic.”

“Yay! Jackie, carry me!”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t you think you’re being just a little overprotective?”

There’s an indignant spluttering just loud enough to be comical and then the beep of the voicemail ending. Jameson sighs, low and warm, and turns just enough that he can lick the back of his human’s hand, making Henrik shift just a little, rubbing his face into his fur.

Nothing is coming. Nothing is coming. Nothing holds him. Nothing will steal them away. They’re free. They’re free. Nothing is coming.

Except, of course, one worried superhero, one exasperated shapeshifter, and one very cheerful star spirit in the shape of a happy white cat, curled up in Jackie’s arms, excited to be going for a late night walk to his favorite doctor’s clinic.

“Schneep!” Jackie’s voice is a ringing bell twenty minutes later and Henrik jolts anxiously, a gasp shuddering on his mouth, only to calm again when he feels his fingers curling around Jamie’s fur.

“Hm, what?” he calls, pushing his glasses back into place. “Who?”

“Schneep, you nerd, didn’t you hear? Missing movie night is no longer an option in our household! Mister Mother Hen here can’t let you out of his sight for ten minutes without throwing a fit, now, can you, Jackie?”

A cat yowls a delighted greeting and Chase goes “yowch!” as Jackie’s fist connects with his shoulder, sending him into whining protest and Jackie into big, chest-shaking laughter, their footsteps moving towards the back of the secret little clinic where they have been saved and healed a hundred times.

Henrik sits up straight, trying to put himself together, relieved to find that he can, for the first time in hours, breathe deeply when he tries. He remembers what Jameson is with a sudden clarity and pulls his hands away, hoping he hasn’t offended him, but Jameson only turns and looks at his open hand, setting his chin down inside the curve of his scarred white palm. Henrik chuckles wearily and reaches down to scratch between his ears, his heartbeat settling. The stomping of feet down the stairs sends one burn of anxiety rising through his chest, but Jameson does not bark or growl, and he knows that he is safe.

“What are you doing down here, bud?” asks Jackie, worried, appearing before him, big and safe and holding a warm friend, Chase smiling a reassurance before him.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” sighs Henrik, closing his eyes. “Just trying to avoid Marvin’s pick of movie.”

A mournful cat wail fills up the stairway, Marvin flopping dramatically back into Jackie’s arms as though struck dead, and rich free laughter like a wave of sunlit water warms the shining curly fur along the back of the great black dog.

-----------------------

Taken from my Mythology AU - Chase is a Selkie, Marvin’s a star spirit, Jameson’s fae but likes to look like a little black dog, Henrik’s the seventh son of a seventh son, and Jackie is Jackie! While I do not have current plans to continue this AU and work on it as the inspiration takes me, you can send prompts or specific scenes in this universe the next time I open requests.

#bee writes #schneeplestein #writers of jack #jameson jackson #mythology au #seven seven henrik #fae jameson

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice Ch2 Pt 7

Warnings: I say the word “hell” as a curse so... cursing?, angst, likely some grammar mistakes, and cliffhangers

AS A HEADS UP: All of the characters in this part, Except Gavin of course, are ones that I’ve made up. Just in case you go looking for them in the game or accuse me of anything. These characters are all made up by me. Except Gavin. But that’s kinda a give in lol

(Chapter two’s prologue, parts one, two, three, four, five, and six here :))

((Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter two:

Part seven:

It had been a couple of days since I had heard from Gavin. After that night I had sent him off with the remaining soup, even though he tried to refuse, and we exchanged numbers. He promised me that he would call and let me know what the next move would be. He hadn’t called. I didn’t even hear him come back from work the next night. I had knocked on his door but no one answered. Gavin could just be doing this to mess with me. Or he got all the information he needed from me and he left me behind… or something was up and Gavin was in trouble. No matter what it was, I had promised myself that if I hadn’t heard from him by the end of the day, I would stop by the station after work. So I did just that. 

I walked up to the front desk and addressed the receptionist, “I’m here to see Officer Gavin. We are working a case together and I haven’t heard from him in a bit. Is he in today?”

“I haven’t seen him come in today.” She answered vaguely, “But I will tell Captain Michaels you are here. He might give you an answer.” I huffed, annoyance growing in my chest, “You are welcome to wait by Gavin’s desk.” The receptionist added with a patient smile, “I’ll let the chief know that he can meet you there.” I sighed and nodded.

I stood at Gavin’s desk anxiously, looking around the room. I had been there for quite a while.  He had to be there. It was a work day. I put my rising nerves to work as I looked through the miscellaneous folders he had there. There wasn’t even a trace of him. No mug of coffee or note. Not even the files on his desk looked recent. There had to be something that would tell me where he was.

“Ike!” A familiar voice pulled my head away from Gavin’s desk. Captain Michaels approached me with open arms. I folded my arms, cutting off any chance of a hug.

“Captain.” I addressed him, masking the worry in my chest with my infamous poker face.

“You’re back so soon!” Captain Michaels dropped his arms but still held a pleasant smile, “How was the mission?” A pit formed in my stomach.

“Mission?” I asked quickly, dropping my arms, “What mission?”

“The undercover mission?” the captain asked slowly, “The one that Gavin asked permission to go on.”

“Undercover?!” I couldn’t believe my ears. Gavin left to the bar without me? What was he thinking? He knew I had the Intel he needed for it! How could he just leave me behind like that?!... How could I have believed that he wouldn’t have done any less?

“He told me he would bring you.” Captain Michaels’ voice became serious, “Did he not tell you?” I felt anger rising in my chest. With no other way to exert it, I punched Gavin’s desk, leaving a large dent in the wood. “...I’ll take that as a no.” Captain Michaels said quietly, “I’ll call the phone I gave him. Maybe he can give us a straight-”

“Don’t bother.” I growled. Self deprecating thoughts crowded my mind. How could I have thought that he had changed? How could I have thought he wanted to change? I was right. He just wanted to use me for my information. He never wanted to be partners. I never should have dropped my guard like that. None of that mattered though. 

“What are you planning to do?” The captain asked. 

“If Gavin doesn’t want me as a partner then so be it.” I moved some files to cover the dent in the desk, “But no one leaves Ikamara Bikira behind and gets away with it. No one.” I brushed past Captain Michaels and marched to the exit.

“Be careful, Ike!” The captain called back, “You might throw the mission!”

“The only thing I’m throwing is Gavin off the roof!!” I called back, slamming the door behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night had fallen by the time I had driven to the warehouse. The area was abandoned except for a large, familiar figure leaning against the wall in the alley. “Well well well.” The figure’s voice was gruff and deep, “If it isn’t the Ikamara Bikira.” 

“Hey, Richy.” I shoved my hands in my pockets as I approached the voice. The figure was a thirty something year old man, dressed in a black zip up hoodie with a white shirt and black tie underneath it. He had black jeans and worn down high tops. He was the gatekeeper for The Wall, Richy.

“It’s been a while!” Richy’s voice was low as he straightened himself against the wall, “Why don’t you visit anymore?!”

“Believe it or not, Richy, I’ve got a life. And a business. And a family. Spending my free time with criminals at the dead of night isn’t the best way to maintain all of that.”

“D’aw, are you saying you don’t trust us?”

“I’m saying that if I spend too much time with you, I’m going to lose it all. And with nothing to hold me back, there would be no stopping me.” I hit each syllable hard to make my point clear to the gatekeeper. The look on his face told me he got the message, “Can I go in? I need a drink.”

“You know the drill.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is this really necessary? You know me by name.”

“No exceptions.” Richy folded his arms and stood powerfully before me, “Password.”

“Open sesame.” I sarcastically answered.

“Password.” Richy insisted.

 "Ugh, fine.” I sighed, “'You can't cuff what you can't catch.'” Richy nodded and knocked the wall behind him. “You know, the term 'password' suggests that it is just one word. Maybe you should say passphrase instead." Richy ignored me as the wall behind him made a loud clicking noise. A large section of the wall was forced backwards, revealing a hallway behind it. Fog flowed dramatically from it as a purple light shone through the alley. "You added fog since I've been gone." I said as I watched the mist swirl around my legs, "Nice touch."

"It was Madison's idea." Richy sounded disgruntled. Chuckles Madison was the owner of The Wall. His father owned the place before him but, after his arrest, it was passed down to his son. Madison tended to be on the more dramatic side and added an edge to the pub that made the atmosphere all the more attractive. He even introduced entertainment to the pub and asked me to perform. Normally I would say no but he offered free drinks. How could I refuse a free drink?

 "I think it brings the place together." I walked closer to the door.

"Are you performing tonight?" Richy asked, stopping me from going in.

"Not tonight. I'm just here for a drink and a conversation with Madison."

"Bummer. It's been awhile since you've been on stage. People have been asking where you have been."

"Maybe next time." I waved Richy off as I walked through the hole in The Wall.

"You'd better do it soon!" Richy called back to me before the doors shut, "Someone might take your title as Champion!"

I rolled my eyes as I walked into the dark room. I pushed past a large veil of beads and was immediately hit with the pungent smell of booze and sweat. Strobe lights flashed past my eyes and loud techno music blasted from every corner of the room. The room was crowded with dancing and intoxicated people. Most were screaming with the music. Others were screaming at each other. Chairs and tables were scattered about the room but none of them were occupied. Everyone was moving. The amount of action that was happening was almost disorienting. It really had been awhile since I had been there.

I pushed past the crowd of people aggressively.  Some looked as if they wanted to protest, but after taking one look at who I was, they wimped out. I approached the bar and waved the bartender over to me. "Well would you look at that!" The bartender said, grabbing a glass as he confronted me, "The Champion returns! You performing tonight?"

"No, I need to talk to Madison." I began to grow impatient, "Have you seen-"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" A loud voice boomed from over the speakers, cutting me off and only aggravating me further. The music and the lights shut off entirely and excited chattering moved throughout the crowd, "I KNOW YOU ALL HAVE BEEN TIRED AND BUSY TAKING THE WORLD BY STORM, BUT IT IS TIME TO RELAX! IT IS TIME TO PUT YOUR LEGS UP AND LET US DO THE WORK! IT IS TIME TO BE ENTERTAINED!!"

Spotlights flashed on and lit up the back of the room. A wrestling rink stood glistening under its light. Red ropes outlined the outside of the stage. The floor of the stage was scuffed and dented from the performances that had been made there. In the middle of a stage stood a man sporting a large flamboyant pose while holding a hanging microphone. He was a lean man, dressed in a long fur coat that was dyed bright purple. Under it was a black crop top that matched with tight black tights and huge combat boots. His ears were pulled apart by dramatic gauges and various piercings. His hair was buzzed and bleached blond. His face looked as if it could be porcelain from his flawless makeup. With dark eyeliner and colorful eye shadow that surrounded his bright blue eyes and a glittery dark lip gloss made his lips look like an oil spill, he looked fake. Like a cartoon character who had escaped the television.

"Found him." The bartender leaned close to me and whispered in my ear. He handed me a drink. I glared at him and took the drink as Madison continued his speech.

“Criminals and criminettes, we have a very special surprise for you! Coming all the way from his life sentence in prison, our has-been champion, the towering colossus, Legon!!” The crowd cheered wildly. Something large moved in the dark by the stage. With a few steps into the light, he revealed himself. He towered over most of the patrons at the bar and was able to get onto the stage with one step. This man’s arms and face were covered in scars from past fights but he covered most of them with dark tattoos. He was bald but in the most intimidating way possible.  This man was Legon. He was the bar’s reigning champion until I came along. He was supposed to be in jail for a large list of serious offences. The worst of which being murder. The thought of putting him back in jail teased my mind. Maybe I could show up Gavin one last... 

Gavin. 

The twisted feeling in my stomach returned. He wasn’t anywhere in the bar. Where was he? Did I misjudge him after all? 

“And his unfortunate competitor is our latest addition to the team!” Madison continued and snapped me out of my troublesome thoughts, “On a winning streak, hot from the streets, standing at five nine and holding a punch that could knock out a lion, Solomon!!” Boos swept from every corner of the bar as a man jumped on to the stage. I choked on my drink.

It was Gavin.

He stood proudly on the stage. He wore a tank top, revealing old and fresh scars. His hands were wrapped but I could tell from the way he was holding them that they were tender. His determined expression unsuccessfully masked the exhaustion in his eyes.  Did he really fight all those people? And did he stay all day yesterday to do it? The Wall had fights every five hours. If Gavin had left yesterday morning…

A wave of pure anger flushed over my body. Unable to control it, I broke the glass in my hand. “Woah!” The bartender protested, “Someone’s unwilling to lose their title of champion.” I ignored the bartender and quickly left the bar. “Hey!” The bartender called, “You’ve gotta to pay for that!”

���Put it on my tab!” I shouted back through bared teeth. The bartender visibly recoiled and shut up. I marched to the stage where the warriors were stretching, preparing for battle. A hot feeling burned in my chest as I neared Gavin but it wasn’t the same hot feeling that I had that night we flew together. It didn’t melt my heart the way it did that night. 

It burned it.

 I could feel it shrivel and harden the longer I looked at that stranger standing on the stage. I felt my hands shake slightly under the anger I was holding. I needed to relax. If I didn’t, I would rip off his head. Breathe Ike, breathe. I found myself thinking, It’s probably not what you think it is. I took a long deep breath before tapping on Gavin’s leg. He looked down at me. Our eyes met and the anger I had started repressing rekindled. A glare escaped my poker face.

“Ike?” Gavin was genuinely shocked to see me there. Meaning he really didn’t want me to find him. The burning in my chest slowly started creeping through my body.

“Solomon, was it?” I asked through bared teeth. Gavin looked taken-aback. As if me being angry was alarming to him. Soon the look of surprise melted into an undercernable emotion. He opened his mouth but his voice didn’t leave it.

“What’s this?!” A booming voice came over the loudspeakers, “A surprise competitor?!” Madison skipped over to us with a wide, gapped tooth smile, “Lads and Lasses, our champion has returned!!” A loud cheer swept over the crowd. Madison approached me and held out his hand, ushering me to come on stage. I waved him off.

“I’m not here to fight.” I spoke with determination, “I came to talk to you.”

“You know how it is, darling.” Madison covered the mic so only I could hear him, “You want something from me, you fight.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes, “Come on, Madison. It’s important!”

“No exceptions!” He grinned wildly, “Pick your competitor!”

I shook my head, “This is serious, Madison. Lives are at stake.”

“She just doesn’t want to compete against me.” Gavin spoke up and put on a phony smile. The way he held himself had changed too. He stood proudly and with his hips at his sides. His grin was cocky and out of place compared to the rest of him. He wasn’t Gavin anymore, he was this supposed Solomon, “She heard about my streak and is afraid of me.”

“Oh ho!” Madison cackled, “Someone’s feeling lucky tonight!”

“Not now, prick.” I said seriously, avoiding his eyes.

“Come on! Why are you being so selfish?” Solomon’s words, though playful, felt like a knife to my back. How could Gavin, of all people, call me selfish?! Does he have any idea what he put at risk by coming here?! By leaving me behind!? He could have died! But he had to leave. He had to abandon me because he was done with me. Because he hated me. Because he was a good for nothing cop. Well, I was done with being left behind. This time, I was going to do something about it.

“Him.” I thrust my finger at Solomon, “I’ll fight him.”

“Wonderful!” Madison sang happily as I jumped onto the stage, avoiding his outstretched hand. Madison turned back to the crowd and brought the mic to his mouth, “There will be a change of plans, folks! Instead of Legon, we have a new competitor! Someone who needs no introduction, The Wall’s reigning champion, Cicatrix!!” The crowd roared with applause as I faced them. 

“Cicatrix?” Solomon held his playful grin as he made eye contact with me. “A bit cheesy, isn’t it?” 

“I’m not going to justify the name that was given to me.” I snapped. I couldn’t seem to stop my jaw from clenching. Solomon seemed to finally catch on to my serious tone.

“You’re... really angry at me, aren’t you?” Gavin returned as he let his guard down. Rage pulsed through my body once again. I closed my eyes and turned away from him as I pushed the rage back in my chest. He didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know how badly he hurt me…

No. 

He didn’t care enough to notice.

 “No more talking.” I could feel the heat of the anger in my heart spilling from my mouth and into my words, “The only thing I want to hear from you is your pleads for mercy.” I pulled my eyes away from him and walked to the corner Legon was in. One look was all Legon needed to hurry out of the ring.

 I stretched as I stood in the vacant corner, hoping that was enough to mask my shaking hands. I tried to keep my eyes from Gavin before the fight but I couldn’t help myself. I snuck a peak at him from across the stage. Gavin was stretching as well but he wasn’t putting much effort into it. He was staring at the floor blankly and… painfully. I rolled my eyes. If he had regret then he shouldn’t have left me behind. I signaled to Madison that I was ready. I finally got the chance to teach someone a lesson about leaving Ikamara Bakira behind and there was no chance in hell that I was going to waste it. 

(Next)

#Mlqc gavin #mlqc #mlqc fanfiction #mlqc angst #mlqc oc #oof the angst is a foot #and also at hand #oooh ya boi just did that #sorry lol #still grieving #pray for me lol

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

최한솔, Chwe Hansol

itslilliansnow asked:

Okay (I'm annoying, shhhh.) Vernon Hansol Chwe (I know it's strange, but with this comeback he's killing me). He's your quiet and mysterious neighbor, you don't know a lot about you but one night there's someone who's following you and scared you seek "protection" from him. That was the pretext to know him and discover he's funny and adorable, but above all charming and interesting c.c SO YEAH THAT WAS THE IDEA, BUT YOU CAN DO EVERYTHING YOU WANT WITH IT. Love you 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 - Saturn

Group: Seventeen (세븐틴)

Member: Vernon

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You sat on your couch, typing away at your laptop and trying to get some work done. It was getting late, but you had a deadline. As much as you would like to greet sleep with the biggest hug, you’d have to wait a while before that could happen. 

You heaved a deep sigh, ceasing the incessant clacking of your fingertips. You were far from finished, but your hands were cramping. You set your laptop off to the side, rubbing your tired eyes. 

You stared around the apartment, taking in your bare walls and yet-to-be-unpacked boxes. You’d only moved into this complex very recently, so everything still looked empty; like your own personal ghost town. 

It didn’t bother you much, though. Your building was small, and due to that, you already knew most of your neighbors quite well. The first week you’d moved in, you were greeted with a lovely ‘Welcome To The Building’ party, held in the lobby by your landlord.

Everyone was friendly, for the most part. Of course, there were those few people that you could tell didn’t want to be there, but at least they had made the effort to stop by.

“Seems like quite the turn out!” your giant of a landlord had said. He gave you a smile. “Everyone’s excited to have a new neighbor, seeing as this place tends to have the same old same-old.” 

You had nodded nervously. Honestly, the whole thing had been a surprise for you, so it was somewhat overwhelming. “Yeah,” you’d stuttered out, “it’s quite the gathering.” 

The older man nodded. “Sure is!” He looked around the room, squinting at the guests. “Shame Hansol couldn’t make it, though,” he’d said.

At the time, you’d been confused by who ‘Hansol’ was, but after a while, you’d found that he was actually your upstairs neighbor. He lived directly above you, on the very end of the third story staircase.

Some nights, that was more apparent than others.  

Sometimes you’d hear loud singing at ungodly hours, but you didn’t even care, ‘cause it was funny to hear him awkwardly jamming out to his favorite songs. His voice would crack and he’d mess up the lyrics, but because he sounded so carefree, you'd just covered your mouth and try to stop yourself from laughing.

If you made a noise too loud, it’d be sure to sneak through your thin walls, straight into his apartment. It’d happened once before, resulting in him quickly cutting off his music and staying deathly silent. Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed his tip-toeing if his floorboards weren’t so squeaky.

“You’re not subtle!” you chuckled one day, calling up through your ceiling. Or his floor, depending on how you looked at it. 

The creaking stopped. “S-sorry...” he’d stuttered out in reply. His voice was kind of deep, but kind of not; stuck in a lovely, smooth baritone. Sometimes you forgot his face, but you always remembered the sound of his voice. 

It was hard not to when you could heard it coming through your vents everyday.

You couldn’t help but think that if it was anyone else, you would’ve complained about the constant noise, but with it being Hansol, it just felt like you got free entertainment, considering he said some pretty funny things, especially when he was muttering to himself in English.

Things had changed from that moment, though. You used to pass each other on the stairs every morning and at least give a nod of acknowledgement, but nowadays, he just ignored your gaze and walked past. 

Maybe you’d gotten too comfortable with the voice that seeped through your walls, and that scared him away. 

You tried not to let it get to you. You didn’t know him, he didn’t know you, so it shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You just lived in the same building—that doesn’t mean you have to be buddy-buddy with each other. 

You stood up with a huff, scooping up your jacket from the back of your couch. “You deserve a break,” you told yourself. You slipped on the old, worn jacket—the one with the holes in the elbows and the ripped up breast-pocket—and stepped out into the evening air. 

It was refreshing, looking out into the twilight sky and just taking a moment away from your piled-up work. It crossed your mind for a moment that maybe you didn’t save your progress, but you also weren’t prepared to go back in and check. 

You’d just have to pray that nothing blipped out. 

You put your hands in your pockets, pleasantly surprised to find a pair of knotted-up earbuds in there. As you walked along the street, you tried to untangle the spaghetti-like wires. 

“Got it!” you cheered to yourself when they finally unfurled. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, throwing on your Mellow Jams playlist. You had a playlist for pretty much everything, but this was your personal favorite for walks. 

It cleared your head; made you calmer. 

You walked along, dragging your fingertips lightly across the cracked up brick wall beside you. You felt each of the grooves and nooks, a different sensation with every step forward. You tapped your fingers along to the beat of your music, following with gentle fingers. 

You could just barely hear the sounds of the outside world over your music, but it didn’t bother you. If anything, it added ambiance to your music. The sun was setting in front of you, you could hear cars zooming past, whipping up leaves in their wake, and you could hear your tapping. 

The wall came to an end, but your brows furrowed. Though the wall was gone and your hands had pulled away, you still heard a faint click-click-clack.

You turned around, but nothing was there. The sounds had stopped and there was no one else around. Nothing.

You shrugged your shoulders, continuing on.

You hummed along as Incompletion by A.C.E. came on, singing along every once in a while. You always sang better when there was no one around, nothing to make you nervous or self-conscious. 

Yet you felt a twist in your stomach; a coil of unease. 

The noise kept returning. Just in short bursts, but it was there, almost like it was matching your steps. When you walked, it walked. When you stopped, it stopped. You thought for a moment that you were just mishearing the sound of your shoes clacking against the pavement, but when you heard it go out of rhythm with you more than a few times, you knew that you were right. 

There was something there, trying to follow your steps in secret. 

You whipped around, your breath quickening. Nothing.

But you knew there was an alleyway back there, you walked by it and almost tripped into a pile of trash-bags by a dumpster. Anything—or anyone—could be lurking there. 

You turned around again, walking your normal pace. Just to see if the clicking would start again. 

Click-click-clack

There it was again.

You walked a little faster.

Click-clack-click-clack

You started running, one of your earbuds ripping out with a tug on your sleeve. You sucked in a breath. It hurt more than it should’ve, dragging against your earring as well. 

CLACK-CLICK-CLACK, louder and louder behind you; closer and closer.

You turned a corner, almost running straight into a streetlamp. You cursed at your unfamiliarity with the area. You ran farther and farther, faster and faster, trying to escape the clicking noise. 

You could hear it now. The shifting of clothing, the smack of shoes on the pavement, the panting of human breath. But why? 

You were terrified, but in addition... You were confused. 

You knew there wasn’t always a reason for people to do what they did, but you did wonder... How could people be so cruel? How could they just decide one day to ruin someone’s life? It scared you. It confused you. It angered you.

“Go away!” you screamed as you ran, your cold breath burning against your throat. “Leave me alone!” The screaming probably wouldn’t help you, but there was no reason not to try. 

You couldn’t help but noticed the fact that you were slowing down. Your legs felt so tired. Yet, like a nightmare, no matter how hard you ran, the bad guy behind you never slowed. Despite his labored breath, he still chased you, unrelenting. 

Unforgiving. 

Merciless. 

You felt a hand swipe at the back of your coat, causing you to gasp and speed up, as much as it tore your lungs to shreds. He never lost step with you, always a foot of two behind you. 

In a fit of adrenaline, you flicked that worn jacket off of your shoulders, throwing it behind you with a shout. You heard the foot steps stumble. You’d hit him. 

Relief washed over you as you saw a familiar orange light in the distance, reaching up four stories high. 

Your apartment complex. 

You rushed through the doors with reckless abandon, frustrated at the fact that doors were in great need of oiling. It opened slowly, so slowly that it felt like a slow-motion scene in an action movie. 

It didn’t have quite the same desired dramatic effect, though. 

“Help!” you shouted, the noise echoing around the lobby. “Help me, please! There’s somebody chasing me!” There was no reply. Though, what were you expecting? Most of your neighbors were farther along in age, and it was already rather late. 

You felt tears pricking your eyes. “Anybody!”

“Here!” you heard. Your head snapped to the staircase. There—standing in ripped jeans, a beanie and a baby blue hoodie—stood the boy with the face that was unfamiliar to you, but the voice that felt like a part of your apartment.

Vernon Hansol Chwe. 

Without thinking, you sprinted towards him, stumbling up the stairs. With worried eyes, he met you halfway, grabbing your arm to steady you. The both of you ran up and up till you reached the first door on the third floor.

Once you both burst past the door, he locked it behind you with the rusty old key he kept on his equally as rusty key-chain. 

He turned around to look at you, a cold sweat and his brow and his chest heaving. “What the hell was that?” he asked. 

You shook your head, your eyes still damp. “I have no idea,” you said honestly. “Someone was chasing me, and I...” Your words couldn’t pass your throat. You had no air left to use on them. 

Your knees shook, threatening to give out.

He saw you struggling to stand. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said comfortingly, his voice soft. He hooked an arm under your shoulder, letting you lean on him. He took your weight well, not a grunt in response. “Let’s go sit down, yeah?” he suggested. 

You nodded weakly. With gentle hands, he led you to his couch, complete with soda and grease stains. But throughout it all, it still felt like the most comfortable thing to you in the moment. If it wasn’t for the sweat sticking to your skin and the uneasiness in you chest, you might’ve fallen asleep.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as he let you down. 

He sat across from you. “Of course,” he said. His brows were furrowed with concern. “Do you know what happened out there?” 

You shook your head. “I have no idea,” you said, your voice coarse and scratchy. “I was going for a walk to clear my head and suddenly... There was this man following me. Chasing me.” Goosebumps raised on your skin. “It was frightening.” 

He reached his hand out, holding yours for a moment and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “It’ll be okay,” he said, giving a small smile. “I know it was probably really scary, but... Trust me. You’re safe now.” 

For whatever reason—maybe because his voice was engraved in your mind—you believed his words. “Thank you,” you said, smiling a little. “That means a lot. Thanks for coming to my rescue.” 

He shrugged. “It’s not a problem,” he said. He pulled his hand away from you, leaving your skin feeling a little cold. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You thought for a moment. The chill set deep into your bones finally came to your attention. “Coffee,” you said quietly. “If you have it.” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I have it,” he said. His smile was bright; laid-back in nature. It felt like looking at a child with no worries in his heart. His eyes twinkled with curiosity, promise and innocent wonderment, yet the person before you wasn’t a child. 

He was a young man. 

You could see that by the way his hands moved with gentle confidence, the way he took the lead when no one else could, the way he offered himself to service another, even though he wasn’t obligated to. 

He came back three minutes later with steaming mug. He cleared his throat. “I’m just warning you,” he started, “this is a very special type of coffee.” 

The way that he saved a stranger and let them into his home. It showed—to you, at least—that he was unselfish and mature. Though, that was just a hunch.

One you felt in your gut was correct.

You furrowed your brow. “Oh?” you said. “How so?” 

“It’s got a special flavor,” he said. 

You tilted your head curiously. “Where’s it from?” you asked. 

“Uh... Sweden?” he said, probably not meaning for it to sound so much like a question. “Yeah, Sweden.” He’d said it with more confidence that time. 

You took the mug from his hands. “You’ve got me curious now,” you said. You took a long sip, letting the warmth spread through your body. In moments, the flavor settled against your tongue, blooming into a familiar taste.

You chuckled, the chuckle slowly turning into a loud laugh. “This is just hot chocolate!” you snorted. “It's not even coffee!” 

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Okay, yeah,” he admitted, a small blush on his cheeks, “it’s not really a special coffee... I thought I had some, but it turns out I forget to get any when I went shopping.” 

You wiped a tear of laughter from your eye. “You are so chaotic,” you giggled.

“Yeah, I guess I am, a little bit,” he said, joining in on the laughter. He nibbled his bottom lip, as if questioning whether or not he should continue. “I know this probably isn’t the time or place,” he began, “but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your welcome party.” 

You stared up at him. “You were going to come?” you asked, a little shocked. 

He nodded shyly. “Yeah,” he said. The redness on his cheeks got deeper. “I just fell asleep and I didn’t get up in time.” 

There was a pause. 

You snorted. “That’s why you’ve been basically ignoring me this whole time? You were embarrassed?” you asked.

“Well... Yeah,” he stuttered out. “I made a present and everything.” 

Your eyes widened. “You made me a gift?” He nodded. You set your ‘special coffee’ on the table in front of you. “Show me!” you said, your spirits lifted considerably. 

He seemed pretty exited as well, the glitter returning to his eyes in full force. He rushed off to his room before returning with a gift bag, colorful tissue paper stuffed clumsily along the edges, peeking out of the top like rainbow vomit. 

He handed the bag to you, an expectant look on his face. “Another warning,” he said, “It’s a little ugly.” 

Carefully, your hands unwrapped the gift. When it was revealed, a gasp was unwittingly pulled from your lips. It was a vase, common as can be, but it was handmade. You could still see the divots from where it wasn’t smoothed out well enough, and there were a few fingerprints pressed unintentionally into the clay here and there, but it was beautiful nonetheless. 

Another thing that made him an interesting person. 

The time and thought that he took for a simple gift.

It was painted with messy, poorly blended colors and it had no set direction for what kind of scene it was trying to set (the most you could tell, it was supposed to be a sunflower field), but you felt your heart warming just by looking at it; holding it in your hands. 

You gaped at him. “You made this?” you marveled at him.

He nodded, the bashful grin never leaving his face. “Yeah!” he said. “I take a lot of random classes around town, and this pottery one had us do this as an art project, and I thought the new neighbor might like it.” 

“You’ve gotta take me one day!” you said without thinking. “Take me to the class!” 

You stifled a laugh. “No, of course not,” you said. “Just a hangout between neighbors.” 

His eyes widened for a moment, but then he just smiled. You could’ve sworn that the light in his eyes swirled with excitement, making a few loop-de-loops around his dark orbs. 

“Sure!” he chuckled. “We’ll go together at some point.” He froze, realizing how it sounded. “Not like a... Not like a date or anything,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that at all.”

It was a strange feeling. 

Just half an hour ago, you’d been terrified and running, possibly for your life. But now? You felt at peace. You felt happy. You felt warm and protected. 

You felt like you were being showered with light, and it was all coming from his wide, toothy smile. 

You held your crappy, poorly-painted vase with the utmost care, because you knew you were going to treasure it for a long time coming. It had been a while since someone made something for you, and it just so happened to be your adorable neighbor, Hansol. 

All you could think was, 

“What a relief it was him.”

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I am so soft for this idiot, and I hate myself for it... 

I hope you liked it, Saturn, and I hope it was exactly what you needed!! Can’t let those Vernon cravings get out of control~  I love you and I hope this finds you in good health, ye-who-has-little-immune-system.

#for saturn #Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen vernon #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #vernon choi #chwe vernon #chwe hansol #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst #request #reaction #requested #this is really cute

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Winner

Title: Winner

Pairing: Dean x Reader (Platonic-ish)

Word Count: 1586

Square Filled: Beer

Summary: Playing cards with friends is one thing. Playing cards with ONLY Dean Winchester is a whole different thing, especially when one of his favorite card games happen to be strip poker. Mix that in with a little beer and nudity, and you have yourself one very entertaining night!

Warning: 18+ ONLY BLOG!

Written for: @spndeanbingo

Disclaimer: Not my gif.

A/N: This was inspired by @covered-byroses’ fic, Poker Night. It’s so good, and you should definitely give it a read! In fact, read all her stuff. It’s all amazing! For my fic, the theme is similar, a line is similar (prompt), but everything is still completely different. I’ve talked to her and asked for permission, also gave her the opportunity to check it out first to see if it was okay, and she gave me the pass! So I’m glad about that. Anyways, read mine then read hers, or vice versa. You won’t regret giving her fic a read! I PROMISE! Happy Reading!

It was that kind of night. Beer and a little poker.

There were empty beer bottles littered atop the war table and it had been hours since Sam had gone to bed, but you and Dean were too competitive to stop now. You were determined to win back your lot, and Dean was just having too much fun taking all your money and giving up all of his chores.

“Three aces,” you displayed your cards on the table, confident in your hand as you took a sip of your beer.

You noticed Dean’s lips tighten, knowing that was a tick of his when he knows he’s lost, but suddenly that twitch turned into the smallest of smirks and you knew you were done. Before he could even show you his cards, you were already groaning in defeat.

“Read it and weep it!” He sang, snagging your beer from in front of you and taking a sip. You and the Winchester’s were best friends, so sharing wasn’t uncommon. In fact, you almost shared everything other than your clothes, toothbrush, and Dean’s pie. When it came to pie, it was always off limits.  

“This is bullshit!” You whined, taking back your drink before falling back on your seat and sinking into it a little. “You’ve got to be cheating!” You pouted as you drank the rest of it.

“Sweetheart… I don’t cheat. I’m just that good,” he smirked. “Anyways… baby needs an oil change tomorrow,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re ruthless! First I have to clean the bathroom, dust the archives room, make dinner for a month, do your nasty laundry for a week, and now change Baby’s oil?” Dean couldn’t help but grin at your use of his precious car’s name. “Why couldn’t you come up with something like, a foot massage, or I get the couch on the next hunt? You know something not so laborious. Something simple! Why couldn’t I just buy you a pack of beer?”

“Fine, how about this,” Dean started, “if you can beat me in the next game, I will trade all of the chores in for that foot massage… but if I win, then we play another round however… we’re playing strip poker.” He winked, sending heat to surface all over you body. “Unless you’re too chicken?”

It was lame and immature to be provoked by something as childish as being called a chicken, but you were so adamant on getting your life back that you were willing to do anything. You’ve beaten Dean a handful of times, so it wasn’t impossible. You just hoped that God was on your side for once.

“Game on, Winchester!”

“Atta girl!” He cheered, rubbing his hands together before scooping up the cards and shuffling them several times. When he felt they were properly mixed, he let you cut the deck.

Dean grinned at you the whole time he dealt the cards. You returned his stare with a hard glare of determination. You were going to win this round. You had to win this round other wise, you’d have to do all those chores! And you knew that when it came to that damn Impala, Dean would be breathing down your neck, complaining and constantly telling you how to change the oil in his car, which was incredibly infuriating. You knew how to change oil! You knew how to fully service a car, yet he still insisted on going on and on how to do it. The last time, you threw a wrench at him!

As you rearranged your cards in your hands, you thanked the heavens for the possibility that they were on your side and that you could actually win this. “Full house!” You spread your cards on the table.

“Ooh, damn! Shit, all I got was a… four of a kind!” He cooed, doing a little awkward dance with his arms and hands.

“What?!” You gawked. “Ugh!”

“So… ready for some strip poker?” He teased, his stupid cocky grin plastered across his face.

“I need another beer. No I need two beers. Actually, I need to be shit-faced for this,” you mumbled, getting out of your seat and into the kitchen. You came back out with a full pack to share with your opponent.

The game, like most of all the previous games, was not turning out for you. At this point, you were feeling a slight buzz from the bitter drink. Dean was left in a white shirt and his jeans, while you were down to your crop top shirt and panties, currently wishing you had worn more layers.

This time you dealt the cards, making sure you shuffled the them well enough that Dean wouldn’t be able to get a decent hand. You watched as his face remained stoic. When you saw your cards, you literally had nothing. All you had was one Queen of Spades.

“Alright, shoot,” you told him, anxious to see what his hand was.

“Ladies first.”

“How about we reveal it together?” You bargained.

“Okay. Let’s do this. We’ll both show our cards on three,” Dean suggested.

“Fine,” you agreed.

“One. Two… Three!”

You and Dean counted in unison and then flipped your cards at the exact same time. “Highest card!” The two of you shouted in unison. Scanning over your cards, you noticed that he had beaten you by a higher card. The damn guy had a fucking King of hearts!

“Are you kidding me!” You shouted while Dean laughed, pumping his fists in the air and stomping his feet.

“Go on. Take something off! Take off the shirt!” He chuckled.

You tanked the rest of your beer for some sort of relief, comfort, or maybe some ample amount of confidence, but when nothing changed, you cringed. “I can’t,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around your chest.

“Oh c’mon. It’s just a bra. I’ve seen you in your bra before,” Dean confessed.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the man incredulously. “When?” You demanded to know.

“Uh… that’s not important. Now, are you gonna take off an article of clothing or are you admitting defeat right here and now? Because if you are, I’d like to throw in a foot massage in addition to everything else.” He taunted, knowing how easily you got riled up. Your competitiveness was too easy to manipulate.

“I don’t have a bra on,” you mumbled, cheeks flaring up.

“What?” Dean asked, unable to understand you clearly.

“I don’t have a bra on!” You annunciated every words a little louder, embarrassed and irritated that you had to say it again. Dean’s forest-green eyes widened as they subconsciously fell to your covered chest. “Dean!” You scolded, shielding your arms over your breasts.

Shaking his head to rid his lewd thoughts, his eyes caught yours again. “How about this; if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” he grinned. “But then again, if you’re too chicken, I get it. Not everyone got big enough balls to play and finish strip poker.”

You glared at the green-eyed hunter, snatching the rest of his beer and swallowing it all down. “Bite me, you prick!” Your snarky comment made him chuckle, but his eyes never once left your form. He knew he could get you to do it and without him knowing, you actually kind of wanted to. You wanted him to look at you, drool over you. You wanted him to remember this moment; have it etched into his memory so that he could tuck it away and think about it later, during those lonely, frustrating, nights.

Slowly, you reached for the bottom hem of your shirt, taking a deep breath as you lifted it up. Dean’s mouth went dry, his eyes soaking up every inch of skin that was being revealed to him. He was about to see you topless, which made you both nervous in different ways.

Once the shirt slipped passed your head, hair falling from the neck hole, you noticed the way Dean just stared. He didn’t try to be modest about it. He just stared, mouth slightly hanging open before he licked his lips.

“Now those are nice,” he complimented, his eyes fluttering up to meet yours before winking. “Think I can take a picture for later?” he teased.

“Dean!” You chide, wrapping your arms around your twin mounds. “I thought the deal was if I showed you mine; you’d show me yours. Now get on with it!”

Dean chuckled, lifting his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright! I’ll show you mine. A deal is a deal. But first close your eyes,” he instructed.

“Dean…”

“Just close your eyes. So I’m a little shy, shoot me.” You rolled your eyes before closing them, missing the smile on Dean’s lips. Dean wasn’t shy at all. Seconds later, Dean spoke. “Okay, open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes to see Dean lifting his shirt up over his chest. “What?” You questioned, thoroughly confused.

“You showed me your chest so now I’m showing you mine,” he sputtered, leading into a thunderous roar of laughter.

“DEAN!” You shouted, grabbing your shirt and hitting him with it, while keeping your other arm around your breasts. “You’re an idiot! That’s not how this works! Take off your pants! Take off your pants!”

Dean couldn’t help but let his full body laughter take control. There was no way he would be forgetting this night. And there was no way in hell he’d ever let you live this down. Dean was a winner!

--

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[trulycertain]

the spaces between

Something I wrote a little while ago. Jensen/Malik, huddling for warmth, and belated revelations. About 5.7k. Title courtesy of @themortalscout .

Faridah raises a brow, and tries not to stare. “Wow. Sarif always told me about that with the newer models. Never got somewhere cold enough to see it.” It comes out a little odd; her teeth are chattering.

Adam doesn’t say anything, just keeps steaming gently. It’s a lot more obvious now that he’s taken off the trench. The trench… which he drapes around her shoulders, tucks a little.

It’s the kind of little thing she’s still getting used to. He stopped being Jensen sometime after Frank hauled his ass back onto the grid and Faridah was so relieved she physically couldn’t speak. Or after they got pizza and she all but passed out on his couch over in Prague. He still calls her Malik most of the time, though, even while they’re obviously some kinda friends. Now it’s just with a smile and a tone like it’s familiar and comfortable.

She tries not to be embarrassed at the favour – he’s the one that looks like a dumpling left out in the snow, he doesn’t need it – and tugs the coat closer. “Thanks. But that’s not gonna help all that much. Look at it out there.”

He does, white snow reflecting off the shades as he glances out the window. Outside, the storm is howling. This place is all concrete, an old research lab that’s gone to hell since the Incident. And the systems janked out after the storm set in. Even Adam couldn’t haul up the doors, and they can’t do a system reboot from in here. No power. And that means no heating, either. But Pritchard has their coordinates, and that might be the saving throw. ‘Til then, though...

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she says, trying to sound light and not like her heart’s pounding in her chest. But hey, if it’s not slowing down, that’s something. Tells her she’s still alive.

He looks back to her, raising a sharp eyebrow of his own. Yeah, he knows what she means. “I’ve got thermal venting.” He lifts his arms just slightly to show the steam, like Sarif’s most awkward show model. Exactly like he never wanted to be. “I could...”

She says, “Just tell me we don’t have to get naked.”

He huffs a surprised little laugh, glancing aside. “Not if this works.” His mouth’s still twisting with a little embarrassment. It surprises her, the few times she catches glimpses of it; the tough-guy Detroit cop, and he’s… almost shy. He’s never seemed into the shitty locker-room jokes, even when he came almost fresh from SWAT and with something to prove.

“So we hug it out ‘til help arrives.” Her cheer sounds stretched thin but she tries to keep it. “Let’s do this.” She gestures to him.

“You sure?”

She smiles at him. “Come on, Spyboy.”

He crosses the distance between them, and then polymer arms are wrapping round her. There’s something slow and careful about it, like it’s the first days after the augs when she caught him with chopsticks and he looked like he wanted to head into a trapdoor straight through the floor. It’s a little like being hugged by a sandwich toaster, when you lift the lid: sudden, surprising warmth, all around her. If the sandwich toaster was six-foot-something and had myomer limbs. She feels the heat even through a padded flightsuit and a borrowed coat. His skin’s softer than she thought it’d be, though she can feel the scars just a little. And then there’s… She tries to stifle a noise, and fails.

“You alright?” Adam asks her, sounding worried.

She lets out the sneeze-laugh she’s been holding in. “Beard tickles a little.”

She realises belatedly that she can’t feel smooth lenses, and then remembers the noise she heard. She feels him smile, cheek shifting against her ear. Her heart clenches just slightly at that. He always holds himself back, always keeps his distance from everyone. She’s never touched his skin, not really. It was different when she maybe clasped him on the shoulder, two layers of flightsuit gloves against the leather coat, or punched him fondly on the arm.

He says, “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Soft, though. Thought it’d be scratchier. You condition it?”

He says dryly, “Mm-hm. Put in a little oil after. Kinda thought it’d all have frozen, by now.”

“Yeah. Keeping it short helps, but I was starting to figure my hair was a goner.”

Silence falls around them, and all she can hear is the howl of the wind, their soft breathing, the faintest sound of servos in his arms as he shifts position a little – she figures his arms can’t go to sleep, and then she realises it’s probably for her comfort rather than his. That makes a warm ache rise in her chest, spread a little. He has that effect on her. It started somewhere around Hengsha, and it’s never entirely worn off. She tries not to think about it, and fails. She feels his hand settle hesitantly, slowly, on her back.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” she says at last, soft.

He hums, and she feels it against her skin. “Yeah,” he responds easily. “When you said ‘come over for the weekend,’ I thought you meant hit a few bars, maybe get takeout.”

It’s the kind of thing she almost never got to hear on comms, when he was all business or dodging bullets. The hours between, though, the few times they ended up in the canteen, or on a long journey... She didn’t realise how used to it she’d gotten ‘til she left Detroit and started flying journeys and kept expecting the weird little observations, the gravel-rough sarcasm when someone had asked a stupid question. The silences would feel too loud when they didn’t come. Still do, sometimes. They’d known each other maybe a year then; he just used to be her tall dark and weird coworker. The one who’d helped her find Evelyn’s killer; the one who’d exhaustedly, silently snapped a candy bar in half and offered her some at 3 AM; the one who’d remembered every security guy by name and read Confucius and was trying to save the damn world. Weird, the way someone can mold into your life so thoroughly that when they leave it, they rip out a piece of it.

“What can I say?” she replies. “I like the rush.” It comes out shaky and unconvincing, not helped by the fact she’s shivering.

He sighs, chest deflating against hers. “I knew what I signed up for, Malik.”

“You signed up for a place with goddamn heating.”

His head falls onto her shoulder, and she feels a thin tremor run through him. He’s... cracking up, almost silently. He’s always had a kinda weird sense of humour. They both do.

   A flash of lightning and then a clang, something landing on the side of the VTOL. She looks out the window, and meets a pair of shades.

She jumps. “Jesus, Jensen!”

She’s pretty sure anyone without augmented arms would’ve missed that jump. Or wouldn’t be able to hold on.

He gives an awkward half-smile – it looks a little weird with all the lethal black augs and the blood on his face and the fact she can hear bullets - and then pants through her infolink, “Sorry.”

She raises the doors, then, and she hears the clangs of him working his way back and through them. She says, “When you said ‘coming in hot’...”

He half-falls into the back and straps himself in, still breathless. She listens to him get his breath back. Doesn’t sound like he’s badly injured, at least.

She gets them the hell out of there, and then: “Jesus, Sarif gave you an Icarus? I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Neither did I,” he says, and sounds as surprised as she is, maybe amused. And then she hears a soft, deep sound, and his voice is rougher than usual when he says, “...I really am sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“I wasn’t freaked out. I was just… adjusting. To the new weight.” She realises what it is. “Stop laughing, Jensen.”

It’s not the polite thing of water-cooler small talk. It’s a deep, quiet sound, rusty like he hasn’t done it in a while. She hasn’t heard it before. It’s a little dorky, and she realises… she kinda likes it. She looks and he’s leaning on an elbow, hand against his face like that’ll make it subtler. He coughs, and sobers. “ Hell of a landing.” The confession’s surprising, somehow; he always acts like he just gets on with it, like defying death’s a fact of life. His voice is quiet, and he sounds like he didn’t mean to say it. “Malik?”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks. That was some flying.”

“Anytime, Jensen.”

   He says, “Heating, and usually a few more guys shooting at me. I kinda like the change.” He pauses, thoughtful. She knows that he’s trying to keep her talking and check the cold’s not making her stupid, and she goes with it. “The Collective suits you,” he says, eventually.

“And you. You seem - “ Happier is a relative term for a guy like Jensen. His life seems to hop from one disaster to another. But then, so does hers; she’s done some crazy jobs, especially since she left SI. Nearly died a few times, but so have all of them. And he seems more exhausted than ever. But… She realises she means Less hung-up on Megan, and shuts her mouth. That’s not something she can say. Maybe not ever. But she remembers the way he’d go quiet, or the way he’d say Megan’s name. Remembers the first days when she’d catch him exhausted and staring into space in the back, looking like the world was one step from crushing him, and then he’d meet her eyes in the mirror and tuck it all back away. She doesn’t get those pained silences anymore, not when they’re around each other. “Better. Maybe. Would’ve been a different story if the Act had passed, for both of us.”

“Mm-hm.” He’s listening, though. She can tell.

“Heard you had a little to do with that. Jesus, how do you get yourself into this stuff?”

That smile, and he’s trying not to fidget. God forbid you ever give the guy a compliment. “No comment.” He turns his head toward her, just a little. “Heard the Collective had a damn good pilot in Pakistan.”

“No comment.” She pauses, and admits, “Always nice to hear it, though.”

He snorts. “Should say it more often. Pretty sure I wouldn’t be alive without how you fly.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be here without you.” It comes out too earnest, and she wants to pull it back. Instead she makes herself follow it through. “Hengsha was… I still remember how close it was.”

She hears him swallow. “Hm.”

She remembers him appearing next to the cockpit, asking her breathlessly, “You alright?” while she tried not to stare at the blood on his face and the way he was obviously wild-eyed behind the shades.

“That was the first time I saw you in action, after the augs. Really saw.” And she can feel him tensing up, knows that if they weren’t in a freezing room he’d be making an excuse to pull away and hunt through the lockers by now. “You were kind of amazing. And that was after Evelyn... And now we’re here in some damn shack, just because you wanted to do me a favour.”

She feels him shift back, and her heart sinks; she knows she’s said too much. She’s about to apologise, but then he’s looking at her - intent, gold rings shifting in his eyes, and the words die in her throat.He says, “What else was I gonna do?” The words are soft, and there’s something soft in his expression, too.

“You always come through for me.” She tries to laugh off words that taste too true. Because the alternative is dwelling on those nights where she figured that maybe if she’d just put up a fight, not done her job for once and said What the hell are you doing, you’ll die, he might not be at the bottom of the goddamn ocean. When she tried to move on and she always kept coming back to him. “So there was the time you disappeared off the grid for a year. But that wasn’t exactly your fault, huh?”

He puts a hand on her arm, surprising her. His hands are warm, always warmer than she thinks they’ll be. “You still found me.”

“Pritchard did that. He just gave me a GPS marker for the hideout.” She tilts her head, and tries, “Coat looked pretty expensive. Figured I had to give it back.” She gets halfway to a smile, but damn it, she can’t do it. All these times they’ve talked around it, tried to make jokes about it, and she can’t. Not today, not here. “I thought you were – Jesus, Adam.”

She suddenly feels the weight of all those nights, and all the times she was certain that she’d screwed up and she’d let another friend die; that hell, maybe she was a curse. All those times watching him try to get some sleep in between missions, watching him mourn Megan, watching him stay still when someone made a comment about the augs and curl up on the inside. Him offering to help her with this like it was easy – the same way he always tries to help out every time she sees him.

He stares at her. “Faridah...”

She swallows. Looks away. “How’s life in Prague?”

His hand twitches on her back, and she knows he’s thinking of making an issue of it. Instead he moves forward and tucks his head on her shoulder, eases her back into his arms. “Quiet. Quieter than Detroit.”

“You picked up any new Czech?” She’s been trying to teach him, as much as you can by infolink; she’s done enough jobs in Europe that it’s come up. Still isn’t half as good as him sitting on her couch, stumbling through words and scratching his beard and looking like he wants to die a little but he’s glad she’s there. They don’t get to do that enough.

He sighs. “I’ve got ‘Where are the cigarettes?’ and ‘Coat’s not for sale.’ Tokyo?”

“Pretty good. They’re less brutal on augs than a lot of other cities. Keeps things easy.” She remembers last week, and snorts. “One of my friends over there, she tried to set me up with some pilot from Beaumont Shipping. Looked like he’d been surprised too.”

He feels his fingers shift and tap on her back, and he exhales. “How’d it go?”

“We ended up buying each other a drink and talking for a couple hours. Mainly about how we were too damn busy to date anyone.” She laughs a little. “How about you?” She suspects she knows how it’s going, from the times they’ve seen each other; Adam’s still keeping to himself, still getting the occasional solitary drink and then heading home to fix something. “Fighting off the Czech ladies?”

It’s his turn to huff a humourless laugh. “Yeah, they just love the crazy American aug who’s never home.”

“Come on. You’re a good guy, Jensen. And kind of funny, once a year.”

He only moves his head a little, but she feels him pretend to glare at her, and that fast-stifled half-smile.

She exhales. “I know you’re playing dumb a lot of the time. Get why you had to, with Sarif, but I’ve seen your notes. And I remember the time you fixed up that pocket sec for me.”

   She falls asleep on the couch next to him while he’s still working on it, fingers glinting in the light. Slow, careful, the way he always pretends not to be. She wakes up with the blanket from the back of the couch thrown over her, tucked in at the edges. And she’s spread out a little while she was asleep, but she guesses he’s just kept working... ignoring her feet in his lap. And hey, it’s comfortable and his thighs are aug-toasty and he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so she stays where she is and lets herself wake up a little more. He’s looking at her, that same uncertain scared-softness in his face, eyes a little gold in the dimness. Like he’s wondering something.

She sticks her head out from under the blanket, knowing her hair has probably gone crazy.

He pauses, swallows. “Hey.” He swiftly turns his head and gets back to work.

And later, he does the same for the night, in a worn old shirt that has ridden up a little, black and gold feet on an arm-rest. They’ve seen each other maybe five, six times since Detroit, and at her place he always insists on taking the couch, or the floor, like him spending a little time with her is inconveniencing her. She’s passing to get her stuff to head to bed, and she pauses. His toes flex a little, and there’s a soft whirr of servos as he shifts in his sleep. For a second she sees the old scars on his skin under the shirt, how different his face looks when he isn’t holding himself back or pained or pissed-off.

Sometimes she forgets how damn handsome he is. Before, he was mourning his ex and they had a damn job to do, and a lot of the time he still acts like he’s a blunt instrument, hides behind the shades and the grunting and tries to make himself less human. But times like this, with his hair in his face and the beard getting stubbly and him breathing softly, she suddenly sees who he was before he came to Sarif.

It was a strange enough in-between feeling in the back of a VTOL, but this is… more. Not like just hanging out with her coworker.

She runs a glass of water and wonders at the weird ache in her chest. Because she isn’t used to seeing him like this, she guesses. But suddenly it feels like it would be easy to get used to it... like she’d like to see it more often. She wonders why it feels like it’s almost enough – and that thought’s too much, aches in a way she just can’t afford to think about. She shakes her head and goes to bed.

   He snorts, and somehow she knows that he’s looking away. He shrugs, just a little, trying not to jostle her.

It’s easier to say these things when she doesn’t have to look at him. “And you’re kind, when you’re not riling Frank up. Reliable.”

That laugh of denial, but she feels him tense, feels him get serious again. “And you’re not?” he says, desert-dry. He exhales, then, hand shifting on her back. “When I came back to Sarif, everyone treated me like I was a freak or the new show model.” Sometimes, times like these, he can’t hide the bitterness. “You were the only one who asked if I was alright. Nearly bit your head off for it.” He moves, and he must be looking away. “You saw... me. Felt like you liked what you saw.”

They’ve had their share of comfortable silences, but this one… isn’t. It’s surprised, curious. She isn’t sure he meant to say that, from his uncomfortable stiffness. He doesn’t talk about this stuff, not with more than ten adjacent words - unless he’s drunk or it’s been a damn close mission, or he’s so tired he’s practically drunk.

“I didn’t mean, uh...” He clears his throat. “I’m just saying, the queue in Tokyo should be round the block. Get the time constraints, though.”

“Yeah, Interpol must be pretty busy.” She considers leaving it there and getting them back to safer ground. She means to, honestly. Maybe any other time she would’ve; without being too close to him and too far away, without another year of chewing it all over, without him exhausted on her couch, without him freezing with her and telling her he doesn’t understand why people don’t wanna date her. She says, “I remember the first time I saw you.”

His head tilts, just a little.

“I was heading down to the coffee machine in the lobby – you know, where they put the actual good stuff, for the visitors.”

“Mm-hm.” It’s soft, amused but wary. He’s obviously wondering where the hell she’s going with this. That makes two of them. “Colombian.”

“I’d been flying all night and half the morning. I needed some damn sleep, but I figured I might survive another hour to get home on good coffee. Had to take the train. And… you know when Renee used to work at reception?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t. You must have only met her a few times. Before you worked for SI. And I’m walking past, and there’s this cute guy talking to her. And he smiles at me, that polite smile you do when you accidentally made eye contact and you don’t want it to be awkward. And it’s nice, you know? He looks nice. And I’ve gotten to the coffee machine when I hear Megan come down, and… I don’t even know why, she must’ve gotten out early.”

“Anniversary plans,” he says, softly, like he’s realising it as he speaks. “We were going out for dinner.” She can feel him looking at her. “...That was me?”

“And I don’t know, I think she said your name and I was like, oh, this is the mystery guy. The cop who made her a coffee table and put a bow on it.”

“She told you about that?” He mutters, “Was easier than figuring out flatpack.”

“Uh-huh. She always told me it was a good coffee table.” She swallows, and tries to find her courage. “And she says his name, and he just… lights up. Subtle, he smiles like a cop, but you could see it. She walks over to him and he hugs her, kisses her, the whole nine yards. Looked crazy about her. And I forgot about it, but a couple years later Sarif introduces our new security chief, and he looks familiar. And I realise, ‘Oh, that’s the guy on Megan’s desk pictures.’”

“And you figured I got the job cause of Megan,” he replies, with a bitter half-laugh. “Yeah.”

“No. I just remember thinking that the man I saw had looked so… happy, and you looked like you’d had it beaten out of you. I wondered where that guy had gone. Wasn’t my business, we didn’t even know each other. But I realised pretty quickly… you were still in there. Even after the augs. And I liked both the guys I’d met.”

“I don’t… Malik...”

She means to explain. What comes out instead, soft and raw, is, “I did.”

“Hm?”

“I did. Like what I saw.”

She feels his surprise, feels him tense up against her. “Huh.”

She remembers thinking one day that she got it, whatever had led Megan into their… thing. Why Megan still looked at the guy like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

She doesn’t know when; could’ve been one of all those little acts of kindness. Could’ve been the first time he smiled at her, really smiled at her, not the tight smirks of completing a mission and getting out alive: kind of toothy, sharp white against the beard. Could’ve been the first time after the augs he took off the shades, like he wasn’t just waiting for the next fight or infiltration, and she got to see the eye crinkles that went with it. Could’ve been the time she landed and found him on the street, talking to one of the women from Hung Hua, telling her that he got it, that augs should always be a choice, that he hadn’t got the choice either, that it was gonna be alright, all gonna be alright. And Faridah pretended not to hear it.

   “How the hell… I heard what Sarif said. Sandoval was gonna shoot himself.”

It’s 3 AM and for once they’re the only people in the cafeteria, not even Frank or R&D heading down for all-nighter snacks. They’ve got a flight in fifteen minutes, and she has to ask.

He ducks his head. “Before SWAT, got sent to a lot of domestic stuff.” He scratches his beard and leans his arms on the polished table, smiling wanly in that way that isn’t really a smile at all. “Knew half the people in that neighbourhood anyway, but… they said I was pretty good at talking people down from the ledge.” He gestures at his face, his other arm, and the smile turns false. “Guess that was before I got these."

You still are, she thought, and she didn’t just mean that. She meant a little of everything. You still are.

   “Faridah,” he says softly, carefully, and she feels it down her spine. She’s never heard it like that. When she doesn’t respond, he says, “You’re right, Interpol is pretty busy. But it was more… I wasn’t looking for anyone in Prague.”

Shit. Here’s where he says something polite, something about how they can stay friends, something about Megan. This is him letting her down gently. Because the other option is that that gentle, rough tone is...

She stares at his tacvest, because she’s pretty sure this can’t actually be happening. Something like a year. A damn year. He’d have done something by now. He’d have… She tries to find something casual to say, something that won’t be… dangerous. “I know, things with Megan were still pretty...”

“I don’t mean her.” And he sounds like he actually means it, like it’s easy. “I… started thinking, in Prague. After we met again. Started to realise a few things.” He breathes, and maybe it shakes a little, and she thinks that in all the time she’s known him… she doesn’t think she’s ever seen Adam actually scared before. Maybe once, when he was heading to Omega Ranch and he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t just find a body, that he’d get there too late. Never like this. Never soft-voiced, hand too-still against her back like he’s ready to take it away, like he figures she’ll tell him to get the hell away from her. “I thought maybe… you might be realising them too.”

   She stares at him - relieved, pained. “Jesus, it’s good to see you again.”

He stares back, wide-eyed, through long, wild hair and a too-long beard. The worst thing is, he still looks pretty good, because he’s Adam. Or maybe because she’s that much of an idiot. He puts aside the stun-gun he was checking. “Malik?” And just for a second, he forgets to put the privsec mask on, and it’s all stunned relief. “Did Pritchard - ”

“Yeah, Frank had to tell me. I thought you were dead, Jensen.”

“I...”He shuts his eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. We couldn’t get comms in Alaska, but after – I should’ve said something.”

She’s got pretty good at keeping her eyes dry over the years, so she’ll be taken seriously in a flightsuit, but she damn near breaks. “Yeah, you should’ve.” She breathes, and tries not to be angry. There really weren’t comms in Alaska; Frank said it was a miracle he could get through. She tries to clear her head. “Here. I kept it, because I thought maybe… I don’t know what I thought.” And she thrusts the coat at him. It’ll be weird, not having it folded somewhere in the back of the VTOL like an unlucky charm. “Just in case.”

He unfolds himself and climbs to his feet, slowly. Tilts his head, in a little disbelief. “I figured you’d have forgotten.”

She realises, then. Jesus Christ, Adam. Her anger cracks and shatters. She raises the trench a little. “This, or you?”

He opens his mouth. Blinks, and looks away.

She crosses the space and hugs him, then. He draws in the smallest, startled breath. Then his arms are around her, too, his hand settling on her back, and his head falls onto her shoulder. “Thanks,” he says, in a breath, and holds her tight. Somehow, it feels like a life she thought was gone.

   “Adam...” she manages.

“Unless I’m wrong.” He swallows. “Pritchard’ll be here soon. Could kill the time playing I Spy.”

“Adam. You’ve got the craziest timing. But you’re not wrong.” She hears his drawn-in breath before he tries to hide it, feels his sudden stillness. Suddenly she needs, more than anything, to look at him. “You’re…” She snorts. “You’re really not wrong.”

He breathes out, heavily. He says, “First time I saw you fixing up the bird.”

“Huh?”

“Sometime after you came to my place in Prague. Guess there must have been SI engineers before, or I was dodging bullets. I’d never seen... And you were smiling. Like you were home. And I thought... she’s something special. Wish I could tell her that. And I realised that I wasn’t just… thinking it without thinking. Realised I was wondering. You were half-out of the flightsuit and you were covered in grease, and your hair was crazy, and you were…” He inhales and says, in a breath, “...you were beautiful.” She feels him shift and turn his head, eyelashes brushing her cheek. Feels the warmth of his breath.

She takes his arm, feeling the warmth of the augs and the faintest hum of Sarif tech, feeling his surprise. Jesus, he’s warm. Her hand slips downward until her fingers are on his, augs against gloves. She laces their fingers together, and he exhales, with that surprise again. This time she moves back, too, just enough to look at him.

He’s getting those particular frown lines between his eyebrows, when he’s worried as hell. The shield-ports just draw attention to them. He looks at her, eyes wide and green, face even paler than usual. Some part of him’s already resigned to rejection, like always – and that’s too much for her to stand around and take. He must see something in her face, some part of the wait, don’t go she’s feeling. He stares at her like he feels it, like he’s just starting to realise… His gaze traces over her eyes, her mouth. And then it lingers there.

Her heart clenches. She knows she’s gravitating toward him, can’t stop herself. He leans in, slowly, eyes constantly snapping back to hers like he isn’t sure of his welcome. His free hand comes up under her chin, gently raising her head -

- and then he’s kissing her. It’s soft and brief and dry, the barest breath against hers. She feels the slightest brush of beard, and she thinks his hand’s trembling, just a little; she didn’t know the augs could do that. It’s the furthest thing from the gruff shadow who came back to SI and pretended he didn’t have time for people. She tightens her hand against his and kisses back. She feels more than hears his surprised, delighted little noise. She kisses him with at least a year of confused, crazy longing, and he opens up and breathes with her, hand shifting, spreading against her cheek to bring her closer.

He pulls back first, breathless. He blinks at her and looks a little like someone just EMP’d him, or like he’s wondering if that just happened, too. She knows the feeling. He looks at her like he’s drinking her in.

She breaks first. She pulls him back and kisses him, and he responds in kind, hand clenching against his borrowed coat – like it’s the last chance they’ll get, like she’s not gonna see him for months while he goes off to try and get himself killed. I figured you’d have forgotten. Like hell that’s gonna happen again. She can take the extra flights, he can meet in the middle, they'll work something out.

“Faridah,” he pants against her mouth, “when did…?”

She hangs onto him, while she can. “I don’t know. Guess I was a little too busy flying you out of the fire to think about it. And I figured… there was Megan, and you were still in Europe. Figured it was never gonna happen, but I had a friend, and that was enough, right?”

“You too, huh?” And he almost looks like he’s gonna crack up at that, but it’s too sad. He looks down, consideringly, and says, “There wasn’t exactly much time to – Shit.“

Frank’s voice crackles to life in their infolinks. “Where are you two? This says you’re in some kind of remote… cabin.”

They sigh.

“Laboratory,” Faridah says, at the same time Adam does. They glance at each other, briefly. He’s still a little flushed. She says, “This is where the labs are. You think the weather’s clearing out enough for an exit?”

Frank hums. “I think you can try. The systems were failing from the… unexpected conditions, but I’ve got the weather doors open.”

“Thanks, Pritchard,” she says dryly.

There’s a pause over the comms. An assessing kind of pause. “...I don’t want to know, do I?”

Adam grits his teeth. “Francis...”

“Right, then that’s a no.” Frank cuts off the call with his usual fanfare.

Faridah can’t help herself, then: she laughs, head against Adam’s shoulder. She looks up, and he’s watching her, eyes so soft she has to stop a second and look back. She suddenly wonders how the hell he kept tucking this away, how she never noticed. Maybe it was the shades.

She says, “I think I’m gonna be all right for the walk back.” She steps back, and braces herself to freeze. “Here goes.” She starts walking, and he falls into step with her, a comfortable shadow a little way behind. It’s only when they reach the doors that she pauses. “Shit, I forgot.” She lifts her hands to the coat…

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be all right.” He looks down to the augs, where there’s still the faintest steam, then back to her, significantly. “Looks kinda cute with the thermalsuit.” He gives her a half-smile and a tilt of his head.

She shakes her head back, appalled, and grins.

He grins back, like he doesn’t even mean to: wide and kinda dorky, eyes crinkling. She’d almost forgotten what it looks like; in fact, she’s pretty sure she’s never seen this one. She’s... really glad she has now.

Yeah. They’ll work something out.

They head out into the storm, and he leans into her just a little, and not even the cold can dull the warmth in her chest.

#faridah malik #adam jensen #adam jensen x faridah malik #deus ex mankind divided #deus ex #my fic

[darkelfshadow]

Session Summary - 80

AKA “Oyaviggaton - The Island Of Eternity”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 80  (Date: 6th March 2020)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

Absent Players

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Rob>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Sunday, 21st Pharast in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Spring.

- The party begin this session, on the dangerous remote ice lands of the Sea Of Moving Ice.

- Through good luck, the party have managed to locate the large plateau, having randomly picked the right direction to travel. They clean up after their last battle and the party is thanked by the lone tribal ice hunter they saved from the Polar Bears. The hunter gives a carved bone pendant of an animal totem to Ragnar, who places it around his neck, proudly displaying it.

- The party continue walking towards the enormous plateau and reach it an hour later. Stretching far beyond their sight to the left and right it raises one hundred feet above them, the top almost lost in the snow. A small raised shelf on the ground level has numerous tied up canoes, and a large skeleton of a whale is visible. The bones of the beast show large teeth and claw marks.

- The party look silently at the dead whale and the gigantic bites marks on the bones. Trenchant whispers out what everyone is thinking, “Dragon teeth marks.”

- Seeing a well made set of stone and ice steps carved out of a natural chasm in the cliff face, the party ignore this and instead use Trenchant’s Levitate ability to have him take each member of the party up, one by one, and well away from the stairs. They have to leave their Charmed Polar Bear behind as he is too heavy to lift up.

- At the top of the plateau the party find a rugged, uneven and broken landscape filled with rock outcrops and large mounds of ice. The party walk around the top of the plateau for some time, keeping near the edges, until they realise with horror that most of the ice mounds are filled with the dead frozen bodies of dozens and dozens of victims. Men and women of different races, some warriors and some simple folk, but all killed without mercy. Frozen forever.

- With a somber air, the party decide to head into the centre, where the faint smells of cooking oil drift on the winds. Sneaking through the snows and ice formation, the party come across a village of tribal ice hunters set in an enclosed and protected area with larger rocks. The party watch for some time, and observe a seemingly normal village with people going about their daily chores and children running about playing.

- This is not what the party expected. There appears to be no aggression going on, and there isn’t even a proper guard on duty. All the villagers get on with each other in a pleasant and cooperative manner.

- The party huddle up and decide what to do.

- Sir Korndor looks around, “Right group. What’s out plan?”

- Gim speaks, sharpening his axe, “Simple, we go in, kill everything that moves and then find this Maccath lady.”

- Naillae speaks, “Hang on, we can’t do that. Those people aren’t evil. There are children here too!”

- Varis speaks, “Those people could be working for the Dragon. We should sneak in and not reveal our presence. See what’s in that large hut.”

- Gim speaks, “Yes they could be working for the Dragon. So we go in, kill everything that moves and find this Maccath lady.”

- Trenchant shakes his head thoughtfully, “We know nothing about this village but something weird is going on. They are making way too much food for that size village. And we kept seeing them bring food into that large hut in the centre of the village. Where is the food going?”

- Sir Krondor nods, “Yes, we need to find out what’s going on. We have to be careful.”

- Gim nods, “Right, they’re acting suspicious. We go in, kill everything that moves and then find this Maccath lady.”

- Everyone turns towards Gim and glares. Labarett speaks, “That would be no. We wait for night, go in, we talk, we determine what these people are up to and their connection to the White Dragon and Maccath.”

- Everyone turns away from Gim and begins to check their gear. Under his breath Gim mumbles, “I thought it was a good plan.”

- The party wait until nightfall, which in this far northern land turns out to be nothing more than a dimming of the sky as this part of the land at this time of year does not truly have a night.

- The party walk to the village and their presence immediately draws the men of the village who shout out in their strange tongue that none in the party understand. Soon most of the village stands looking fearfully at the strangers to their village. When the Chieftain of the village, Barkingseal, sees the animal totem worn by Ragnar he begrudgingly speaks to the party in broken common and agrees to let the party in for a meal and to stay for one night.

- The party catch the eye of a plain but well dressed female, the village Shaman, Bonecarver, who can strangely speak common very well. As the party try to get away to somewhere more secluded to speak to the Shaman, a large behemoth of a man walks up to Sir Krondor and grabs his shoulder. This giant speaks out in the local tongue and Bonecarver translates that he has challenged Sir Krondor to a one on one duel to prove his bravery.

- Sir Krondor accepts the duel, the terms of which are no outside interference or help, and no magic. Soon most of the village surround the party and make room for a duelling area which Sir Krondor and the giant Ice Hunter, Orcaheart, stand within.

- After Orcaheart nods his head to his opponent, he rushes in and the battle starts. Sir Krondor and the giant man trade blow for blow, each refusing to yield and each holding nothing back. The villagers are shouting and cheering for both sides, as each gets a successful hit.

- Sir Krondor is brought down as Orcaheart tackles him down to the snows, then dropping his simple spear starts to punch into the Dwarf’s head again and again.

- Sir Krondor, his head spinning, reaches out blindly for his shield and grasping it, swings it round to smash into the giant hunter’s head, knocking off him.  Both of them get up slowly and arming themselves anew continue the fight.

- Orcaheart is quick, and sneaky, his skill with the simple spear is remarkable, the weapon almost appears to dance in his large hands. But Sir Krondor, trained Knight Of The Anvil, brings his superior training and knowledge of battle to bare, and in the end knocks Orcaheart to the ground with one final blow to his head.

- Immediately the village explodes in cheers and clapping, shaking Sir Krondor in a show of respect. Bonecarver, administers healing to the Orcaheart and the injured hunter gets up and walks over to Sir Krondor. Orcaheart smiles, a tooth now missing from his bloody mouth and speak, “Unna ca hak, tu in hina. Maki”

- Bonecarver smiles and translates, “He says you are now his worthy brother.”

- Sir Krondor smiles and bows his head, bringing his battle axe up to his head in salute. Orcaheart steps towards the Dwarf and before he knows what is happening almost crushes him in a friendly bear hug.

- The party now follow Bonecarver into her private large hut, filled with brewing supplies and equipment. Various potions line the shelves. She explains to the party that the village is under the watch of the “Old White Death”, the White Dragon known as Arauthator. The people were forced here by the dragon and they must do his bidding or else be killed. They grow food for him and his helpers, Kobolds, Ice Trolls and blue frog like creatures that the party are not sure exactly what they are. They now call this place “Oyaviggaton” which in their language means the “Island Of Eternity” because of the many victims that the Dragon has frozen on the plateau, to be on display forever.

- Bonecarver tells the party she had a vision they would save the village but the Chieftain does not believe the vision and will not risk any more lives of his people. He intends to tell the blue ones about the party in the morning and they will be taken and captured, so as not to anger the Dragon. Bonecarver reveals a hidden pit and stairway in her hut, that leads down into the ice caves below and eventually into the lair of the “Old White One”. She begs that the party free her people. She confirms that the “Horned Lady”, which must be Maccath, is down below somewhere.

- The party accept some potions from Bonecarver and then make their way down into the ice caves. The floor is very slippery and the they are having trouble walking about. The walls here are carved with beautiful and detailed imagery, showing scenes of dragons. Whoever carved these walls was an artist of some skill.

- Exploring the many rooms and passages, the party come to a large chamber where a group of sleeping Kobolds rest peacefully. The party sneak in and begin butchering the unarmed and sleeping Kobolds. The small, defenceless creatures awaken and try to flee but the unrelenting party show no mercy, cutting down the unarmed small creatures. They kill all but one, who manages to flee, screaming in terror at the brutal slaughter.

- The party start to search through the belongings of the dead Kobolds and find no weapons or armour, but instead carving utensils and artisans tools. A quantity of tusks are found, each carved with the same intricate and skilled level of detail as shown on the ice walls all around them.

- The party look around at each other. Labarett speaks,  “I think we just killed a bunch of unarmed artisans.”

- Naillae looks pale, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

- Trenchant speaks, “We keep doing this. Are we the bad buys? Are we racist against Kobolds?”

- Ignoring the moral dilemma for now the party continue searching and discover the Kobolds are wearing leather thongs and straps with small animal beaks inserted into them on their feet to help walk on the icy ground. The party strap these to their feet and can now walk easily.

- Before they can leave however, two Ice Trolls walk into the chamber and a battle ensues. Though large the creatures are very dumb and the party quickly bring them down, using fire to stop the trolls from regenerating.

- They continue exploring the ice caves, coming to numerous caverns. One of which is filled with frozen animals and creatures that show obvious injuries from a large beast, like a Dragon. These frozen animals are displayed like trophies. When the party see a reassembled wooden sailing ship, with a large open chest filled with treasure, they do not touch it, suspecting a trap.

- Continuing to explore they eventually come to a well lit room with a colourful tent to one side. But before they can investigate the unusual presence of this tent, they are attacked by two more Ice Trolls. Once again the party finish them off and keep the creatures down, thanks to using lit torches, but how many torches do the party have?

<And as the party stand over the two dead trolls, fire burning the creatures, that is the end of the session.>

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- “Not all who wander are lost” Reach Oyaviggaton = 500 XP

- “Danger is the source for prayers” Enter Ice Caves without alerting Arauthator = 3000 XP

Creatures Overcome

- Kobolds = 500 XP

- Ice Trolls = 7200 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

- “I’m not left handed” Accept & Defeat Orcaheart in a Duel = 500 XP <Sir Krondor only>

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start +  Received = Total  (Notes)

Rob : 96918 + 2000 = 98918

Arthur : 78186 + 1200 = 79386

John : 71302 + 1200 = 72502

Travis : 88641 + 1600 = 90241

Paul : 77517 + 1600 = 79117

Bob : 83945 + 2500 = 86445 (Level up to Level 11)

NPC (Naillae) : + (800)

#D&D #DnD #5th #5e #ROT

[turquoisephoenix]

Perfect Chemistry

A Skylanders one shot

Dr. Krankcase/Mags. All it takes is a slip of a tongue and before you know it you're accidentally admitting that you have romantic feelings for your best friend from Inventor's School.

The sun was already setting in the cloud-filled horizon of Skylands, distant clouds on the western horizon glowing like fresh coals in a burning furnace.

Just this morning, Skylanders Academy - beacon of hope, symbol of virtue and peace in a turbulent magical world littered with monsters and villains - held a giant celebration to welcome four new Skylanders into the fold. While it was common for someone courageous enough to be made a Skylander (Master Eon was never considered very picky about who he granted the title, provided the recipient had proven themselves worthy of the title) was what made this day special was that it heralded the end of an evil chapter. The end of a nightmarish era.

Four of The Doom Raiders have given up crime.

After several years performing community service and training under the watchful eye of Master Eon and his most loyal followers, Wolfgang, The Golden Queen, the Chompy Mage, and Dr. Krankcase were now all considered fit to rejoin society and were all awarded new jobs as both Skylanders and teachers at the Academy. The Doom Raiders as a villainous organization had now ceased to be.

Some of the members of the Academy wished that it was all of the awful criminals - Chef Pepper Jack, Dreamcatcher, and The Gulper were all considered to be at large and major threats to the peace that the Skylanders upheld - but this was still considered a major victory to celebrate. It proved that evil could change, even if it took several years of sorting through books at a library to do so.

And with their newly awarded freedom - and their declaration that they would never use their powers for evil ever again unless they want a life sentence in Cloudcracker Prison - the Academy threw a party in their honor.

And boy, what a party it was. Even as the sun was setting and the hours were winding on, the party showed no signs of slowing down and looked to be rising to a fever pitch, with everybody in the Academy taking advantage of the excuse to eat as much food as they could, dance until their feet felt ready to fall off, and talk to the new members of the Academy staff while under the influence of caffeine and various snack products. The enchilada sauce flowed freely, as did the music from several local bands. The kitchen fires burned around the clock just to supply enough refreshments to everyone who showed up.

One ex-Doom Raider, however, wanted a break from the celebrations. Dr. Krankcase, tray of party favors still in one hand, kept glancing out the window and at the setting sun as if searching for an exit. That isn't to say he had fun today, of course not, but while his former partners in crime were still taking the center stage, either through queenly proclamations that they declare their powers to be a rightful force that will make all the bad guys tremble or through unprompted guitar solos that shook the dust off of the Academy's foundations, Dr. Krankcase was now just hanging back near the back of the party with Mags and her friends. Mags was the only non-Doom Raider he knew at the party, after all.

Mags had noticed that Dr. Krankcase was giving subtle hints that he no longer wanted to be there anymore, even if he refused to say so out loud. She had known him for so long that she was able to pick up on the tiny cues that he gave when it was obvious that he was no longer having fun at a social gathering, especially one that was filled with questions from future coworkers. His jokes became just a little more forced, his body language became tight and more hesitant, his eyes kept searching for possible escape routes, and his smile had turned from something bright and cheerful to something that had the grimace of a caged animal.

He seemed too afraid to leave on his own, possibly in fear that someone would somehow find it suspicious and immediately take away his recent accolades and throw him back in Cloudcracker Prison (anxiety was funny like that) so when Mags suggested they head over to her workshop, he practically jumped at the opportunity.

That's what friends were for, right?

"Man, thanks for saving me back there, Mags. I'm not used to so much festivity and merriment thrown in my direction." Dr. Krankcase said as he entered Mags' workshop, breathing a sigh of relief as his legs clicked noisily across the floor.

When the ex-Doom Raider had last visited her workplace, there was so much stuff on the floor - wrenches, half-finished blueprints, cans of oil, that sort of thing - that he had such a hard time getting around and instead stood awkwardly in a corner. Now, there was a clear path cutting through the place, the organized chaos instead being pushed off to the sides where they couldn't get caught on his spider legs. He appreciated the gesture. With how well his cybernetic wooden legs worked, a lot of people forgot that they were still considered mobility aids and that he couldn't stand in places that people with two legs could.

"Aww, it's no big deal!" she said, hanging her silly stovepipe hat on a stand near the door. "Although personally I think ya were doing a great job with all them questions and-" Mags stopped herself the moment she saw her partner follow her lead and also remove his hat. "...Cranberry, are you wearing a toupee?"

The mad scientist looked up, radiating a similar aura of a dog caught with a stolen bagel in its mouth, and smiled sheepishly. There was an unfortunate blue hairpiece perched on her froggy companion, several shades darker than the actual hair sticking out on the sides of his head. His face began to turn pink as he looked away from her.

"Well...you know, I wanted to be prepared in case some accident knocked my hat off during the party! You know how it goes. I didn't want my new coworkers to see my massive bald spot, and...well..."

He trailed off, realized how lame he sounded, and ripped the hair piece from his head as he immediately gave up. His massive bald spot, normally hidden by one of his many tall hats of choice, now glistened in the workshop's lighting.

"So yes, yes, I'm wearing a very bad toupee," he held it away from him between two pinched fingers in disgust. "A very damp one at that!"

Mags put a hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle as he unceremoniously chucked the hell toupee in a wastebin. "Ya wanna relax while I get yer gift ready? It'll take a couple minutes to get it set up and ya look like death there, buddy."

Thankful for the invitation, Krankcase flopped on a dusty old couch that Mags kept in her workplace, his legs curled up like a dead spider as some of the legs pierced the worn out arm rest. His modified body shape was good for standing but not so much for more leisurely poses; couches were now the preferred method of relaxation over a chair. He stretched, his back and neck audibly cracking, as a lazy smile spread on his face. "Don't need to tell me twice, Mags."

He listened to her leave into the next room and allowed himself to gaze around the area. He loved that Mags' workshop was like an extension of herself. Most of the space in her workshop was dedicated to her profession, with wrenches and blowtorches and screwdrivers hanging on the walls, but on occasion he'd spot something like a kitten poster or a little ceramic puppy hanging out alongside cans of oil or belt sanders.

There were almost no hints that Mags had originated from the Underlands - a place where vampires, werewolves, and zombies lurked in dusty ol' crypts and mansions - except for one aging photograph that showed her standing next to her parents and five other siblings. Even in the photograph, her parents looked like they were glaring in disapproval at the legless amphibian laying on their daughter's sofa.

But then, as he was left to his thoughts and as he studied Mags' knickknacks and workshop decorations, the butterflies in his stomach returned anew, this time bringing forth the bubbling feelings he kept suppressed. His smile slowly morphed into an uneasy frown as he began to fiddle with one of his bottom tusks. Ah yes, that was a problem. He wasn't sure what caused it - what made his brain flip the switch and change his thoughts into something more potent - but lately he's been having feelings for his best friend. Somehow it almost felt criminal.

'No, don't make it awkward...' he told himself, dragging a hand across his face. He couldn't say it out loud, but he loved Mags. He loved everything about her, her bubbly, positive personality, her immense knowledge in everything science. He loved her accent, the way she would crack a silly joke even in the face of danger. He loved how excited and loud she would get when she was getting close to a breakthrough in an experiment. He loved the way she smiled, the way she still was friends with him even after all the awful, evil things he's done in the past. He even loved her stupid hat, even if he thought his taste in headwear was far superior.

And he was absolutely afraid of ruining all that by saying the wrong thing. What if his tongue betrayed him in the worst possible moment and he said what he was really thinking? Would she hate him? Would he lose his best friend over some stupid emotions?

"Here it is!" Mags cried suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts. Almost guiltily, Dr. Krankcase scrambled to his feet.

Nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

"Mags..."

Standing before him, next to a very excited Mags, was an exact double of the wooden legs that were holding him upright. He slowly walked over to it, his arm outstretched like a sleepwalker, until his fingers grazed the top of it. It was made from the same wood and everything, and all the bolts and joints were at the exact same size. She got the measurements down exactly, when he didn't even build a working blueprint for his wooden spider legs.

"You...you built a replica of my legs?" he asked, leaning forward to examine it even more closely. He lifted a leg up and started testing the joints, then he moved one of his own legs next to Mags' gift and eyeballed the two inventions together, admiring Mags' handicraft. There was absolutely no difference, beyond the fact that only one pair of legs had a Dr. Krankcase sitting in them. It was unbelievable.

"They're not functional, before ya ask. You're still the only one who can bring this type of wood to life. But this has been a little pet project o' mine that I've been fiddling with over the months. I'm slowly learning how yer legs work so that, if something...you know...were to happen while you're out on a mission doing heroic, dangerous things, I could help repair them. It just seems like something to ease your mind just in case something terrible happened."

Krankcase was speechless. After spending an entire day keeping up appearances and trying to play it cool, he lost his composure.

"Mags..." he paused to take a deep breath. Words were suddenly catching in his chest. He ran a hand down his face as tears caught in his eyes. "No one's ever offered to help me like this before."

Mags elbowed him playfully, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aww, it's such a small gesture for the man I love."

Time seemed to stop for both of them. It was the tiniest slip of the tongue - something that Dr. Krankcase thought he misheard - but, like the wrong ingredient thrown into an alchemist's pot, there was an immediate explosive response and suddenly everything in the recipe changed.

"I MEAN-" Mags began, her face instantly turning beet red. She began to gesture wildly with her hands, emotions suddenly flaring up. "Aw shoot, I meant that in a platonic way! I didn't mean it like as in LOVE love, that would be real awkward ta just spring that on ya just now, aw diddly-di-darn, I mean, some things just slip out, boy howdy, I've been working so late and I'm tired andand-"

"Mags! It's okay!" he shouted. Inwardly, as he watched her fidget nervously, he noticed that Mags' accent got even thicker when she was flustered. It was adorable to him, one of the many quirks that made her beautiful in his eyes, and something about it made the ex-Doom Raider feel bold.

He was a Skylander now, after all. Skylanders were supposed to be flexible and adapt to any situation.

"To be quite honest, I love you too."

It was a shot in the dark, one that made his mind scream out in anguish for letting such an important secret out, but it had the perfect effect. Mags didn't tell him that their friendship was now over, she didn't react in disgust at such a display of utter pigheadedness from some frog with a doctorate degree. Instead she froze in place and stared at him blankly like a newborn fawn.

"Wait, you...you do?"

He nodded.

"...Really?"

Her voice sounded so small, so fragile, so unlike the Mags he's known for so long. That's when it hit him. Gears spinning in his head, his eyes fell back on the replica of his own mechanical legs, the result of months of studying his own handiwork just so he would never have to worry about an injury making him unable to repair his legs himself. He wasn't the only one hiding secret affections for a best friend, too afraid to speak up in fear that it'd just alienate the other person and their long-term friendship would be ruined forever.

Dr. Krankcase and Mags were the two smartest scientists in all of Skylands, capable of bending the very fabric of reality with their inventions, and yet both of them were unable to see what was developing between them.

Without thinking, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed her close, burying his face in her bright purple hair. He felt her flinch, but then her hesitation vanished and she relaxed in his embrace and put her arms around his waist.

"Really." He replied back, trying to imitate the dashing hero in a romance novel. His attempt at being suave failed instantly however as his bottled-up emotions overwhelmed him. His voice ended up trembling and the tears he was holding back began to fall on her head. A weak sob escaped his lips and his body shook. He wasn't sure if this was real or not.

"I just didn't think..." he paused as words were getting harder to use. "-you'd want someone like me."

Mags didn't respond as she rested her head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat flutter anxiously. She didn't have to ask what he meant. She had frequently checked up on him while he was doing community service and on occasion he'd tell her that he was afraid that them continuing to be friends would tarnish her reputation. After all, she was a hero of Skylands while he was a disgraced criminal. She helped people, he hurt people. She saved the world from destruction, and he once built a doomsday device. Their friendship persisted, but lately, he was voicing his doubts more and more.

'Because he was falling in love with me,' she realized as she remained pressed up against him, breathing in the wood chip and hint of acid smell that lingered on his clothes. Dr. Krankcase's hug lingered; he was so touch-starved that he was almost afraid of letting go, in fear that this golden opportunity would slip through his fingers.

He was always like that, she mused to herself. Doubting himself and his ability to live up to her achievements despite looking outwardly prideful. Even when they were alumni at the most prestigious inventor's school, Krankcase was afraid that becoming friends with her would reflect badly on Magdalena Sibylla-Bronwen Soulstealer the II, daughter of one of the most famous vampires in the Underlands.

"Of course I want to be with you. I'd be fine living the rest of my life with you if I had to." she said softly, arms still around his waist.

She loved Dr. Krankcase, she could finally admit that to herself. She loved everything he was, every little piece of his maniacal personality, his talents and strengths as well as his flaws. She didn't mind at all that he had creepy spider legs. He was a cunning scientist just like her, a man of alchemy and engineering, and also a fearsome warrior. She almost felt a little guilty for admitting this, but she even loved his time as a villain, if only because it made his current achievements that much richer. He was once evil, but he also had the strength to realize what he did was wrong and pull himself out of his wicked mindset.

At those words, Krankcase's mind started to ponder the possibility of spending the rest of his life with her - would they get married? would they have kids? - and something about it activated his deep-seeded anxiety and his body went into fight-or-flight mode. He instantly pulled away from her, an action so swift that Mags nearly fell over, as he tried to slowly walk backwards out the front door. Everything was happening too fast.

"You know, Mags. I should...I should get going." he said, panic flooding his voice. "T-Thank you for the present, it was...I'll be real, it was the best thing I've ever received in my life-BUT I think I've stayed too long, I'm kinda making things awkward right now, I don't want anyone in the Academy to get any ideas and start talking-"

Mags approached him swiftly, her hands gently resting on his shoulders, stopping him from running away. They made eye contact and for a brief moment, neither of them spoke as they both gazed into each other eyes. Without realizing what he was doing, Krankcase leaned forward until both of them felt each other's breath on their face. Two of his spider legs adjusted themselves so that they were on opposite sides of her own, gently framing her with his own cybernetics.

Mags drew herself to her full height. Now it was her turn to be bold.

"Let them talk."

And with those words, she pulled his face towards her's, fingers caught in his fluffy blue hair, and gave him a kiss. It was clumsy, a sloppy first attempt from a scientist so inexperienced in romance that most of her experience - save for the time when she dated Cali for a brief couple of months - came from TV shows and crinkled paperbacks.

But like most of her science experiments, it had the desired result. He leaned into her kiss and they both melted into each other, savoring the moment. Dr. Krankcase put a hand behind her head, running his fingers in her purple hair. When they finally pulled away, both of them needed some time to catch their breath.

"Wow..." was his only reply. It snapped him back to his senses; the panic was gone and he was back to his charming self.

Then, his mouth curled into a wide grin, his bottom tusks framing his lovely set of fangs.

"Well? Did it work? Did I turn into a prince?"

It was a dumb joke, but it also broke all of the tension that was hanging in the room. Mags immediately started cackling like a hyena like it was the funniest joke she's heard in her life, leaning her head against Krankcase's chest as he too started laughing.

"Sorry! Sorry! It was the perfect moment-" he tried to explain, but he was cut off when Mags jokingly punched him in the arm.

"You're such a dork!" Mags shot back.

Krankcase quietly embraced her again, leaning his chin on her shoulder. Even without his face visible, Mags could feel the grin that was spreading across his face. She smiled back. To both scientists, everything outside of the workshop was now forgotten. The party was forgotten. All fears of gossip were forgotten. All that existed now was their beautiful romance blossoming between the two of them like the most wonderful result of an experiment.

"Yes but I'm your dork."

#skylanders #dr. krankcase #dr krankcase #mags #Mags (SKL) #krankcase #turquoisephoenix tells a story #fanfic #shipping #romance #the two dorks finally admit their feelings