#I initially spelled prompts wrong. can I die

[ongreenergrasses]

short little prompt fill for @shatterthefragments, i hope you enjoy!

She wakes up with something sharp poking into her back and winces. Joe hushes her.

“Come here,” he says, and she burrows a little more closely into his side. There’s barely enough room for them both to squeeze in behind the filing cabinet. Nile doesn’t know how long they’ll have to stay there. Long enough for everyone in the building to leave, and they’ve already been there for hours. She doesn’t remember the last time she slept in a bed.

She feels Joe press a kiss to her temple. “Go back to sleep,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Nile wraps her arms around him a little tighter and shifts again. There’s still something poking her in the back. She tries to ignore it. She can’t.

Joe starts gently stroking her hair, and she huffs and settles a little more. “Back to sleep,” he says again, and this time Nile does fall asleep, snug in his arms.

#shatterthefragments #the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #joe al kaysani #nile freeman #joe x nile #short and sweet was the name of the game with this one! I hope you like it I’m off to bed #and your first and largest request is coming don’t worry. it’s on the docket for this weekend once I take a behemoth break bc I take #weekends off with the behemoth #I might call it pink moon actually. simply bc I just listened to the song pink moon #prompts #I initially spelled prompts wrong. can I die

[littlefreya]

Velvet Chains

Summary: For a generous fee, August Walker is yours. A man devout to pleasure, who will worship you for an entire night and make sure your first time is more than memorable. 

Promot:  

 A thought - August as a gigolo who specializes in deflowering. 👌

Pairing: Soft! August Walker x Virgin Reader.  

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+. August Walker as a sex-worker, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a depiction of bodily fluids, soft!August themes, a tinge of angst and August’s monster c... 

A/N: When I received this prompt, I didn’t think I can actually do it justice, but it was 3am and I started dabbling around. Then in the morning, I took another look at it, and this little drabble turned into a one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, I hope I did well. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my muse who beta’d my story. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed reading. 🖤 DM if you want to be added to my tag squad. 

Title: Velvet Chains

They were all little flowers to him, fresh peonies and flushed roses. Young or mature, it never mattered as long as they were still oh so pure. Undefiled, succulent flesh. Kissed by dew and wrapped by the last remaining petals of their innocence.

All for him to willfully pluck.

Sprayed with notes of tobacco, and boozy fragrance of rum - August Walker was the top-tier kind of service, a man to die for with his three-piece suits and shiny leather shoes. At one point he didn’t even need to self-promote; they came to him, all doe-eyed and coy, willing to pay as much as it takes to have him breach through the sealed gates of their garden.   

The rules were quite simple: Cash in advance and always wear protection; other than that anything goes. August liked to see himself as a procurer of fantasies rather than a male prostitute. For a generous fee of $1500, his girls earned themselves a night they never forgot. Whether it began with a dinner at the most outrageous restaurant, a masked ball at a billionaire’s mansion, or an intimate evening with his homemade cooking at a cosy sublet. 

It was up to him to choose the experience for the ladies after thoroughly assessing and profiling each client. He was never wrong; after all, it was his job to study women, both mentally and physically. 

“I know what you need,” he would murmur as he kissed down their navel and swept between their shaky thighs. And in his grip they indeed laughed, cried, and came undone so many times over, reaching out to grasp heaven around his unapologetically huge cock.  

Until you changed everything. 

August couldn’t quite crack you; while he enjoyed, savoured, and conquered every woman he had, it was you who seemed to have more power over him than he did over you. The quiet abyss in your eyes reeled him in like an unfortunate, foolish fish teetering on a hook. Whatever mysteries that mind of yours held, he wanted to pry it open with his fingers and brush them through the parchments of your soul. 

He desired you more than just the flesh; he wanted to be deeper in you than he ever was in any other woman. 

‘Who are you?’

Shivering in his presence, it was crystal clear that you weren’t immune to his spells; yet you didn’t seem impressed by the theatrics or his suave appearance. As if you saw right through him, and knew it was all but a spectacle.  

Wanting everyone to witness your ‘claiming’, he took you to the dimly-lit roof of his private apartment and laid you on a blanket beneath the beaming stars. When his lips touched yours while slowly ridding himself of his clothes, August felt like he could tell you his most kept secrets though he didn’t want to. 

This is not how it worked. Not for him. 

Sorrounded by the fairy tea-lights that adorned the intimate rooftope, you flinched as he began undressing you, and trembled so vehemently once completely bare that all he wanted was to embrace you in his big arms. And he did so, collecting you against the dark fur of his chest, the heat of his body provided shelter from the cold October breeze.

“Beautiful,” he whispered sincerely and allowed his hands to roam the tender map of your body. Likely, he would never see you again, so he wanted to remember every curve, dimple, and scar; he needed your moans imprinted in the museum of his mind. 

The same desperate, breathless pleas only a virgin would make, purer than pure.

Breathing in shudders, you laid down beneath him with your legs spread out. Your little untouched slit displayed to his hungering gaze, asking to be reshaped by his intrustment. August was never one to lose control, but your entire existence has made him question every decision and in a moment of frivolousity, he lost himself completely and broke the most forbidden rule: 

He entered you bare. 

Painfully large and hot as flaming iron, his rigid cock tore through your maidenhood and delved into your velvety pit, desperately searching for the engulfing shelter that was your womb. Weeps of pain rained down your lips; he was too big, and he didn’t slow down. He unwrapped you, tearing your rose petals one by one, sinking in until you could have sworn he was infused between your lungs. 

Overwhelmed by the raw sensation of your wet flesh engulfing him, August raked his arm around the small of your back and held your body against his, forcing you to spread wider, to grant him the infinite access he demanded.

“Look at me kitten,” he murmured in a half-breathless, half-soothing voice and showered hasty butterfly kisses across your forehead, “I’m inside you. It’s done, now let me please you.”

He seared your body, your sensitive entrance pulsating with a twinge of grieving anger around his veiny cock, your walls squeezing, fighting off his lewd intrusion. While you anticipated the pain, the initial shock was too much to bear. 

“I don’t think I can take you,” you retorted and swallowed hard, trying not to cry as he swelled and flinched inside you further more.

August reached a hand to your jaw and caged it between his strong fingers. Not saying a word, he stared intensely into your eyes. Smoke and broken mirrors shadowed his glare. In your daze, you swore you could see his reveries and hear him whisper without moving his lips. 

The barriers of your guarded castle were in ruins, and so was your self-preservation. Fully submitting, you allowed him to take you beneath the shimmering, black silks of midnight. 

August was both gentle and rough as he rode between your thighs, his heavy body surrounding you completely. His entity seeped through your lungs and pores, his bewhiskered mouth left sloppy, ticklish kisses and chanted a hymn of pleasure against your neck. 

For a slight moment, you wondered if he was this passionate with all of his customers. But all thoughts died at the moment his crown slammed into the wall of your womb, and the entirety of your existence was flooded with both the tremors of sudden pleasure and satisfying pain. 

You wanted more, you wanted to be complete. To be completely his.

“Oh god, yes!” You cried for him, clawing your nails at the taut muscles of his back.

Grunting, he plunged into you, harder with every pull and deeper with every thrust. He sought for heaven between your legs and as inexperienced and naive as you were, you followed your instincts and complied to his arousal. Bucking your hips, you yielded to meet the jerk of his hips - your rhythm a savage mess, your demeanour that of a virgin-whore. 

“Good girl, my good girl,” August praised, thrilled of the shift in you, and by the helpless, glossy gaze and gaping mouth as you moaned and begged. Your freshly open cunt clung to his invasion with its growing tightness. Holding onto him the way the moon is bound to earth.

Control was gradually lost over your own bodies, enslaved to something stronger than your wills and wits. It was as if you became vessels to haunting spirits that made you slam into one another, lost in a sweaty, carnal trance until a flush of sudden rapture broke between your legs the way raging waves break upon a ship lost at sea, consuming it completely.

Like a dauntless sailor, August followed you into the depths of euphoria. Jumping to his knees, he hauled you by the waist and slammed you against him, needing to be balls-deep within you. With a loud shout, he came undone, astonished by the raw, unbridled sensation of releasing himself inside another person.

You both shuddered in shock as his thick cum bathed your womb in three, warm gushes. 

‘Oh, August, what have you done?’

Spent, he nearly collapsed on top of you, holding his hands flat to the side of your head. He took a deep breath before pulling out from your hurting hole and moving to lie by your side. The pink mixture of your essence trickled between your simmering lips just the way it coated his still-swollen cock. Glancing down upon it he felt an odd notion of triumph, more than the usual complacent feeling usually evoked with his clientele. 

“Don’t worry, I am clean.” He promised. 

In a way, you were his first as well.

Pulling you against him, he nuzzled your neck and hummed lowly, “I don’t imagine you could give me anything.”

Still trying to land back on solid ground, you said nothing. Words didn’t make it, not through your chest nor your head. You basked within the moment, trying to memorise every vibration that flowed through your veins as the glow became dimmer with every passing minute.

Limbs entangled, he decorated your shoulder-blade with honey-sweet kisses while your spine attached to his hairy chest. He watched you quietly, admiring you completely until the two of you fell into a dreamless sleep under the guarding sky. 

Come morning, August was awakened by the sounds of the raging street below. The scent of toxic vapours hung heavy in the air and his face curled at the sounds of the beeping horns. For a moment, he forgot where he was but then you were the first thing on his mind. Even though he knew the deal was for one night only, something in him itched for a generous ‘on-the-house’ lazy morning sex.

As he rolled to lie on top of you, his chest felt abruptly empty. He was met with nothing but the defiled blanket.

You were gone.   

Though the scent of your body, your sweat, and viscous fluids were still stuck to his skin, your memory a sheer piece of silk carried away by the cruel wind. The weight of a thousand stones dropped in August’s gut and he flipped onto his back once more and stared at the cloudy sky. 

It resonated in him that this was all that it was, and he would never find a girl like you again.     

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

*I don’t own August Walker or the Mission: Impossible Franchise

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill x reader #august walker fanfiction

[ernmark]

One Possible Read of The Green Knight

I say one possible, because this is the story as I understood it as I was watching the film. When I mentioned it to my partner, he didn't take that away. I'm not saying my take on it is right or wrong (I think it's hard to say that about most reads for a movie like this), but I submit it for your consideration.

(Spoilers and a fairly thorough plot summary under the cut)

(Holy moly this got long)

A brief caveat:

Caveat the First: I'm basing this off a pre-existing understanding of medieval stories, which don't necessarily follow the same narrative structures as modern ones. The world they lived in was weird, so sometimes weird shit just happened for no reason, often very conveniently. (If anything, I think this movie did less of that than existed in typical medieval stories.) They also heavily relied on archetypes rather than distinct characters with backstories, as well as a pre-established understanding of the story you're listening to. Like the puppet show that shows up in the story, the kids in the audience had already heard the story enough times that they could follow it without any actual words. On that note, I've also read a version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Caveat the Second: I immediately distrust anybody who talks about any story older than three centuries or so having an "original" version. There are some stories that have distinct authors, but often these stories were retold and rewritten to suit the tastes of their latest audience. So I refer to the version I read, not "the original". I take my reading of that story into my interpretation of what I saw. I'll note the details from the version I read where it's relevant.

The Story

We start with Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, waking up in a brothel with his sex worker lady friend. She sends him on his way back home to Camelot where his mother greets him and kindly asks him where he's been all night. Oh, off at Christmas Mass, naturally, is what he tells her. She counters that clearly he's been drinking all the communion wine, because she can smell it on his breath.

She tells him she's not feeling well, so he should go to the Christmas celebration without her and tell her all about it afterward.

[I don't recall hearing her name in the movie, but in the version I read, the Green Knight is sent by Morgana. Between his mother being described in dialogue as Arthur's sister and a known witch, I'm gonna run with that assumption and call her that.]

This is where my reading diverges: I take all of this as being almost entirely Morgana's story. And from her perspective, it's kind of hilarious. Because this isn't the story of Gawain's journey into Manhood, but of a very frustrated mother's attempts to save her beloved (if disappointing) son.

While Gawain is partying with the sickly King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, Morgana joins three of her fellow witches and they enact a spell, summoning the Green Knight and a very specifically worded challenge. The Green Knight presents a game: any one person in attendance may injure him and get his badass axe as a prize, but in a year exactly he'll have to go to the Green Knight's chapel and allow the Green Knight to return the exact same blow to him.

Arthur says he wants to do it, but acknowledges he's too sickly to do so. Gawain, already embarrassed once at this party, jumps up and volunteers to be his champion. And when he steps into the ring with the Green Knight, he cuts off his opponent's head. He'd think that was the end of it, but the Green Knight just picks up his severed head, reminds him of the deal to bring the axe back and let himself get beheaded in a year, and leaves.

[In the version I read, this was a ploy on Morgana's part just to freak out Guinevere. Seriously, that was the entirety of it. Just fucking with her rival/sister-in-law.]

In the movie, I got the vibe that Gawain was never meant to be in the line of fire. I suspect that either Arthur or one of his knights was meant to be the Green Knight's opponent, who would die after a year to get his affairs in order. Given that Gawain was Arthur's next-of-kin, that would have given him plenty of time to pass the crown to Morgana's beloved son. Unfortunately, Gawain stepping up messed up her whole plan.

During the intervening year, we see Morgana and the other witches working together to weave the Girdle of Invulnerability. As the name suggests, it's laden with magic to protect him from all harm and all blows from anyone. So long as he wears it, she explains, he'll make it home in one piece.

[In the version I read, the girdle is given to him by another woman later on at a weirdly convenient time. More on that later.]

Gawain barely makes it out when he asks directions from a young man looting the corpses on a recent battlefield. Being the idiot that he is, Gawain takes the young man's directions straight into a trap, where the young man and several other bandits are lying in wait. Despite his mother's assurances that he's invulnerable, he stands down immediately, allowing the bandits to take the Green Knight's axe, his Magic Girdle, all his money, all his supplies, etc.

During all this, three things happen: first, we see A Fox. Second, when the bandit takes the axe he goes all weird and runs off on the horse, forcing the other bandits to chase after him and leaving Gawain unobserved. Third, we get a weird vision of the future where Gawain remains where he is, tied up, until he rots away and he's left nothing but a skeleton.

My read is that The Fox is either Morgana or one of the other witches shapeshifted to keep an eye on him (alternatively, the fox is Reynard or a similar magical creature employed by them for the same purpose.) The Fox then enchants the bandit into running off with the Girdle and the Axe, leaving Gawain relatively safe. And when he fails to do anything with this spectacular opportunity, the Fox gives him the vision of what's gonna happen to him if he just waits around to be rescued.

Prompted to action, Gawain manages to free himself and continues his quest on foot. Eventually he comes across an abandoned manor. Inside, he meets a ghost who asks him to retrieve her severed head, which was thrown into the nearby spring. After some hemming and hawing, he does. When he returns to the surface with the woman's skull, the ghost is gone, but the Fox is watching him.

My take is that the ghost disappeared. They do that. The Fox, being sent to watch him, saw him actually step up and do a brave and selfless thing for once. This is what cements to the Fox that Gawain isn't a perennial fuckup, he's able to grow and mature if he's given the chance.

Gawain returns the skull to the rest of the ghost's skeleton, and he's rewarded by regaining his lost axe. (The axe placed there by the Fox, who took it from the enchanted bandit.)

So this is great, right? Gawain's fuck-upery has been cured and he's doing the responsible thing. Yay, right?

Except he's a fuckup who spends more time drinking and hanging out in brothels than doing Knightly stuff, so he doesn't know basics. Like how to start a fire or get food. Offscreen, Morgana must have been bashing her head into a wall, because her beloved son is going to get himself killed.

The Fox appears to him, and after his initial attempt to drive it off, Gawain lets it stay with him. From this point forward it stays by his side, not-so-subtly giving him directions and keeping him generally safe.

Later we meet some giants, because sometimes there are just giants. We don't question these things in Arthurian fantasy. Gawain asks them to give him a ride to his destination, but when one agrees to help him, he freaks out at the last second and refuses. The Fox speaks to the giant, quite possibly apologizing for its very rude human friend, and the giants go on their way without him.

Gawain is most of the way there by now, but it's late December in Wales, he's super cold and hasn't eaten anything but trippy mushrooms, he can't build a fire, he's been walking for days. He collapses, but the Fox urges him to go a little further and leads him to another manor house. Fortunately for him, this manor has living people in it, who clean him up, put him in a warm bed, and give him food.

We get a dreamy scene where he's being tended by his mother before he wakes up in the care of the manor. My read on it was that this manor and the people in it were sent directly by Morgana to save him. I don't think the manor was even there ten seconds before he collapsed the first time. Because Morgana loves her son, but he is REALLY bad at this.

Notably, it seems that the only people here are the Lord and Lady of the manor, as well as a blind old woman who seems to be the lady's maidservant and/or mother? Hard to tell.

Some flirting happens between Gawain and the Lord and Lady. The Lord of the manor explains that conveniently, Gawain's destination is only one day's walk away and he's several days early, so why not take some time to rest and gather his strength. The Lady shows off her library and her fancy daguerreotype-like mechanism, etc. The Lord suggests another game (mirroring the game presented by the Green Knight) : the Lord will go hunting the next day and give Gawain whatever he catches. Gawain will in return give the Lord whatever he gains throughout the day.

[In the version I read, this happens over the course of three days. Each day the Lord leaves, the Lady tries to seduce Gawain but he refuses, only accepting a kiss from her on the first two days; when the Lord returns with a hunted animal each day, Gawain gives him the kiss that the Lady gave him. On the third day, the Lady also gives Gawain a previously-unmentioned enchanted Girdle of Invincibility, which he neglects to pass along to the Lord, opting just to kiss him instead.]

In the movie, this is condensed into only one day. Gawain wakes up with the Lady creepily watching him sleep, wearing the Girdle of Invincibility that Morgana made for him. She invites him into bed and offers him the Girdle, reminding him that it can render him invincible. The scene gets a bit weird after that-- sex acts of some sort ensue, and the Lady walks away, leaving Gawain with post-coital shame and the Girdle.

Upset, Gawain grabs his stuff and makes to leave. Along the way he runs into the Lord in the middle of his hunt, and he declares that he's going to meet the Green Knight a day early. Citing their game, the Lord presents Gawain with The Fox (who is alive despite having been caught by a hunter, hmmm) and requests Gawain's "winnings" in return-- which he claims by stealing a kiss. I dunno about you, but it seemed to me that Gawain was Into It, at least before he remembers to be freaked out and runs off.

He's nearly at the place where he's to meet the Green Knight when the fox stops him. Now it starts talking, its voice shifting from masculine to feminine. It tells him that he's done a great job, and he can turn back right now and go home and nobody will know but the two of them. He doesn't have to go through with this. But Gawain, determined to fulfil his quest, drives the Fox off once again and goes the last bit alone.

Here he meets the Green Knight in the ruins of an old chapel, though because he's early the Green Knight is little more than a statue, awake but unmoving until the appointed Christmas Day. All the while Gawain just has to sit there and stew in the knowledge that he's gonna die. Finally the Green Knight stirs, asks Gawain if he's ready to die, and readies the axe that Gawain returned to him.

Throughout this, the light hits the Green Knight differently, making him look an awful lot like the Lord of the manor. After Gawain flinches away from the axe the first time, he speaks gently to him, almost tenderly.

[In the version I read, the Green Knight and the Lord of the manor are the same person, and the Lord/Knight is aware of Gawain's magic Girdle, because this was all an elaborate ruse. Because of Gawain's invincibility, the Green Knight only scratches his neck, permanently scarring him as punishment for lying about it and cheating in both their games, but doesn't hold it against him. Gawain then returns to Camelot and they keep the Girdle at the round table as a symbol that all of them have their failings.]

In the movie, Gawain flinches one more time. We then get a second very lengthy vision of an alternate future: Gawain flees the Green Knight and returns home, where he's welcomed back without external consequences. However, he's haunted by his own cowardice, giving up a difficult love in favor of living up to expectation, only to lose everything in the end anyway. His life following the cowardly route was longer, but it wasn't a better life.

He stops the Green Knight one last time, only to remove the Girdle and set it aside before declaring himself ready. The Green Knight is genuinely pleased by this, and he leans in and simply traces a finger over Gawain's throat, before happily saying. "Off with your head."

The movie ends there. Whether the Green Knight leaves him alive or kills him is up for interpretation. But even if the Green Knight wasn't on Morgana's payroll, I feel like he's way too fond of Gawain to do him real harm at this point.

And so Gawain has grown up-- he's brave, he's honorable, he's learned to keep his word and face the consequences of his actions. And Morgana, after some major struggles and a lot of called-in favors, has managed to keep her son from dying on his quest. Victory all around.

There's also an after-credits scene: just a little girl playing with Arthur/Gawain's crown. Notably, this little girl is neither of the children Gawain had in his vision of the cowardly future, so I interpreted it as a new future with a new child with potential all their own.

But that's just my take.

#gawain and the green knight #the green knight #arthuriana

[lihikainanea]

i wanna hear your interpretation of how bill would handle tigers anxiety spells. where she’ll be so anxious, she has trouble handling anything, especially intimacy. maybe it’s been a week since they’d even made out, he’s getting worried, and she even cries from how needy she is, but she’s so wrapped in her own head :(

oh goddddd my heart.

Listen, nani. LISTEN. makeout sessions are the best, you know? And Bill--big, sappy, lovesick Bill--he needs a makeout session at least once every two days or so. It doesn’t have to be planned, nothing too hot or heavy, just his girl on his lap with his hand up her shirt while a show plays idly in the background, getting the sweet sin kissed right out of him. Bill loves kissing, he always has, and kissing tiger is like his second favourite thing to use his mouth for on her.

And for as much as tiger need a good spanking every now and then to set her right--Bill needs a makeout sesh. It clears his head, gets him thinking straight again, helps him figure shit out.

But tiger’s anxiety is not only mildly unpredictable, but it’s also kind of cyclical. She’ll get caught up in circles with no way out, really. The affection is always the first thing to go--she’ll stop initiating it all together, really just won’t even realize that she hasn’t hugged him all day or that she didn’t kiss him goodbye when she left for work, or even that when she climbs into bed there’s like a metre distance between them and she doesn’t seek out his warmth. She doesn’t realize. He’ll only get a few small kisses if he goes in for them, but even then tiger squirms and starts to get uncomfortable if he tries to initiate a little more. Intimacy is probably hard for her under any circumstances, but when she’s this caught up with anxiety? it’s almost impossible for her. That side of her just shuts down. She doesn’t think about any of it--about sex, about kissing, about closeness. That part of her brain is switched the fuck off and not a single thought about any of it creeps in.

But like, here’s what so beautiful right--god I die--is that over the course of a few weeks, tiger won’t even realize how needy she’s getting. But she’ll get real fussy, she’ll get real fucking worked up and uncomfortable and it’s because she’s lacking in all of the things that usually set her right--his comfort, his affection. Bill’s a real affectionate dude with her and maybe tiger doesn’t realize how much she relies on his touch to ground her, to make her feel good, to calm her down. So when she’s shirking his affections without realizing, then she gets really fussy without realizing, and it’s just a fucking mess. She’s needy, she has no idea that all of this discomfort and bad feelings is from neediness, and she really has no idea that it’s because she’s been so withdrawn and pulled away from him.

Bill kind of hates it, when she gets like this--not only because he is robbed of all affection, but because he hates seeing her get in so deep like this. Tiger can really get consumed by things, and anxiety is one of the biggest ones. She’ll spin herself in circles, just to try and gain back control but it’s in all the wrong places: she’ll insist on showering at the same time every day. She’ll eat the same thing for breakfast. She fidgets with the screws on the kitchen chair in the same way. She’ll drive the same route to work. She’ll try so hard to build familiarity and manifest control because she feels so powerless in the face of everything. Bill just wants to wrap her in his arms, kiss her all over, throw her under him and make her feel good until her toes curl in pleasure and her mind goes blank, but he can’t do any of that because tiger whines and squirms if he so much as tries to hug her for too long.

But at the same time, I think this is where their Dom/sub relationship is so key, you know? Tiger is spiralling out of control, all in an attempt to gain control. So what Bill does, is he TAKES the control--because if he has it, then she’s safe. She knows she’s safe. She probably even prefers that he has the control, instead of her--he can quiet her mind better, he can stop this endless spiral and calm her down.

So that’s what he does. When she comes in from work--her eyes all twitchy and her face tight with worry--Bill is waiting for her in the hallway. She eyes him but he doesn’t falter, just keeps steady and calm as she shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it up. He doesn’t say a word, and she regards him cautiously as he keeps her gaze. He juts his chin softly to the floor in front of him, and she slowly makes her way there. She grabs onto his hands, using them to steady herself as she lowers to her knees.

And you know--god, Good Dude Bill--he lets her stay like that for a few minutes. One hand in her hair, scritching softly, he lets her just kneel there calmly to let it wash over her--this glorious feeling of letting go. Of letting her mind go blank. Of calm. She thunks her head against his knee as she lets out a shaky breath, and Bill doesn’t falter--just stands there strong and still, his fingers in her hair, and he lets her start to float a little.

“I miss you sweet girl,” he eventually coos to her, and he won’t make her look at him because he’s pretty sure she can’t take it right now. He just wants her to float there a little, to start letting go, and eye contact would jar her too much.

“I miss your kisses, your hugs,” he gently pushes his thumb into her mouth--her forehead is still on his knee but she opens up willingly and he smiles a little.

“I miss cuddling you, I miss the way you taste,” he playfully presses down on her tongue as he leans closer to her ear.

“Everywhere,” he whispers mischievously, and she whines a little.

“You haven’t let me touch you in a long time sweet girl,” he says softly, “But I think it would really help. I think it would make you feel better. Do you want that?”

She sucks harder at his thumb and while he won’t force eye contact, he does want something more decisive from her.

“Hmm?” he prompts again, “Do you want to feel better?”

She nods, quite vigorously.

“I’m going to do what I think will make you feel better,” he tells her, “And if at any point you don’t want to anymore, what do you say?”

“Yellow,” she mumbles around his thumb, “Or red.”

“Good girl,” he runs his hand through her hair, “Stay like this for me for a few minutes okay? I’m going to get some things ready and I’ll come back and get you.”

He takes his thumb back, but she doesn’t say a word--doesn’t even whine.

“Nod if you understand kid,” he prompts, and she nods softly. With a kiss to her head, he disappears for a second--but he comes back to tuck her stuffed tiger into her arms, so she doesn’t feel too alone. She hugs it close to her, and he smiles.

And listen, Bill sets the bedroom up real nice. Lights a few candles. Piles a shit ton of blankets on the bed, puts a soft rainfall soundtrack on that’s loud enough to block out any noise. Makes sure the room is warm enough. He grabs one of his silk ties, and then he goes out to get her.

“Go into the bedroom tiger,” he tells her softly, “Take everything off and get under the covers. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

He helps her to her feet, and her eyes meet his fleetingly as she raises on her tiptoes for a kiss. He gives her butt a soft pat as she makes off down the hallway, and he waits until the soft rustling of the blankets stop.

She’s settled on her back when he comes in, piled beneath the mountain of warm blankets, her eyes closed. Climbing on top of her he kisses her lightly, trailing his lips across her cheek, down to her neck where she’s so sensitive. She stills briefly, seizing up a little, but when he sucks lightly on her sweet spot she deflates a little as she sighs.

“I have one of my ties,” he murmurs in her ear, rubbing the silk material across her cheek, “I’m just going to put it over your eyes so you can relax a bit more.”

She doesn’t nod, but he gently drapes the silk loosely over her eyes and kisses her deeply, letting it linger.

“Colour, kid,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Green,” she whispers.

And this is a little easier for her. Now that her ears are occupied listening to the rainfall, now that her eyes are covered and she doesn’t have to worry about eye contact, she’s already kind of....calming down. Breaking out of that anxiety. He’s not forcing her vulnerabilities, but instead, he’s putting a little bandaid over them so she can relax. He knows that maybe being naked in front of him, all laid out like that, would be a bit too much for her right now--even though she’s been naked in front of him a thousand times now. Bill is just being SUCH A GOOD DUDE and he’s (literally) putting a little safety blanket over everything that her anxiety kind of flares up.

Instead he keeps kissing her until he can finally feel her relax, until she starts kissing him back with a little more intent. And when he feels that she’s finally starting to feel a little good, to let herself go, he’ll scoot down the bed and slowly lift the blankets. He won’t lift them more than he has to, and he’ll make sure her top half is still covered, but he’ll lift them just enough so he can lie down between her legs. And while he usually likes to devour her while she’s spread wide open for him, he knows that would hit too harshly on some of her vulnerabilities so he doesn’t. Instead he opens her legs just wide enough to be able to get his work done, and he starts licking softly at her. And she doesn’t have to focus on anything this way--she can’t really hear much because of the rainfall playing, and she can’t see him because her eyes are covered. All she can do is just feel it--feel everything. The warm, soft blankets piled on top of her. The scratchy stubble on his chin as he licks up her slit. His wet, warm tongue through her folds. His soft lips wrapping around her clit, suckling softly. Her knees are over his shoulders and he runs his hands up and down her body beneath the blankets, but nothing is rushed. Everything is rhythmic, predictable--and Bill is so, so good at that. Keeping everything the same pace, the same pressure, for what seems like an impossibly long time.

He takes his time, savours it, because god--he’s been deprived of her taste, her smell, this intimacy for so long. He loves doing this for her, loves doing this to her.

She moans, deep and guttural, and grinds her hips down more onto his mouth. Hell even his eyes are closed in pleasure, because god he’s missed this. He takes his time dragging his tongue over her clit, circling it slowly, and she’s barely even squirming--she’s just deadweight on the mattress, nearly fucking comatose in pleasure as she just lets it all wash over her. Eventually there’s some rustling, and Bill sees a hand poke out from the blankets, reaching blindly. He smiles into her, kisses her clit gently, and tangles his hand with hers. 

“Colour kid?” he asks lowly.

“Green,” she sighs.

She’s wound so tightly that she probably comes pretty quickly, but even then there’s nothing harsh about it--she just sighs deeply, squeezing his hand, her hips rolling up a bit as it washes over her in waves. He lets her come down for it, kissing her thighs softly, her lower belly, the crease of her hip. And eventually he just starts again, real gently, licking at her entrance. It’s not long before his mouth works her to another one, just as gentle as the first.

When he starts her on her third, maybe she surprised him--taking the hand intertwined with hers and pressing it between her legs, grinding down on it. He kisses her mound as his finger circles her entrance.

“Do you want to be filled up sweet girl?” he coos, “Nice and full?”

She doesn’t respond except for a shaky sigh, but he didn’t really expect her too.

“Turn over for me tiger,” he murmurs, and he helps her flip over onto her stomach. When he goes to get the covers piled back on top of her, she lets out a loud whine--skin, she wants to feel him. That’s always a good sign. He makes sure she’s comfy on the pillow, caging her in his arms and putting his thumb close to her mouth. She sucks on it within seconds, and putting his full weight on her, he pushes into her slowly. She’s so tight this way, and she’s already so wet and so sensitive for him.

“Bullseye,” he groans as he bottoms out.And like, listen--tiger ain’t moving much, but she’s just lying there and taking it all in and she’s completely floating. She finally feels so good, so fucking relieved like this--with her Good Dude filling her up, his weight grounding her, his thumb in her mouth. She’s cocooned in safety and comfort and relief and it’s all just...it’s very good. Bill is already close because god she’s so sensitive for him, so receptive, and she’s gripping him so tight. The wet drag drives him crazy, the push and pull and the smell of her skin and his thumb in her soft mouth.

She comes undone again, and that’s Bill’s complete undoing. She pulses around him and he just drives in deep, moaning against her back as he comes. Tiger’s toes curl, and she even ruts back against him so she gets every drop.

“My girl,” he groans, “My good girl.”

He collapses against her, but listen--she’ll be the death of him. Because she’s small as hell now, she’s completely floating, and she’s feeling real good. So with  his thumb in her mouth, with him still inside of her as he comes down, all of her inhibitions just completely leave her.

“Daddy,” she whines, small and needy soft.

And suddenly, Bill is ready for a round two real quick.

#THERE'S SOME HOS IN THIS HOUSE #TONIGHT #FILTH #ALL THE FILTH #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #sub tiger

[imaginejamesandsirius]

hi! I can't stop sending you prompts. I hope you don't mind :") "Severus hits James with the "Sectumsempra" spell and leaves him in this state." thank you and have a nice day!

((A/N: The prompt sort of leans in a hurt/comfort direction, but I didn’t do that. This is more ‘Sirius has Anger Issues and James doesn’t like it’)) 

"What the hell happened?" Sirius asked. James looked a little fragile, so instead of squeezing his hand until it hurt, Sirius's fingers were knotted together in his lap where he was sat on the edge of the hospital bed. He'd tried to sit in the chair next to the bed, but James had rolled his eyes and told him that if he didn't get up there, then James would go to him. 

James kicked his lips before answering. "Spell accident." 

"Accident," Sirius repeated. He didn't want to think that James was lying to him, but really- an accident? 

"You know how it is with new spells. Sometimes it's exactly what you want, and sometimes they blow up in your face." 

"What the hell were you thinking trying a new spell by yourself?" 

"Well I didn't think that was going to happen. Why get back-up for something I thought couldn't possibly go wrong?" 

"You're the one that gave me that lecture! Like, a month ago. 'Don't go practising anything experimental, Sirius. You might get a hangnail and then I'll have to panic for forty minutes.' Remember that?" 

"I didn't say it like that." 

"Believe me, it was the gist. You're absolutely ridiculous." 

James stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "I'm injured! Be nice to me." 

"I'll be nice to you when you stop being an idiot." 

"That'll never happen," James whined. "I want you to be nice to me now." 

"Keep on dreaming." Besides, maybe this would remind him not to go off on his own and experiment! What kind of spell could it have been to land him in the Hospital Wing? Singed eyebrows, sure, but Madam Pomfrey hadn't even healed him and then let him go. Whatever it was that had gone wrong, it was having lasting effects. 

"Where's Moony and Wormtail?" 

"Revising. You said it was nothing, so I told them not to worry about it." The only reason James had told Sirius was because he knew better than to try and hide something like that. They both agreed to tell the other about any injury, no matter how small, and they got on a lot better for it. "If I'd known you were lying, they'd be here." 

"I didn't lie. I said I was fine, and I am." 

That was when Madam Pomfrey walked up to them with a tray of potions in hand, and she raised an eyebrow at James. "Anyone who loses that much blood is not fine. You're lucky Professor Dumbledore happened upon you when he did, or you might've bled to death right there." 

"What?" Sirius yelped, turning to James accusingly. "That's not sodding fine!" 

"I'm heartened that you agree with me, Mister Black. Perhaps he will actually listen when I say that he should stay here overnight." 

"Aww, c'mon," James said. "Nothing's going to happen to me back at the dormitory. You already said it would just be for observation." 

"No way," Sirius said immediately, shaking his head. "You're staying here so we can be sure there aren't any lingering effects." 

"There aren't." 

"You don't know that for sure." 

There was a hesitance to James's expression before he said, "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure." 

"Pretty sure isn't enough to bet your life on." He heard Madam Pomfrey move on to the next patient, leaving them alone again. "Come on," Sirius said, lowering his voice. "I wouldn't be able to get any sleep if I knew you might get hurt in the middle of the night. If you're here, at least we'll all know that you're as safe as you can be." 

"Bloody hell, you're becoming more like Mum with every passing day." 

"Your mother is a lovely woman." 

"Yeah, but she hovers," he said, wrinkling his nose. 

"You like my hovering," Sirius said. He managed to untense his fingers so that he could put one hand on the bed and lean forward to give James a quick kiss. 

"Merlin help me, I do," he whispered. 

"So you'll stay here, tonight?" 

"I will, but I still think you're overreacting. Nothing's going to happen." 

"That's what I thought this morning too, and look at where that led us." 

James rolled his eyes. 

*

Sirius thought about it more as he went back to the dormitory. He couldn't manage to think about anything else. James's answer had almost made sense, but something about how he'd said it all... It had soothed Sirius at the time, but now that he had some space, it struck him as odd. It's like James had been trying to get him not to focus on how it happened. If it had been a simple spell accident from a new one, then he would've complained about the spell itself; he would've talked about how he was so sure he'd gotten the right phrasing for it this time, and he'd worked so hard on trying to get it perfect before he ever raised his wand. 

He hadn't done any of that. 

James and Sirius didn't have to have talked about it first to know that Sirius was going to sneak in that night to visit him. Since he was actually hurt, Sirius didn't plan on staying for very long. 

He was going to get to the Hospital Wing, ask James what had actually happened, kiss him once (maybe twice, for good measure), then leave. Nice and quick. He'd be back at Gryffindor Tower in time to catch enough sleep that he wouldn't pass out at his classes tomorrow. 

It was a good plan, he thought. The only problem was that James didn't seem to know the script. 

He was awake when Sirius got there. That much, at least, they were on the same page for. Sirius cast a silencing spell around them, then carefully sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?" 

"No worse than before," he said with a tired smile. It was hard to say if he was tired purely from staying up a little late or if that was an effect of being injured. "I still think you're overreacting a bit. I'm fine, and I know that nothing's going to happen." 

"How?" 

"What?" 

"How do you know that nothing worse is going to happen?" Sirius elaborated. 

"Trust me on this one, love. The initial," he waved his hand lazily, "thing happened, and I get that it scared you, but everything's fine now. It's not going to spontaneously reappear; it's not like that." 

Sirius stared at him for a long moment. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would've accepted that answer. James was not only dodging the question, but he was doing it in a way that tried to ensure Sirius wouldn't think twice about it. James was lying, and he didn't know why. "This wasn't a spell accident," Sirius said flatly. "You know exactly what went wrong, but you're not telling me. Even if you were telling the truth about it being a spell accident, I'd need a better explanation for why you're so sure it's not going to have any lingering effects. But since you're lying about that, I figure you can just tell me the whole truth right now." 

James's expression turned guilty, but no answer was forthcoming. 

"What the hell is going on?" 

He still didn't answer. 

"Fine," Sirius said, getting to his feet. "If you're not going to talk to me, I'm going to leave." 

"Wait," James said hurriedly, even though Sirius hadn't taken a step. "Don't- don't go." 

Threatening him-- even with something so small as going back to bed-- made him sick to his stomach. "Are you going to tell me what really happened?" 

James made a face. 

"What the hell is going on? Since when do you not talk to me?" 

"Since I know you'll freak out." 

"Why would I freak out?" 

"Because that's what you do when you get upset. For fuck's sake, you almost killed Snape last-" 

"You said you forgave me for that," Sirius interrupted as his heart clenched. "Wait, did he do this to you?" 

For a moment, James looked conflicted. Then he said, "Yes, but I don't think he really knew what the spell would do. He panicked when he saw all the blood." 

"He left you there? Madam Pomfrey said that Dumbledore's the one who found you, so when he panicked, he just left you like that? I swear to Merlin, I'll sodding-" 

"Stop!" James shouted. "You're not going to do anything." 

"The hell I won't." 

"This is why I didn't tell you. I hexed him first." 

"Yeah, you hexed him; you didn't cut him open and leave him to die." 

"You're not listening to me!" 

"I'm listening just fine." 

"No, you're not," James snarled, his face twisting with frustration. "You're just saying that you're going to kill him because he hurt me, and I'm telling you that that's utter shite." 

"He'd deserve it." 

In a flash, the anger was gone, replaced by shocked disbelief. "You'd really do it." 

"He nearly killed you," Sirius hissed. 

James swayed back slightly, like he couldn't handle being so close to Sirius's anger. "You told me last time that it was a mistake. One you regretted." 

Sirius grit his teeth. "It was." Then, vindictively, "I never should've dragged Moony into it when I could've done it myself." He hadn't expected for the statement to do anything but make James more disappointed with him, but he looked scared now. The reaction almost had Sirius apologising-- it's not like he would ever hurt James, but the other man didn't look too certain of that. 

"If anything happens to Snape, I'll tell Dumbledore that you're responsible." 

"You wouldn't," Sirius said, narrowing his eyes. 

"I definitely would if it'll stop you from hurting him. He made a stupid mistake, just like you'd done, and you're not going to punish him for it." James still looked scared of him. "If you hurt him again, Dumbledore will expel you. He was lenient last time, only Merlin knows why, but he won't do it again." 

Sirius turned on his heel and left, angry enough that he wanted to start flinging spells at the stone until it crumbled before him. 

He stomped back to the Tower. He wasn't careful or using the Map, but he somehow didn't get caught. That was good. He wasn't sure he would've held his tongue, even against a professor. 

*

He woke up in the morning, feeling nauseous. 

He skipped breakfast to go see James. Madam Pomfrey was releasing him when he got there, so he hovered awkwardly near the door for her to finish. 

James had seen him when he entered. His eyes chased that direction when he saw the door open, then slid back to Madam Pomfrey as she spoke. Sirius leaned against the wall, feeling almost like he hadn't slept at all for how tired he was. He didn't know if James would listen to him, or if he wanted more space before talking. Hell, he might consider last night good grounds for breaking up with him, and what made it worse was that he wouldn't be wrong. If Sirius were James, that's what he'd do. He wouldn't be able to be with someone like him. 

But when James walked to the door, he stopped at Sirius's side. "Hey," he said, subdued. 

"Clean bill of health?" Sirius asked, looking at James's shoulder because it was easier than looking him in the eye. 

"Yeah. Nothing happened during the night, so she said I should be fine. The usual lecture about being more careful in the future." 

Sirius nodded. "Breakfast?" he suggested, pointing towards the door. The last thing he wanted was to sit in the Great Hall and try to force himself to eat. 

"Sure." 

They left, walking side by side. It was a tense silence until Sirius broke. "Can we talk?" 

"Sure," James said again. 

It was easy to find an empty corridor that was far enough away from the Great Hall that they didn't have to worry about being walked in on. 

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Sirius said quietly. He didn't think of himself as overly emotional, but he started to tear up the moment he opened his mouth. "Every time I get angry, it's like I don't care about anything. I always feel like myself, and then it passes, and I just want to be sick. I used to think it was my parents, you know? That I was so buggered up from living with them that feeling murderous was just part of who I was, but now I live with you and it's-" Sirius stopped, swallowing thickly. He blinked the tears away before they could bead together and fall. "I don't know how to be better." 

James didn't say anything for a long moment. "Have you talked to anyone about this?" 

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" 

"I meant, like, an adult. A real one. A good one, not your parents. Maybe Mum?" 

"Why would talking to your mum help?" 

"She's our mum," James corrected automatically, like he always did. "I dunno. She seems to know a lot. When I was going through some things, talking to her made me feel better. It can't hurt, right?" 

"I guess," Sirius muttered. He'd do it because James thought it was a good idea, and he couldn't trust his own council about this. He just wasn't really sure if it would be better for him, and more than that, he didn't know how willing he was to say those things to Mrs. Potter. She always looked at him fondly and said that he was family. He didn't want for that to be tossed out the window because he said too much to her, but he couldn't stay like this. If James hadn't been scared of him last night, he probably would've done it. Maybe he wouldn't have killed Snape, but he wasn't sure-- and he definitely would've hurt him. 

Sirius felt... fragile. Like he was a vase with cracks all along it. 

"I'll write to her today," Sirius said. Since they agreed, he started to turn back to the main corridor, but James stopped him. 

James stepped forward, wrapping his arms around him just like he always did. Not tighter, not less constraining. The same as always, like nothing had changed. "I'm glad you're okay," James whispered. 

Stupidly, that was the thing that made Sirius start to cry-- that James touched him and talked to him like he was the same he'd always been. Like he still loved him. 

#prongsfoot #marauders #james potter #sirius black #fanfic #filled #hogwarts time #established relationship #no voldemort au #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

[whitherliliesbloom]

quietus

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #13 - oneirophrenia ]

[ kaye & illya ] ★ [ 1,883 words ]  ★ [ wozwald au ] a continuation / sequel to fragrant sorrow, a previous fill i did

a hallucinatory (dream-like) state that is caused by such conditions as prolonged sleep deprivation, sensory isolation, and drug use

in the midst of his delirious, drunken haze he saw her - he can’t tell if it was meant to be his final blessing or an eternal curse

When the man felt the effects of the strong intoxicants begin to take its toll on him, they had already long left the domain of the last minor god he’d slain, dragging his bloodstained scythe behind his back. 

Though Lily had insisted that they scour the area for medicine in order to purge his body of the toxins, he’d stubbornly refused and instead stumbled his way back to their base. They both knew that a god of the original pantheon would not be so easily felled by drugs in his system.

But Kaye hasn’t been the same since they’d last visited the ruined temple of the first goddess of creation - his refusal to sleep, eat or even communicate past singular words of acknowledgements or fatigued grunts troubling to no end. She had thought it best to simply leave him in his grief, that time would come to heal him back to normalcy, and that she needed only but to wait for the painful memories to fade. 

It was a decision she regretted immensely as she watched as he finally crumpled to the floor. And as she cradled him in her arms and watched in tearful horror as he stared back up at her with an emptiness in his eyes, light slowly fading, she cried out his name that sounded nothing more than like the muffled trickling of water ringing distantly in his ears.

“Kaye! Kaye!”

Perhaps this was the ending he had always longed for, a fate that he has long awaited at far end of the tunnel... and it certainly took it’s sweet time to arrive. 

As the closest thing to divinity, it would be no small feat to kill him. No amount of drugs, sleep deprivation or even starvation would be able to grant him eternal rest - he knows first hand. He’d spent many millennia injecting his body with nicotine and alcohol, but they never did anything more than to dull his senses - a small mercy granted for him to put up with the karmic retribution that constantly struck him with pain like hooks sinking into his very flesh.

The only thing that could kill him was one of the other pantheon members - and they’re all gone. The life he has led thus far as the sole survivor is one he saw as divine punishment. 

But even a god has his limits - and he wondered if it would perhaps benefit Lily more if he’d just passed on from his own hands, unlikely and irresponsible as that may be.

“Kaye. Kaye.” 

He hears his name being called again, but his eyelids feel too heavy to open... until the scent of daisies fill his nostrils. 

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in an old, familiar body... a long almost forgotten form of himself from ages ago that he abandoned with the passing of the last of the divine pantheon. 

He’s silent as he looks down at his tattered robes, loose and out of fashion for the modern age compared to his leather jackets and high laced boots. 

“Kaye.” 

He turns his head to the sound of the voice behind him, and his eyes widen - but only briefly. 

“You seem troubled. Is something wrong?”

An ethereal maiden clad head to toe in silken white garbs rests against the stone pillar, her back resting against the cold cobblestone and a singular white flower clasped tightly between her small fingers. Her once familiar vibrant and sparkling violet eyes are now a muted, murky hue - a luster in which he’s had to watch being lost gradually to the cruelty of time. 

Was this a dream? A lucid nightmare? Or perhaps he was in limbo - caught between the realm of the living and the underworld of the dead that awaited his arrival. Where do the souls of dead gods even rest after death? He’s unsure - but he’s certain there is no place for him in heaven.

Despite his initial confusion, Kaye doesn’t seem perturbed or panicked in the least... the sight of the girl filling his heart up with a sorrow that he hadn’t known was even possible for him anymore. He had thought himself incapable of feeling anymore - and yet here he was.

“Nothing.” he answers before he can even think, just like he had back then... Perhaps he really was in a dream - reliving the memories of his biggest regret as punishment for his transgressions. 

“Are you sure?” the girl asks, her voice weak and soft... and he furrows his brows at her insistence. “You can talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“I’m not the one who is-” 

The words die in his throat, caught in a choked mutter that gives away his lapse of weakness. He cannot bring himself to say the words, but she has abandoned all shred of self-pity and spells it out with her own voice... and he can only wonder why she is being so nonchalant about her own fate.

“Going to fade? I know.” 

How can her voice remain so gentle? One would assume nothing was amiss about her had she not been wearing an obviously drowsy expression on her face - and even then, she is still smiling. 

“But melancholy doesn’t suit you... You’re usually more... passionate, more angry. Like when Roko pranked you into drinking the stale wine.”

“I’m surprise you still remember that.” Kaye huffs, but his words aren’t entirely true. Because of course she would remember - of course the kindest, most pure-hearted of the six of them would remember everything... She loved everyone more than she even loved herself, foolish and naive as she is.

She giggles lightly, like tiny bell chimes ringing and carrying its melody in the wind and into the starry night sky... but none save the trees and himself are here to hear it, and it does nothing to soothe the thorns that are wrapped in his chest. 

“Maybe I should take you to the shrine after all.” Kaye suggest, has already suggested multiple times before... But the girl merely shakes her head. 

“I’m tired. I don’t think I’d make it even if you carried me.” 

He would in a heartbeat if it would help, but the both of them know it’d be pointless. He’s in denial of the situation, clamoring for what little hope there was left. Were his brother around, he’d certainly point out the irony of the situation with a laugh. 

“Besides... I want the remainder of my energy to remain there... So you can remember me by.”

Beneath sealed lips, Kaye grits his teeth and bites the insides of his cheeks. He knows she doesn’t mean for it to be... But her words felt like they were meant to be a punishment for him - a promise that he wasn’t ready to commit to and make yet.

“Illya.” At the sound of her name, she quiets, fiddling with the petals of the lone flower in her hand gently. “I probably won’t last long enough to remember anything.”

“Don’t say that.”

Finally, he catches a hint of strain in her words, pain flashing in her eyes as she shakes her head.

“All creation will always meet an inevitable end... But death is everlasting, it’s eternal for as long as the world exists.” The goddess pauses for a moment to let her words linger, to let her voice hang in the air and embed itself into his memories for as long as she can afford it to. “You were always the strongest of us... You’ll keep protecting the world for us, won’t you?”

Kaye doesn’t respond her question, but he doesn’t need to... He knows Illya already knows what his answer would be - she knew even before the world began to fall to anarchy.

“Without life, there can be no death.” He murmurs bitterly, and she smiles sympathetically back at him.

“Which is why I will never truly be gone. As long as you live on, you will be living in my memory.” 

A selfish part of himself says he doesn’t want to. He was never known to be the most altruistic of gods, back in the beginning of the world and even now. She knows full well the burden he must bear - and the weight of the words that she spoke to him. 

But beneath the surface level, there is a reason for her blind optimism. She sees her urging him to live not as punishment.... but because she still, even after the ugliness of humanity and life has presented itself fully, carries a flickering hope in her heart that he is sure will die with her.

Illya wants him to live because she believes he will one day find a way to be happy... and if that is what it takes for her to pass on in peace, then he is willing to indulge her with that juvenile, unimaginable fantasy. 

“Can I ask a favor of you, Kaye?” it was to be her final request out of many... She knows of her own self-centeredness as she asks him apologetically. 

Her hand slowly raises, the white flower in her palm grasped weakly between her little fingers. The golden ornaments dangling from her armlets knock together and let out a soft ominous chime. 

“When you visit me in the future, could you bring flowers?” 

He hesitates to move... knows that if he were to take the flower from her hand, that he’d be sealing her fate... and he was far from ready to accept that.

But the swirling of her hopeful, radiant eyes... even as they were slowly losing their usual jewel-like shine bids him take the flower with his left hand, and he holds it delicately in his palm - so softly that he was afraid it would wither away. 

“What kind of flowers? You still haven’t told me what your favorite was.”

“Hehe... you’re right. I am a little indecisive when it comes to that, aren’t I? Let’s see...”

He turns away from her, staring intently at the flower in his hand.

“There are lilies... particularly white ones, but other kinds are pretty too. I really like hydrangeas.. did you know that they bloom in different colors depending on the soil they grow on?”

Her voice is getting softer - more distant. He swallows back the lump in his throat, even if he can tell that she was closing her eyes.

“Yeah, I know. You told me before.”

“I also like plum blossoms... They represent resilience and hope. They’re also called the harbingers of spring.”

She’s so lost in her enamor for flowers that she failed to realize that she hasn’t answered his question... but he cannot bring himself to interrupt her.

“Carnations, hibiscuses, delphiniums...” 

Kaye can no longer remember what her final words had been - only that she spent the final seconds of her life listing the names of flowers - of the things that she loved even unto the very end.  

By the time he realizes she’s grown quiet, and he turns his head to look behind, she has vanished, leaving naught but the lingering, quickly dissipating warmth of the stone she sat upon and the flower in his hand that swayed gently in the nightly breeze. 

#ffxiv #final fantasxy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #kaye #wozwald au #fanfic #mine #HEY GUYS WHO ORDERED A FRESH SERVING OF ANGST TODAY

[theveryworstthing]

More Spooky.

Mixing the spooky prompts of  'gay vampires' and 'all dressed up for a spooky soriee'  again.

This is Salt. She's pretty good a putting people back together, is full of leeches, has a dark sense of humor, and is very short. She's also as gay as a hermaphroditic leech person who mostly uses she/her for convenience but has no strong feelings about gender can be.  

She grew up around pit fighters and eventually became a medic when her own career didn't work out (her eyes were always wonky but then she had to grow a few back after That Fight and yeesh). When the pits got shut down one of the older medics decided to put an actual practice together and hit the road, taking Salt and a few other favorites with. Eventually they got pretty successful and opened a lot of non-human friendly hospitals.  She's currently attending a 'children of the night' themed benefit sponsored by Cashmere's company as a representative since her boss couldn't make it.

Here's a bunch of lore about the kind of vampire she is because of course I wrote some:

Hirudo Vampires

What are they: A race of Mermaids. Mermaids that are essentially a sack full of leeches, but yeah. Mermaids.

How they’re made: They’re born like any other mermaid. Weird humanoid monotreme lays an egg and after a bit you get a Child. Infants look like regular baby mermaids with kind of sluggy tails and can be confused with nudibranch juveniles if they’re gifted with brighter colors. They’re initially fed milk and invertebrates like worms and slugs by their parents but quickly move on to blood once their cravings start and they begin releasing leeches.

Turning: They can’t turn people. They can turn leeches but they rarely do because usually more than enough leeches naturally sprout from their innards and outside leeches that aren’t from another hirudo are a quick fix that will eventually be rejected by their bodies and need to be replaced.

Feeding: Their favorite method is anchoring their tails to something in a body of water, releasing their leeches, and just floating there until they return. When the leeches come back they swim into the hirudo’s body and plug themselves back into the digestive tract where they empty themselves over time. When the last leech runs out it’s time to go hunting again.

When not feeding they fill the inner cavity of their body with water for the leeches. Chemicals in this inner cavity thicken the water into a loose slime and when feeding all that Leech Slime gets released so that they take on more of a flesh suit aesthetic. A view of this feeding form is rare however, as hirudo hide while feeding and only have to feed this way once every few months if most of their leeches are successful hunters.  If they’re not so successful or they can’t send them out for whatever reason they supplement their diet with invertebrates, soft organ meats, and ingesting small quantities of iron whenever they can. Mostly by nibbling on rusted objects or sucking on found bits of metal like jawbreakers.

Besides blind hunting they’ll also enthusiastically feed on willing subjects. Hirudo are renowned healers and their bites can ease certain ailments just like regular leeches. They can can greatly increase their healing powers through training and even imbue their leeches with specific healing spells by lightly carving said spells into their flesh. If you come across an aquatic apothecary or river-side hospital outside of human territories, they’re likely to be owned or staffed by hirudo. When healing others, singular leeches are selected and expelled for each patient. Dedicated healers tend to be larger than regular hirudo since their constant food source helps them produce more leeches.

Powers: Calming aura (to be fair the leeches have this power, not the hirudo), two or three times the strength of an average human (that’s normal for any mermaid though, they’re pretty much all pure muscle), durability (very hard to kill if they can get water and a blood source), and accelerated healing. They can direct their leeches to specific targets and use them as kind of detachable limbs, even speaking through them if they need to. Mostly they just point them in a general direction and see what they can get. The leeches have their own simple brains and can figure it out.

Fun Facts:

Bites don’t hurt and rarely become infected unless you’re just rolling around in garbage all day. You don’t bleed more or less than you would after a regular leech bite and if the creature doesn’t see the leech they probably won’t know they’ve been fed on until after it’s gone.

They can hang out on land just fine due to being their own personal swimming pools but they still dry out after a day or so and need to return to the water. While on land they develop a thin layer of mucus on their skin that isn’t sticky or wet but you can feel it creepily shift under your hands if you grab them too roughly and it gives them a shimmery glow. This layer flakes off if they become dehydrated and some harvest it as well as any spare Leech Slime for use in beauty products and skin ointments.

They can ‘walk’ on land but it’s draining after a bit and they all use canes and/or wheelchairs to get around.

Just like regular leeches, hirudo are hermaphrodites. What we think of as feminine or masculine appearances are just the product of different family genetics interacting with environmental stimuli and are the same as tribe markings to them. Come from a southern river system where your egg was kept in warm water? Guess you’ll grow up to look more femme and you get cool orange stripes. This situation isn’t unheard of in mermaids but land creatures can be taken aback. It’s whatever. Biology does what it wants.

Many name their leeches and get real mad if one is killed. Partially because anyone would be mad if you murdered one of their organs, but also because they like those little buddies. Luckily, they’re pretty hard to kill if they’re in water and they can get back to the main body.

Most physical fighting is done with leeches. All hirudo have at least one leech that’s bigger, tougher, and honestly creepier than the others just for combat situations. They vary a little from person to person but a consistent trait is that they have just. Too many teeth. Too many teeth that are sometimes not in the right places and sometimes look too human. Just a lot of Wrong Teeth on a big fat blood slug. If this ‘attack leech’ dies or doesn’t return to the body in a certain period of time then they start growing a new one immediately and oh boy is the new one always worse that the last one. There are hirudo out there housing some real abominations.

Combat Leech is their secondary defense mechanism. The first is expelling slime at predators and slipping out of their grip by furiously stretching and wriggling.

The leeches aren’t like wild leeches. They don’t digest the blood they take or make more leeches. They’re also strangely warm, like little hot water bottles. It’s hard to even call them leeches since they’re really detachable organs that act like leeches but like. What else can they be called? Idk, but there’s strong evidence that wild leeches find them creepy and will avoid them.

They’re very amused at the human perception of boobs because to them bigger titty is like a sign that says “I have fat to spare because I eat very well and that means I could probably rip you to shreds”.

They can produce children with other humanoids in theory but it’s a toss of the coin for the egg’s viability and it’s suspected that this is how vampire genes get thrown into non-mer family lines so like. Not a great idea if you don’t want to chance giving birth to some draculas!!!

They can fit through any space their head can fit into. They kind of navigate the world with octopus/cat vibes. Their arms are even more tentacle-y that classically arm shaped.

Eight to ten eyes with position and number differing by tribe.

On average they’re about 5-5.5ft long but powerful hirudo with lots of leeches can get 8ft+.

They’re actually known as some of the prettiest mermaids by humans.

Humans are some of their favorite prey.

Most biologist feel like this isn’t an evolutionary accident.

Immortality?: Hirudo can live for around three hundred years in perfect conditions but they’re not immortal, they grow old and die like anything else. Immortality in not out of reach for those able to push a few morals aside however, and can be accomplished two ways:

1. Feed exclusively on other hirudo. This is an asshole move for obvious reasons and can be done by consuming their leeches or going old school vampire and drinking right from the source. Can be killed if they’re dehydrated through aggressive salting or imprisoning on land for months.

2. Necromancy is just very advanced healing magic really. Carve enough arcane magic into your tummy buddies and you got yourself a real Leech Lich situation brewing. These hirudo can only be killed by thoroughly destroying all of their leeches.

#vampire #hirudo #salt #mermaid #body horror #small guide #that outfit went though a lot of alterations but i love the final so much

[shadowdianne]

So, apparently, I was tasked with something... xD

@allbutwrong. Your prompt went like this: narcissa gives a speech at draco's wedding and accidentally says hermione's name instead of draco's and then rants to hermione how they could never be till hermione shuts her up with a kiss

I’m just going to do what AJ here knew I was gonna to probably do and make both this and my former prompt related. Enjoy :P

The plates were empty, the glasses half-full and the air was filled with the scent of about-to-fall rain. Despite the ozone and humid blue, the sky was cloudless and Narcissa glanced up at it for a moment while the echo of the calling clink she had made with the aid of her wand and a glass, cursed through everyone’s tables. Conversations halting as shadows began to emerge like scurrying animals beneath the feet of those sitting and slowly turning to the matriarch of the Malfoy family, expecting, waiting, for the last speech of the night, the one that would mark the end of the banquet.

The blonde witch eyed her boy and the man at his side, their intertwined fingers, the subtle yet obvious mark on Draco’s neck as he tried to hide it with the collar of his shirt. She could do anything but smile as she felt Draco return a very similar look etched on his face, a squeeze and a graze of fingertips against darkened tuxedo, magic swirling against the fabric. With the same look, Narcissa moved and pivoted towards her right, catching everyone’s eyes, noticing that while, yes, the number could be feeble as opposed to what could have been before the war the mixed and yet trusting looks tasted much different for both her and the one who had already shared his vows with the dark-haired boy that sat next to him now.

It was bittersweet in a sense, but also rewarding, and the blonde woman could do nothing but start her speech, the one she had written and perfected for weeks now, with something less Malfoy, less Black, and more solely hers: A swinging motion, her hand hitting the dying light, the gold on her hand glowing momentarily while her eyes caught on the witch that, same as she had done  three years ago, had been invited with the same polished piece of white paper, the same hex on the ink of the invitation of itself that she could remember for her as the younger witch had walked towards the second youngest of the Weasley family: red bursting on her cheeks, gorgeous enough to burn.

And, three years after that wedding, the one in where Narcissa had needed to walk away, line after line of words never said burning her tongue, her nostrils, her lungs, the brunette looked just as good, just as gorgeous, as she had done before. With silver and green in subtle details, with the lack of a ring on her finger, her marriage in shambles as the papers had echoed some “unreconcilable problems” amidst the Weasley-Granger household.

Mind blanking, tongue flat against her teeth, Narcissa let her hand fall once more and grasp the stem of her glass, the motion clunky but disguised. Blue eyes searching, the older witch took into the ones still glancing at her, the lag on her response minute and barely seconds but loud on the way her heart humped on her chest. Demanding just as it had done back in the day.

She had tried to revoke herself for the possibility of having a similar reaction, had worked and moved on with her life until the two months mark after the wedding, a bump and a casual way in where her name had been said the last signal for her dying resolution. She had been thrown in a series of decisions of dates and teas and laughter and friendship and, ever so steadily, she had seen the darkened eyes, the lack of sleep, the pursed lips, the word divorce being whispered. Not due to anything in particular, not because some horrible secret, some skeleton that would be best if it remained buried. It was, as Hermione would sometimes confide with tongue licking her lips, eyes lost, wand between her fingers, not a matter of disgraced cruelness but rather her own realization that friendship and fulfillment withing a relationship didn’t necessarily mean the same thing.

Despite of it, or maybe precisely because of it, she had remained as silent as possible, as just as possible. No one needed to repeat to a jailed intellect that they were being clipped off from their wings after they realized it, after all. She remained unshaken, silent, kind, and when Draco had told her about his plans of marriage, she had known what to do when the list for guests had rolled by even if the same concept of it burned the back of her eyelids.

And there she was now, eyes on Draco, fingers shaking slightly, voice enchanted so it could be whispered and murmured by everyone’s in the attendance. The grass beneath their feet lush, the earth amongst it, dry, the twinkling set of flaming stars above them all warm on their winking light.

“There’s braveness in love.” She begun, smile tensing her lips just enough. “During my formative years I was led to believe that love solely meant giving to the point of exhaustion and disappearance. Giving until there was nothing left of me for me to preserve. Love felt like a chore and in the same breath it burned brighter than anything else the moment I first laid an eye on the one you have in front of you. Because the second I saw him, the second I hugged him close to me, I realized that I could not merely put my love for him under the pretense of a chore in where my own soul was destroyed and given to the wind for it to judge me. “

Her voice sounded and echoed and she rolled her shoulders slightly, retaking her initial position, her heart beating wildly, quickly, not out of nerves due to the speech but the acute feeling of being watched, of Hermione’s eyes following her every word, her every move, her every sentence.

“I was wrong, and I got to learn as years passed. Love is not only fire, not only destruction and life wrapped up as beginning and end of a wand and a spell, though, but is also water, tranquil and still on its welcoming embrace. Love is not only the big actions, the ones we are forced to do or rather nothing else will be after we are done. Love is also the smaller decisions, the ones that are choices we take every day, every moment, every waking second. Love is the laughter and the shared glances and the touch of their skin against yours. Love is intimacy in not merely the option of being naked but also on the way her arms around you are enough for you to know you can close your eyes, and rest.”

She didn’t realize her slip until Draco looked at her, eyes open, skin white. She didn’t realize the slip until the pronouns rolled by her tongue when her mind flashed against her eyes, the glass falling to table, liquid sloshing, dripping.

She had been taught how to preserve the pretense no matter how the world around her was misshaped and hit. She felt her lips tremble, the point in where her eyes tried to focus fill with black dots that danced and mocked her. She felt a tremor on her spine, the questioning looks beginning to be thrown around. She had seconds, moments, and she could only refuse to glance towards where Hermione was sitting at. Decisions made on her mind’s eye.

Love. The word felt too bright, too strong, too full of implications neither of them were ready to consider. Yet that had been the word she had chosen for her initial speech and that word had been blurted out of her the second her mind had halted, left her bare. She felt the same ringing sensation on the back of her mind, the one that had made her get up and leave the moment the vows between Hermione and the Weasley boy had been exchanged. She felt weak and wrong. Something that made her skin prickle with the fear of not having the ready answer on how she needed to behave.

“Pardon me.” She finally said, voice weakened, brittle. “Seems like both the wine and the nerves have made my tongue not capable of proper pronunciation. I will let another voice to raise tonight. Have a good evening.”

She waited for the confusion to die and she turned, ready to disappear, to move back to the shadows and the blackened corners of not being noticed, when a hand on her forearm made her jump, the electricity deafening, the way her magic reacted, obvious.

And when she turned and eyed the now young woman, she felt her vision began to close in a tunnel-shaped one, the circles and black dots bigger, anxiety brimming on the back of her lungs, muscles seizing. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t answer.

“Narcissa?”

The younger woman’s eyes were doubtful and Narcissa could feel them full of questions and the never-ending nervous worry of having misunderstood what for her had been so painfully obvious it made her want to turn into ash. Younger and younger still, her heart beat and writhed, traitorous, and she closed her eyes and wished for not being there, amidst those who, even if had turned their backs to the now quickly retreating couple of witches as the rest of the speech was finalized and banquet terminated, were nothing but curious, noisy, who wanted to understand.

A feeling that, even if it pained her, was something Narcissa couldn’t blame them all.

“I walked away from your wedding the second I saw you in your dress.” The blonde finally blurted, blue against brown, magic so vivid it made her take a breath while she tried to focus on anything, something, aside of Hermione’s eyes on her. “I knew it back then; I hadn’t realized until then. I needed to leave, I needed to give you the space. Because there was nothing I could do, nothing I could ask…”

She was stopped by a hand and a smile, a set of eyes so full that they made her feel empty and about to explode.

“Nothing you could have asked?”

It was said in a soft way, timid, fragile, and Narcissa shook her head in a poor imitation of a “no” as her breath was stolen and her hands grasped, her lips pursed, her head tilted, a smile reaching Hermione’s lips and eyes.

“Nothing?”

The younger witch halted, mid-movement, mid-kiss, mid-air.

“Noth…?”

“Please.”

“Very well.”

#cissamione #prose #allbutwrong #love you

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot 

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

#forbidden spicy gatorade

[devotedwaywardangel1]

Nostalgia

Dean x Female Reader

Fandom: Supernatural

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: Cancer, mentions of assault 

A/N: For @dontshootmespence​‘s 8K angst challenge the prompt was Cancer hope you enjoy.

~~~~~~

Sam was in the library typing away on his laptop in search for a new case. However the quiet tapping was interrupted when Dean's phone went off playing Bohemian Rhapsody, there was little hesitation for Sam to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Sam? Hi! It's (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)! It’s been a while you want me to grab Dean.”

“Yes please.”

Sam got up and walked to the kitchen where Dean was scoffing down a sandwich he held out the phone for Dean to grab. “Its (Y/n).” 

Dean choked snatching the phone bringing it up to his ear. “Hi, are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly safe but I need you to come to Dallas hospital ASAP.”

“What’s wrong? I’m on my way.” Dean started to panic, as he gathered essentials.

“It's easier to explain in person.”

“Ok I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.

Zipping up both of his backpacks he rushed to the garage to get to the Impala. “Sam!” He yelled.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to Dallas, don’t know when I’ll be back, call if something happens.” Dean rushed out leaving behind a confused Sam.

He started up the engine in the Impala and quickly got on the highway going as fast as the speed limit allowed him, hoping it would take little over eight hours. She said she was safe so he could afford the luxury of not breaking any highway codes. He thought back to the day he and (Y/n) first met.

He had been fifthteen when yet again his father dropped him and Sam off a Bobby’s house. Sam greeted Bobby with a hug and wandered off to read the extensive collection of books the house held. Dean hugged Bobby tightly. “How are you?”

“I’m good Dean, I’ve got a few new cars in, would you like to help?”

A small smile graced his face. “Yes please.”

“You know where to go.”

Dean walked round to the garage only to see a pair of denim covered legs under a red and white 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z28. Unsure of what to do he coughed. Startling the person as there was a thud and a painful groan. Rolling out from under the car, Dean saw that this was a girl around his age hair messy and grease on her nose. “What the hell dude, you shouldn’t startle a girl under a car!” She glared menacingly at him.

“Sorry.” He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes and got up, wiping her hands on her tattered jeans. Walking up to Dean extending her hand to him. He shook it, she had a good grip on her he thought. “What’s ya name, freckles?” She grinned cheekily.

He snorted. “It’s Dean, greasy.”

She let out an amused laugh. ”Okay then, Dean, I’m (Y/n).”

At that Bobby walked in. “I see you two have already introduced yourselves then.”

Dean sighed remembering how content he was back all those years ago. She gave off a contagious feeling of home and safety. Sam didn’t know this but that had matching tattoos done when they were eighteen. As a promise that no matter how far they drift apart they would always be there for each other.

They had told Bobby that they were going into town for supplies, it wasn’t exactly a lie they were getting supplies as well so they were bending the truth a little. Both newly adults had already chosen what they were having. He had chosen a long sword, because he thought it was cool and had always seen himself as a fearless knight. (Y/n) on the other hand had decided to go with a heater shield design, she said it was to represent victory and protection. “Besides a lot of knights that used longswords had a heater shield seeing as we are a pair it made sense.” She spoke enthusiastically. 

Dean tried to wave it of as it seemed stupid but he could help agreeing with her assessment. It became apparent early on in their friendship that (Y/n) had a habit of analysing everything. Sometimes it helped on hunts when she was an excellent strategist but it was like she couldn’t turn it off, yet Dean had the habit of shifting on his feet because of the nagging feeling that he may have to fight at any moment. So he really couldn’t complain they were just the by-products of being hunters from an early age. 

He had decided that he was going to go first based on the logic that he is older. Creating a rise out of (Y/n). “You’re older by two months seriously it hardly counts.”

Dean laughed. “Yes it does, besides I beat you here.”

“Okay.” She huffed playfully.

Dean had the longsword tattooed on his left calf while (Y/n) had the heater shield tattooed on he upper right arm. 

That was one of the best days in Dean’s life, funny how something so frivolous could mean so much to him. But it did, they were best friends til the last shots fired. Though they dared dream that they grow old and end up playing poker at some old folks home when each other’s kids visit them with grandchildren. Of course Sam would be there too, it was one hell of a dream that’ll never be true. 

Then he thought about the first time she saved his life.

They were twenty three and it was a ghost hunt, simple enough but it was a big thing to the two amatuer hunters, their parents letting them go their own way even if it was for a little bit. They had figured it all out relatively quickly. The spirit had been a man by the name of William Brookes who had been killed over two decades ago by a woman he was attempting to assault and he had been killing women who fit her general description. Once the ghost had found out that they were doing and started to retaliate. Dean decided to distract the ghost by firing rounds into its ecto-mist composed body. While (Y/n) doused the bones with petrol and salt. Dean was thrown back by the spirit and he couldn’t get to the shotgun quick enough, he closed his eyes thinking that he was going to die until he heard (Y/n) shout. “Oi bitchface.” Successfully grabbing the ghosts attention as she flicked the match on top of the corpse.

Causing it to shrivel up and burst into flames. Dean let out a breathy laugh in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A couple moments of silence past. “Burgers and beer?” He asked, reaching for her hand.

“You know me so well.” She helped him up.

Dean parked the Impala and ran into the hospital, the journey had taken around eight hours to complete, and to the front desk causing the receptionist to jump. “Sorry, my friend (Y/n) (L/n) is here and I would like to see her.” There was no room in his tone to argue even though he wanted to be somewhat polite. 

The receptionist looked at him sympathetically as he called a nurse over to take Him to the patient.

“She said you would be here, follow me.” She had a sad look in her eyes.

He followed her to the elevator, hands in his pockets as they went up to the third floor. Dean didn’t want to make conversation he just wanted to get to (Y/n). Why was it taking so long? 

As soon as the elevator dinged Dean tried to get the nurse to hurry up but to no avail. Eventually the nurse stopped and whispered mournfully. “She’s in there.” 

Dean rushed in but stopped dead in his tracks as he saw her, heart shattering at the sight. She was deathly pale compared to her natural complexion, practically had no muscle even with her experience hunting, eyes dull but still held hope in them, she no longer had any hair. He wanted to scream and cry about how frail she looked but a lone tear shed itself instead. She smiled kindly. “Hiya freckles.” She spoke so quietly Dean almost couldn’t hear her.

“Hi Greasy.” He choked a sob as he reached for her hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner but I knew you would of done something stupid.” She held his hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb.

“Don’t apologise, you’re right I would have.” He confesses.

“A part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but I wanted to spend my last day with you.” She admitted solemnly.

“I know, but you of all people have the right to ask this.” He caressed her cheek gently.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“This is the only place I should be sweetheart.”

“Do you remember our first kiss.” She reminisced softly.

“I’ll never forget.” He smiled 

They were seventeen and sitting on Eastwood’s, (Y/n)’s Camaro, bonet listening to the Ultimate Queen album. Looking at the waterfalls glisten as the sun was setting at Falls Park, eating pizza and drinking cola. Neither of them thought of it as a date when they decided to go out but it's funny how things turn out when one looks back on memories. 

Love of my Life started to play, igniting something within the pair of them, but it was Dean to talk first.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, nearly nervous.

It wasn’t his first kiss, nor hers but this was (Y/n) and he desperately didn’t want to wreck the only sturdy friendship he had.

“Of course.” She smiled blushing ever so slightly.

He placed his hand on her cheek and brought her close to his face as they gazed into each other’s eyes. (Y/n) momentarily bit her lip, a nervous habit of hers. They leaned in further before Dean initiated the kiss which was chaste but passionate he wasn’t holding back. She put in an equal amount of care and love into that kiss. 

Both wished it would never end. But like all good things in the lives of hunters it never really lasts.

He looked at her lovingly. She went serious for a moment. “There are a couple of things that I have to ask of you.”

“Anything.”

“No soul-selling, no spells and no voodoo shit okay.”

He hesitated. “I promise.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.” He sighed.

She smiled sadly at him and kissed his hand. “The last thing I would like is for us to watch the sunset one last time.”

“We’ve got half an hour until then.” He kissed her forehead.

She smiled radiantly at him as he went to talk to the nurses. All of them were more than happy to help out, naturally they all loved her. Dean had never met a hunter who could speak ill of her. 

She was in a purple sundress and brown leather sandals when he came back picking her up bridal style and carried her to the roof where there were a couple of blankets and some cola. “Oh Dean, thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome, we’ve got fifteen minutes until sundown sweetheart.” He placed her on the blanket.

He got her to lean on him as she no longer had the strength to sit up by herself, he pulled up a blanket over their legs. Arm wrapped around her to keep her warm. She wasn’t much of a talker so most of the time was spent in a blissful silence. The fiery orange sky reflected beautifully in her eyes and she smiled softly feeling her life slipping away but she wasn’t scared, only worried about the ones she was leaving behind but she knew they’ll be fine she was sure of it. 

“Everything is going to be okay, Dean.” She whispered.

“It would be better with you.” He held her tighter.

“Not much I can do about that.” Her voice was becoming weaker.

“No…”

“You know the funeral arrangements.”

“Yeah, we’ll hold it at your safe house in Wyoming.”

“You keep Eastwood but I swear if anything happens to him you are screwed.”

Dean laughed slightly. “Thank you.”

“I love you.” He breathed

“I love you too.”

Dean kissed her, it was short and sweet full of regret for what could have been. The tranquil silence took over again. He manueved them to get (Y/n) between his legs and placed his head on top of hers.

It was another fifteen minutes until the last breath left her body, in the arms of the man she loved. Dean knew almost immediately as he let himself cry, heartbroken sobs was the first thing the nurse noticed as she came up. She stood there waiting until she felt that she could console him. But right now she let him mourn.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #female reader #x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.37

Shiro arrived mid-afternoon, as Keith drank his forth cup of coffee to settle his nerves. His brother wasn’t great at keeping time, yet Keith wished he could have managed it for a nice change. Lance had been nervy all morning. He’d cleaned through the house, Keith still in bed when Lance came to attack the spare bedroom. His boyfriend casually lifting the bed, balancing it on his shoulder, vacuuming under it and placing the bed down again in a manner of minutes like it was perfectly normally, and he hadn’t been in the bed trying to sleep after tossing and turning all damn night as he wished he had the courage to go crawl into bed with Lance.

Matt and Lance were off to a rough start. Both males had looked each other up and down. Lance calling Matt a “mutt” and Matt calling Lance a “corpse”. Vampires and werewolves occasionally coexisted, but these two seemed natural born enemies. Lance had explained the house rules, Matt had looked bored, even scoffing when Lance asked that he and his girlfriend not have sex all over his house, and if they could wait until everyone was asleep before they did. Keith wasn’t sure this work. He could tell Lance was seething, the wine glass in his hand barely holding together in his kind of boyfriend’s tight grip. Sitting around the kitchen table, Shiro was trying his hardest to defuse the situation before it became one.

Smiling tightly, Shiro hand his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. His brother looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept the whole time he was away. It’d been months since Shiro had looked this bad. Keith wanted to send him to bed, but Shiro was kind of the lynchpin that brought everyone in the group together. If Shiro spoke, then both Lance and Matt would listen. Under the table Keith’s leg was against Lance’s trying to offer silent support as they couldn’t hold hands. Lance would freak if Keith even thought of trying

“Now. I know this is hard for all of us, but I think we should try by reintroducing ourselves. Lance?”

Keith felt it unfair Lance had to go first. Shiro hadn’t even talked to him alone about what had happened while he’d been away. Keith didn’t have anything he could use to make Lance feel better about the current situation. Whatever Shiro said, they’d be finding out together.

“I’m Lance. This is my house. I’ve been dead for the last 36 years. I have a cat called Blue. Pidge and Hunk are my two best human friends”

Lance sounded as if he was standing in front of some anonymous meeting. Detached and nervous. More nervous than detached

“Thanks for that, Lance. Keith?”

Shiro really was insistent they go through the whole charade

“Keith. Shiro’s brother. Apparently recently transferred to Platt. I like coffee”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him. His brother was lucky to get that much from him as it was. Yeah. He hasn’t forgotten being transferred with no say. Curtis didn’t need prompting as he explained

“Curtis. I’ve been cursed for about 4 months now. Ex-hunter who now works for VOLTRON out of Platt. Lance’s personal assistant, and medical advisor”

Again, Shiro raised his eyebrow in silent judgment. If his brother liked to be too busy, he was going to miss everything happening

“We’ll talk about that later. Matt?”

Matt sighed, his expressions were so much like Pidge’s that it was easy to tell the two of them were siblings. Other than the height difference and the long scar on Matt’s cheek, Pidge could have easily passed as him

“Matt. Werewolf”

Shiro closed his eyes, Keith nearly able to hear his brother counting to ten before he opened his eyes again

“Look. Neither of you might be happy initially, but we all need to be on the same team here”

Matt huffed, even his attitude was like Pidge’s

“Fine. Matt. Werewolf. I was accidentally by my girlfriend Rieva. Pidge’s older brother. I’ve got all the attributes including the sense of smell. Lance smells like a virgin in heat”

“It’s better than stinking off wet dog that rolled in something dead”

“Hey...”

Shiro pushed his seat back, rising to his feet as he slammed his hands on the table. Whelp. They’d gone and done it now

“Enough. You’re acting like children. This is Lance’s house, so as long as you’re living here, you’ll show him some respect. Lance, Matt and Rieva are you’re guests. I know you’ve been ill, but you need to keep your ego in check. You both need to keep your egos under control. Keith and I will be moving back to Platt Monday week. The both of your are under our care until you’re proven to be a direct threat to human lives. Especially you, Matt. Lance has a long track record of not harming humans. You, on the other hand, injured two of the Blade’s werewolves. I can’t keep you safe if you slip again”

Matt sighed again. Keith wanted to punch him in the face. Sure, there were a huge array of sounds that the word “sigh” covered, but Matt kept using the same one

“I’m sorry. You’re right. We’re both having issues with our egos”

Keith looked to Lance who gave a tiny nod, Lance didn’t want to be standoffish, especially not to the brother of his best friend

“I’m sorry to. My senses have been pretty whack lately. That’s why Curtis is here, he was sent by Coran to make sure I don’t up and die... again”

“Alright. Good. Now, I was thinking maybe we’d all get along better if we all knew how each other turned”

Lance immediately paled, Keith had seen how hard it was for the vampire to explain the incident

“Lance got attacked by two vampires when he was 8”

Matt let out a whistle

“Damn, man. They got you young. Rieva tried to hide she was a werewolf. We met on the same tour in Greece, then again a few days later in Paris. I took it as a sign, she kept trying to push me away, that was 10 months ago. She accidentally bit me 9 months ago... got this scar at the same time”

Rieva nodded. The woman was pretty in her own way. Tanned enough to for her skin to be a deeper shade of brown than Lance’s with long black hair and green eyes

“I never meant to hurt him. I turned at the full moon and escaped for the night. Matt came after me...”

“And I’m glad I did”

Ugh. So they were one of those disgustingly loved up couples.

Across the table Curtis cleared his throat

“I was cursed. I’ve got half a horn, and half a tail. I was supposed to infiltrate a werewolf pack in Prague, but they seemed to already know I was hunter. They were trying to summon the spirit of a berserker using magic, only I’m not a werewolf and the spell went wrong. I wasn’t permitted to stay in Rome, they didn’t take too kindly to me being cursed. Coran offered to take me, so I’ve been working in Platt looking into the curses effects in his laboratory. So far it seems to affect the things I say. Coran feels they summoned part of a lesser demon instead of a beast spirit, and part of its soul has bonded with my quintessence. Lance has been through a lot, and Coran thought we may be able to help each other. His fae magic had no effect on the curse. Of course, without the original spell working backwards has been hard. And it hasn’t been that great, but I’m happy to be alive. Especially now Shiro’s returned”

It was Keith’s turn to raise an eyebrow at his brother. Curtis had no filter and that sounded suspiciously like his brother had been keeping secrets about his love life. Either that, or Curtis simply meant he was happy to see his friend and hadn’t meant it the way he sounded. Just because he’d snagged himself a boyfriend, didn’t mean everyone was suddenly in love and dating. Shiro was still mourning Adam. They’d intended to marry and everything that came with it. It wasn’t fair... what had happened. Since meeting Lance, Keith had kind of felt like maybe he was better place himself, forced to work through feelings because there wasn’t a whole lot things to do in Garrison. Not that he was going to tell Shiro this. His brother had abandoned him and he figured he could milk that for a little longer.

“That’s rough. Most werewolves I’ve met have been all about the muscles and not the sharpest tools in the shed. They really shouldn’t be messing with that stuff. Not that vampires are any better. Who the fuck takes a human as a pet?”

Curtis nodded at Lance’s words, Matt didn’t look terribly pleased but by now he’d probably had his fair of share of scrapes with werewolves. Shiro simply smiled like he’d solved everything with one conversation. He definitely hadn’t.

“How’s Pidge doing?”

The glass in Lance’s hand finally broke. Lance shoving Keith when Keith automatically went to start picking up the pieces

“Idiot. You can’t touch the blood. I am not having you think I’ve turned you again”

Reprimanded by his boyfriend, Keith crossed his arms. Lance was super protective of Pidge, he’d have had months of Pidge upset because Matt wasn’t messaging her back

“I wasn’t thinking”

“That’s obvious. Don’t touch it while I get a cloth”

Matt watched as Lance cleaned up the mess, placing the glass in the sink to rinse the blood off of it

“I asked you how my sister is”

Keith almost felt sorry for Matt. A cranky Lance was a scary thing

“How do you think she is? I know you were staying away to do the right thing by your family, but you really fucking hurt her by not replying. She pretty much worships you, and you weren’t replying. She’s fine physically. Still hunting ghosts and making videos. Still wanting to do dumb things like she’s isn’t a human. Her and Hunk are still as tight as always. Hunk’s got a girlfriend now, Shay. She’s just like him, they’re so sweet together. They’ve got no idea about this world. I’ve never told her and I’ve done my best to make sure she never finds out”

Matt looked upset, hopefully with his actions

“You wouldn’t understand... I wasn’t going to come back...”

Keith groaned mentally, why would Matt go there? Lance understood too well what a bite did to a family

“I wouldn’t understand? Please tell me how I don’t know how being turned can ruin your family? How you’re scared of what you are and you don’t understand? I have no idea at all. We both know if Pidge knew, she’d want the bite. She’d want to be part of this world. Heck, I think she’s so interested in the paranormal because she wants to feel close to you again. Rieva, please don’t think I’m having a go at you. I know accidental turns happen, and how scared you must have been to turn Matt. I’ve put you and Matt in the room Keith and Shiro were using, the guest bathroom is near your room. It’s the downstairs spare room. Shiro, I’ll bunk you Curtis and Keith. I’ll have to find a spare bed, or one of you can sleep in the living room. Normally I don’t have a full house to worry about. My office is off limits. I work as a lawyer so I’d rather keep my clients information confidential. If I have to talk to a client, I’ll try warn you ahead of time. If you want to train, do it out on the back lawn, and don’t kill my garden. Also, Curtis and Keith aren’t allowed near the toaster without supervision... And maybe don’t touch Keith’s coffee, he’d likely to stab you for trying. He revivals Pidge with his need for caffeine. I’m going to double check the bedroom upstairs”

Lance had barely left the kitchen before Keith was pushing his chair back. Shiro cocking his head as he watched

“Where are you going?”

“To check on Lance. He’s obviously upset”

“When did become so perceptive?”

“When you went disappeared for weeks. Pidge is like a sister to Lance. Everything dangerous she wants to do he always checks it out first to make sure doesn’t get hurt. He’s been looking out for her, even when it puts him in danger. He collapsed a mine shaft so Pidge wouldn’t be hurt... Don’t listen to our conversation”

Yeah, Keith wasn’t be fair. He’d basically tattooed “I’m not okay with this situation across his forehead”. Shiro would make him apologise later, but for now he wanted to check on Lance. He’d gone from having Hunk and Pidge staying over to 6 people kind of living with him. Keith was already at his people limit before everyone came back. He’d missed Shiro, but he wasn’t sure he was keen on Matt. He wasn’t about to shoot him, but family was a complicated thing that Lance had had such a hard time with. Heading upstairs he headed straight for Lance’s bedroom, knowing he’d find him there.

*

Knocking gently on Lance’s door, he found Lance sitting on the side of his bed like he liked to do when he was thinking

“I didn’t handle that very well”

Keith sighed as he walked over to the bed, before sitting down next to Lance and taking his hand

“I think I handled that even worse”

“I heard. It’s just... my body is being weird again. I’m not used to the scent of werewolves and it’s making everything all yuck. I’ll get over it, but I shouldn’t have been so short with Matt”

“You were worried about Pidge. You’re allowed to worry about your friends”

Lance dropped his head to rest of Keith’s shoulder

“Still. I made a horrible first impression”

“If Matt is anything like Pidge, you’ll be fine once it settles down a bit”

“I feel like I’m lying to her by not letting her know he’s here and that he’s okay”

“Nah. Think of it like a surprise. Besides, you’re not intentionally hurting her by not telling her right away”

“Still feels like I am. How are you? You must be happy Shiro’s back”

“I’m relieved. I’m still mad at him though. I get why he had to keep quiet until things were organised”

“You two will work things out. You should be downstairs with everyone else...”

“I’m fine here. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. How’s the hand?”

“Healed up. I must have looked so lame breaking the glass”

“You didn’t meant to”

“It still happened. I know Pidge is human and close ties are dangerous but I don’t want to see her hurt”

“I know you don’t. It’s one of the things I like about you”

“It’s not my great arse and award winning personality?”

Lance tried to joke but it sounded flat. Keith didn’t like it. Lance was being too hard on himself for caring

“Those too. So, what are we going to do about bedding? I don’t mind sleeping on the couch”

“If anyone should be sleeping on the couch, it should be me. I knew I didn’t have enough beds, but I don’t know what to do about that”

“I can sleep on the couch. I’ve slept on way worse”

“Mami would have a fit if I made a guest sleep on the couch”

“Then how about we share a bed?”

Keith didn’t mean it to sound as forward as it did. But Lance’s bed would easily fit both of them, and there was only one bed left. Not that he actually minded the couch. There would be plenty of space for him

“I don’t know... wouldn’t that make things awkward with Shiro?”

“Like you said, I need to talk to him anyway”

“I get nightmares...”

“So do I”

“But you’re not a vampire. I could seriously hurt you”

“Or, it could be fine. Why don’t we just try it for the night and think about things tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I turned the forth room into my office... maybe I could sleep there?”

“Lance, it’s your house. You shouldn’t be kicked out your own bed for doing a nice thing and giving Rieva and Matt a place to call home”

“I can’t imagine what the two of them went through. I really hope they don’t hate me”

“Like you said, it’s an ego thing. You can’t control that, but if anyone can bring their ego under control, it’s you”

Lance let out a small snort. Keith taking the win

“See, you know I’m right. You’re overthinking things”

“Only because I’m rubbish at hosting people”

“Nah, I’m still here, aren’t I?

“Only because you’re stubborn”

“I’m as stubborn as you are. Seriously though, you’re fine. Things’ll settle down”

“I’m worried about going into heat. I have I idea how to explain that”

“You don’t have to, unless you want to”

“I’m not going to have much choice if I turn into a bat”

“We can talk to Shiro together. Or I can tell him. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable”

“You’re the one I’m worried about. I don’t want you and Shiro to end up fighting because of me”

That was so Lance

“Even if we fight, we’re brothers at the end of the day”

“That must be nice. Mami is the glue that keeps my family together. I miss her”

For someone older than him, Lance was sweet for still caring for his mum the way he did. If it wasn’t for the fact they had three new arrivals, Keith would suggest a trip up to Platt

“Why don’t you call her?”

“She’d known something’s up. She’s got enough to worry about”

“She loves you. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. But I get if you don’t want to call her. Can I do anything?”

“You already are. You should go talk to Shiro. I might take a nap and calm down”

Lance took too much on his shoulders. Keith didn’t want to leave him alone when he was feeling down

“I can stay...”

“Nah. I’ll Be okay. You go make up with Shiro. It’ll make me feel better”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks for coming to check on me”

“I’ve got your back”

“I know... if I’m not away in hour or so, come poke me with a stick”

Keith found himself kissing the top of Lance’s head, before replying

“Will do. I’ll find the biggest stick I can”

“Why do I feel like you’re actually going to find a stick now?”

“Because I am. Now let’s get you tucked in. Can’t have you sleeping on top of the covers”

“I’m not a little kid”

“You could be”

“Fight me”

Keith laughed. He deserved that one

“After the old man gets his sleep. I’ll sort things out with Shiro, so stop worrying about it so much”

“I can’t help it. I care about you”

Keith kissed the top of Lance’s head again. Shiro was going to be confused as fuck when he finally explained what was going on between him and Lance. Hopefully his brother would be more distracted by what was happening with his heart that his newly discovered love life

“I care about you too. It’s going to be okay”

#once Bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

[razaks-wheel]

@tesruinedmylife​ thank you! :D

Prompt: “temple” from “an Elder Scrolls writing prompt list”

---

Barely a year since the disaster, barely a dent put into the relief efforts, and already they would have to leave Mournhold. Vivec had argued, naturally. Though ze had gotten much better about turning hir guilt into action, this new threat of invading Argonians seemed to have triggered something and caused hir to revert to hir initial response. Ze had already let hir own city and its residents be destroyed; ze did not want to let the same thing happen for Ayem's. Ze would rather suffer and die alongside those who chose to remain.

Luckily, Ildari had managed to convince hir. They would work with the other mages to open portals so that anyone who wanted to escape could do so, and then they would leave for themselves. There was still so much to do, and they would be of no use to the relief efforts if they were dead. Besides, they had her daughter Dreveni to think about, and her grandmother Talvini. While the latter was perfectly capable of making and acting on her own decisions, Ildari did not want to put her in a position to choose between her safety and her family.

They had also picked up one of Almalexia's Hands, Llevura, an old friend of Talvini's. Judging by Llevura's distressed expression when she met up with their party, Ildari suspected that Talvini's persuasion methods might have involved the leveraging of an old life's debt and possibly some threats of force to get her to leave her post and join them rather than die senselessly when the city walls were inevitably breached, but she was glad to have her all the same.

They had heard of more relief efforts being centered all the way up north, in Blacklight. Normally, that would have been quite a trek, but with two mages and a former god who was familiar with the city, it was only a matter of minutes to open the portal when the time came. They stepped through and arrived at the steps to the Blacklight temple.

"Interesting choice of target location," Ildari said quietly. "Not planning on keeping a low profile to start with?"

"Temples are still hubs in magicka-space; they're easy to teleport to," Vivec said. "We'll need to make ourselves known sooner or later, anyway. Might as well be now."

"Fair enough."

Ildari led them inside. While she looked around for a high-ranking priest, Vivec pointed Talvini in the direction of Sotha Sil's shrine, and she led Dreveni off under the pretense of allowing the girl to commune with her father. The rest of them began walking in the opposite direction until they saw a priest with an ornate stole and an air of authority around him. He seemed to notice Llevura's armor and came over to meet them.

"What brings a Hand of Almalexia all the way to Blacklight?"

Ildari prepared to answer for her, in case Llevura wished to pass the responsibility onto her traveling companions—either out of respect or disapproval—but she responded smoothly enough.

"Reporting in from Mournhold, serjo," she said. "Have you heard of the trouble there?"

"Vaguely. Something about Argonians?"

"Indeed. They've made their way up the Deshaan region, pillaging everything in their path, and are likely sacking Mournhold as we speak."

"And you left your post?" the priest demanded. "You abandoned Almalexia's holy city to be destroyed by invaders?"

Llevura's jaw tightened, but before she could respond, Vivec spoke.

"Peace, Nilas. In Almalexia's absence, Llevura answers to me."

The priest's eyes narrowed as he turned to Vivec as if just now noticing hir.

"And who would you be, to hold such authority over a Hand of Almalexia?"

Most days, Vivec loved the theatrics of the big reveal. Ze would put on hir now-illusory two-toned skin, pull hir legs up into hir favorite levitating position, set hir head aglow, and flash a bright smile and maybe a wink.

Today, however, ze simply responded, "Vivec."

The priest's face paled as he realized his misstep. He bowed deeply and said, "My sincere apologies. You are not, ah...looking like yourself. I did not recognize you."

"No offense was taken," Vivec said. "I prefer to keep my identity relatively quiet while my companions and I work for the relief efforts, if you would afford me that respect and not inform your subordinates." Ze motioned to hir side. "My friend Ildari here tends to lead our little team."

The priest turned to her. "Ildari, as in—?"

"Ildari Llothri," she said. "Nerevarine and former Hortator of the Great Houses on Vvardenfell. We'd like to help in any way we can, as well as coordinate the sending of aid to the areas affected by the invasion. First, though, I think we need to take a few moments to regroup. We'll be in touch."

The priest bowed once more and gave them their privacy.

"I need to meditate," Llevura said as soon as the priest was gone. "I'll be at your command when you need me."

Without waiting for confirmation, she turned and walked away, leaving Ildari and Vivec alone. Ildari waited until the Hand was out of earshot, and then turned to Vivec.

"You okay?" she asked. "I know we need to start working as soon as possible, but you seemed like you needed a minute."

Rather than offer a verbal response, Vivec turned and began walking back the way they came. Ildari followed hir to the door to Almalexia's shrine.

"Do you want me to wait out here?" she asked.

Ze gestured for her to follow and went in.

"Ward the door, please," ze said once she was inside.

She cast a locking spell on the door, followed by a sound wall, and then wrapped the whole thing in a thick barrier. When she turned around, Vivec was kneeling by the shrine. Ze drew a dagger from hir waist and set it on the ledge, as if making an offering to an honored ancestor's spirit.

Ze looked like ze needed space. Ildari sat on a cushion along the side of the room and did some meditating of her own.

She always felt strange at shrines to Almalexia, much more so than the other two. Vehk's shrines carried no great weight, since ze was still alive. She could know where she stood with hir at any given moment, just by living with hir. Shrines to Seht had a comforting air. Their last meeting had been on happy terms, and he'd known how it would end. She could assume—or, at least, hope—that Seht was looking on at her as a friend.

Ayem's shrines were challenging. Ildari's last meeting with Almalexia, all the way back in the Second Era while being just four years ago from her perspective, was also a happy one. But at Almalexia's last encounter with Ildari, twelve years ago, well, Ildari had killed her. She had no idea where she would stand with her. In death, would she remember Ildari as having once been a friend? Or would she only remember her as an adversary, the destroyer of her divinity, and her killer? She might not know until her own death, and it felt wrong to address her as though everything were okay.

Instead, she turned her thoughts to the room itself. While it was still clearly upkept, she could detect some early signs of disuse. The magicka flow of the space did not reflect the high traffic that one would expect in a big city. The prayer books were kept in neat piles rather than strewn around the room, as if untouched since they were last tidied.

She wondered where this temple community was in their transition away from the Tribunal. Given the complete lack of anything relating to the Good Daedra that she had noticed, it seemed likely that they had been waiting as long as possible. Maybe they had waited too long, and many of the people, with no gods ready to turn to when Baar Dau fell, had lost their faith altogether. Vivec would be upset. While ze hated seeing hir people forced to turn to Daedra, ze hated even more to see them alone. Ze might have a nice, long lecture for the priest Nilas at the next opportunity.

She heard a broken sob and turned to see Vivec reaching an arm out for her. She approached carefully, half worried that her presence would spark Almalexia's anger and wash away all of Vivec's prayer. But ze pulled her down to hir level as soon as she was close, squeezed her tight, buried hir face in her shoulder, and broke down.

"I let her down," ze breathed between sobs. "I let her city be destroyed. I let her temple burn. I let her people die. Just like I did with my own city."

Ildari wished she could offer advice, but she knew it was a feeling only a god could understand. She settled for squeezing hir back and letting hir get it all out. She knew they would have so few moments of privacy in the days to come, and Vivec needed the time to process what had happened, and what was happening.

After a while, Vivec's breathing slowed down to normal. After another moment, ze released Ildari and helped her up. Ze turned to the shrine and whispered one more apology, and then wiped hir eyes and turned back to Ildari.

"Well. Shall we?" ze asked.

"Did you want to talk about that at all?"

"What is there to talk about? I let her down, and now I need to make it up to her by helping the survivors as much as I can," ze said. "Now, shall we go find Nilas? There's work to be done, and then he and I need to have a chat about this temple's transition process."

#ildari #llevura #talvini #razak's ocs #prompted #thank you! :D

[aty-altiria]

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME

Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building 

Word count: 2470

Universe: My Hero Academia, Harry Potter

Pairings: Fem!Harry/Present Mic

Rating: T

Themes: Collapsed Building, Panic Attack, Background Character Death

Summary: Hizashi didn’t track his days by good or bad, he just lived them. He never allowed a bad moment to ruin his mood, or the rest of what could be a potentially amazing day. But even Hizashi could admit… that particular day, though it started off good, was one of the worst in his life.

@whumptober2020 

---

Hizashi knew from experience that the worst of days typically started off like any other day. There wasn't anything poetic about them, no stormy sky that screamed ‘run,’ no ominous music, no blatant signs saying that maybe he shouldn't go to work that day. The worst days weren't heralded by anything out of the ordinary—no rain at funerals, no tragic music to go with a hospital visit. There's was no sign. Nothing that told Hizashi that day would be unlike any other.

That particular morning started that same as the one before it. Hizashi woke second, he always did. Hizashi Yamada was, personally, an early bird. His jobs often kept him up late, so he often had trouble waking up. Hizashi needed sleep so severely due to his careers that he was to the point of needing seven different alarms. He'd sleep through everyone before his lovely wife finally turned them off and woke him up herself. By that point, coffee was already made - his goddess of a wife was the best at brewing it - and breakfast ready for them both.

"Tomorrow you sleep in, I'll do breakfast!" He had emphasized the comment with a swing of his arm that would have sent coffee across the room and right into Holly's face. Thankfully for them both, she had long ago carved runes in all their cups to prevent precisely that. As it was, Holly, an early bird herself, simply smiled with indulgence. Because as much as Hizashi wanted to do that - and did when the opportunity presented itself - they both knew he worked three jobs and wouldn't have the time. His positions as a teacher, pro-hero, and radio host stole all his time; honestly, there weren't enough hours in the day. Plenty of partners hadn't been able to handle it in his past and that Holly could made him even more willing to keep her. Holly was understanding and had her own interests that kept her busy, which Hizashi was glad for.

Holly was kept busy with things like her work as an ambassador for the magical community and the classes she taught in Mahoutokoro and her volunteer work. Between the two of them, it was a miracle they saw each other at all during the day, yet they managed. Holly would frequently visit UA, so much so that the kids knew her by sight, and she'd have lunch with him. They always made an effort to have breakfast together. And he'd sneak constant phone calls during song breaks at the radio-station. They made it work, so Hizashi thought nothing of the typical morning full of the regular routine.

In fact, things seemed to be shaping up to be a fantastic day because Holly would be bringing him - and Shouta - lunch after her meeting downtown. Hizashi even managed to convince Holly to spontaneously dance in their kitchen as the radio played one of their many songs before leaving. The lyrics absolutely didn't match them, but the music played when they'd first met, so Hizashi treasured it.

Hizashi left for work on time and didn't meet up with any traffic - a nice perk to marrying a witch, instant teleportation to his office at the school. Then Holly kissed him a fond farewell, playfully set a coffee beside the bundle that was Shouta, dodged the slap on the butt that Nemuri tried to catch Holly with, and vanished with a crack.

It was a good morning, and Hizashi was still smiling by his second lesson, the one before noon and his lunch-date with Holly.

It was a typical day.

And then Kaminari yelped in surprise in the middle of class. For the last ten minutes he'd been hiding his phone in his lap. He clearly thought Hizashi was blind and hadn't noticed that Kaminari was smiling into his crotch, which wouldn't have surprised him. Hizashi had left the boy to it out of the sheer laziness. Either way, the teen had gasped none too quietly and dragged the attention of the entire classroom. It had been a rare moment of silence ironically; otherwise, no one would have noticed-

He wouldn't have known-

"What's up, Denki?" That was Jiro thinking she was subtle in whispering under breath, which she was, but that was only because Hizashi was virtually deaf without his hearing aids. So technically speaking, he'd read the girl's lips.

"Yes, share with the class." Hizashi prompted as he casually leaned against the blackboard.

Kaminari flinched, paled, and looked up all at once. The sheepish expression grew from there, and the boy slowly pulled his phone out to present it. "Sorry sensei, it's just… there was a villain attack downtown, and it looks pretty bad."

The first thought in Hizashi's head at that moment was, if the attack was bad enough, he'd have known about it long before the news crews did. His second thought was: 'Holly is downtown.' The third was that he had Kaminari's phone in hand, and he hadn't even realized he was moving until it was.

"Sorry! I won't look at my phone again-… sensei?"

A woman was reporting, she was in a chopper over a collapsed building. He could see the surrounding area, see that the top sixteen floors had crushed the lower ones. The building had been destroyed until it was a third of its original height. Dozens of fires had started, and the reporter was warning the audience about graphic content, then the camera panned toward a collection of bloody smears which had been people- the villain was- a quirk that- red feathers rescued civilians- Holly worked in-

Hizashi knew that building.

"Sensei?!"

"He's freaking out…"

"Someone go get-"

"Present Mic? Are you alright-"

The building sat right beside Holly's, but Holly's was magic, so it was spelled to prevent Muggles from seeing it, from knowing about it. Hizashi only knew it existed because he'd been there. Holly had walked him through the barrier and given him a charm that protected his mind from Muggle-repellent charms.

"-Mic-"

Her building was right beside that one. It was buried underneath sixteen floors, which had landed right where it should be. No one, absolutely no one but a person with magic would have any idea that they were there. No one knew to rescue her- his wife- his-

"Hizashi!"

The blow stung, but it helped him refocus on Shouta. His best friend was staring Hizashi down with a hand still raised from the slap he'd just given Hizashi. Behind him were the kids, panicked, concerned, and ready for action. They were put-together despite their pro-hero teacher having a complete break down over a news report. And Hizashi, at one point he'd fallen to his knees- he'd also cracked the screen of Kaminari's phone- and Holly-

"Holly," he choked out, trying to stand- why wasn't his legs- he couldn't feel them-

"Hizashi focus, tell me what's wrong." Shouta was unflappably calm; he was steady when Hizashi's world shook. "What about Holly?"

"Her building," his words came out more like a whimper than anything, and it caused several of the more empathetic kids to flinch. Hizashi wasn't in the right mind to care either, not when his wife was likely-

"Kids come on, let's leave them-" that was Nemuri, when had she gotten there?

"I'm not leaving!"

"Maybe we can help!"

"Back off extra!"

Hizashi forced himself to focus and turned the cracked phone toward Shouta to explain: "Holly's building is beside this one, but she has a spel-" -that was a secret- "protections on it to prevent it from being located. No one will know to save her-" Shouta took the phone, pulled it from Hizashi's grip and focused on the location. His eyes glazed slightly, and Hizashi realized the charm worked beyond in person; it also worked across video footage. He quickly reached for his charm; it could help Shouta focused. They'd need it.

"Then we have to go!" Iida piped up, "we can assist in searching and rescuing the people trapped in this building!"

"We'll have to figure out how to find it, though, if we can't see it without prior knowledge? Unless the quirk works differently-"

"There's no time for talking; any second we waste here is another moment that more people could die! We should move out now."

"Its downtown," Tsuyu tried to calm the group, "our efforts are better spent contacting the heroes present to tell them of the building."

"My internship was near there, I can contact the group there to assist."

Hizashi managed a breath as the kids sped into action. They worked together instantly with the briefest bit of information. As Shouta stood and corralled them, gave them individual jobs as Nemuri took position on the floor beside him.

"I can't stay here…" he choked out, and she nodded.

"The kids are already going to tell Nedzu. Come on, my car is nearby. We can drive there together."

It may be pointless, it may be too late- Hizashi felt sick at the thought, but no comforting word would help him then. Nothing could make this better but Holly back, safe and sound, in his arms.

—

Holly woke up with Hizashi tucked so close to her that they almost blended into one person. Holly was instantly comforted by the feel on his beard, unshaved for several days, on her arm, and his hand tangled up around her body. Any tension built in awakening quickly evaporated as she realized she was alive, and Hizashi was safe with her.

Holly exhaled slowly and took in the hospital room. The first thing she noticed was that it was magical, which meant Hizashi had purposely ensured she was brought there. Which likely meant Holly had been far worse off than initially assessed. Still, considering the last Holly remembered, she had been trapped and unable to feel her lower body before blacking out… well, Holly found relief that she could currently wiggle her toes. She wasn't paralyzed.

"It was Hizashi that pulled you out."

Holly flinched minutely and shot a look to Hizashi; with the bags under his eyes, she did not want to wake him up, she knew at a glance that he needed rest. Hizashi continued to breathe slowly, and she relaxed long enough to address the speaker. The voice had startled her only because Holly hadn't noticed Shouta' napping' in the corner. It was a sign of how out of it she still was that he hadn't seen the bright yellow sleeping back to her left. That and she was honestly surprised Shouta had been allowed inside the magical hospital; he'd likely pretended to be a squib or Hizashi's relative to manage it. She could believe it, Shouta knew about magic for as long as he'd known about her, even though he technically wasn't allowed too.

"We contacted the heroes present in the collapse, but none of them could see the building." Shouta slowly started to climb from his sleeping bag, "something I think your people need to work on, secrecy or not."

"I don't disagree," she pointed out. Holly had been one of the leading voices in Muggle heroes being allowed to know about them. For rescue cases such as the one she'd gotten involved it or in the case of a hero finding a magical kid out of control. If they were to and treat a thing like that like a quirk, it could be a disaster. Not the mention that the fact that 'quirkless' didn't exist anymore and society had no idea. No clue that 'quirkless' children were actually magical ones. Not that her people were better at telling, Holly could name two people she personally knew missed by the magical warning system.

"Hmm," Shouta yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, "we arrived with some of the kids, damned brats insisted on coming. Had a full mutiny on my hands because of you." Not that he disapproved. The brats had their hero licenses now, so they were allowed legally to assist. Midoriya had been specifically helpful as the wards didn't affect him. "It's annoying to be attempting to rescue people only to forget why I needed to. Not to mention having to grab Todoroki because he went running into traffic because he forgot the 'toaster' was on in the dorms."

Holly's sheepish expression grew even if it wasn't her fault.

Shouta just stared her down. "Midoriya was the one who located you, and Hizashi pulled you from the rubble where he insisted upon driving you here because your legs were mangled." She flinched, and Shouta's mad grin grew, but he couldn't disguise the worry in his eyes, "that was four days ago."

"And the casualties?"

"Sixteen, including both buildings… smaller than originally projected. Many survived thanks to a few nearby witches." Holly leaned her head back and felt Hizashi shift, he curled in closer to her, and she tightened the grip she had on his hand. He'd been holding hers while she'd been out, unmoving while she slept. "You worried him."

"I… didn't mean to."

"I know, and so does he," Shouta stood and started to roll up his sleeping bag, "though just so you've been warned, Nedzu intends to force him on vacation after this. Better take advantage of it… you both deserve one." With that, he slipped from the room, leaving Holly and Hizashi be.

Holly turned slowly once the door was closed; she looked at Hizashi and the stress in his sleeping face. She hated to see it, hated to know she'd caused it.

Hoping to relax his brow, she reached up and ran a figure along the pinch there. Like she'd used magic, Hizashi relaxed, and his sleep looked far gentler. The expression did it; Holly felt the tears begin to fall as she gave in to the fear she hadn't dared feel while she'd been pinned. The terror that she'd be forced to leave Hizashi, to pass on without him. She'd thought, believed for an instant that she'd never see him again, never do another lunch-date, never fall asleep together, never dancing to their many songs-

"Holly," Hizashi's fingers carefully wiped the tears falling along her cheeks. He had no words, and neither did she, but they didn't truly need them. Not as Hizashi held her tight, and they both acknowledged the terror and the relief that they'd made it.

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #Collapsed building #my hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #BNHA #present mic #yamada hizashi #Harry Potter #fem!harry potter #fanfiction

[storyoflovingaddiction]

Fluffy ABCs| O. Diaz

A/N: Hey guys I’m back from the dead! Hehe, it’s been pretty long since I’ve written stuff, so to get back in the game here are some fluffy prompt ABCs. 

I got these ABCs from @nightboundless

Request: OPEN (but it’s probably going to take me 20 years lol)

I was rushing to post this so there are probably a lot of errors

Follow me on instagram

A – Anger (What was their first fight about? Any big or recurring arguments?)

The pairs’ first, out of many, major fight was about Oscar coming home bloody after fighting a Prophet, perhaps to prove a point or to show off, who knows. You didn’t want to have to worry about whether he would come home in a bloody pulp or not. You not so subtly suggested that he leave the Santos and stop partaking in gang activity which just resulted in a huge argument consisting of verbal abuse from the both of you along with broken furniture and hurt feelings. But deep down, Oscar knew you were right, after the argument he found himself wondering what life would be like without Gangs and being a normal couple. Part of him wants to leave the Santos, but the other half wants to stay in Freeridge to protect his brother and his girl.

B – Best (What would they say is the other’s best trait?)

Oscar loves your innocence, him being in a gang he has seen the hard truth and pain of life, you always see the good and beauty in things, and he absolutely loves you for that. He sees you as so pure and perfect to the point he’ll melt a little just thinking about it. You love Oscar’s sarcastic humor and wit, even if you were in the worst of moods, he never seemed to fail in making you smile or laugh. 

C – Camera (How do they document their relationships? Who likes to take pictures? Or videos?)

Oscar isn’t really the type to take pictures, it ruins his gang leader demeanor, but every now and then he’ll take a sneaky photo of you and save them. You being stupid, you being goofy, just any picture of you. He’ll always deny it, but his camera roll is nearly filled with pictures of you. He pretty much has a photo album called ‘princess’ which is ultimately dedicated to you and your relationship. Lowkey saves your nudes. You are a lot more open in the fact that you take pictures of his dumbass. You constantly take pictures and selfies with him and post it on social media, not much to his liking. Unlike Oscar, You’re more likely to take videos of your relationship. You love taking videos of him when he’s completely oblivious, or when he’s focusing on something so pointless.

D – Dates (What are their dates like?)

Oscar doesn’t really like to bring so much attention to himself, especially when entering a new relationship, so for a first date, it would probably be something lowkey like a Santos Party or a dumb movie. However, if he has been in a pretty long relationship he would take You to a place special to him. Like the beach he took Cesar to or a book store since he was a Spelling Bee champ when he was in school. Aside from this, he tries to take you to fancy places once in a while just to treat you like the princess you are, he can barely afford it though.

E – Early (What was the first month of dating like?) 

It was way too slow for your liking. All because Oscar wasn’t sure he wanted someone like you in his life. You were too innocent to pure, you were a liability, dating you would make you an immediate target for is enemies. He already had to watch over and protect Cesar and being with you would just add more to his plate. Eventually, the two of you managed to work through this because neither one of you wanted to end it.

F – Friends (How is their relationship with each other’s group of friends?)

Oscar absolutely hates your friends, he sees them as fake-ass hynas and certainly not the best for his princesa. 

As for you, you’ve grown to tolerate some of his friends. Some such as Mario you consider family.

G – Gifts (Do they like giving each other gifts? What kind?)

Oscar doesn’t really give gifts unless it’s a special occasion, but if he sees you eyeing something online or in a store he has no problem stealing it for you buying it for you. He’ll wrap it as best as he can and casually leave it on your bed or on the kitchen table. He tries to play coy because he really doesn’t see the big deal about buying gifts, but if you like it he’s sure as hell going to wait hours to get you what you want “You got me the bracelet?!” “I have no idea what you’re talking about, mamasita” he acts as if he doesn’t care, but secretly he can’t wait till you thank him with kisses which escalates to something more. You really love to surprise him with gifts and little charms that he’ll hang on close to. You sometimes buy him clothes to help with his limited wardrobe. 

H – Hugs (All things involving hugs)

You absolutely love hugging Oscar, you feel like he doesn’t get as much love as he should because of his image. You love tackling him into a hug and pressing wet kisses on his face. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He loves to hug you from behind and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, the warm feeling of your bodies pressed together makes you feel weak. He always plants kisses on your neck and shoulder.

I – Inside Jokes (Do they have any?)

You and Oscar don’t really have any inside jokes, aside from funny quips, remarks, making fun of Cesar and friends, and making snarky sarcastic remarks to what each other say.

J – Jealousy (Who gets jealous easier? How do they show their jealousy?)

WITHOUT A DOUBT, OSCAR. He mostly gets jealous in public rather than at home because at home he has you all to himself. When he sees other people racking your body and checking you out like a piece of meat, he gets very territorial. He immediately holds your hand or wraps his arm around you. Sometimes he’s good at being subtle about his jealousy and to others, it just seems like he’s giving a little too much PDA, which you secretly enjoy. He definitely glares down anyone who glances your way suggestively and does things to make sure they know you’re his and only his. Oscar has ZERO tolerance for people putting their hands on you. He’s thrown a few punches here and there, beaten up a few people just so people get the message not to touch his girl. Oscar gets very jealous for your touch and doesn’t think anyone else other than himself deserves it. Sometimes you get flirty comments and catcalls thrown at you, but you just ignore them, Oscar hates how you can be so patient with them, instead, he’ll reply to the guy as snarky as possible and tighten his grip on you. He absolutely has no problem in grabbing you mid-sentence and pulling you into a heated kiss if you were talking to another guy he didn’t like or is suspicious of. After dating him for so long you start to pick little signs on his jealousy, like, when he’s really jealous he gets touchy. He slips his hand in your back pocket, grip your ass and/or breasts, or attack your neck with kisses, and yes, in public. No one messes with you unless they want to die. He literally doesn’t give a damn, you’re his, and he needs people to know that.

K – Kiss (How do they kiss? Who usually initiates?)

Oscar would definitely be the one to initiate the kisses, he absolutely loves the warm feeling of his lips on top of yours. If you start the kissing you like to go in soft chaste before he decides to deepen it and make it more passionate and sexy. He holds you tightly as he kisses you as if you’d disappear if he didn’t. Usually, if Oscar starts the kissing he’ll try to let it escalate into something more.

L – Love (How do they first say those three words?)

Oscar fell in love the first couple months of dating you, but he never really could say those three words out loud. Part of him thought the relationship might end and there was no point trying to commit. You would most likely be the first to say it. It would happen out of the blue, maybe when the two of you were cuddling, and you just blurted it out. It caught Oscar by surprise and you were very embarrassed when he was silent for a couple seconds until he whispered back “..ok”. You were very happy that day because you knew that it was very hard for him to open up about things. He loves you very much but is just scared of commitment.

M – Movies (What kinds of movies do they watch together? Is it a regular Netflix ritual?)

Oscar would like to watch movies with serious plots that aren’t ridiculous. I feel like he isn’t the type to watch comedies or romance, He likes action, thriller, horror, and drama. He also enjoys watching movies and shows with gangs, so he can point out everything wrong about it and make fun of it. You love feel-good movies and binging Netflix shows. You often force Oscar to watch shows like The Office with you. 

N – Nicknames (Things they call each other)

Oscar calls you “babe” “baby” “mami” “mamasita” “baby girl” just classic relationship names because he’s too lazy to think of anything else. 

O – One (Tell us about the moment they realized they were with the one.)

You knew early on, you felt a sense of security whenever you were with him and you loved that, but early in the relationship you knew he didn’t feel the same. Oscar hates when girls make him chase after them, that’s an automatic deal breaker, Spooky Diaz doesn’t chase after women they chase after him. It definitely knew you were the one when you kept things 100 with him, no encrypted message type deals you were straight forward and legit. He had these walls that he had built up for so long and when he was with you they came tumbling down. The two of you had formed a close and tight bond, the type Oscar only thought he could achieve with his brother. At first, he tried to convince himself you weren’t worth it. That you were just some random hyna and could easily be replaced. But good people like you don’t come easy, and after seeing you laughing with the other Santos as if you were a family made him realize that he could never live a life without you.

P – Pizza (What is their favorite food to eat together?)

Oscar is such a good cook, so I feel like as a couple your favorite food to eat is probably anything he makes. You’re constantly bugging him to cook ever since he made you the best ceviche you had ever tasted. For the most part, you’re the one cooking which he loves not only the food but the effort. He finds the fact that you wake up early every morning to make him breakfast so cute and sweet. 

Q – Quit (Do they break up? Almost break up? What happened?) \

After a very serious argument, the pair did break up but eventually came back together six weeks later because secretly they longed for each other.

R – Rainy Days (How do they comfort each other on dark days?)

Unlike Oscar, you go to college and you get very stressed about things from school, you’re parents also stress you because they would you to be with something worthwhile and serious and Oscar definitely wasn’t their first choice. When you’re stressed you automatically go to Oscar for comfort. He lets you relax against his chest and rubs circles on your back, whispering reassuring things in Spanish. You eventually fall asleep and anyone who walks in can see you snuggled against Oscar’s chest while he lies down on the couch planting kisses on your head.

S – Soft (Something one of them did that turned the other into absolute mush.)

You love when Oscar hugs you from behind and kisses your neck and shoulder. He always whispers sweet and/or naughty things in your ear and your basically silly putty in his arms.

T – Texting (Do they text each other a lot? What do they usually talk about over the phone?)

Oscar hates calling people and prefers to just text, it’s more convenient, you two especially like to text when you’re far from each other or somewhere you don’t want to be. To make sure your safe Oscar demands that you text him something that only you would text him.

U – Unique (Tell us about some of their odd habits that surprised one another.) 

I feel like the pair have gotten to know each other pretty well over the time that they’ve been dating. They’ve gotten used to each other’s little quirks and weird habits.

V – Vanity (Something they’re proud of in themselves and their partner.)

You’re very proud about Oscar’s success in being the leader of the Santos and find much pride in being “Spooky’s Girl”.

W – Wedding (Tell us about your wedding headcanon if they’ve gotten that far. Or if not, have they talked about it?)

Weddings are something you two never talk about. Oscar is very scared of commitment and you would never want to push him or pressure him into talking about topics that make him uncomfortable. Believe it or not, Oscar would love to give you the fancy wedding and the family life with a great family but with his reputation and strikes, he knows that’s never going to happen.

X – X (Something they hate about the other.)

Oscar usually has a tendency to not tell you what he’s doing or where he’s going, especially if it has to do with the Santos, and it annoys the hell out of you. You would like to be more involved with him and the gang as a way to show “Spooky’s Girl” has his back. He tends not to tell you things because he thinks it keeps you safe but really it makes you made that you’re out of the loop. Heck, Cesar and his little friends are more involved then you! Oscar doesn’t like how you pry your nose into his business. He sees it as overbearing and you’re not his mom so you shouldn’t be so worried about what he’s doing. This usually is the root of all of your arguments.

Y – YouTube (What are they like online? Do they post about their relationship constantly?)

Oscar isn’t the type to post things online and isn’t really the type to share what he does with his girl on social media period. His relationship is between him and you, not random strangers. You would probably post things sometimes. Cute videos of the two or pictures that screamed relationship goals. I feel like at one point You would try to tease Oscar by sending him a naughty picture of yourself but accidentally shared it yo your 25,000 followers on Instagram.

Z – Zoo (Are they into animals? Do they want pets? What kind?)

I feel like you two wouldn’t have any pets, it’s too much responsibility. But if you were to have a pet Oscar would prefer a dog, especially a pitbull that way you would have someone to protect you when he isn’t there.

#Oscar diaz #spooky diaz #Oscar spooky diaz #Santos #on my block #Omb #OMB #omb #Oscar #Diaz #Spooky #Netflix #On my block oscar #On my block spooky #Oscar diaz x reader #spooky diaz x reader #On my block x reader #On my block fanfiction

[biscuitreviews]

Biscuit Reviews Death Stranding

Death Stranding was my second most anticipated game for 2019 (the first being Kingdom Hearts III). It was Hideo Kojima’s first independent game after a very public split from Konami in 2015. Many fans would wonder what would be his next project afterwards. Shortly afterwards he would form his own development studio and make a deal with Sony to create his next game. The small teases for Death Stranding were fantastic. “What is this invisible creature leaving handprints and this black substance with each step? Why is that baby in a pod? Why is Norman Reedus naked on a beach?” These were some of the questions that was on everyone’s mind when viewing these initial teasers.

This is perhaps the toughest game I have had to review on Biscuit Reviews. Death Stranding is already a very divisive game among gamers. Some people have called it “The best game of 2019.” Others have called it “The most boring game of 2019.” As for what I consider Death Stranding. It’s certainly not what I would call the best game of 2019, but rather, “The most boring and innovative game of 2019.”

You play as Sam Porter Bridges (portrayed by Norman Reedus) a Porter who makes deliveries to various cities and compounds throughout America delivery supplies and items. He enters a contract with an organization known as Bridges to “Reconnect America” to form the United Cities of America. His motivation for connecting America is to save his sister Amelie who is being held hostage by a terrorist organization known as Homo Demens.

During Sam’s travels he will come across challenging terrains, MULEs, a group of crazed porters addicted to delivering packages (That is seriously the in-game explanation for this group), and BTs, invisible creatures that will make themselves visible to Sam when they catch him. Sam is able to sense BTs but he cannot see them. That is where the baby in the pod comes in. Known as a BB, they can help Porters detect BTs. BB’s are connected to a scanner device which points where the nearest BT is at. The faster the scanner clicks, the closer you are.

I am going to break down these three obstacles that you will come across as those will be your greatest oppositions in Death Stranding. First the environment. In Death Stranding, you’ll mostly be going from point A to point B delivering packages. If Sam does not have his equipment and packages properly sorted, he is more prone to losing his balance from the weight of what he is carrying. This can be caused by how the weight is proportioned to what you might come across with the environment. Encumbrance is something you have to be fully aware of and must keep in mind throughout your entire journey in Death Stranding.

The environment can also be changed through the new Strand mechanic. This mechanic is perhaps the best thing in Death Stranding. You can place signs, make footpaths, build structures that will appear in other player’s game in a non-intrusive way. Having multiple players connected to a world and shaping that world can make things easier. The great thing is that these additions are not at all necessary and you can choose to use them or not. You can also choose to contribute by building your own structures or leaving items behind for another player to use in their game. Is there a BT infested area you came across? Leave a sign that warns other players of BTs and maybe make a postbox that can have a few items to help them in their journey through the area. Maybe even leave a few likes on that postbox for the player for helping you out on your journey. Seeing messages come across my screen of a player using my structure or leaving a like on something I built was truly rewarding as it felt that I made someone else's experience a little smoother and easier.

Even items that you abandon in the environment and lose can be used by another player that might come across it. This very mechanic is something that Kojima hoped would create a new game genre that he dubbed the “Strand genre.” There is serious potential for this to evolve further and I can’t wait to see how Kojima will further evolve this new budding genre or how far other developers might take it.

The second obstacle are the MULEs. In-game reason aside, their camps are filled with items for the taking so invading their camps are usually a good idea. You can either stealth your way into the camp or you can just take your weapons and run in and take them all out. Personally I found the second method to be better as the environment was not made for a stealth approach, at least against the MULEs, they’re more suited for the BTs.

Speaking of BTs. In the teasers they looked to be very intimidating creatures that spelled certain doom and could be a big challenge if you come across them. This was another disappointing factor for me as BTs are actually really easy to fight and don’t really pose much of a challenge. Even if you’re spotted by one, you can easily outrun them, making this invisible force that is supposed to instill fear just a minor bump in the road.

So you might be thinking, “ok, how about the story, this is Kojima the story has to be good, right?” Well, it’s a bit of a mess. The story feels muddled and messy. The story focuses more on the characters within the story giving you exposition dumps on the happenings of the world and their past history. With this it didn’t feel natural because Death Stranding was too busy trying to get me to know its characters and their history, rather than the conflict within the story. So what is the conflict of the story? Reconnecting America to save Amelie, Sam’s sister and does everyone love to talk about reconnecting America. It you turned it into a drinking game on how many times characters said “Reconnect America” within the first two hours of the game, you would die of alcohol poisoning.

Death Stranding also suffers the same issue that Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain had, which was having crucial plot points in a codex that you have to refer to to understand the main story. I like codex’s in games, but they need to serve as supplementary information for the world you are building, not be a mandatory repository. There is a lot more that I could go into as for what went wrong for the story, but that would involve going into spoiler territory and I would like to avoid that for this particular review. I will however go over those issues in a separate post as I feel they do need to be discussed.

Despite my qualms with Death Stranding, I am glad that this game exists. Not only is it pushing new ideas barely touched upon in other games, it is also prompting the ever going discussion on what a video game is and what matters in one. As divisive as this game is, there are things about it that I cannot help but respect and praise just as much as I cannot help but criticize its low points. I honestly am curious how the Death Stranding world will look in a few months with the many structures built.

This honestly is a game that I think will be highly subjective depending on when a person plays the game. I think a person playing it a few months from now, might find it rather enjoyable because of everything that has and is being built in the world now. It will be up to those future players to upkeep what has been built and maybe even tear down ones no longer needed and build more relevant structures at that moment.

Death Stranding receives a 2 out of 5

#Death Stranding #Hideo Kojima #Kojima Productions #Norman Reedus #Mads Mikkelsen #Troy Baker #PS4 #video game review #gaming review #game review #Biscuit Review #BB-28

[vagrantblvrd]

No Future Past Tomorrow (1/1)

Summary: These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:

1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)

2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)

3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)

Notes: Prompt fill for @queen-bitchiest who wanted Myan and soulmarks and then Things Happened. :D?

(Read on AO3)

These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:

1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)

2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)

3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)

There are other things Ryan knows about soulmates.

The fact some people are born with their soulmate’s name written on their skin, and some gain a soulmark later in life. Some have ugly black smears on their skin where their soulmate’s name is supposed to be because life isn’t like the movies and sometimes people miss their soulmates. (Born too soon or not late enough. Maybe the life is more unfair than you thought and they die young, leaving you with their name blacked out and this ache in your chest for what could have been.)

He knows being soulmates doesn’t guarantee happiness and love because his parents were soulmates and they hated each other. Fought just about every damn day of his life he can remember, loud shouting matches and hurled dishes and crockware. Slamming doors and cold, heavy silence that filled the house like smoke in a burning house.

This bitter anger and resentment to them about the lives they could have had cut short because of their soulmarks.

Fate and Destiny and their kid who tied them to a shitty little town in the south because that’s what you do when you have a kid. You sweep all your hopes and dreams into the gutter and hunker down to take care of the little shit, because that’s how it goes. (Or maybe they were wrong, but the damage was done years ago and Ryan gets to carry that with him wherever he goes.)

For the longest time he thinks he’s been lucky enough to dodge that bullet. No name indelibly inked into his skin meant to guide him to his soulmate, and it’s -

It’s a relief, because even after his parents die in a car accident when he’s a kid he still remembers the anger in their voices. The way they twisted something meant to be a good thing into something so ugly. (How terrified it made him, checking again and again and again just to make sure he didn’t have one.)

But then he goes into the foster system, gets bounced all over the place because he’s different.

Quiet and solemn, and no soulmark – a freak - even though it’s widely accepted that most soulmarks don’t appear until puberty at the earliest.

It’s an excuse, flimsy as it is, for people who can’t, won’t understand the ten-eleven-twelve-why bother keeping track year-old kid who they let into their home. Look at him and his situation and think about how kind, compassionate it will make them seem to others, taking him in out of the goodness of their heart. (Poor little orphan without a name on his skin, so tragic.)

Making a token effort to get to know him before realizing kids are work, and Ryan, strange little Ryan more than they imagined. (Kindles that little spark of anger, deep in his chest he inherited from his parents, each new set of foster parents who take him in adding fuel to the fire.)

Puberty hits, and when his soulmark doesn’t appear it gets harder and harder for the social workers to place him into a suitable home.

(No one talks about it, but there’s a bias towards those who don’t have a soulmark.)

When he’s fourteen, there’s a program, and he’s sent to the Midwest.

Somewhere with corn, or something like that, he doesn’t care about the details. (Doesn’t expect to be there long.)

He gets placed with a family that has another foster kid like his staying with them. Precocious little brat with dark hair and dark eyes and all these questions about the world and how it works.

The moment he meets them, Ryan knows he has no place there in their happy little family, but they bring him into their lives anyway.

Give him his own room and let him settle in at his own pace and he’s just so tired after being moved from place to place for so long he doesn’t have energy to be angry about things anymore.

Their little boy watches Ryan with wide eyes, uncertain about this stranger taking up space in his home, and Ryan doesn’t blame him.

Keeps his distance and careful not to infringe. Doesn’t want to scare the kid or risk getting attached because Ryan knows something this good can’t last, but the little brat has other ideas once he gets over his initial wariness.

All wide eyes and this hopeful little “Ryan, Ryan, come look at the stars with me tonight, please?” one day.

He’s only allowed to stargaze if there’s someone there to keep an eye on him, so Ryan knows it’s more self-interest than anything else, but he gives in anyway.

Ryan’s a feet on the ground sort of person. Life lessons and just the way things go, but he does some reading, learns about things he has a passing interest in if at all just so he can sit on the back deck with the brat and point at the constellations.

“That’s Orion.”

He starts with an easy one and bites back a grin when he gets a withering look and a snarky little “I know that one already, Ryan. It’s in my book,” and moves on to Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Tries not to laugh when the brat crosses his arms and pouts at him because Ryan promised to teach him the ones he doesn’t already know.

“Alright, alright,” he says, resists the urge to smooth the brat’s hair down because it’s always this wild mess, chaotic as the thoughts and ideas crowding his head. “Why don’t you tell me the ones you know so I know where to pick up?”

The brat gives him this look like he thinks Ryan’s just humoring him. There’s hurt in there because he’s so damn smart, but no one seems to realize just how smart he is and for whatever reason thought Ryan would be different.

After a moment he sighs and points out constellations from the book he’s shown to Ryan. Big hardcover with beautiful pictures of the night sky and beyond and more consideration for someone’s interest Ryan’s seen so far in life.

He knows it can’t last, that it’s too good for him, but goddamn does he wish it could.

========

Ryan’s sixteen when he sees it.

Almost misses it, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror after a shower. Blood freezing in his veins when he does, hand shaking as he wipes condensation off the glass and leans closer to see better.

Bold black script curled around the back of his neck spelling out a name, and there’s no conscious thought to it when his fist goes through the mirror.

He can’t even put a name to the emotions he’s feeling as he stares at the shattered glass, fragmented images of a wide-eyed teenager staring back.

His little brother (not-brother, not) knocking on the door to ask if he’s okay and their foster parents (not his) shushing him while they try to coax Ryan to open the door.

Worry and concern and Ryan closes his eyes and focuses on getting himself under control because this  – he always knew it wouldn’t last. (Broken, wrong.)

========

Ryan knows what it takes to be a problem.

Being himself worked for a while, but then came this program and Indiana and this mismatched family that somehow worked.

But now -

That anger he could ignore, shove down deep, it’s back.

All those memories of his parents and all their arguments. The yelling, the fighting. The resentment. Anger so bright it hurt to look at.

He remembers their funeral.

All the adults offering him their condolences because it’s what you do in that kind of situation. Brave smiles on their faces and telling him he looked just like them, spitting image. All the ways he was their child, took after them and the fear he felt taking root because they didn’t know. (His parents saved the fighting, the anger, for home. Played happy family where others could see.)

And now there’s a name on the back of his neck like a collar, a chain, heavy and choking and why? Why now?

He thinks about it, what it means to be his parents’ kid.

The bitter anger and resentment because they’d found their soulmate, and it ruined them.

Worries what will happen if (when?) he finds his soulmate because he doesn’t want that kind of life, can barely manage to get through the one he has now.

Thinks about his little (not-brother, never his) brother and how he doesn’t want him to know what Ryan really is.

He gets in fights.

Bigger, stronger than the other kids and he’s got anger behind it.

Gets in fights and ignores his foster parents when they try to help (all wrong, because they care) and people take notice.

Worry about Ryan’s little brother, the other kids the foster parents want to bring into their lives and it’s -

It’s a goodbye in the middle of the night because Ryan’s brother (not-brother) is still so smart.

It’s Ryan and the bag on his back and all these words choking him because it was nice, for a little while. (A year, two, and long enough to think maybe his parents were wrong about everything, so of course it wouldn’t last.)

It’s Ryan and the money he’s saved from little jobs here there. Lawns mowed, sidewalks shoveled.

Small things to help out, make him less of a burden and gently refused because no, honey, no, that’s not what this is about. (A bank account that will never be opened in his name, but that’s fine, it’s okay. No paper trail.)

Ryan leaves, promises to write his brother but knows that won’t last either. Harder to disappear if someone has your address.

He keeps up with it for the first month, lets it trail off until he stops writing altogether and swallows the guilt and regret down deep. (More fuel for that anger deep in his chest, blaze waiting to catch fire.)

========

Ryan doesn’t stop moving once he starts.

Just goes and goes and goes wherever he can, however he can.

Hitches rides with the lost and the lonely on their way to somewhere. Friendly truckers looking for someone to listen to the stories they’ve told a hundred times before.

Has a few run-ins with assholes and creeps who see a kid on their own on the side of the road and get ideas. (You’ve got such a pretty face and it’s so lonely on the road kid, what d’ya say?)

Ryan’s never broken anyone’s jaw before but he can’t say he regrets it.

He starts carrying a knife after that. Cheap little thing he picks up at a gas station somewhere in Nebraska with a bald eagle etched into the handle.

Tacky as hell, but it saves his life enough times for him not to mind as much.

Ryan grows his hair out to keep people from asking about the letters on his neck, want to know whose name he carries around with him. Starts dyeing it black when he ends up in one of the Dakotas and he catches a segment on the new. Police sketch of someone with his face wanted for aggravated assault of a good samaritan who picked up a hitchhiker. (Calls in an anonymous tip, tells them they should look a little deeper into their good samaritan’s story and they might know why someone broke his fucking jaw.)

Life blurs together after that, Ryan slipping deeper and deeper into the wrong side of life and that anger in him grows and grows and grows with everything he does just to get by until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

========

Los Santos -

It’s a cesspool.

It’s wild and mean, plays for keeps.

Ryan’s still a kid when he gets there, nineteen going on twenty and tired down to his bones, but the anger keeps him going.

He’s got scars now, souvenirs from fights and scuffles and the work he’s been doing. Playing muscle for assholes here and there for a handful of cash before he moves on.

Hair long enough to pull back into a ponytail, cover up the name branded on his skin to the point he can almost forget about it. Still dyes it, although it’s more out of habit than anything else. (Bigger and better crimes he’s wanted for and the memory of his first kill still haunting him.)

Easy to lose himself there, carve out a little niche for himself.

Works for the same guy for a while. Old cranky bastard who shows him the ropes here in Los Santos, calls him a Vagabond when Ryan offers a little bit about his past.

Places he’s been, things he’s seen. (Gets called a Vagabond, and it sticks.)

Realizes, when people don’t take him seriously – still got a pretty face, still breaking jaws and worse, because he’s got all these knives now, and his aim is nothing to sneeze at – he needs to do something about that.

The mask is a joke at first.

Ryan with a few extra bucks burning a hole in his pocket wandering along Vespucci and a little shop that catches his eye.

It’s fall, and there’s a horror movie playing in theaters and Ryan figures why not?

He wears it the next time someone hires him to handle a problem of theirs, some asshole in La Mesa who owes money and no intent to pay it back and send a message, would you? Louder the better.

Ryan gets incredulous laughter and hurled insults, the asshole just gets dead.

And then the rumors start, because it was a foggy night out. Someone remembers seeing a skull mask, and there’s a monster out there cutting people down, better watch your back or you might be next.

He wears the mask when he’s working after that, and the face paint happens later. People stop laughing when they see him coming because Ryan gets better. (Watch out or the Vagabond will get you.)

========

Years pass and the anger settles into something Ryan can finally breathe around.

He learns to pick his jobs, pay attention to the power plays in motion. The way the city moves and breathes, crime in its blood and rotten to its core.

Isn’t surprised when Ramsey comes looking for him to build up that crew of his. (He’s not the first.)

What is surprising is the way he goes about it.

No expectations, demands.

Just a simple offer, and Ryan?

He’s curious. (Bored.)

Agrees to that first job, and the one after that and so on until he’s in too deep to back out.

Likes the way Geoff runs the crew, the way they give him grief for everything he does but stand with him every step of the way.

It’s...fascinating.

Different from anything he’s seen in Los Santos.

Shouldn’t work at all, but somehow does and there’s a part of him that wants some of that for himself. (Little house in Indiana and the night sky spread out above him, stars shining down and a voice naming the constellations.)

So he stays on and gets to know the others.

Geoff and Jack with their hands full keeping the others in line.

Michael unapologetic about everything he is and this look to him like he would go toe-to-toe with Ryan if he even thought about fucking them over.

Gavin with his everything, so damned annoying and painfully brilliant. (Smart and clever and more capable than he lets on.)

Ray, who comes and goes as he pleases and deadlier than Ryan any day of the week.

Jeremy and his everything that included garish color combinations and a cowboy hat, because why not?

Lindsay who is just this side of terrifying, because she’s the most chaotic person Ryan’s met in his entire life and then some.

A whole slew of others Geoff reassures him he’ll meet at some point because they’re assholes and like knows like, and other flattering things.

It’s the closest thing to family Ryan’s had in a long time and he knows it can’t last, but he’s tired of roaming the streets of Los Santos like a specter. (Wants somewhere to rest once in a while.)

========

Geoff’s a meddler.

Claims he isn’t, but he’s not as smooth as he likes to think he is. Pairs Gavin and Jeremy up on jobs every chance he gets and rationalizes it away by saying Jeremy keeps Gavin focused. (He’s not wrong, but it’s not the only deciding factor involved.)

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Michael says, wry twist to his mouth as they watch Gavin and Jeremy argue about the best way to hotwire a car.

They’ve got overwatch while the other idiots get the car Geoff wants for the upcoming heist. Dull little soccer-mom car, won’t draw any attention and slow as hell.

Older make and model, and a snap to steal.

Or would be, but there are a lot of hand gestures and squawking from Gavin. Snarky quips from Jeremy and this headache right behind Ryan’s eyes, because they’re two of the densest, oblivious assholes he’s ever met.

“You’d think,” he says, and leans against the railing to watch the show play out.

Gavin’s got a name curling around his ribs, snug up against his heart.

Ryan saw it once, covered in blood and Gavin making these pained noises because a cop got lucky and they almost lost him in the back of a stolen van. Jack barking orders and Michael pale-faced and grim, Jeremy driving like a bat out of hell and fear Ryan hadn’t felt in a long, long time crowding his throat because he liked these idiots.

Jeremy doesn’t have a name.

Drunken confession from him after they got Gavin stabilized, Michael asleep in the chair next to his bed and Jeremy’s hands shaking and Ryan at a loss as to what to say to make things better, so he listened. Leaned all about the angry black smear across Jeremy’s shoulder blade, the phantom pain he gets in the cold sometimes.

Gavin’s got a name and Jeremy doesn’t and it’s been a hell of a ride watching them dance around one another.

Makes Ryan uneasy, but no one else seems too bothered about the potential for disaster.

Michael doesn’t seem too bothered, and Ryan’s willing to trust Michael’s judgment when it comes to anything involving Gavin.

========

Michael tinkers.

Turned a room in one of the lower floors into a workshop where he cooks up explosives he uses on heists. The jobs Gavin or one of the others comes up with from time to time.

At the moment he’s got a row of rubber duckies set out on one of his worktables and a series of sketches on what looks to be a bar napkin.

“Look,” Michael says, when he catches Ryan’s totally non-judgmental reaction. Pauses when he realizes there’s no good explanation for any of this. “…Fuck off.”

Ryan hmms as he puts the napkin down, pokes one of the duckies on its beak.

He’s...not bored so much as restless, and Michael’s good company when Ryan’s in a mood like this.

Will either focus on what he’s working on and leave Ryan to his own devices -

“Fucking what the fuck?” Michael mutters to himself, because he has a row of rubber duckies and drunk sketches to go off of. “What the fuck?”</i>

- or he’ll talk to himself like a lunatic and provide Ryan with hours of entertainment.

They’ve come a long way from the early days. Time when all Michael had to go on about Ryan were the stories and rumors that have turned the Vagabond into one of Los Santos’ very own cryptids. Always looking for signs Ryan was about to turn on the crew, just another bloody story to add to the rest.

“Should I ask?” Ryan asks, because he’s an asshole and Michael is hilarious when he gets like this.

Determined to turn some harebrained idea someone had into a reality, and going by the fact rubber duckies are involved, this is Gavin’s doing.

Something he saw somewhere once, or heard a story from a friend and wouldn’t it be wicked, Michael, if we did something like that? (Stars in his eyes and Michael more of a pushover than he’d ever admit.)

Michael shoots him a glare, but since he doesn’t yell at Ryan to get the fuck out of his workshop, Ryan figures he’s good to stay and heckle.

Gently.

“Go to hell, Ryan,” Michael says, but there's a smile curling his lips and this warm sort of amusement in his voice and Ryan chuckles at it, because he never gets tired of hearing it.

Gavin and Jeremy aren’t the only ones dancing around one another, but this – them – is a little more complicated.

Ryan’s old hangups and Michael’s everything.

Brash and loud, fearless in all the ways Ryan isn’t.

Someone’s name on his skin that got burned away years ago because this life isn’t kind and there are real monsters out there, far worse than Ryan. (Got a tattoo to cover up the scar tissue because he got tired of looking at it, but it doesn’t bother him.)

Shrugs it off as unimportant when someone brings up the matter of soulmates and soulmarks, the string of letters everyone looks for – excited and hopeful or terrified – that’s supposed to lead to their happily ever after.

”The way I see it,” Michael had said the one time Ryan heard him talk about it so bluntly. It’s bullshit, you know? Like what. Some fucking mystical force slaps a name on you and that’s it? You spend your life looking for some asshole you don’t even know and everything's supposed to be rainbows and sunshine? Fuck out of here with that.”

Not the most eloquent way to put it, but Michael had been drunk at the time, working to put Jeremy under the table thanks to one of Gavin’s bets, and honestly, Ryan doesn’t even know with this crew half the time.

He and the others never ask Ryan if he has a name, don’t ask if he’s still looking. Don’t really talk about the whole thing unless it’s a hypothetical of Gavin’s or alcohol has loosened their tongues, and even then, even then it’s different.

A courtesy, almost, for the ones like Geoff who’s covered himself in tattoos to camouflage the lack of a name inked into his skin. Jack who smiles politely and tells no lies. Gavin who guarded his name like a dragon with its hoard until that was taken from him by a lucky bullet. Jeremy with a grin on his face and no name marring his skin (just an angry black smear where one used to be), but like hell does he let it hold him back.)

========

The name on the back of Ryan’s neck isn’t uncommon. The last time he checked (years and years ago) there were at least four million people in the US who shared it.

Have to be more now, the world being what it is and people being who they are.

He’d have a hell of a time trying to find someone in all of that, spend who knows how many lifetimes looking if he even wanted to.

(Part of him scared as hell at the prospect even now. Memory of his parents and the misery they made of the own lives, let bleed over into his all these years later so damn vivid.)

He’s happy here in Los Santos when he never thought he could be again.

Has a family in every definition of the word that matters, people he cares about. (Who care about him.)

It’s not a perfect life because he can’t see a good end in store for himself, but he’s learning to take what he can get for as long as he can and be grateful for it. (Just a little longer and he’ll have it down.)

========

He stumbles on the two of them by accident. Headed down to the garage to look for his phone that must have fallen out of his pocket during the getaway chase portion of the heist earlier and ducks around a support pillar when he hears voices.

Quiet, serious, the way they rarely are.

Jeremy and Gavin and -

“I love you.”

Jeremy, heart in Gavin’s hands and a million reasons why this thing between him and Gavin’s shouldn’t work. (Fate. Destiny. Call it whatever you want, there’s something to it people can’t fight no matter how hard they try because Gavin’s got a name that isn’t Jeremy’s and Jeremy’s lost his and this is why, this is why.)

There’s a heavy silence, and Ryan closes his eyes. Tips his head back and wishes like hell he wasn’t here to bear witness to this.

Gavin say something too low for Ryan to hear. Jeremy answers.

All Ryan hears are the crickets. (It’s summer and the little bastards are everywhere.)

“Gavin - “

There’s a shuffling sound, scuff of shoes on cement.

Gavin paces sometimes, too much going on in his head and all this energy to him that has to get out somehow.

“What.”

Short, sharp bark of sound from Jeremy and this quiet little laugh from Gavin.

Ryan leans around the pillar to look, and sees the two of them staring at each other.

Gavin’s biting his lip to keep from laughing like he clearly wants to, mischief and joy and something else written in every line of him. Jeremy’s staring at Gavin, open, vulnerable, and this smile slowly spreading over his face and Ryan’s missed something here.

“I - “

Gavin doesn’t get to finish whatever he was about to say because Jeremy's pushing forward, disbelieving laughter. This look on his face that equal parts exasperation and fondness and something like love. Hands coming up to frame Gavin’s face and Ryan decides he can look for his phone later, give the two of them some privacy.

========

“I told you,” Michael says when Ryan gets back up to the penthouse. Knowing grin on his face and Ryan’s phone in his hand. “And here, you left this in my Adder.”

He tosses Ryan’s phone to him, jerks his head to the game console because Ryan’s...jittery.

All the things he said he was past rising up to cast doubt on everything he thought he knew. (It can’t be that simple.)

“You want to do that rematch now, Rye-bread? I know your ego was bruised when I completely destroyed you last time, so I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Cocky, arrogant, and this little curve to his mouth because he gets it, he does.

Knows how messed up Ryan is over the name branded on the back of his neck and how all these assholes go against everything Ryan thought he knew like it’s nothing.

“Like hell you will,” Ryan says, luckier than he deserves. “I’m going to make you eat those words.”

Michael snorts, gives him a look like he thinks Ryan’s an idiot (he’s not wrong) and won’t be walking away from their rematch the winner. (Reply hazy, try again.)

========

Every so often Ryan will catch Michael rubbing at his arm. The intricate tattoo over scar tissue, an old hurt that never healed right. It acts up when the weather changes and less tolerant of everyone’s bullshit.

Snaps and snarls a little harder, finds somewhere to go to ground until it passes.

Usually Gavin’s the one to seek him out, pull him out of his head and whatever thoughts sent him spiraling somewhere dark.

Provokes him until Michael’s yelling, real anger to his voice as he spews out all that ugliness that’s been left to fester too long.

Tonight -

Gavin’s back with the Roosters because he owes Burnie a favor or two, and Jeremy went with him as backup. (Gavin’s good, and God knows Burnie would never let anything happen to him if he could help it, but shit goes wrong and they all know it.)

Geoff took Jack with him to negotiate a new truce with the Fakehaus crazies, and it’s just Ryan in the penthouse with him.

Watches Michael head up to the roof, wound tight and hurting and Ryan is so beyond not qualified for this.

He still takes the stairs up there, steps out onto the roof to find Michael leaning against the low railing staring out at the city.

Ryan looks up out of habit. (House in Indiana and stars as far as the eye can see.)

Los Santos isn’t the place for stargazing. Too many lights, pollution, but every so often they shine through clear enough he can forget all that for a little while.

Michael glances at him when Ryan settles next to him at the railing.

Doesn’t tell him to fuck off, so Ryan figures he doesn’t mind him being here. He doesn’t know what to say to make things better (he never does), but Michael’s hurting and Ryan -

“I used to go stargazing with my little brother,” he says, only trips a little over that last word. Realized he’s a bigger idiot than he thought. “Fucker loved them.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but Ryan knows he’s listening. Head tilted towards him the slightest bit, tension easing out of his shoulders.

Ryan’s told him about his brother before, one of the few still alive who do. Moment of weakness or whatever you want to call it. (Close call and everyone reevaluating their lives, people, things, they’ve left behind and why.)

Ryan points out a constellation, picks an easy one.

“That’s Orion,” he says, echoes of a better time even if he had a hard time recognizing it then.

He doesn’t know how much Michael knows about constellations or if he even cares. Decides if he’s not telling Ryan to shut the fuck up about them, it’s not hurting anything.

Ryan knows more of them than he did when he was just a dumb kid scrambling to keep up with the stupid smart kid brother of his. And he talks, and talks and talks and talks until his voice feels a little rough, sounds hoarse.

Points out constellation after constellation and the stories behind them, myth and legends and all that.

Rambles for a few when he thinks he spots a planet. Might be a satellite though, or maybe something else? It’s been a while since he looked this shit up, cut him some slack he’s not an astronomer, okay.

Michael snorts, shoots him this look. Soft smile and fondness to it that kicks Ryan in the heart, has him ducking his head.

“You fucking nerd, Ryan,” Michael says, the way he always does, and it means something Ryan’s always been a little afraid to put a name to.

Ryan shrugs, because Michael’s not wrong. Gives Michael this look, and doesn’t say a damn thing about it when Michael moves closer, shoulder brushing his and points to a little cluster of stars just over Chiliad.

“The fuck’s the deal with those ones?”

========

They say there’s this bolt of lightning moment, zap and you know when you meet your soulmate. Sparks or something like that, Ryan doesn’t know.

He’s never felt it, never expects to.

Thinks back to the first time he met Michael in a dingy warehouse down by the docks. Geoff in his suit, smug grin and so damned confident he could win Ryan over. Jack beside him, Ray watching through his sniper scope on a roof a few buildings away. Gavin watching him keen interest and a glint in his eye Ryan hadn’t learned to dread yet.

No Jeremy at the time, just those idiots meeting the big, bad Vagabond to have a little chat.

Geoff and his spiel, hopeful lilt to his words and a business card - “Call us if you interested, big guy. We could use someone like you.” - and tip of an imaginary hat as he left, the others following.

Michael walking up to him while Gavin watched, little grin on his face because he’s always been a menace. (The three of them alone, and Gavin having Michael’s back like it was never up for debate.)

“Look,” Michael had said, scowling up at him. “I don’t have a problem with you working with us, but if you even think about fucking us over? Don’t.”

Not a threat so much as a promise and it’s stuck with Ryan since then. In the back of his head when Geoff sent him out Michael to keep people in line. Let their rivals know the Fake AH Crew wouldn’t tolerate all the little insults thrown their way. Hold a refresher course to remind them.

Later on when they got paired up for other jobs, heist preps. Geoff telling them with this long-suffering look to him they were just about the only people he could trust not to fuck things up.

Because Jack on his own is solid. Throw Gavin into the mix and you get a taco truck where you wanted a box truck and those idiots laughing it up. (Geoff, no listen, Geoff, it’ll be brilliant.)

And on and on and on to the point they just. Worked well together, didn’t get sidetracked the way Gavin or Jack or even Geoff himself. Or at least not as much. (The times they did, though. Fantastic.)

Even when Jeremy joins the crew and Ryan finds a kindred spirit in him, because who doesn’t appreciate a little chaos now and then? There’s just something to working with Michael that Ryan likes.

It’s easy.

Michael gets him, knows Ryan’s a disaster and compensates for it without saying a word.

It’s not really a lie, because Michael will bitch about Ryan being a madman, but that’s more for show, because he’ll already be in position to cover his back or his flank. Take out whoever is trying to sneak up on Ryan without thinking about it. (Ryan does the same for Michael.)

And -

There are over four million Michaels out there, so what are the odds the name on the back of Ryan’s neck is meant for this one?

========

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Michael snarls, hand in the collar of Ryan’s jacket as he hauls him down, presses a wadded up shirt against the gash on his neck, something fragile under the anger. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

They’re in a bolthole the crew uses when things turn to shit on them. Old building that’s falling apart, sign on the front claiming it’s slated for demolition any day now.

Michael’s looking a little wild-eyed, bottom lip split from a stray elbow and blood all over his hands as he keeps Ryan from bleeding out. (It’s a scratch.)

Ryan rolls his eyes because it’s not that bad. Got a little too close for comfort maybe, but the guy with the knife was an idiot who had no clue what he was doing.

Didn’t even have proper throwing knives, and the balance was all wrong. Dumb luck he hit what he was aiming for.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan says, taking the hint when Michael grabs his hand and presses it to the shirt against his neck while Michael turns to dig through the first-aide kit. “Maybe something about saving you life? It was a blur.”

Michael stiffens.

Slowly lifts his head to glare at Ryan, the kind that would have killed a lesser man, or maybe someone smarter than Ryan, whichever.

“Ryan - “

Michael’s always had this confidence to him, like he wouldn’t stumble no matter what. Would just keep going and fuck whatever – whoever – gets in his way. Places to be, things to do, and fuck you if you think you’re gonna stop him.

Right now...not so much.

Right now he looks – he looks scared. Like the ground under his feet is suddenly treacherous, unstable, and he doesn’t know where is safe. If he takes the wrong step, everything crumbles, and he’s lost. He’s covering for it with bluster and anger and it hurts to see him like this.

“Hey,” Ryan says, nudges him with his knee. “I’m okay, Michael. I’m alright.”

Bleeding like a stuck pig, and he’ll have one hell of a scar, but it’s better than what could have been. (That spike of fear that settled in his stomach when Ryan saw that fucker going after Michael – it’s still there. Rolled over into this ball leaden and heavy in the pit of his stomach because Ryan’s never been good with what would have beens.)

Michael’s breathes out through his nose, hands clenching into fists before he shakes it off, reaches for that anger of his and shoves his fear down deep.

“You’re an asshole,” he mutters, low and tired in a way that resonates in Ryan’s bones. “And I fucking hate you.”

Ryan doesn’t laugh, because he’s pretty sure Michael would actually kill him for it, but -

“Stop smiling, you fuck.”

========

There’s a moment when Michael's fingers brush up against Ryan’s name as he’s cleaning the blood away that Ryan thinks maybe, but it’s just wishful thinking on his part.

========

Things are weird after that.

Weirder?

Michael’s not avoiding him, but he sure as hell isn’t not avoiding him..

A couple of weeks of awkward go by before the others have enough.

Gavin sighs whenever he sees Ryan, like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever met, fucks sake, Ryan.

Geoff tells him to get his shit together because he’s too old to keep doing this, whatever the hell that means, and Jack?

He laughs.

Like an asshole.

Jeremy looks shifty, mumbles something about idiots and blind as fuck and we were never this bad, which is both mystifying and a little terrifying.

Ryan’s an idiot, but even he’s not that dumb.

========

Probably?

========

Fuck.

Fuck.

He is.

========

Michael does one of three things when he’s in a Mood, as Gavin calls it.

Twisted up and angry, touch of fear wrapped up nice and neat so you wouldn’t notice it right off.

1.) Go to one of the dive bars the Lads are always sniffing out and get shitfaced drunk and someone will drag him home to let him sleep it off. (If he finds a fight before then, all the better.)

2.) Find one of the races around the city that are always happening somewhere. Throw himself into it until he stops thinking and starts reacting, burn it all out and leave it scattered behind him on the asphalt or dirt roads outside Los Santos.

3.) Gear up like he’s going to war and find a fight or start one himself.

3. a.) When it’s really bad, he’ll take it out to one of his testing grounds. (Places Ray used to practice his sniping and joke that the explosions and gunfire coming over the hill made for soothing background noise while he kept an eye on Michael.)

Ryan goes down to Michael’s workshop first, because he’s got a hunch.

The rubber duckie explosives he’s been working on for the last however many months are gone. So is the pelican case Gavin had made for them with the rubber duckie-shaped cutouts in the foam inserts.

He thinks about for a while, wanders over the whiteboard set up on one wall and Michael’s notes regarding how much firepower he packed into the damn duckies. Uses them to whittle down the places he would have gone to fuck around with them under the guise of testing them.

Realizes he’s gone to his testing grounds in Blaine County because no one gives a damn what happens up there, which is fantastic.

========

Really.

========

Michael sees him coming a mile off, and Ryan assumes he hasn’t completely fucked things up between them when he doesn’t have to dodge exploding rubber duckies as he gets closer.

Parks next to Michael’s Adder (shiny and chrome), and makes his way over.

Cautious about it, because Michael’s an asshole like the rest of him and he has one of his rubber duckie explosives in his hand, this look on his face Ryan’s never been able to read.

“Hey, asshole,” Michael greets, eyes darting to the bandage on Ryan’s neck before skipping off again.

He’s got another week until it comes off, and a few more after that until the stitches come out.

“Michael,” Ryan says, takes in the carnage he’s missed in the time Michael’s been out here.

Torn up ground, blackened bits of rock and scattered debris. Stack of paper targets pinned under a grenade to keep them from flying away in the wind before Michael can use them. (Maybe Matt has a point about their flippant disregard for silly little things like safety.)

“Douchebag,” Michael says, corner of his mouth ticking up at the look Ryan gives him. “What do you want?”

Ryan sighs, because, yeah, okay.

He’s an idiot, but Michael knew that going in. He’s had ample time to appreciate how much of a dumbass Ryan is in all the ways.

Just needed a little time to file this latest offense away, add it to all the rest and determine if everything that goes along with it is worth it.

No reason to worry, no.

Not like Ryan’s heart is on the line here, stupid and hopeless and in Michael's care for the longest time.

Michael snorts, tosses the rubber duckie he’s holding to Ryan and laughs when he flails before he catches it.

The loud, ridiculously infectious cackle he gets when something is just so damn funny he can’t help it. Apparently Ryan fumbling one of his explosive devices is one of those things, which is good to know.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says, because why.

Michael’s still cackling, but it’s quieter now, trails off to a chuckle and then this crooked little smile on his face. Warm and fond and the way Ryan’s hear-rate kicks up at seeing it has nothing to do with near-death experiences via rubber duckie.

“Big bad Vagabond scared of a little rubber duckie? Man, if people could see you now.”

Ryan rolls his eyes because Michael's never been intimidated by Ryan or his overblown reputation.

Thinks it’s hilarious that just about everyone in the city buys into it, always finds ways to give Ryan grief over it.

“Well, I mean,” he says, holding the damn thing up to eye-level to study it. “They don’t have the full story.”

Probably for the best they don't, might take the shine off the reputation the Fakes have spent so much time building for themselves.

Michael rolls his eyes, points at the duckie Ryan’s holding.

“You're fine, you big baby. That one’s just a rubber duckie.” He kicks the pelican case at his feet, and the lid pops open, revealing its contents. “These on the other hand, will kill a motherfucker.”

Ryan looks at the rubber duckies in the case.

Knows Michael came up with a color-coded system for them, varying levels of deadly, and they’re arranged in the case accordingly,

Ryan looks at the rubber duckie he’s holding.

Back the case.

Gets this little itch, just so -

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael says, and snatches the rubber duckie Ryan’s holding to hand him one of the ones from the case. Pristine white and pretty as hell. “See if you can get it past that boulder with your shit aim.”

Ryan slides a look at Michael.

He has fantastic aim, thank you very much. It's just that sometimes he gets a little excited, doesn’t take the time to focus so much when you give him a big shiny gun or something that will make a big boom.

Michael smirks, like he thinks Ryan won’t be able to throw the damn duckie that far or with anything approaching precision.

Which, fair.

It’s a rubber duckie, weighted down with a fair bit of explosives and far from being aerodynamic in any way.

“Betting against me?” he asks, like there’s any question.

Michael shrugs, loose and easy, and punches Ryan in the shoulder. Hard, of course, wouldn't pull his strength for this one.

“Ryan,” he says, definitely lying. “I would never.”

========

Ryan shows Michael one night.

Pulls his hair away and lets him trace his fingers over the name on the back of his neck. Tells him all about some dumb kid with shitty parents growing up in the south.

Feels the tremor to them as Michael rests his hand over the back of Ryan’s neck and tells him about a really bad day he had once back in Jersey.

Assholes who wanted to teach him a lesson because some scrawny idiot of a kid crossed into their territory without realizing it. Brought out a blowtorch and then it was all screaming and pain and tissue damage where a name used to be.

Lets Ryan pull him close, laughs through what sounds like tears when he tells him what it the name was. Four little letters and one hell of a journey to get where they are.

Fate or Destiny or whatever you want to call it puts that name there, sure, but it’s what you do with it that matters, and that’s a hard lesson to learn.

Some people never figure it out, lets it turn them angry and bitter to the end, others?

They don’t get a guarantee for a happily ever after, no. They get the chance for something good, and there’s something about that Ryan likes better.

Feels like it’s within reach when nothing was before, and he’ll take it for as long as he can keep it.

#myan #jerevin #ragehappy #fahc au #prompt fills #queen-bitchiest #implied/referenced torture #implied/referenced child abuse #implied/referenced dubcon #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #(nothing graphic but i wanted to give a warning just in case #please let me know if i missed something)