#IF YOURE BOMBING CLOTH YOURE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. THAT IS COMMON SENSE. NEVER MIND THE FACT THAT BOMBING ITSELF IS INSANE

[cappsikle]

backfired // fred weasley

Pairing: fred weasley x reader

Summary: after a prank gone wrong, fred seeks warmth within your arms

Warnings: not that I can think of! - except that the ending is trash I’m so sorry. Also I can’t tell if I accidentally wrote Fred ooc so I apologise if I did.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: this piece is for @weasleysflowr‘s follower celebration!! thank you so much for letting me participating! This is actually my first time joining a celebration or writing event, so I was so stoked to do this! Congratilations on getting 300 followers, you deserve it <3

This took so long that Ayli is actually now at 400 followers!! So another celebration is in order! Congratulations 🥳

Prompts: “i’m not moving, your lap is comfortable” and “is that my sweater (jumper) you’re wearing?” 

tags: @ryeryemilani @a-little-too-much   just ask to be added!

Please reblog and comment!

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

If there was one thing that could put a dampen on Fred’s day, it would be a prank gone wrong, and that’s exactly what happened. It was quite a shame, really, as both Fred and George had worked really hard on this particular prank. Everything was set perfectly, all the ingredients had been gathered, and everyone was in their proper place. That was, until Snape came looking for Filch claiming there to be an emergency. By the time the twins realised that Snape was in the place the prank was set to place, it was too late, leaving the seething professor covered in a sticky green goo, smelling like a dung bomb. They would’ve laughed, as the sight was quite humorous, but that victory was very short lived when Snape caught sight of them, immediately appointing them two months of detention.

Usually, the twins weren’t ones to care if they got detentions, but they had received two months, with Snape, no less. Yeah, Fred was in a foul mood. That's how he found himself trudging his way back the common room with hunched shoulders, a frown set deep on his face. George broken off the path to go find Lee to explain how badly the prank backfired. Fred was ready to just collapse on the couch and sulk for the rest of the day, not having any energy to keep up with the evening activities. That was his plan, but all thoughts of brooding left his mind when he walked through the portrait hole and saw you there, sitting curled up on the couch with a book in your hands.  

Fred stopped at the entrance and took a moment to admire you, and the way the fire reflected off your face to the point where you looked like you were glowing. He took notice of the way your eyes skimmed across the pages, practically being able to see as the words you were so invested in sunk into your brain. He watched as you bit your plump lips in anticipation at a particularly exciting part of the story. And lastly, he took notice of the knitted jumper sat upon your shoulders, his knitted jumper. Suddenly, all feelings of frustration and defeat left his body, replaced with a more happier and lighter feeling. His heart thudded against his chest as butterflies swarmed in his stomach. Fred loved seeing you wearing his clothing.

You still hadn’t noticed Fred watching from the side, too engrossed in the story playing out in your mind. You were just getting up to the climax of the story, your heart racing as you impatiently read over the words. But you were interrupted when you heard someone clear their throat, followed by, “is that my jumper you’re wearing?” your head snapped up in alert at the source of the voice, your heart chattering for a different reason. Your cheeks filled with warmth at Fred’s words, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in embarrassment.  

Fred smirked at your flustered state watching your movements closely as you close your book and smile sheepishly at him. “Uhm... no...?”

“Are you lying to me?”  

You hesitated for a second, finally coming clean with a sigh, “...yes”. you looked down at your lap sheepishly. In all honesty, you knew he wouldn’t mind, claiming on various occasions that he preferred to see you in his clothing. However, you took it upon yourself to sneak into his dormitory and steal this jumper right from his trunk.  

Fred smiled to himself at your confession, opting to tease you more because, well, that’s who he is. But before he could get another word in, you perked up again, a glint of mischief present in your eyes as you asked, “So? How did the prank on Filch go?” And just like that, his sour mood had returned at the remembrance of the failed prank. Fred’s smile dropped from his face, carrying himself to the couch and practically flinging himself to sit.

He glanced at your lap, moving his arm to take one of your hands in his, just wanting to feel the comfort he usually felt when holding your hand. He took a moment to just admire how small and soft your hand was compared to his. You linked your fingers together, sensing that something wasn’t quite right. A look of concern passed your features briefly as Fred let out a groan, whining in frustration. “It didn’t go well. Snape came out of nowhere and told Filch he was needed elsewhere, which ended up in the prank going off on him. We’ve got two months detention now!”

You nod in understanding, lifting your free arm to run your fingers through his soft hair. In front of the fire, it was almost like his red locks had lit aflame. “I’m sorry your plan backfired, love. But two months detention isn’t that bad compared to what it could’ve been!” You tried to sound hopeful, wondering if your words had any effect on his mood, but you realised that probably wasn’t the best thing to say as Fred gave you an incredulous look.  

“Please, enlighten me! How could have this ended any worse?”

You sat and pondered for a moment, not actually being able to come up with another option. “Ok, you’re right. It couldn’t have.”  

“Seriously?!” you giggled at Fred as he bent down to lean his head on your lap, pressing his face into your knees. “You’re no help, you know that?”

You knew he was joking, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his behaviour. “Just think, both you and George will come up with an equally as good prank, one that won’t fail on you, and you’ll be out of detention in no time.” you brought your hand down to his head again, raking your fingers through his locks, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails as you do so.

Fred sighed deeply at the sensation, your fingers causing delightful shivers to run down his body. His favourite thing ever was when you played with his hair, and while he’s never admitted that he gathered you already knew. He didn’t respond to your last statement, preferring to just sit in silence, the only sound that could be heard was the cackling of the fire and each of your slow and steady breaths. After a moment or two of Fred laying in your lap and you opening your book again, he broke the silence, “oh, and by the way, I’m not moving, your lap is comfortable.” 

You smiled to yourself as you turned a page, returning your hand to his head, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Fred shifted his body, so the back of his head was against your legs, and his face was facing towards the ceiling. He brought the hand in his hair to his lips, kissing your knuckles as you put your book down. “You know I love you, right, love?” 

You smiled again and leaned down to connect your lips with his before mumbling against them, “and I love you too.”  

——————

I hope you all enjoyed this! Don’t forget to like, reblog and comment!

- Mills <3

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #soft fred #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfic #weasley twins #weasleysflowr300wc #writing challenge #weasleysflowr

[topazy]

Silent bloom

Parings: Finn Collins/reader Bellamy Blake/reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Chapter: 1.13

Distance was all that mattered. You run through the forest, leaves and branches reaching out to grab you, tearing at your skin and clothes. You weren’t stopping for anything, and sure as hell weren’t going to stop to look behind.

Seeing the night sky was the only assurance that you were still alive, but despite that, there was no help for the sick feeling inside your stomach. The mud and grit had become enmeshed with raw pink flesh and was spotted with blood. You had no idea where you were heading.

Looking over the gates at camp, you spotted some white flowers growing. They were beautiful and pure. You had picked a few and decided to place them on Wells' grave. You weren’t overly close to him when he was alive, but you still felt guilty for not being able to save him that night. If you had gone looking for him sooner, or screamed for help, he might have had a chance to survive. Taking care of his grave was your way of apologising. Octavia had offered to go with you, but you insisted on being alone.

As you made your way back towards the gates of camp, a rustling noise from behind caught your attention. You turned to see two men in hazmat suits crouching close by. They were watching your campmates through binoculars. Gulping down, you slowly started to back away, hoping they wouldn’t notice. But they did.

You tumbled over a branch that caused you to land on the ground with a thump and before you had the chance to move again, men in hazmat suits grabbed you. Your kicks and screams did nothing to aid your escape. You weren’t strong enough to fight them off. The feeling of something sharp pricking at your neck made you scream out for help weakly as the dizziness caused your vision to start blurring.

Suddenly, the man let go and he fell to the ground. The second body quickly hit the ground after. You tried to crawl away from them, not being strong enough to stand, but you didn’t make it far. An older looking woman walked forward and glanced down at you. Her face was covered in black kohl, and she was wearing tribal clothes that were decorated with fresh blood. She was a grounder, and she wasn’t alone.

—

"It’s not safe out here."

You turn around to see Bellamy standing behind you, with an unamused expression on his face. Not that you judged him. He had almost died twice in the last few hours.

"It’s not safe anywhere," you pointed out.

Clarke and Finn returned with grounders not far behind. Monty was still missing. Murphy had terrorised the camp, and now Raven was possibly dying, and Connor was dead.

"Your shift is over. You should get some rest." With a sigh, you accepted Bellamy’s hand, as he helped you down from the ledge you were standing on. You couldn’t help but stare. Even in the night, you could see the bruises around Bellamy’s neck. Without thinking, you reached out and ran your fingers across the dark mark. He flinched only for a moment before leaning into your touch. His gaze fell from your face down to your bandaged thigh, "Does it hurt?"

"No... Well yeah, but it’s getting better." You stepped back from him, "How is your neck?"

"Never better." You snorted at the bluntness of his answer. Something else was playing on his mind. Bellamy tensed again before he spoke. "Octavia told me about you and Finn arguing, a-"

"It won’t happen again. We have bigger issues to focus on."

"I was going to ask if you were okay." You didn’t know what to say. It had never occurred to you that Bellamy would have cared, especially when grounders could attack at any moment. "O never went into detail, but she said it got nasty."

"I would never have taken Bellamy Blake for a gossip," you teased.

Bellamy smirked at your comment, "you're one of the best gunners we’ve got Daisy, but you are useless if you're distracted. I don’t want you to miss a kill shot because of a distraction."

He was right, the argument was a distraction. You only cared deeply about a few people, and in the blink of an eye, you had lost Monty and Finn. You let out a deep sigh, "there’s nothing to tell... how far away do you think the grounders are?"

Bellamy clenched his jaw. You assumed he wasn’t happy that you were avoiding the question, but this wasn’t the time to open those wounds. "They won’t be far," he must have sensed you were unconvinced because he probed you some more. "You’ve been staring outside these gates for hours without flinching. What’s going on?"

"I just... I don’t get it. They only followed Clarke and Finn so far, then they stopped. I’m just trying to figure out why."

"To get reinforcements."

"Maybe," you paused before continuing. "From what we know, grounders don’t give up without a fight. They aren’t afraid of dying. Hell, the bomb at the bridge didn’t stop them. I think something else made them turn back."

"I really hope you're wrong."

—

You opened your eyes to the noise of yelling around you. It had all just been a bad dream. Groaning, you tried to sit up and realised you couldn’t. You had been chained to the bed.

"I’m glad kom see yu laik awake skai raunon."

You turn your head and see the grounder from the forest standing by the doorway. "I... I’m sorry, I don’t understand."

A younger looking girl stepped forward, and translated. "She’s glad to see you are awake."

For what reason would a grounder want you awake? You suddenly noticed the chains attached to your wrists. The memory of Murphy telling you what the grounders did to him played on your mind. You instantly curled your fingers into the palm of your hands.

"Why?" You were embarrassed by the weakness in your own voice.

"We saved you."

You looked between the young girl and the older woman who hadn’t taken her eyes off you. It was true they were probably still alive, "thank you."

"Mochof," the older grounder said before placing a bucket of water down next to you. "Mochof is thank you in our language. My name is Zelda, and this is Ada."

"I’m Daisy." You eyed Zelda suspiciously as she poured a powder into the water before offering the bucket to you. "What did you just put in it?"

"It has healing properties. It will pull any poison from your wounds out."

"Why would you waste your medicine on me?"

Ada took the bucket from Zelda and placed it in front of you, "because we want peace."

You accepted the ragged looking clothes from the young girl and began washing your neck, before moving to your ankles. There was no point in refusing, you had no weapon and physically wouldn’t be able to fight them off with restricted movement. The stinging sensation in your wounds was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Soon after, an overwhelming heaviness takes over you.

—

You opened your eyes again to find you were still in the same hut as before, except now it was only lit by a small flame that was next to the chair Ada was sleeping in. You wonder how long you’ve been asleep. The night's cool air made goosebumps appear on your skin, which caused you to notice your lack of clothes. Your trousers were gone.

"I cut them off to change your wound."

Her voice took you by surprise, as you hadn’t realized she was awake. You looked at Ada and noticed she now had war paint on her face that matched Zelda’s. "Who was screaming earlier?"

"They were just reapers."

You tried to rack your brain for any clues about them, but your mind went blank. "What are reapers?"

"Men who are no longer men." Ada stood up and walked towards the ‘bed’ you were still chained to, "You have an interesting collection of scars, Daisy."

You scoffed at the comment, "so I’ve heard."

"Did you get them in battle?"

As Ada moved in the dimly lit room, you noticed the three large scars on her left shoulder. They looked deep and raw. "No, most of them were caused by accidents. How did you get yours?"

"A wild animal," she paused for a minute before continuing. "I have water and food to share if you’d like some."

It amazed you the way you had been treated by the two grounders, considering the stories you had heard. Her offer reminded you of the night you had your wristband removed so you could give Charlotte more food. The memory caused a lump to form in the back of your throat. "Only if you have enough to share."

—

After eating in silence, Ada offered to look at the rest of your wounds to make sure they weren’t infected. You couldn’t decide if she was genuinely kind or trying to lure you into a false sense of security, regardless you accepted her offer.

As Ada cleaned a couple of scratches on the back of your neck, you cleared your throat. "So... what are you and Zelda planning on doing with me? I’m guessing I won’t be free to walk any time I want."

It surprised you when Ada let out a small laugh, "That is the plan."

"Now I’m really confused. You kidnapped me to clean me up, feed me, then let me leave?"

"We saved, not kidnapped," you helped your chained wrists up. "We aren’t stupid. You could have woken up and tried to kill us."

"Good point, but I still don’t understand why. Our people are at war."

Ada sighed before rummaging around in a different part of the room. "We have a common enemy, the mountain men."

"The men in hazmat suits?" She nodded, and it started to make sense. "What are they doing?"

"For a long time, people have been going missing. Many of us believe if we work together we can stop them."

Her comment surprised you, "Does your commander think so?"

"Not yet, but if your people understand we aren’t savages, then maybe they will be willing to fight with us."

You couldn't help but laugh, not because the situation was funny, but because two grounders had saved you from mountain men, then chained you to a bed, but still showed you nothing but kindness. And now they want to use you to help end a war. "How many of your people think this?"

"Enough of them. Do you think your people would do the same?"

You knew Octavia would be accepting of grounders wanting peace. Finn and Clarke would be the same. The problem would be convincing the rest of the delinquents, but you were sure Bellamy would convince them once you explained. God, you hoped you got the chance to see them all again. You let out a deep sigh. The last thing you wanted to do was lie. "I hope they will. They might not listen to me, but I know somebody they would blindly follow."

"I’m going to find Zelda. I brought you this in case you get a cold."

"Thank you," you called after her before throwing the blanket over your legs.

After she left, you laid back down as questions kept swirling around in your head, but you’d have time to ask them in the morning. The last thought you had before falling back asleep was if Monty had been taken by grounders, or mountain men.

—

The door to the hut suddenly burst open and a blood-soaked Ada entered. It had been at least a couple of days since you last saw her. Luckily, she had left enough food and water for you, as well as loosening your chains slightly.

"What happened?" Ada said nothing but unchained you before throwing clothes down beside you, "Are you hurt?"

"Hurry and put them on."

As you pulled your new trousers on, you froze when a gunshot went off in the distance. You turned to face Ada, who was staring emotionless outside the open door. You leaned closer to her and whispered, "What’s going on?"

"Skaikru didn’t want peace. I can’t help you anymore."

"Wait?" You said it a little too loudly as Ada made her way to the door, causing her to turn and frown. "You need to tell me what happened. I can still talk to-"

"It’s too late," she snarled. "Zelda is dead. The war has already begun. Jus drein jus daun, blood must have blood."

You stared at her not knowing what to say. You finished getting dressed in an awkward silence as Ada kept guard. The last few days had felt like a dream you couldn’t wake up from. At any moment, you’d wake up in camp and the dream would become nothing but a distant memory.

"You will need this," Ada handed you a blade. "Be careful, the poison the mouton men gave you can last for days. Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim Daisy kom Skaikru."

"I hope we meet again."

—

Days of not walking properly had taken their toll on your body as you kept stumbling while walking up the steep hill. You ducked down low when you heard voices getting closer. Crawling closer to get a better look, you froze when multiple gunshots fired close by.

You stayed in the same spot until you heard the familiar voice of Clarke. You slowly struggled to your feet and began walking to the top. The thought of yelling did occur to you, but you were dressed like a grounder, and would be alerting god knows who to your location. The pain radiating through your body made you want to give up, but you needed to push forward. You needed to know if your friends were safe. Finally, a head of blonde hair came into view, along with thick dark hair. A wave of relief washed over you knowing that Bellamy was safe.

You thought it was strange that neither of them were moving forward as you stumbled towards them. Clarke placed a hand over her mouth and spun to face the other way, the same time you fell to your knees. "Daisy!"

She rushed over towards you, while Bellamy stood stunned for a moment. He quickly snapped out of it. Clarke moved to the side as Bellamy knelt down in front of you. He brushed strands of hair out of your face, "I thought you were dead."

"Ditto," the expression on Bellamy’s face worried you. "So what have I missed Blake?"

Bellamy held the same worried expression as you got back to your feet and walked towards where he stood a moment ago. Nothing could have ever prepared you to see a pile of dead bodies. The sight made you feel sick. Finn and Murphy came into view. Both of them noticed you at the same time. Murphy shook his head as Finn stepped towards you with an almost insane look on his face.

You stumbled backwards and a pair of hands caught you before you fell. Bellamy held onto you tightly as you backed away from the scene in front of you.

Finn suddenly appeared directly in front of you, saying, "I found you.”

Season one

#the 100 #bellamy blake #Finn Collins #bellamy blake/reader #finn collins/reader #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 imagine #bellamy blake/you #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy the 100 #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake x oc #finn collins x oc #finn collins imagine #grounders #slow romance #slow burn #clarke griffin #John Murphy #OC grounders

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 129

Despite the last couple weeks of work being profoundly exhausting (think 60 hours, easily), I am proud that I’ve been able to keep writing and stay ahead! I literally could not have done that without @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, @the-raven-fae, and @anotherusrname. Y’all are my real-world rocks when everything gets crazy.

***Shameless Plug: @the-raven-fae has the first episode of the podcast up now! you can find it here!! ***

The other thing that has been keeping me going is each and every one of you who has found this story and binged it from start to finish as a speed-run. I can’t even name all of you at this point, but I want you all to know that I see it, and it makes me smile so hard my face hurts.

Now, who is ready for some Charly shenanigans?

A few days later, I had just enough time to sweep dinner off the table in my quarters before Charly unceremoniously dropped a long something in the midst of us with a dull thud.  Immediately, a rusty red cloud rose up and set us all into a fit of tears and coughing.

Out in the hallway, I was eventually able to convince my lungs to at least try to breathe long enough to wheeze out, “Geezus, Charly, what the hell was that?”

“Soooo….” Uh oh. “ItmayneedsomecalibrationthecloudwasntsupposedtobethatbigandIdidntmeanforittogooffbut - “

I shook my head and typed a quick message on my datapad. “Please breathe because right now I don’t think the rest of us can and I would love to know why.”

She stopped rushing out what I think were words long enough to read the message and try again. “Chili powder arrows. I think I need to recalibrate them, though, because it shouldn’t have gone off at less than one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, and there’s no way I set it down that hard.”

“Why?” I rasped, still swallowing as hard as I could and mentally begging Noah to bring us some water or a medical transport.

“Defensive measures,” she insisted. “Scent navigation is really common in the Galactic community, and so is sensitivity to capsaicin, so…”

“Makes sense,” Conor managed to get out as he tried to gasp for air. “Even Noah.”

“Bit much.” I pinched my fingers as closely as I could without touching - which was more difficult than expected considering that I was shaking.

Maverick was the first to get up off the floor of the corridor, just as the medical transport arrived.  He and Charly helped us on before distributing bottles of water to rinse our mouths and eyes. “It was… a good idea…” he panted once we were all seated. “Just… bit overkill…”

“The range of the cloud is only supposed to be five feet,” she insisted fretfully. “And I swear the pressure sensor is supposed to be calibrated to only go off if it’s fired from a bow or swung really, really hard.”

“Who...want...swing?”  I was honestly starting to get dizzy fighting my airways to breathe.

Once we arrived at a medbay, Charly helped a couple of Miys’ bodies get us out of the transport and lying down in berths. In a glitch-like transition, suddenly I could breathe easily and she was joined by Arthur and Coffey in sitting with us.

“Wait… when did… I’m so confused,” I admitted, my voice only slightly strained.

“Lethe field, apparently,” Arthur shrugged. “You didn’t want to be awake for that.”

Conor sat up and rubbed his sternum. “I remember chili pepper arrows - Charly, love, that was brilliant except the, you know, going off bit - and getting off the transport.”

“Respiratory lavage,” Charly winced. “You know, war crime if done incorrectly?”

I shuddered and nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to be awake for that, thanks.  Glad I can’t remember, don’t ever want to, would rather remember the pepper bomb you set off. At point blank range?”

She snuggled further down in Coffey’s lap as he gently rubbed her scalp with his fingertips.  Arthur spoke in her defense, instead. “She’s sending the schematics to Zach and Derek to find out what went wrong.  Tactically, they were a brilliant idea - she’s right about the large amount of species who would react even worse than you did if hit with one.”

“I only inhale spices figuratively.  I would prefer not to do it literally - like, ever again.”

Maverick sat up and gave Charly a curious look. “You said they can be swung… Unless I saw something wrong, the arrow was only two feet long.  Who would want to swing something like that?”

Coffey and Arthur both held up gas masks and wiggled them. “Between my arm reach and the length of one of those, I could do it, no problem.”

“We aren’t all so fortunate,” Arthur intoned drily. “Plus, that doesn’t mean someone closer isn’t getting hit.”

Conor raised his hand politely before pointing out a potential flaw. “What if they have gas masks?”

“Noah has a topical reaction,” I answered, my mind racing. “And I assume we have other measures in the works?”

“Multiple types of sonic weaponry are being tested,” Coffey intoned with a nod. “Sub- and ultrasonics, infrasound, and just loud music.”

Still in full Devil’s Advocate mode, Conor persisted. “And if they are covered, head to toe, and none of that works?”

A deafening silence filled the medbay. The prospect of being forcibly boarded had only been a known issue for a week, and apparently this prospect hadn’t been covered yet in the defensive planning.

Finally, it was Maverick who spoke up. Had anyone else been talking, we couldn’t have heard him, but in the quiet his whisper echoed like a gunshot. “The interior hull is organic, not magnetic.”

“Mav, we know that. It doesn’t help us.” Conor’s voice was confused.

Arthur, however, looked like he had just seen a travesty occur in front him, unable to stop it. “You’re talking about blowing the airlocks.”

I scrambled to sit up, clawing at the blanket that covered my legs. “What!? Maverick, he’s wrong, right? You aren’t talking about that, right?”

“It makes logical sense,” Charly added, still laying her head against Coffey’s chest. “If someone boards the Ark by force, and they have enough gear that no amount of defense we mount even bothers them, they would be wearing enough gear to survive being blown into space.”

“And they can’t magnetize to the hull,” Maverick confirmed. “Maybe the outside, but not inside.”

“What about Noah?” I demanded. “They are a non-combatant.”

“Noah evolved in vacuum,” Charly pointed out.

“You’re talking a war strategy!” I nearly shouted. “What about Arthur? Coffey? Or Ivan? Are you seriously going to tell me they won’t be the first people charging to defend the Ark?” I pointed at the previously brandished gas masks with a damning glare.

“We are talking about a last-ditch defense to save as many people on this ship as possible,” she whispered.  “I don’t make the decisions, I just make the tools they are going to use. You know, you know I don’t want us to use any of this. And I plan to booby-trap everything within an inch of all our lives to keep us from having to use as much of it as possible.  Hence, arrows. As many kinds as I can make up.”

I started taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. At my heart of hearts, I knew she was sincere - Charly was almost as much of a pacifist as I was, at the end of the day. Even Arthur wasn’t necessarily a warmonger, just… uninhibited in what he defined as ‘the best defense is a good offense’.

Frustrated, I swung my legs over the side of the berth. “I need to go home. I want dinner, and a nap.  Probably a drink.”

Charly reached out and pushed my legs back on to the bed. “You’re under observation for another hour. Dry-drowning risk.”

I groaned and gave her a pleading look. “I’m hungry, and this isn’t my bed.  It’s honestly half the reason I’m in such a bad mood. You and Arthur probably make absolute perfect sense to less-sleepy, fed Sophia, but right now, not so much.”

“Your limey assistant is bringing a change of clothes, your sister, and some food,” Arthur smirked. “So you get to stay right there,  not die, and get some sleep.”

“But Mac…”

“Is at Derek and Sam’s, but very nice try,” he confessed.

“I wanna go home,” I grumbled sullenly.

Maverick nodded, and gulped down some water Charly handed him. “Did someone turn on the scrubbers in there yet?”

Conor and I turned wide eyes to him. The thought apparently never occurred to either of us. “Charly love,” Conor started hesitantly. “How much bigger was the cloud than you thought?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed, sheepish. “It was pretty big.”

Rubbing my face briskly, I suppressed the urge to sob. “My blankets… the furniture… our clothes…”

“Else is working on it.”

I glanced at Coffey, confused. “Else is? They eat iron.”

Noah’s voice broke in from the ceiling. “Correction. When still a bacterium, Else fed on iron. However, as they have evolved, their needs have expanded to include a more diverse diet.”

“Are you telling me that there are faceless baby chickens flooding our quarters, eating the chili powder?”

“They do show a preference for foods more toxic to the general Galaxy.  We estimate that this is due to their origin within human beings, who share the same marked trait.”

“At least someone is appreciating my hard work,” Charly grumbled.

I strained to suppress a smile. “I’ll make you whatever you want for dinner, for a week, to make up for being ungrateful?”

“Maybe just tell Alistair it was an accident?  He gets upset when you almost die.”

“Both?”

“Both. Both is good.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #improvised weaponry #found family #apocalypse #earth is space australia #science fiction #original science fiction #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #sci fi #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

[farfromsugafanfic]

Waiting For Superman

Genre: Superhero AU, Comic Book AU?, Journalist Namjoon, Journalist OC, best friends to lovers, Action, Angst if you squint, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury, hospitalization, bombings, hostage situations, kidnapping, uses chloroform to make someone unconscious, alcohol, physics lol

Synopsis: After your father, one of the top antimatter scientists is killed in his laboratory by villain Outlier, you and your best friend, Namjoon survive the only known antimatter bomb, you both go on to be two of the top journalists in Metropolis. Only, there’s something off about you that most people can’t put their finger on. Namjoon is the only one who notices, not even you know your biggest secret. Hoping to protect you from Outlier, Namjoon also guards a secret of his own.

Note: This is the beginning of a new AU series. This is also in the same universe as my Jin imagine, Heartbreak Weather. This story will continue in the background of future installments.

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"Damn," you said, looking through the article proposals for the week. "I have five proposals to do a story on the two weathermen that got together. Is nothing else interesting happening in Metropolis?" Reaching into your desk, you pulled out your lunch consisting only of a slightly too brown banana. You frowned. "I hate to say it, but it's really too bad that Outlier has been so quiet lately."

Namjoon chuckled. "You'd wish for a little peril in Metropolis if it made a good story." His lips curled upward and he adjusted his slightly too large glasses.

You smiled at your head writer's sarcasm. "Just a little peril. Not too much." Turning around to place the accepted and rejected proposals in their respective boxes, you returned to find a bright yellow banana sitting on your desk. It made you pause, but you shrugged as you peeled it open. "Besides, Antimatter Man always stops whatever his antics are."

"It's not always Antimatter Man."

You hummed in response, already marking up an article in red pen. "Most of the time though."

The conversation lulled, but it didn't feel awkward. You'd worked with Namjoon for nearly three years now, but known him much longer. You were his soundboard and he was your common sense.

"Maybe we do a piece on his recent quietness?"

You looked up. Namjoon already met your eyes. He sat with one leg on top of the other, forming a triangle and his arms crossed over his chest. You'd noticed the way his clothes began to fit tighter, stretching over new muscles. It surprised you. Namjoon never seemed like the athletic type. You were more likely to find him studying physics at the city library for his newest piece on Antimatter Man than in the gym building a physique rivaling a marble statue.

"That seems like a good idea." The pen pressed to your lips you didn't notice the way the ink blotted against your lips. "You wanna take it on?"

"Sure." He pushes one leg off the other and stands up. "I'll try to have it to you by morning."

You nod, trusting him fully to have his piece ready for the morning edition. He moved towards the door and you felt as he paused. Even though you weren't looking at him, you could tell the way he stood, with his hand gripping the door frame, his body half in, half out.

"Don't stay too late, Y/N. He might be quiet now, but you know that won't be forever."

You did know. Maybe more than anybody.

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Outlier first started terrorizing the Greater Metropolis area when you were twelve. It started off typical. A few particularly successful bank robberies netted him more than enough money for a lifetime. If it were you, you would've taken the money and moved far away, lived out the rest of your days peacefully. But, Outlier didn't want just the money. 

When you were fifteen, however, it all changed. 

It was nearly 9 pm. Your father had not returned home from work. It wasn't all around unusual. He often pulled long hours at the lab. But you felt an itch at the back of your spine. Like a spider crawling up each vertebrae like a ladder. 

You called Namjoon. He was the only person you knew with a car, and the only one you knew wouldn't ask too many questions. Twenty minutes later, his headlights showed through the curtains of your bedroom. 

"Hey," he said. His voice greeted you, full of exhaustion and the buoy that had bounced back and forth in the water between you. 

Namjoon was your longest friend. You met in Kindergarten when you'd come across Namjoon in the back corner of the playground. Pushed against the pavement, two second graders tore off his glasses and put them on, mimicking his front teeth that stuck out before he got braces in high school.

You'd chased them off, managing to pick up his glasses off the ground. They were still broken, but you helped Namjoon tape them to get through the rest of the day. Since that day, you'd become almost inseparable. That was until you got a boyfriend.

You, of course, accused Namjoon of being jealous when he didn't immediately take to the idea of you and Vincent. Though, despite the accusation, you knew it was far from the truth. It wasn't hard to see that Vincent was bad for you. He was the reason your grades began to drop, why you knew the familiar burn of whiskey down your throat, and why were spending that night--Valentine's Day--alone.

"You haven't heard anything from him?" Namjoon backed out of your driveway before you even managed to get the seatbelt hooked. 

You shook your head. "He normally calls if he's running late."

It takes another twenty minutes to reach your dad's work. Located just outside the city, you could see Longevity Labs ten minutes before you reach it. Up on a hill, it was agonizing watching the building cycle in and out of view with every turn and switchback.

When you get there, you look up to the fourth floor where your father's lab was. The lights were still on and you felt the coil in your chest unravel a little. Though not completely. 

The elevators in Longevity Labs had been broken for years now and you didn't pay them any mind as you walked to the staircase and climbed the four floors. Namjoon stayed close behind, though you didn't speak. It wasn't the first time the two of you had come to the labs together when you'd become worried. After losing your mom when you were young, a burr of worry attached itself to your heart and poked you when your father wasn't home by eight.

The metal of the doorknob felt warm. There were plenty of reasons for that, you rationalized. Your father was one of the top scientists in Metropolis, he worked with all sorts of dangerous things that could need a warm environment, or cause one.

You pushed the door open and met your father's eyes. They were wide open and empty. A silent scream falling from his wide open mouth. Your vision blurred and the thing you remember next is feeling Namjoon's hand on your shoulder as his voice elevated. It was only then you noticed that you weren't alone.

"What are you doing here?" Namjoon asked, his voice like the bark of a guard dog. It surprised you. For a boy of barely sixteen at the time, it felt like he suddenly was a man standing beside you. You were still just a tiny girl.

The man wore a mask. Of course he wore a mask. It was white with two diamond shapes for the eyes, only revealing a small bit of his pupil. The man didn't speak when he opened his hand, a metallic orb drifting upwards. He didn't throw it, but the orb moved quickly, like it was falling.

It was only later you learned that it was rigged to move upward like that. Real antimatter would act just like regular matter, nearly indecipherable. This--while true antimatter--was meant to hold your attention long enough. 

The explosion pushed you towards the ceiling. You woke up to a firefighter reaching for your hand. It was only when you took it and tried to place your feet on the ground that you noticed that you and Namjoon ended up pushed through the wall and into the vent system near the ceiling. He wasn't fully awake, yet his arms still reached for you after you were peeled away from his body.

The two of you were the only known survivors of an antimatter bomb. Well, it was more like a grenade. Your father's lab, body, and work was largely destroyed in the explosion, but for some reason, you and Namjoon survived. It's wide believed that there was something wrong with the bomb. That it didn't attack your living cells. 

You and Namjoon did not come out unscathed. Somehow, you got off fairly easy with a broken collarbone, a concussion, and a few deep cuts around your body. Namjoon, on the other hand, never fully awoke for a week. He'd broken three ribs, one of his lungs collapsed, his head injury much worse than yours, permanent damage to his spine. When he woke a week later, you wanted to envelope him in a hug and never let go. 

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Namjoon found you curled up in the newspaper archives at midnight. He was the only one who knew your Valentine's Day ritual. He moved the papers from your lap and took the glass of wine from your hand before it spilled. Just like every year, the paper was open to your dad's obituary and the news coverage of the explosion.

The edges of the paper were brown and crisped as if they were sixty years old instead of ten. His brow furrowed as he touched them. Between his fingers, the brown edges lightened as he brought them towards the light. 

Ever since that night, your mission was to expose Outlier. You knew he wasn't some superhuman. Your dad worked with antimatter to harness its capabilities for good. For medical applications and using its destruction for renewable energy. Outlier wanted to use antimatter in the way everyone feared. To destroy. 

As he moved the paper with your father's smiling face, he saw another, a jolt running down his spine. The headline took up almost half the page, "New Hero Emerges In Fight Against Outlier."

Outlier's antics became more calculated. Everyone knew he had the capability to use antimatter, but his subsequent movements involved raids of laboratories outside the city and taking a graduate student hostage. No one else died.

It was during the hostage situation that Antimatter first saved the day. It was around a year after your attack and Antimatter Man successfully infiltrated the laboratory and got the hostage to safety before the entire lab exploded. It was only in his next act of heroism that the city realized he was more than just someone who risked his life to save someone. He had powers.

Next time, Antimatter Man disabled a device strapped around a victim's neck with just a touch. It was determined to be a miniature explosive that would've destroyed the man had it gone off. The hero could manipulate antimatter. Destroy it--and was later determined--create it. 

When Antimatter Man caused an explosion in an alleyway, he was lucky that only one bystander died. Like all the previous times he disabled one of Outlier's antimatter devices, he placed his hand on top of it. Instead of feeling the molecules burst like boba, he felt an energy build until it exploded.

Outlier purposely placed a more standard bomb that would explode in the presence of antimatter. It was a test. One Antimatter Man hadn't anticipated. In fact, it was rumored the hero had no idea the full scale of his abilities until that moment. The only reason he came out unscathed is because he was able to clock himself in antimatter to prevent the explosion from destroying him.

Namjoon knew that Outlier knew who Antimatter Man was. While the general public may not know that Antimatter Man was a victim of Outlier, or that he used chunky glasses and the Metropolis Daily to control the public's view of Kim Namjoon and Antimatter Man. Outlier was the only one who knew, not even you.

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The authorities always told you that Outlier may come back. Your father was the most prominent scientist working with antimatter technology and there were likely things Outlier had not figured out yet. He may come for your father's notes. Yet, he never did. 

You weren't too worried about it anymore. It wasn't as if Outlier had a personal vendetta against you or your father. You hadn't seen his face. You'd practically passed out when you saw him, and probably would've had he not dropped the grenade when you locked eyes.

Still, you always watched your back when you walked from the Metropolis Daily office to your apartment. It was only a few blocks, but normally traversed after dark. Sometimes Namjoon came with you, though most of the time you persuaded him to just go back to his own place. Especially this night, you did not want Namjoon to know you didn't plan on going home.

Normally, when you hid your plans from Namjoon, it was because you were heading somewhere dangerous for research. Like the time you drove out into the forest on your own in search of Outlier's supposed hide out, or the time you decided to follow a man suspected to be Antimatter Man. Even as an editor, you still wrote, tending to keep the most hard hitting stories for yourself. Besides, few of your journalists were willing to possibly get close to Outlier. You'd survived once, you felt you could again.

However, this night, you were headed to the club. There was no reason or ulterior motive. You simply wanted to let loose. You knew Namjoon wouldn't like it. He wasn't smothering, he let you make your own decisions and do what you want, but his disapproving and worried looks always cut you deep.

You knew it all came from a place of concern. He always told you how thankful he was that he was with you that night. But, you always fit a pit of guilt in your stomach. Namjoon nearly died because of you. There was no way you were going to let that happen again. 

You'd changed into something sexier before leaving the office, leaving your office clothes in your desk drawer. You always kept an extra set there any way in case you needed to pull an all nighter at the office. It was rare you got to go out and enjoy yourself on a Friday night and you already felt the contentment rising in you as you approached the club and heard the rhythmic thud of bass.

This particular club wasn't one with a line of people which was why you chose it. There was no wait. You could get in and out easily and without fuss. When you didn't get to do things like this often, you wanted to truly get to do them. 

It wasn't long until you lost yourself. In the crowd. In the music. In your thoughts. Or rather, lack thereof. This is why people liked clubbing and loud music. It drowned out your worries. Everything became a constant hum in the back of your skull, where, for once, you could ignore it.

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Namjoon had suspicions. It started when no fruit stayed ripe around you. The way that the microwave always sparked when you tried to make popcorn. And no matter what you did, it always ended up just a little too burnt. Nothing you did was ever quite right, but never quite wrong. 

He always found his way to you whether he wanted to or not. It was as if the particles in his body were attracted to yours. Recognized them like their reflection. You got into a car accident two years ago and Namjoon had left work early that day, having felt an aching in his lower stomach. Fearing appendicitis, his supervisor sent him home. 

He'd walked a block when he came upon it. You were sitting on the sidewalk, your hands pulling at the roots of your hair and your feet pointed towards each other. Something caused you to look up then. Namjoon wondered if you had the same uncanny sense he did, if you could put together when the other was in peril. When you saw him, your arms came around him and your shaking body burrowed into his for warmth.

When he was eighteen and you were seventeen, the two of you briefly shared an apartment. Namjoon had started taking classes at the university and you were in your senior year. While your dad had left everything to you--you were all he had--you sold the house a year after your dad died, unable to live there alone. 

You'd come home one night after a basketball game. Namjoon always encouraged you to go, wanting you to feel like a normal high schooler. Though, while he was well intentioned, the efforts were ultimately fraught. You'd left at halftime because you think the concession stand hot dog made you sick. 

Yet, when you came home. You found Joon spread out on the couch, bottles of alcohol spread around him like the crime scene markers around your dad's body. He'll never forget the light touches on his shoulder, then forehead, then bicep. The way it reminded him of feeling just a little too warm on a winter's night, pleasantly so.

His feet brought him to the entrance of the club and his heart sped up. You never came to places like this, but Namjoon knew you had the secret desire to. You'd always loved to dance even though you weren't particularly skilled at it. He walked inside, loitering at the edges of the dancefloor. 

Namjoon had to keep himself from sneering at the sweaty bodies and couples dry humping each other. He never really understood the appeal of clubs. His eyes flit across the crowd, spotting your hair first. Even though you'd worked all day, you looked beautiful still. Your hair a little frizzier than usual and he recognized the tiredness in the way your moved your body to the bet. It wasn't lazy exactly, but it didn't have the same gusto as some of the others around you. 

He wondered if his feeling had been off. Maybe he was just too on edge lately because Outlier had gone so silent. There was a parasite in the back of his mind that fed him anxieties. Was he planning something big? Had he finally figured out to build the bomb he wanted to? Was he committing lower level crimes Namjoon wasn't privy to? Did he know about you? 

Watching you dance, he shook his head. You weren't in any danger. It was just in his head this time. Turning with his hands in his pockets, he took two steps towards the door of the club when he looked back and caught a glimpse of your smile. It was rare these days and not something he wanted to ruin with his worries.

With a small smile of his own, Namjoon left.

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You ended the night at around two a.m. You'd had two drinks, not enough to make you stumble out on the sidewalk, but enough to make you feel like you were. Taking off your heels, you gripped them in your fingers as you walked back towards your place. The walk should take fifteen minutes, but in your current state, you found yourself sauntering along as if the streets of Metropolis were perfectly safe in the wee hours of the morning.

If it were not for the alcohol in your system, maybe you would've sensed the presence behind you. Maybe you would've seen the dark shadow lingering behind you for the last two blocks. It wasn't until a hand clamped over your mouth, the other clamped around your jaw to prevent you from biting down on your abductor's fingers.

It was then you tasted it on your tongue. The rough, bleached taste of fabric. Something mildly sweet. Like laughing gas at the dentist.

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Namjoon prided himself on his intuition. When you called him the night your father died, he almost ignored it. Nearly blinded by his teenage jealousy, it was a small pain in his stomach that made him answer his phone and rush to you that night. 

He had the same pain now. Just below his ribs this time, he rubbed his fingers along the cotton of his button down as he glanced at your dark, empty office. You hadn't come in for work this morning. No one heard from you last night or this morning. And, despite this being unlike you, no one else seemed concerned. 

You'd gained a reputation for your independence and ability to take care of yourself. You hardly ever asked for help--and while your own mind tended to think that an admirable trait--it only made Namjoon's mind race more. However, this made everyone else go about their day. 

A half hour later Namjoon stood in his boss' office. "I'm not feeling well. Would it be all right if I took the rest of the day off?"

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When you came to, you immediately noticed the lack of rough rope around your wrists or ankles. When you opened your eyes, however, you noticed the white cuffs floating half an inch from your skin. One cuff circled each wrist and another two around each ankle. You knew enough about how Outlier operated to know about these.

First seen in his second major hostage situation following your father's death, these cuffs did not touch the skin. But, if the hostage moves or tries to escape and their skin brushes the edge of the cuff, the invisible antimatter will attack the matter rich skin, flesh, and bone.

The first hostage to have worn these cuffs lost a hand before she understood how they worked. Now, Outlier gained easy compliance with even just the threat of his antimatter cuffs.

"Ah, so you've heard of them?"

Outlier sat across the room. HIs diamond slit mask shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room. It made your heartbeat easier knowing he still wore the mask. It meant he didn't plan on killing you. At least, not yet.

"You know--" Outlier paused, a soft lilt in his voice that annoyed you. Normally, the sort of singsong quality he had would make you flutter your lashes at him across the bar. Outlier's voice though, sounded like a children's song slowed down and played backward. "The technology for those cuffs I developed from some of your dad's research."

He stood up, moving closer. "The ability to suspend antimatter around a given object using the only gas in our world that antimatter cannot destroy. Quite brilliant, really."

As a teenager, you really did not know much about your father's research beyond its main goal: make the world better using the one thing that could destroy it. Your father had seen success in his lifetime. The use of antimatter in some medical technology aided the treatment of cancer and detecting major illnesses. It had saved lives. 

You'd looked over a bit of your father's surviving research, of course. The things you had mainly consisted of experiment notes, a few crude sketches, and one report about a failed experiment. Nothing of value, really. It's why you always brushed off Namjoon's worries that Outlier would come back for it. What did you have that he would want?

"I imagine you know why you're here." Outlier was now only a few feet away and he leaned leisurely against the wall as if he were an old friend visiting your new apartment.

"No, I--"

"But, my assistant has something they want from you first."

Your head turned to the darkness in front of you from where Outlier had originally come. You made out the figure of another man. Smaller in stature, he shuffled slowly into the dim light. He didn't wear a mask, his hair falling into his eyes. 

"My report," he said, his voice hesitant, almost scared. If you didn't know any better you'd believe he was the one being held hostage by Outlier. "Do you have it?"

"Your report?" Your brow furrowed as you thought about the one report you had. It detailed only the attempt to create an anti-oxygen particle. "I-I don't think so." 

The air in the room became stuffy. Outlier seemed not to believe you, his arms crossed. You had no idea who Outlier's assistant was, but you were certain that whatever experiment he was a part of, your father would never have done something to make this man resent him. You almost wished you had the report.

"My assistant, you see," Outlier began in his singsong voice. "Suffers from a particular ailment brought on by one of your father's experiments. It tends to leave people, breathless. Isn't that right, Yoongi?"

The other man--Yoongi--glared at his supervillain boss. Something turned in your stomach. Yoongi didn't appear to be overly loyal to Outlier. Maybe he would be your key to getting out of this. 

"Well, that was merely a favor. His report was never recovered and I thought there was a chance you may have it. But, now onto the real reason I've brought you here."Outlier crouched down, coming face to face with you. "Now, for an experiment of my own."

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a short rod. Holding it above your bindings, the cuff fell limp and motionless against your wrist. You nearly flinched, worried it would begin cutting through the skin. But, it didn't.

Despite his mask, Outlier's form seemed to perk up at that. As if he had the first evidence that his hypothesis was true. With his thick, black gloves, that you were assumed were made of antimatterium--an element created by your father to make the handling of antimatter safer--Outlier slipped the ring off your wrist.

Reaching pack into his pocket, he pulled out a new ring and placed it around your wrist. It looked identical to the last, white, vaguely metallic with a visible field of matter--or possibly antimatter--surrounding it. Stretching it over your hand, he slipped it around your wrist. 

"It should only take a few minutes." 

Outlier stood back up.

"What's the point of this?" you asked, becoming more frustrated that nothing was happening. You knew you should be thankful you are still alive. It would be easy enough to kill you and rummage through your apartment for whatever he wants. Yet, for some reason, he refrained.

"I imagine you can figure that out on your own." Outlier watched the ring around your wrist carefully. "My biggest foe can only have a mind that rivals my own."

Biggest foe? Your mind turned over the possible meanings of his words until it clicked. "You think I'm Antimatter Man?"

Outlier didn't flinch. "Of course."

You laughed. You couldn't help yourself. While you'd never come to face to face with Antimatter Man himself, it was obvious that the superhero was easily many inches taller than you and his shoulders were easily the entire length of one of your arms.

"Me? Of all people?"

"It would make some sense, wouldn't it? Very few people survive the blast from an antimatter bomb. And those that do often acquire certain--capabilities."

You shook your head. "But, I'm not the only one who survived, Nam--"

You were interrupted by the sound of Outlier's surprise as well as the sound of banging from outside the room. Yoongi--who hadn't been paying attention--suddenly popped his head up and glanced towards the door to your left. With so many things happening at once, you chose to only focus on where Outlier's eyes went.

The ring around your wrist had begun to crumble like cheese. Bits falling off as they became too heavy or lost their support. Squinting your eyes you wondered how this was possible. You didn't get a chance to hop on your train of thought before the door burst open.

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Antimatter Man burst into the room. He never wore a specific costume like superheroes were often penchant to do. Normally, he just wore an all black ensemble and a mask, obscuring most of his face. A hat usually then kept his hair hidden, beyond the tiny wisps of light brown you saw peeking out from underneath.

"Let her go," he said, his voice matter of fact and deep and familiar. 

Outlier--to his credit--did seem genuinely surprised. Though, he bounced back quickly, ordering Yoongi to shut the door. The other man did so slowly and pathetically, letting it scrape against the splintered hardwood floor.

"Hmm, well, it would seem your presence here would confirm that my original hypothesis was wrong." A pause and he points down at you. "But I may have a new one."

For some reason, it took you this long to put together that you were destroyed the ring imprisoning your left wrist. Why hadn't the first one crumbled into nothingness like this?

"That ring is made of matter. Like most things in our universe. However, it is designed to crumble when it detects antimatter energy. She produces antimatter energy. Probably in small amounts which is why she and the world haven't destroyed each other yet." He looks back at Antimatter Man who's dark eyes are flitting between you and the villain. "Much like you, my nemesis. You destroy all antimatter you come into contact with through the latent production of pure matter. You really should correct the press on the name, you know?"

Your mind swirled. You created latent antimatter? Did this explain why everything in your life with a timespan seemed to die or wilt quicker than usual? Why people found you just slightly off?

"She has the potential to be my greatest weapon. If I can harness the antimatter inside of her. Determine whatever is producing it, I would no longer need to spend weeks producing such tiny amounts." You were certain that if his mask was off, his face would be lit up like a child's. His hand reached for yours and he pulled you up off the ground. The cuffs shifted with you since both you and the antimatter cuffs were under his control. Would they even work on you though?

Outlier held your back against his chest. It surprised you how much he felt like a normal man. Of course, that's all he was in the grand scheme of it all. Outlier was nothing more than a man desperate for something.

"No!" Antimatter Man sounded almost desperate. "Don't hurt her! She's been through enough. She didn't ask for it. She didn't even know about it. Please just let her go. I'll--" You can also hear the thoughts turning in his mind. "You can have me instead."

Your eyes went wide. Antimatter Man seldom placed himself directly into Outlier's hands. He was known for foiling the villain's plans remotely, sometimes even not showing up to the scene. And, even when they did come face to face, it was usually brief. What made this so different? What made you different?

Also, why did he talk like he knew you? Sure, your story had been in the papers a long time ago? You occasionally met a stranger who would recognize your name, but it was becoming less and less common with every passing year. How did Antimatter Man know you?

Outlier's grip on you tightened. One of his hands reached down for your wrist and held it up. Taking hold of the cuff, he brought it within millimeters of your skin. 

"Now, let's be civilized about this. If you were truly worried about this girl because of her past, you wouldn't have let me take her in the first place."

Antimatter Man gulped. His body was stiff and his hands opened and closed. It reminded you of how Namjoon kept a stress ball in his desk drawer for whenever he had a stressful day. He'd squeeze and release it a few times in time with his breaths, getting out of his head. 

"Yoongi," Antimatter Man said, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. "Open the back door for me would you?"

Yoongi didn't move. His gaze was hard, but not in a way that felt piercing or like he was looking through you. He was thinking.

"Yoongi," the villain said again. 

Yoongi didn't move.

Antimatter Man took the opportunity and lunged. It was a risk. The cuffs still encircled one wrist and both your ankles. As you fell backward, it felt as if the world moved in slow motion, you watched your wrist fling back, hitting the ring of the cuff and bounce back, completely unharmed.

You land on Outlier's chest, but his grip on you loosened. You got up but immediately felt your legs give out. Someone caught you and you looked up to see Yoongi looking down at you. He didn't speak, or really show any expression beyond motioning to the back of the room where there was a door concealed within the wall. Likely, this was the back door Outlier wanted him to open earlier.

Even though Yoongi was working with Outlier, you felt like you were free. Something told you he was helping you. The man obviously did not swear much loyalty to the villain. You reached and pulled the cuffs off, causing Yoongi's eyes to widen and you felt his arms waver as you tossed them in Outlier's direction, hoping one would at least chink his antimatter protective armor.

Someone winced. And you recognized it. It was the same pain you heard that night when the bomb went off and you felt Namjoon's body wrap around yours. When he woke up in the hospital and you couldn't help but hug him, forgetting he had multiple broken ribs. Even in his pain, he didn't stop you.

"Oh my God." 

You wrestled out of Yoongi's grasp. Outlier--seemingly not really wanting to fight--ran as soon as Antimatter Man fell to the ground. The cuff had sliced through his clothes and a gash opened on his leg. You crouched next to him and reached for the gash, applying as much pressure as possible 

"It's not as bad as it looks. It'll heal by tomorrow."

You looked up at him and met his eyes. It was him. It had to be. You reached up for the edge of the mask. He didn't stop you, his dark eyes watching your hand as you reached up and revealed his identity. 

Namjoon.

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[barnes-dameron]

Just a Little Mix-Up

*gif not mine*

Modern!Poe Dameron x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Two identical folders: one containing boring office work, the other containing race pictures of you. What happens when your crush of three years, Poe Dameron, accidentally has the latter? 

To say that your heart was going the same speed of a race car during the final lap of the Daytona 500 was an understatement. You prayed that the world would open up and swallow you rather than have the most embarrassing event in history happen to you. You tried to think back on what went wrong; what you could’ve prevented from something like this happening to you. 

The last thing that you wanted to happen, happened. Poe Dameron, your crush of three years, has ever exposing pictures of you. After a deep breath in effort to clear your mind, you went back, and assessed the events that led up to this horrific one. 

One month ago...

The cafe was alive with both loyal and new patrons as the usual band played their new music. You always loved this place. The people were always interesting, the music lifted spirits, and everything on the menu was perfected to a delicious and savory taste. There was no way you could’ve found this place on your own. Finn, a friend from the office at which you both worked, invited you to the cafe one evening to meet his friends, Rey and Poe. 

The moment you saw Poe, butterflies erupted in your stomach. The last time something like that happened was a middle school crush. You thought he would be charming, but instead he was a huge dork with the brightest smile in the galaxy. It relieved you to know that he was human instead of some mythical god. After that night, it wasn’t just Finn inviting you out but Poe as well. On multiple occasions, Poe has freely confessed to you that he enjoys your company and sarcastic sense of humor. Especially since he could make jokes with you that Rey and Finn wouldn’t understand. Apparently, to him, you two have more in common than what he has with Finn and Rey. These interactions only made your feelings grow, but you always kept them to yourself. You didn’t think you weren’t enough for him or anything. But the fear of losing his friendship and the risk of the friendship being awkward in case of rejection prevented you from voicing your own feelings. However, you were content with the friendship for now. At this point, you and Poe were so comfortable with each other that he would put his arm around your shoulder while walking or sitting. Whenever you got cold, he would lend you his jacket. You hated how you cherished these little displays of affection. You consistently have to remind yourself that things are platonic, and will remain platonic. 

But you weren’t at the cafe for Poe. You sat a table, waiting for your friend, Lina. You and Lina have been friends since high school, and were always there for each other for the good and the bad. Sometimes you would talk to her about Poe, which she always replies with “Don’t be a baby, and just tell him,” to which you ignored. She texted you this morning saying she wanted to see you. 

Lina came in, greeted you with a hug like always, and sat across from you at the table. After some small talk and catching up on each other’s lives, Lina’s demeanor changes before your eyes. Her usual smile disappeared, her stare turns towards the table, and she starts to fidget with her hands. 

“Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Your heart sank. Surely this must be something serious if she’s so nervous to ask. 

“Of course,” you replied. “Anything.”

“So you know I’m in fashion school,” she began, and only going further after a nod from you. “Well, there was an assignment where we design and reproduce an article of clothing. For the assignment, we need to bring in the clothes and have pictures of someone modeling the clothing. My model dropped out on me, and I need a new one. And I was wondering if you can do it?”

The question confused you, but you were glad it was this kind of favor and not one asking for an organ. This would be a walk in the park. 

“Are you kidding me?” you said. “Lina, I would love too. It sounds like fun.”

“Really?” she squeaked, light returning to her eyes and a smile reemerging to her face. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “What kind of clothing is it?” 

“Lingerie,” Lina said. 

Your heart stopped. 

“Lingerie?” you repeated. “Lina, I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” she retorted. “Give me one reason you can’t model lingerie?”

“Look at me,” you said while making a hand gesture towards your body. “I don’t have the confidence to pull it off. And frankly, I’m not comfortable with your class seeing half naked pictures of me.”

“Okay,” Lina started. “You have a great body and you could totally pull this off without a problem. Once you try it on and we get some good music on, you’re not going to want to take it off. And besides, my professor will be the only one seeing it. Other than her, me, you, and the photographer, no one else will see those pictures. You can trust me on that.”

Maybe it was her reasoning or your kind heart, but you made the decision that would set the spark to the bomb that would become your downfall. 

“Okay,” you sighed. 

Two weeks ago...

You stood in the dressing room, facing the mirror while cringing. Why did you agree to this? You looked over yourself in the black lingerie set that Lina designed and made. Your breasts were pushed up to the max, the lace clung to your torso like a second layer of skin, and the panties barely covered your front much less the back. Lina styled your hair and did your make-up before you went in to change. You probably would’ve stayed in the changing room if it hadn’t been for Lina’s impatient shouts. You sighed heavily, and opened the door. 

“Look at you, sexy,” Lina said as soon as she saw you. 

You rolled your eyes, and approached her. 

“Lina, I look ridiculous,” you hissed, not wanting the photographer to hear. 

“Okay first off, don’t say that because I designed that,” she replied, holding up a finger to accompany her offended look. “And second, you look great. You’re just not used to seeing yourself this gorgeous.”

There was a certain truth behind her words. You rarely ever put on lingerie, and rarely had a chance to do so. Ever since meeting Poe, your love life went down the drain. Every man you met who seemed remotely interested in you, you immediately turned down. You came to terms that you liked Poe, and it wasn’t fair to pretend to reciprocate feelings towards other men who aren’t him. Maybe if something does happen between you and Poe, you could wear this for him. Lina did say you can keep it after her professor grades it. 

“You’ll feel better once I put on music,” Lina said kindly, while stroking your arm up and down. 

She was right. Once the music was turned on, your whole demeanor changed. You went from shy and embarrassed to confident and outgoing. You posed left and right, showing off certain parts of the lingerie. You felt sexy. You showed off your ass and breasts, flipped your hair while giving the over the shoulder look, and gave flirty and seductive looks to the camera. At this point, nothing could’ve brought you down. You felt euphoric and gorgeous. For the first time, you felt like you were on top of the world. Once the shoot was done, you, Lina, and the photographer examined all the pictures. 

“Damn, Y/N,” Lina exclaimed. “You look so sexy. These pictures could be on the cover of Playboy.”

“These might be the best pictures I’ve ever taken,” the photographer mumbled to himself. 

“Okay, cool it,” Lina warned. “Can you print all of these?”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said. “I could get them to you after about a week and a half. I still got to play with them a bit.”

“Okay,” Lina replied. “Just make sure you don’t play with yourself while playing with the pictures.”

You couldn’t but laugh while watching the interaction. As you made your way back to the changing room, Lina caught up. She walked besides you when saying:

“I’m serious. You looks so hot, I swear some of those pictures look like scenes from some porno.”

You laughed again, before shaking your head. 

“Well, I’m glad you liked them. Just make sure that no one else sees them.”

“I promise,” Lina swore. 

You smiled at her before walking into the changing room. A part of you didn’t want to take the lingerie off. You wanted to keep it on. You wanted to call Poe while wearing it. You wanted to show it off to him. But reality came back just as fast as the fantasies. You took off the outfit, and set it aside. Little did you know that the outfit was the device to your own destruction. 

Yesterday

After a long day from work, Finn invited you to his apartment for dinner. You immediately accepted his offer, knowing that you’d get to see Poe. You told Finn you had to stop by the printing place before going though. Lina asked you to get the photos from the shoot since she’ll be in class. 

The photos were the size of average pieces of paper and came in a plain manila folder. Simple pick-up, but the cashier did give you weird looks and wrote his number on the back of receipt. You immediately knew that he looked at the pictures, but you figured you’d never see him again so why care?

Once outside the printers, you opened up the folder and skimmed through the pictures. You couldn’t even recognize yourself. It was like looking at your alter ego. Your sexy, confident, alter ego. You smiled to yourself, secretly loving how you looked in the photos. Shaking your head, you closed the folder and headed to Finn’s place.

Once you got there, you saw that Rey already arrived and was helping Finn out by setting the table. When she saw you come in, she came over to greet you as you placed the folder on the kitchen counter. 

“Hey Y/N,” Rey said, coming up beside you. “What do you got there?”

“Just something for my friend,” you replied, shrugging off the topic. “But I think the real question is, what is Finn cooking over there?”

The two of you laughed, while Finn mocked you two from his place at the stove. He wasn’t the best cook, but he was better than the three of you combined. Rey grabbed some beers from the fridge, and you talked about how Finn accidentally used hot sauce on his lunch instead of ketchup today at work. You were doing well until Poe came. 

Your heart began to pick up as you watched him take off his jacket. Poe let out a loud sigh before slamming down a manila folder on the counter. 

“I’m so overworked!” Poe yelled, before going straight to the fridge for a beer. “Leia has been giving me so many project lately since Ben has been slacking off. I mean, what is that guy even doing anymore? I’ve got so much work that I had to bring some home.”

“Oh, that sucks,” you said, immediately scolding yourself after saying that. 

That’s the best you got, you thought to yourself. 

“I really need this,” Poe sighed, after taking a long swig from his beer. Poe moved around the kitchen island towards you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pushing you against his chest in a half hug. You heard Poe hum, which went straight through you and caused your heart to skip a beat. He let you go with a smile on his face. “I needed that too.”  

The dinner went smoothly, but you did have a little too much to drink. You were still sober enough to get home, but you were a little tipsy. You gave out your goodbyes, grabbed your folder, and left Finn’s apartment. 

That little mistake will cost you dearly in the end. 

Earlier today...

You met up with Lina at the cafe per her request. It started off as an ordinary day. You ordered your drink and waited for Lina to come. And when she did, you two talked about your respective personal lives, catching up on the past couple of weeks. 

“Oh, hey,” Lina said, changing the conversation. “Did you pick up the pictures?”

“Yes, I did,” you replied proudly, producing the manila folder from your bag and placing it on the table. “And you were right. Some of them were border-lining porn.”

Lina took the folder with a laugh escaping her lips. You watched as she opened the folder and gave out a mocking laugh, different from the previous one. You gave her a confused look before she said, 

“Very funny, but where are they?”

“What do you mean?” you asked. “They’re there, aren’t they?”

“Y/N,” Lina said, her voice tone changing to a more serious one compared to her carefree attitude. “This is just budget forms and analysis sheets from Organa Co. Where are the pictures?”

In that moment, the memories from last night flashed before your eyes. You remembered there being two identical folders on the counter, but you for sure thought you picked the right one. Your heart began to race at the implication. 

Poe Dameron has the sexy lingerie photos of YOU. 

Your mouth began to dry and heat rushed to your face. You got up from your seat at the cafe in a hurry, grabbing your bag and the folder. 

“I have to go,” you uttered, before sprinting to the door and down the sidewalk. 

The present... 

You ran down the sidewalk, avoiding people the best you can in effort to reach Organa Co. in time. A part of you hoped that Poe didn’t see the pictures last night when he got home. You hoped he just went straight to bed after drinking so many beers at Finn’s. You hoped that he didn’t have time yet at work to open the folder. 

You cursed yourself for grabbing the wrong folder. You cursed the model who cancelled on your friend in the last minute. You cursed Lina for choosing to make lingerie instead of a jacket or something else. But mostly, you cursed yourself for agreeing to model and posing for those pictures. You could’ve said no, but you had to say yes.

Sweat began to glisten on your skin as your work blouse clung onto your upper back. Multiple times you had to push the hair out of your face in order not to bump into the street carts and newspaper stands. Your heels began to break out in blisters the faster you ran, but you ignored the pain. Quite honestly, you preferred the pain over suffering humiliation from the only man you have a crush on. 

As you approached the building, a short sigh of relief came to your lips. But your mission wasn’t done just yet. You pushed through the glass doors and went up to the third floor where you knew where Poe worked. At this point, you didn’t care about your disheveled appearance. You just wanted your damn pictures. 

You walked into the office with a calm atmosphere around you, contradicting your appearance. You walked between the aisle way of desks in seek of Poe’s small office space. You tried to ignore the stares you got from the other employees, but they were burning into you as if someone were pressing hot spoons against your skin. Your grip on the manila folder tightened as you approached the door with the plaque that read “Poe Dameron: Manager.”

You took a deep breath, trying to still your beating heart for even a minute. Closing your eyes briefly, you knocked on the door, the sound reverberating within your ears. You heard a muffled “Come in,” and then opened the door. 

Poe was sitting at his desk. His dark curls were combed and put in a place that was appropriate for his work setting, much different compared to his late nights with friends where they ran wild. His button up shirt hugged his biceps and stretched over his broad chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You couldn’t ignore the smile that appeared on his face when his beautiful brown eyes landed on you. 

“Y/N,” he said, surprise and excitement in his voice. “What are you doing here?” You watched as Poe got up from his desk and moved around it to perch himself on the front, leaning against the edge. “Not that I mind the surprise.” 

“Hey Poe,” you replied. You scolded yourself for being so unprepared. You should’ve rehearsed what you were going to say. You couldn’t be like ‘Hey Poe, you know those sexy pictures of me? Well, that’s not me trying to make a move on you or anything, those are for someone else. Can I have them back? Thanks.’ You scrambled through your mind to think of the right words to say in a situation like this. “I think there was a little mix up last night. You see, I accidentally picked up your folder instead of mine.”

“Really?” Poe asked. “Huh, I didn’t notice.” 

You have never been more relieved in your entire life. The headache that appeared during the elevator ride up, disapparated. Your breathing came back to normal, and your heart returned to a steady pace. Poe got up from his position and grabbed the manila folder off his desk and held it out to you. You held out your folder in return as the two of you traded off. Once the picture folder was in your hands, you held it to your chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” you breathed out. “This is totally on me.”

“No worries,” Poe replied. “Last night, I was so tired that I didn’t even want to look at work. And today was so busy, that I didn’t even get a chance to glance over the papers in the folder.”

“But you got the right folder now,” you joked, trying your best to remove any tension out of the air. 

“I do, even if I didn’t noticed,” Poe said in the same joking manner. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to your work, then,” you said, making your way towards his door. “Thanks, Poe.”

“No problem, Y/N,” Poe replied, moving around his office to walk you to the elevator. “Thank you for delivering me my folder. Feel free to stop by whenever.”

“Thanks,” you repeated. “Bye, Poe.”

“Bye, Y/N,” he said. 

The elevator doors closed. Now alone, you couldn’t help letting out the laugh that was bubbling up in your chest. He didn’t even look at them. The two of you are fine, and now nothing awkward will be hung over you guys whenever you see each other. You wanted to dance, to scream in victory, but you restrained yourself. That could wait. But, you couldn’t wait to get these pictures out of your life. But you’ll keep the lingerie... 

Later that night...

The sky faded from a baby blue to dark navy as the street lights outside of Poe’s office windows began to turn on. One by one, employees left the office, saying their goodbyes and good nights to Poe as they walked past his office to the elevator. Poe would either wave or return the same pleasantries. Per usual, he was the last to leave the office, but that was part of the job. After the last person left, Poe took one last look around the floor. Once he decided it was clear, he went straight back to his office, and closed the door. He could never be too careful, something that he carried with him from his military days. 

Poe sat in his chair, but pushed it back to access his bottom drawer. Once it was opened, he laid his eyes on the holy artifact. He’d never done this before, and a part of him was against doing such a thing. However, the rational side lost the battle to his desire. He reached in and grabbed the picture and placed it on his desk. 

He felt bad about lying to you, but he knew you like the back of his hand. Poe didn’t want to risk your friendship over something like this. However, he felt even more guilty on keeping one of the pictures from the stack. But it was his favorite. 

You had your back to the camera, but your face was turned to the side so it was still visible, showing off your beautiful profile. He liked the way your skin looked so soft. You were sitting on the edge of something, he couldn’t tell what, but he admired the shape of your ass and how the panties barely gave cover, leaving much exposure. 

Just looking at the picture made Poe’s mouth water and his pupils dilate with lust. He’d be lying if he said he never thought of being with you in an intimate way. He couldn’t help it at times. Ever since Finn introduced him to you, Poe knew he wanted to be with you. He has been trying to hint his intentions on a relationship with you multiple times, but it seems like you mistook his signals for platonic exchanges between friends. Poe wanted to have something more. He wanted dates without his friends accompanying him, kisses that were on the lips instead of on the cheek, and of course, he wanted to make love to you. He didn’t want to fuck, because to him that was impersonal. No, Poe wanted to be in the moment with you; to feel you, to pleasure you, to love you. 

He couldn’t remember how long he stared at the picture. His eyes gleamed over every detail: every scar, every birthmark, every stretch mark, you name it. Poe didn’t even look at the time on his watch until he began to feel the tightness in his pants. Yeah, he’d been staring at it too long. He took a deep breath, got up from his chair, and grabbed his bag. Poe looked down at the image one last time before heading out, debating to himself. Should I leave it here and wait for a good time to give it back or take it with me?

Poe shook his head, turned off the lamp on his desk, and walked out of the office. It didn’t take long for him to comeback, and snatch the picture from his desk. 

“Yeah,” Poe whispered to himself. “You’re coming with me.” 

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fic #Oscar Isaac #oscar isaac x reader #star wars #Star Wars The Force Awakens #star wars the last jedi #star wars rise of Skywalker #love #fanfic #writing

[muhammadammar]

I need a girlfriend!”

Today you told yourself, “I need a girlfriend!” Easier said than done? Don’t worry, we’re here to help you get the girl of your dreams — and keep her in your life. Here’s the thing: getting a girlfriend isn’t exactly easy, and keeping her can be even more complicated. The problem is that men have picked up the wrong lessons over the years, from both society and popular culture. This has led to misconceptions and misunderstandings where love and the opposite sex are involved. So when you say, “I need a girlfriend,” it’s very important to unpack the contents of that statement. We will assume that you don’t mean a casual fling — you want a real, healthy relationship built on mutual love, honour, and respect. But real life isn’t a fairy tale, and no one is guaranteed a happy ending. A real relationship requires hard work, effort, and commitment. Both parties need to have a certain level of emotional intelligence and maturity to make things work. So, forget about those tricks that purportedly help you pick up chicks. Those “tricks” are not effective or valuable if what you want is a real relationship.

There’s no gaming the system because we’re dealing with actual human beings and emotions here. In this article, we’ll cover two areas: how to get a girlfriend, and how to keep her. Both are equally important in the pursuit of a true human connection. How To Get A Girlfriend you’ve said, “I need a girlfriend,” one too many times, this is the answer you’ve been waiting for. As we’ve said earlier, no tricks here. Rid yourself of the mentality that love is a game. A woman worth your time and effort will not stand for the usual mind games that pick up artists love to play. Instead, we will focus on actions that can real results. Let’s get started. Go out and broaden your network. What’s your usual routine? We’re willing to bet that you shuffle between your house and office on the regular, with just a sprinkling of bars and restaurants on the weekend. That’s too boring! You won’t meet new people if you stick to your old haunts. Instead, you need to broaden your horizons and make the opportunities for yourself. Join a book club, hit up a comedy bar, go on a wine tasting event. Besides, joining an event you’re interested in means you are bound to meet like-minded people, which makes building that personal connection is a lot easier. Be ready for a real commitment. There are no half measures here if you want a real relationship.

You have to be ready to go all in. Women can sense when you’re playing them, and they most likely won’t stand for that if what they want is a real connection. Before you make any attempt to meet and date, it’s important to consider every aspect of your emotional status. Are you ready to get into a relationship? If you’ve never been in one, think about your motivations. Are you envious of your peers? Are you lonely? Take these factors into consideration. If you’re dealing with a bad breakup, maybe don’t get into a relationship just yet. At least wait until you’re truly over your ex, so you don’t create unnecessary stress for yourself and your new partner. Don’t push yourself into a relationship unless you’re truly physically, mentally, and emotionally ready. Don’t be a doormat. Some men think that the only way they can get a woman is by agreeing to everything she has to say. They are afraid to antagonize her and therefore make all efforts to just cater to her every whim. That’s not boyfriend material — that’s a doormat! You don’t want to let anyone walk all over you, and women will find you disingenuous. After all, it’s not normal to agree with somebody 100%. Being a doormat shows a woman that you’re way too desperate, and she’ll know that you aren’t the best candidate for a real, long-term partnership. Yes, you said, “I need a girlfriend,” but she doesn’t have to know that! Be interesting. This advice sounds a little too generic but bears with us. Do you know how a lot of women lament the “nice guy”? This is because being nice is the lowest common denominator. No one wants to willingly date someone who identifies as arrogant and obnoxious! However, if nice is all that you have to offer, women will look somewhere else. You have to a fullfledged person with hopes, dreams, and hobbies. When we say “relationship,” we mean women are also seeking out the same strong and long-term partnership that you’re looking for. That means they want a man who is just as complex and interesting as they are so that they can build a life together. Develop your inner life! Have fun hobbies, follow your dreams, be ambitious!

Women love and respect men who have goals and are working hard to achieve them. Don’t forget about your hygiene! Indeed, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but there are ways to make yourself more attractive. Don’t be too focused on what society believes is beautiful or handsome, because otherwise, only guys who look like Chris Evans would be in a relationship, and that’s not true. If you think yourself ordinary or plain, don’t worry. Just focus on the areas you can improve. A good haircut is important. Make sure your hair complements your face shape. Maintain good hygiene. Shower regularly and use products that are appropriate for your skin type. A lot of men mistakenly see skincare as a feminine thing, but why should taking care of yourself be limited to one gender? Another tip: get clothes that fit you right. Wearing shirts that are too big for you to make you look way too sloppy and greatly diminish your attractiveness. Finally, try to be fitter and healthier. Hit the gym or go for a run regularly — do these things both for yourself and for your future partner. Exercising has wonderful benefits for both physical and mental health, after all.

Be confident and let her know your intentions. Don’t be that guy who hides his feelings, acting like a friend when he wants something more from the woman. People like to talk about the friend zone these days, but lots of men who find themselves in there never even let the woman know about their feelings. If you want a romantic relationship, you have to be upfront. Let her know what you want! Women aren’t psychics, and no one wants to be presumptuous. If you want to date, let her know. How To Keep Your GirlfriendNow that she’s in your life, the bigger challenge is keeping her. Relationships, as we’ve mentioned earlier, require a certain level of work and commitment. This isn’t a one-time thing, where you win a girl’s heart and kiss her then wait for the screen to freeze and fade to black. Real-life means you have to keep going even after happily ever after. Of course, it takes two to make a relationship work. This isn’t entirely on you alone. It’s a partnership after all, and you both have to pull your weight to keep the relationship healthy and strong. That being said, when you find a woman worth your love and devotion, you never want to let her go. What’s the best way to keep her in your arms? Be a good listener. It’s not enough to just listen to what she says and nod your head at every appropriate junction.

Learn to listen. How would you feel if your partner ignoring you? That would suck. Your partner is someone who’s got your back and listening to each other is a basic expectation for any relationship. Take time to hear what she’s telling you, even if sometimes it seems like she’s just venting about her bad day. Give her that opportunity to talk and to feel like someone understands what she’s going through. Don’t forget to compliment her. The thing about being in a relationship is that sometimes, you forget about the small things. Remember that you have to renew that loving feeling again and again. Don’t forget to notice the small changes in her appearance and always make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the room. Notice when she uses a new perfume or gets a haircut. Be there to compliment her when she tries on a new dress.

Be grateful. It’s easy to take each other for granted in a relationship. Though you may not forget to be grateful in your heart, it helps to say it out loud now and again. Any woman would be happy to hear her man say thank you. It doesn’t matter if it’s a small gesture; just make sure to let her know you appreciate everything she does.

Act like you’re still in the early dating stages. Remember how you had butterflies in your stomach back when you were just dating? It was a magical, wonderful moment. For many relationships, that stage is fleeting as you get to be more comfortable with one another. There’s nothing wrong with developing comfort in a relationship, but of course, you want to have that sweet, giddy feeling in your heart again and again.

Don’t lose the sweetness. Go on a surprise date, take a random trip, send her flowers at work when least expects it. Don’t let yourself go. She loves you for who you are, definitely, but no one wants to be in a relationship with a ticking time bomb. Other than losing your physical attractiveness, letting yourself go means you’re living an unhealthy lifestyle. Your girlfriend is going to worry about your health and what this means for your relationship. Make sure to work on yourself and always work to stay attractive to your beloved, as best as you can. Keep your promises.

Trust is the key to maintaining a good relationship. She’s here because she loves and trusts you. She knows that you’re someone she can rely on and that she can count on you to have her back in anything, whether big or small. Breaking one small promise from time to time for valid reasons isn’t an issue. You are human, and sometimes circumstances are out of your control. But if you’re always breaking promises and can’t seem to keep any of them, one day she’ll get tired and leave you for someone who can. Share your feelings. A lot of men find it difficult to open up because society has deemed it unmanly to talk about your feelings. But, for women, opening up is very important and crucial to any relationship. They want to know what’s on your mind, and they need to hear it from you. Remember that every relationship is a partnership. Don’t be afraid to talk to your partner and let her know what’s going on. Give her some space. It’s all about balance.

We talked about taking time with her and not taking her for granted. At the same time, though, never forget that you are still two individuals. Losing that sense of self can be bad for any relationship. You want to maintain your individuality while in a relationship so that you can bring more into it in the long run. If you lose yourself, it becomes a co-dependent situation where you don’t know where one ends and the other begins. Let her have some personal time. Don’t be in her face and crowd her all the time. She needs time to spend with her friends and family, and you need the same. Be sensitive to her needs, but don’t overstep your bounds. Respect is highly important in any relationship. Men are trained to be the “provider” of the family, but that doesn’t mean you should treat her like a child. Never forget that she’s a grown woman — someone who is as smart, talented, and driven as you are. As her partner, you want to give her everything she needs, but you also need to be respectful of her independence and her identity.

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Connections

Summary: Saw Paing has many unexpectedly formed connections with some unusual people. He likes to think back on them sometimes.

A/n: Some of the bonds and connections below are based on background panels or implied friendships, but this is mostly imagined and made up. I think that Saw Paing works by helping war zones evacuate civilians, providing defense to important monuments/temples, disarming landmines/bombs, or testing defensive gear. It just seems like something he’d do for a living, so I wrote it in.

-------

It was odd, he thought sometimes, how easily it came to him. Sure he was too loud, too energetic, too violent, but people were still somehow drawn to him.  He just clicked with them. Saw Paing never really minded it actually.

With some, like Sekibayashi, it made sense. The pro wrestler was also naturally loud and loved his fighting style, so them becoming friends seemed inevitable once they started talking.

Cosmo and Adam weren’t an obvious case, per se, but it still went logically. They both didn’t mind the yelling, for different reasons. Adam could be just as loud when he chose to be, and Cosmo found that he enjoyed having someone more excited and fired up around. The three of them could talk about fighting, dealign with injuries, and complain to one another about siblings.

Others, like Muteba, even Saw Paing struggled to understand. They were on opposite sides after all, a man named ‘Genocider’ in the battlefield, and the man hired on a regular basis to help evacuate the civilians or disarm the weapons used against them. 

They’d met multiple times before, always in a professional capacity. Damn that Tomari and her weapons. She was a clever woman, playing both sides, selling weapons with the right hand and signing contracts to defend attacked villages with the left. Muteba later told him that he’d walked away half-deaf the first time they met. 

After that he’d started speaking more quietly when Muteba was around. Even when they had been enemies, it seemed rather cruel to torture someone who was just doing what he was paid to do. 

At times, they’d even fought on the same side. There wasn’t much to do outside of combat besides talking, and eventually they’d found common interest in fashion, even if Saw Paing applied his knowledge less often than Muteba did.

Friendships like that he hadn’t minded being forged from combat.

Others, not so much.

He looked for Karo after their match to tell him he’d done well. It wasn’t until he saw Karo looking at a photo of the sea that Saw Paing realized quite what the fisherman had been fighting for. It didn’t change either the results or the fact that Village of Dawn still needed victory to survive, but it gave them a decent conversation. That was how Saw Paing had even found out that the match had been rigged. 

Karo had assured him that he certainly hadn’t held back, but Saw Paing still felt horrible for even participating in a fixed match, knowingly or not.

“The prize money they give to the fighters, take mine, please.”  It wasn’t going to be anywhere near enough to save the harbor, but Saw Paing had no such delusions. It would, however, be enough for Karo and his manager to live on while they found new jobs and homes. Karo had been uncertain and almost angry, but he’d accepted it after the explanation. They bonded, now that the fighting was out of the way, over fish and families and loving the places they’d come from.

No matter how close they ever became though, Saw Paing doubts he’ll ever be able to not feel that stab of guilt over the rigging of the match.

And then there’s the bonds formed away from fighting.

Like Sayaka. God but their friendship was one of the most complex Saw Paing had ever had. It was obvious what everyone was thinking, even if they expressed it in different ways. Sayaka was a pretty, extroverted, popular girl who chose to hang out with him more often that with anyone else. People made assumptions. Even Gaolang had once, thankfully without other people around, asked him if he was in any type of relationship with her.

The answer, no matter how unbelievable people found it, was that they really were just friends. They’d known each other for 3 years, first meeting when Saw Paing’s opponent had thrown him smack into that arena’s commentator booth. Post-match Saw Paing went up to her to apologize. She made a joke. He made one back. They’d been best friends since. He’d even managed to gain Retsudo’s friendship, although the man’s sister complex went haywire if Saw Paing and Sayaka so much as talked in front of him.

Hanafusa and Sawada were two of the oddest people he’d become friends with, in part simply because they were the right type of people that he’d met in the wrong type of setting. Maybe it was because he’d seen that gleam in Hanafusa’s eyes before in the eyes of family, maybe it was because it was nice to talk to someone about fashion and dance, but somehow they drew closer and closer until Saw Paing was almost always likely to be in the medbay if he was not watching the matches.

Somehow, one way or the other, he’d talk to someone, click with them, talk to whoever came up to them for whatever reason, click with them, and repeat until there was a cluster of people all conversing and bonding, laughing at each others jokes and telling reidicuouls stories about this or that. That was his cue to disappear. He knew that for all he was a friendly man, people still preferred talking to those that fit their idea of “normal”, and that idea rarely included loud, over-the-top, yelling.

But sometimes they wouldn’t let him disappear. 

Sekibayashi dragged him over to Harou and Kiozan, talking just as loudly as Saw Paing and determined to have all three of them meet and bond.

Cosmo brought up school and asked for advice, while Adam struck up a chat about crazy stunts he’d done or start a conversation about weird impulsive ideas and their results.

Muteba would walk up to him to chat for a while, ask about his family and friends, things most people tended to forget he had.

Karo would pull him aside once a large group was already chatting and they’d talk about fish, or cooking, or sometimes what it felt like to be rooted to something, only for it to be yanked out from under your feet.

Sayaka wouldn’t let him leave at all. If it was Saw Paing who’d gotten these people to talk to one another, she explained once, he deserved to stay and get to bond with them too, even if it was just a few of the people there.

When he’d tried to sneak away anyways, Hanafusa very conveniently just so happened to need fashion advice, and then he was sucked into a heated debated between himself, Sawada, and three other fighters about what clothes Hanafusa should wear.

Even Gaolang, the man who hated being called his rival, the man who did his best to avoid Saw Paing at almost any other time, would make him stay. Whether it was with a question that led to a group debate, a joke that made him chuckle, or simply grabbing his wrist or shoulder and not letting him get away until of one of the other people present addressed him, Gaolang just wouldn’t let Saw Paing leave unless he wanted to. Despite the boxer’s words and gruffness, the subtext was obvious. He had to enjoy having Saw Paing around to constantly go so far to get him to stay.

It was.....nice, actually.

It was pretty nice to have friends that were just as crazy. It was nice to be know he wasn’t as alone anymore, that there were people outside of family that he could go to for help or worries. 

Saw Paing knows his friends would be thought of as just as weird as him if even half of their real lives were revealed to the general public, and that’s how he also knows that they’re the kind of people he clicks with best.

Because they’d clicked with him too.

------

END

#have some garbage that i liked #over-tagging just a tad bc technically they're all mentioned #yoroizuka saw paing #gaolang wongsawat #hanafusa hajime #sayaka katahara #katahara sayaka #muteba gizenga #imai cosmo #adam dudley #karo yoshinari #sawada keizaburo #kengan ashura #kengan asura #K. A. #writing #my writing #fanfic #please give feedback #or just read #all jokes aside i'm genuinely semi-proud of this

[hero-imagines]

star-spangled | steve rogers

summary: steve rogers prided himself on being the star-spangled man, a perfect example of a hero and a mentor, but for you, he was willing to break all those rules. 

word count: 2.2k

genre: angst/fluff

a/n: sorry for going missing for a couple months, finals consumed me ! but now i’m out and since it’s summer i have some more free time to write :))

In your eyes, Steve Rogers was a different type of man. When you looked at him you saw past that star-spangled patriotic blond poster boy image, past that strong super soldier and serious leader front that he was so used to portraying—instead, you saw him simply as a man, just as Steve Rogers. He was a man with a heart of gold, someone who was selfless and willing to sacrifice everything for the safety of others. He was caring, sweet, generous even, and it was nearly impossible to find a flaw in him. This is why he made an impeccable mentor, due to his undeniable heroic nature, there was doubt in your mind that he would be able to train you to be worthy of the title of an Avenger. And at the end of the day, no matter who Captain America was or has done, he was still just Steve Rogers—your mentor and your friend. 

You could remember coming to the compound a few years ago, and back then you were a full-blown mess. Not only were your powers out of control, but physically, emotionally, and mentally you were unstable—a ticking time bomb. You were nothing but a runaway, living on the streets for a large portion of your life before they took you in, the Avengers believing in you when no one else did. They trained you, feed you, shelter you, and most importantly helped you to control the explosive power inside of you. In more ways than one, you knew that you owe them your life, a debt that perhaps could never be paid off, but you were trying everyday, struggling to prove that you were worth it. 

Yet in this process you have committed an unspeakable act, something that you could never reveal out loud. Of course, this wasn’t necessarily your choice, this being more of matter concerning your heart rather than your brain. To put it simply, without any consultation from your brain and in a rash and ill-advised decision, your heart has decided on falling in love with Steve Rogers. There were so many things wrong with something as unpredictable as love, so many things that could possibly go wrong and end up exploding back in your face. 

So you ended up suppressing this foreign emotion, pushing it down in an attempt to suffocate it, and make sure that it would stay buried for the rest of your life. Yet, things like these have an uncanny way of reappearing again, and an emotion like this would be hard to suppress for long. Love is a fickle emotion, something that came with no receipts or refunds, instead it was something that would stick with you till the end of time. Along with the truth, love always managed to escape the deepest confines of your consciousness, making itself present whether you wanted it to or not.

And even as all the odds were stacked against you—you were certain that you would find a way of dealing with this unwanted emotion.

“So who wants to bet twenty bucks that tonight is once again not the night?” Tony grinned, giving the super-soldier a hard slap on the back. Once again, Tony was throwing one of his infamous parties, celebrating another one of the Avengers’ victories—or so he claims—everyone knowing that Tony would use any and every excuse to throw a party. Currently it was a very typical party atmosphere, agents dancing in the center of the room, Bruce and Natasha conversing on the far end of the bar, Clint leaving a bit before nine o’clock to go home to Laura and the kids, and Bucky and Steve observing the party from their comfortable seats at the front of the bar. And you, well whether you knew it or not, Steve’s eyes follow you around the room—watching as you held a drink in one hand and mingled around the room making casual conversation. 

He would be lying if he said that you did not look stunning tonight. Your clothes leaving nothing up to imagination tonight, and as inappropriate as it is to say, he wanted nothing more than to ravish you tonight. Instead of acting on these animalistic behaviors, he took another sip of his drink, feeling it burn as it went down his throat and hopefully washing down his previous desires with the drink. 

"Come on, Tony, don't rush him, when the old man is ready he'll confess on his own terms," Natasha laughs, giving him a wink. Steve knew that they all meant no harm by pushing and compelling to confess his feelings, but he couldn’t but grow a bit annoyed. This wasn’t something that could be taken lightly, and it wasn’t something that would drastically change their life as much as it would his own. There was something intoxicating about you—making him want to stay away and yet get closer, all at the same time. And as you sway your hips to the song, his eyes following the movement of your body, he couldn’t but feel slightly buzzed by your presence and he drank it all in. 

It was official, you were slightly drunk and didn’t know what to do with yourself. This entire night Steve Rogers was acting completely unfair to you, strutting around here like a  fine piece of ass—completely disregarding your feelings for him. His presence aggregated you to no end  and you weren’t sure whether he was doing it on purpose or whether the super soldier could possibly be that damn oblivious. Even with the alcohol lowerig your inhibititions, you still had enough common sense not to make any rash or idiotic descisions. This was exceptionally hard, especially when there are an abundance of agents swarming around him like they are the predators and he is the prey, circling him like vultures. It wasn’t until one of those snakes leaned in and wrapped her arms around his waist as if she was about to kiss him—oh honey, was she about to get the ass-kicking of a lifetime. 

“Hey, baby, I leave for one second and you find yourself some other company?” you slurred, smiling tightly, walking over and linking arms with the blond—effectively pulling him away from the woman’s grasp. Turning your attention away from her, you attempted to refocus your attention on him, swaying slightly, Steve gripping onto your wrist a bit tighter in order to keep you steady and upright. There was this questioning look in his eye and a hint of panic, but in a flash that was gone, replaced instead by the heavy redness in his cheeks and face. Leaning over you pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, just long for you to whisper for him to play along, before standing up again. 

“And you are?” One of the girls asked, her arms crossed tightly over her chest with a snarl on her face. 

“[Y/N], his significant other, and you are?” you practically growled, taking a step towards the woman and her posse. At that, the women deemed that it wasn’t worth it, and with one final glare they all sauntered off. Finally, you released a breath that you didn’t realize that you have been holding, and before the star-spangled man could ask too many questions you grabbed onto his wrist and dragged him out of the room and into an adjoining staircase before your hand released his in order for you to cross your arms over your chest. "What were you even doing out there?" 

His eyebrows shot up at your question, mouth agape as he attempted to process exactly what you were accusing him of. He scanned over your body, taking in your appearance it the dim lighting—the way that you looked slightly disheveled as the night wore on, His eyebrows shot up at your question, mouth agape as he attempted to process exactly what you were accusing him of. He scanned over your body, taking in your appearance in the dim lighting—the way that you looked slightly disheveled as the night wore on, or the evident flush in your cheeks due to the amount of alcohol that you consumed. Despite all these factors, he still thought you looked beautiful. 

“Me, [Y/N], what are you doing?” he protested, gesturing to the iron-like grip that you held steady on his wrist. 

Honestly you were completely out of your mind at the moment, and you were definitely sure that it was due to your intoxicated state. Yet, you were unsure whether you were drunk because of the alcohol or if you were drunk on the idea of him. He aggregvated you and you wanted nothing more than to tell him—confess to him everything that he has been doing to you ever since you both met, and tonight was just the tip of the iceberg. Instead you pulled him closer to you, your cheeks turning even more red (if that was even possible) as you wrapped your arms around his waist. It was hard to miss the way that his face flushed and his mouth sputtered, trying to formulate anything to say. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, your voice low as your eyes flickered towards his lips. 

There was a fire that seemed to ignite in the bottom of his stomach, a burning desire to do everything that he knew he couldn’t—and even as tempting as your offer was, he couldn’t bring himself to close the gap between you both. It was not that he didn’t want to, instead as the waves of disappointment crashed upon him, he knew that it was his duty as not only your superior, but as someone who genuinely cares about you, not to take advantage of you in a state like this. 

As he began to pull away you grabbed on to him, pulling him so close to you that you could practically hear his heart hammering against your own. Once again you repeat yourself, and he could feel your hot breath against his lips—and that only seemed to make him want you more. Before he could decide anything, you pressed your lips against his feverishly, enjoying the way his hands immediately situated themselves around your frame, pulling you closer to his toned body. In this moment everything just felt right and for a second, Steve forgot that he should be thinking rationally, and after this moment, reality came crashing down on him. 

Suddenly, his lips were off of your own, your opens opening in confusion and surprise. Before you could even ask him what was wrong, he turned away from you and took three steps back, making sure that there was enough distance between the two of you before he began spewing out apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you if your drunk and god, I’ve taken advantage of you and that was never my intention, I’m so sorry—I couldn’t help myself and I know that’s no excuse and I really am sorry and—” before you finally shut him up with a shake of your head, a slight smile and giggle. 

“Steve, what the hell are you sorry for?” you asked raising an eyebrow playfully, “I mean is my kissing really that bad?” 

His eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline as he vehemently shook his head. Before he could start making excuses, you waved him off, laughing to tell him that you were joking. 

“Come on, what’s the real problem? Is it that you don’t have feelings for me? I’m really sorry if I completely read things wrong or if I overstepped my boundaries,” you apologized sheepishly, taking another step back from him. 

“No! It’s not like that at all,” he practically yelps out, moving closer to you. Visibly he looked nervous, a completely different that his strong and super-soldier self. Instead, he looks more like the Steve Rogers before the super serum, the one who was dorky, timid, and sweet—the side of him that attracted you to him in the first place. Taking a deep breath before he continued, he avoided your eyes before speaking. “It’s just that there is so much of an age gap between us. I’m over a hundred years old and you, you have your whole life ahead of you and the last thing that you need is to be tied down to an old man like me. It’s not that I don’t feel the same way as you, because doll, kissing you was the best thing that has happened to me ever since I woke up in the future. I would be nothing but a burden to you and I love you too much to let that happen—” 

You couldn’t help but feel your heart melting at his statement, never in your life has anyone ever cared this much for you and has told you that they were willing to give up everything for your happiness. Shaking your head lightly you grabbed onto his hand, gingerly pulling his frame back and closer to your body. 

“For someone so smart, you’re clearly an idiot. Steve “Captain America” Rogers, I don’t want anybody else but you.”

And while that did not necessarily quell all of his fears about beginning a relationship with you, he could swear in that moment while holding you in his arms that this was heaven—and that you were his paradise.

#marvel imagines #captain america #steve rogers imagines #mcu imagines #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america imagines #captain america x reader #my writing

[kissjun]

restrained — part 2

masterlist | part 1 | part 3

a/n | sorry it took so long to finish this part!! the next one wont take as long i promise<33

—

A deafening electronic beep sounded from the intercom that she laid painfully close to, forcing her to pry her eyes open from the heavy sleep that consumed her. The irritating noise slipped through the fingers covering her ears, the blanket, and even the pillow; everything she tried to use to shield the noise from her precious ears seemed invisible. Frustrated, she sat up with a groan. She held her throbbing head as she glanced at the clock. 8:03 AM.

She blinked. How did she end up on her bed? As hard as she tried to think, it was almost impossible to focus with the noise blasting from the ceiling.

Mark was already up, brushing his teeth at the small sink in the corner of their room. He seemed used to the routine already; which didn't really come as a surprise to her. She wondered how long he'd been there.

After climbing down from her bed, she returned her hands to her ears, looking to Mark desperately. “Does it ever stop?”

“Two minutes,” he stated through the foam of toothpaste in his mouth.

The following two minutes were absolute hell. But, once it was over, she finally managed to shake off a bit of the headache that lingered from the moment she woke up. In fact, she didn't feel refreshed in the slightest. She didn't understand how she had gotten a full eleven hours of sleep—but still felt like shit.

She tried to backtrack the night before: the doors locked like Renjun had told her they would. She was curious and got out of bed to see if the door really wouldn't open—and it wouldn't. Then Lucas came. She couldn't recall the conversation, but she honestly didn't think it mattered. Then . . . she fell asleep on the floor. But how did she get back on her bed?  Did Lucas move her? She wondered how in the world  he would manage to get her back on the top bunk.

She shook her head. He didn't seem like the type of person to care, given her first impression. He seemed like the type to stiffen at a single touch because it's 'too personal'. She almost scoffed. And she still didn't understand why he was being so secretive about his age. In all honesty, she shouldn't care so much. But she was curious, and it annoyed her that he was being stubborn over a stupid question.

“Why do you look like you're going through an internal midlife crisis?” Renjun eyed her curiously as they met up in the hall to head to breakfast.

“You have to be forty-five to go through a midlife crisis, dumbass,” Mark bopped Renjun on the head.

“Are you not seeing this?” Renjun jabbed a finger at her.

Jaemin threw an arm around her. “Relax, she's probably on her period or someth—“

She abruptly cut off his sentence with an elbow to the ribs, earning a holler of laughter from the two other boys. Renjun barely caught his breath. “I like this girl.”

Just before they reached the familiar staircase in the lobby, a guard carelessly shoved through the crowd. She would have been knocked over if Jaemin hadn't steadied her. Walking up the stairs, she glanced below her, noticing the guard wasn't alone—he and a second soldier were on either side of a young girl, who's sweatpants were rolled up thrice and her UCF t-shirt to her knees. They were taking her into the elevators. To the floors that were prohibited.

“We're not the only planet, let alone solar system, let alone galaxy! It's literally dumb to think we're the only form of life living out of billions of planets,” Renjun rambled as the four tumbled into the courtyards after breakfast.

Jaemin insisted on showing her the courtyards, given it was probably the only part of the facility that wasn't plastered with endless white walls and pristine glass. Although the courtyard was more or less just a simple rock garden, it was spacious enough—especially considering the fact that she and the boys were almost the only ones out there. Why everyone else would want to restrict themselves under the cold, white florescent lights for the entire day was beyond her, but she was glad that it wasn't crowded at least.

“Proof?” Mark raised his brows as everyone took a seat at one of the round, stone glass tables placed beside the mini waterfall that hid in the bushes.

“Scientific research and common sense?”

“What if they're, like, worms that crawl up your nose and infect your brain,” Jaemin grinned. “How's that for forms of life?”

“Gross,” Mark scrunched his nose.

“It's still a form of life, idiot, so I would be right and you would have a worm in your brain,” Renjun shrugged contently.

“Dude, he's getting desperate,” Jaemin whispered to her. She couldn't help but giggle.

“Listen,” she put a hand on Renjun's shoulder. “I believe in aliens, Renjun.”

“Suddenly she's my only friend,” he announced, Jaemin sticking out his tongue in response.

If it weren't for the rain that began to dribble from the sky after a few hours, she was sure they would've stayed out longer. It was the fresh air, she thought, that put everyone in a good mood. No one appreciated being crammed in one spot for too long. Especially not her.

“You wanna grab some lunch?” Jaemin asked, shaking the water from his bangs.

When everyone's growling stomachs agreed for them, the four of them headed up to the cafeteria, paying no mind the the damp clothes that stuck to their skin. As they took place in the bustling lunch line, her eyes found a familiar face. Lucas was standing off to the left side of the room, alert and stiff as every other soldier that patrolled the floor. Soldiers had always been spread across the perimeter of the floors since she'd arrived at the facility, but she had never noticed him there before. And the fact that the facility always felt the need to have even the cafeteria guarded and crawling with soldiers gave her an uncomfortable feeling.

“What about you?” Mark asked her as they sat at their usual table. “What was your life like before the breach?”

“Breach?” she raised an eyebrow.

“You don't know about the breach?” Jaemin asked. “It's what started the whole disease.”

“Really?” she asked. No one had ever informed her much about the details—their cable stopped working, so there was no news—and she knew her parents always felt the need to protect her from the smallest things. But, she thought, maybe if they didn't do that then, she wouldn't feel so weak now.

“Yeah,” Mark nodded. “Some laboratory got bombed and I guess whatever chemicals they were brewing up inside got mixed up the wrong way. And here we are.”

Her jaw almost dropped. “Why would someone do that?”

“Maybe the scientists had different opinions on a project, or maybe some kind of discovery,” Renjun said. “And so they split up. What if they were doing something dangerous and the only way the others could stop it was by destroying the whole lab?”

“Talk about extra,” Jaemin piped in. “'Hey I don't like your idea for the science project so I'm gonna blow the entire science lab up'.”

Mark snorted. “Sounds like Renjun.”

“I like how you assume I'd be partners with either of you for a science project,” Renjun deadpanned.

“Anyways, back to the original question,” Jaemin leaned towards her, shining with interest. “Tell us about yourself!!”

“Um . . .” she wasn't sure where to start. “I didn't ever do anything cool, really. I went to school, had a few friends, went out sometimes. Nothing special. I'm an only child, so it was just me and my parents most of the time.”

“What were your parents like?” he wondered. Mark and Renjun immediately shot him a glare, and he quickly realized his mistake. “I—I mean you don't have to talk about them if you don't want to! I know things are hard for everyone right now . . .”

She couldn't manage to swallow the hard lump that had formed in her throat. 'Were' he said. What were her parents like. She wasn't sure if she had enough power to talk about her parents without choking up yet. She had never had to say anything about it before. She had no one to tell.

“It's—“

Before she could finish her sentence, a different—but also very deafening—alarm sounded from the intercom. Everyone stood from their seats, looking around as confusion glazed their faces.

“There's a fire on the third floor! Everyone head out front immediately!” one of the soldiers shouted above the commotion. “I repeat, head out front immediately!”

Exchanging worried glances with the boys, she did as she was told and followed the bustling crowd of panicking children towards the exit of the cafeteria. She caught sight of Lucas again, who seemed to be frantically discussing something with a few other soldiers. Did he know what happened?

She heard the static from a walkie talkie on a nearby soldier, followed by a frantic voice. “Sir, the patients are overheating—“

“Take them to the west wing,” he interrupted, murmuring into his walkie. “We'll figure out the rest later.”

When the person on the other line buzzed out, the soldier looked up—his icy eyes meeting hers. She continued walking, but felt frozen, as if she'd just got caught hearing something she wasn't supposed to hear.

“Come on,” Renjun tugged her arm, picking up the pace.

When everyone had finally made it outside, she noticed how many people there actually were at the facility—including the staff and soldiers. They almost filled up the entire damp, muddy field under the pouring rain. Everyone hugged themselves under the wetness of the raindrops; and a few kids screamed when it thundered. She enjoyed the rain, but it would've been less painful if it wasn't so cold.

“Clear!” Someone finally called from the entrance. They'd been standing there for about seven minutes, and Mark swore if he had to stand there another minute he would die from hypothermia.

“Finally,” Renjun mumbled to himself, shivering as he waddled back towards the warmth of the lobby.

Murmurs of everyone gossiping about what might have happened echoed through the lobby, trailing into the east wing all the way to the showers as everyone hurried to change out of their wet clothes.

“Ahh, gross,” Mark watched as his soaked socks trailed mud behind his every step—just like everyone else. “I can't stand wet socks. This is disgusting.”

Jaemin wiggled his toes. “Really? I think it has a nice feeling.”

Mark whacked him in the arm. “I hate you.”

“You could never,” Jaemin grinned as they continued their way back into the east wing.

She and Renjun followed closely behind, but she came to a halt when her eyes found Lucas again, who had began to mop up the slippery lobby floor. “I'll catch up,” she absentmindedly notified Renjun before making a beeline for where the soldier stood, busy cleaning up the water.

“Looks like someone was demoted from soldier to custodian,” she hummed as she approached him.

He glanced around, then looked back at her. “Real funny. Do you need something?”

“Well, no, I . . .” she paused. Why did she go over there? To finally get an answer to her question? To thank him for not letting her sleep on the floor the entire night? It was kind of weird when she thought about it.

“You know, you're not really subtle about staring,” he continued mopping up the puddle that sat by his heavy boots. “I can feel you looking at me every time we're in the same room. I'll just go ahead and break it to you—it's not going to happen. Quite frankly, you're not my type—“

“I'm sorry, what?” she gaped at him incredulously. She shook her head. “That's not—“

“Come on,” he almost scoffed. “The personal questions, the staring, following me everywhere. If you know what's good for you, just go slide in bed with your roomma—“

His words were cut off with a cold slap to the cheek. The sound echoed through the room, and she was partially thankful that everyone had already left the lobby. Who did he think he was? She wasn't even sure they would go as far as being friends, let alone anything else. She'd just wanted to know more about him; she was curious. And he made her out to be some desperate girl that wanted to get some. What a jerk.

“I wasn't trying to get in your pants, dickhead,” she fumed. “You look mad and lonely all the time, and you've payed me two favors so I . . .”

“I don't know what I was doing,” she deadpanned, pure irritation surging through her veins. “Now that I know what you're really like, I don't think I care anymore.”

With a hard glare, she turned back towards the east wing and nearly stomped the whole way to her room. When she pushed inside, Mark was relaxing on his bed, completely dry, but sat up when she entered.

“Whoa,” Mark looked her up and down. “What happened with you?'

“Nothing,” she huffed as she dropped to the bottom drawer of their dresser, fishing out a dry set of clothes to change into.

“It doesn't look like nothing,” he hummed cautiously.

She shook her head, forcing her voice to soften. “Really, don't worry about it.”

“Okay. . .” Mark drug out, eyeing her as he returned to his spot on his bed.

Letting out a relieved huff, she headed out to the bathrooms to change her clothes. She was glad Mark didn't ask any more questions—she really didn't feel like explaining the situation. Not because she didn't want to talk about it, but because she was starting to wonder if she really did look like the idiot.

Successfully making it to the bathrooms, she praised herself for not having another lost-in-the-maze episode. Immediately after pushing through the stall doors, she peeled the damp clothes off of her body, replacing them with the dry set she brought. She paid no mind to herself in the mirror, tossing the wet clothes on the overflowing laundry basket as she made her way out of the bathrooms.

As she stepped into the bright hall, she met a familiar set of sparkling eyes that were making their own way out of the men's bathroom. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Renjun met her in the middle of the hall, wearing his own fresh pair of clothes.

“That was weird,” she commented as they walked together. “What do you think happened?”

Renjun shrugged. “No idea. What I wanna know is what the hell they have on the third floor and how they managed to start a fire up there.”

Her mind flashed back to the soldier that passed her, and the voice through the walkie talkie. The patients are overheating, the voice said. Take them to the west wing, he had replied.

“Actually,” she said slowly. “I heard something earlier. When everyone was going outside. Someone was talking to one of the soldiers through the walkie talkie.”

“What did they say?”

“Something about patients overheating? And moving them to the west wing I think,” she recalled. “But it was kind of hectic back there.”

Renjun stared at her with wide eyes, filled with a mix or horror and relief. He came to a stop. “Really?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

His brows creased as his eyes scanned their surroundings. They were alone in the big, cold hall, but she assumed Renjun was one who believed someone could never be too careful.

“Did you hear anything else?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“So he's on the third floor—no, he's in the west wing now?” Renjun began to walk at an even slower pace.

“Chenle?” the name sounded hollow coming out her mouth, like it was a name that shouldn't be spoken.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “What do you think they mean by 'patients'?”

“I don't know,” she kept her eyes low. “Maybe they're sick.”

“Chenle wasn't sick,” Renjun frowned. “Anyone could tell that. He was almost too healthy. Too much energy, too bubbly, too . . . happy. But that was just Chenle.”

A gentle smile pushed onto her cheeks. “He sounds fun.”

“He was,” he grinned a little. “I miss him. But if you ever meet him, those words never came out of my mouth.”

She snorted. “Of course not.”

After a moment of silence, she wondered. “So . . . he just . . . randomly disappeared?”

“Well, not really,” Renjun explained. “That's what everyone else thinks, but I saw them take him out of his cell.”

“How did you even manage to skip the pill?” she asked. After thinking about it, her eyes widened. “You didn't make yourself puke it up did you?”

“No,” he almost laughed, shaking his head. “I put it between my gum and my cheek. I noticed they only really check under your tongue, so go figure. I only did it because I was tired of feeling like I never really got any sleep, you know? You take the pill and you're out for a split second, then you hear the alarms. You don't get time to relax, or fall asleep, or think about things, or be alone. I don't even have dreams anymore.”

She hummed, understanding everything Renjun was saying. She'd felt the same that morning; she didn't feel refreshed or like she had a good night's sleep either.

“But,” he continued. “Jaemin and Mark don't really care. They just take it like they're supposed to. Sometimes I think deep down I really am just paranoid about everything. I think maybe Mark and Jaemin are right . . . but when I think about the night I watched them take Chenle in his sleep and not bring him back . . .”

“That is weird,” she agreed. “But at least now we have an idea as to where he might be.”

Renjun slowly came to a halt, eyeing the ground in deep thought. “I wonder . . .”

She stood by him patiently, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. She didn't know Chenle, or much about him, but she could clearly tell he was important to Renjun. Even if he wasn't, the sole idea of grown adults taking an unconscious teenager from their room at night and never returning him made her feel icky. The fact that it was scaring Renjun made her feel worse.

“What if we could get into the west wing?” he looked at her.

“We?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I meant me. What if I can get in there somehow? And look around, maybe? Even if I can just see him to see that he's okay.”

“But the doors are locked,” she reminded him. “And there's soldiers and doctors everywhere.”

“I just need a key card,” he thought. “Or maybe I can pretend there's something wrong with me and they'll take me for a checkup.”

“I thought you said the checkups aren't actual checkups? What if you disappear too?”

“It doesn't matter,” Renjun shook his head. “At least I'll know what they've been doing with Chenle.”

“Renjun, that's dangerous,” she frowned. “And if you're going, I'm going. So think of a way we can both get in, okay?”

Renjun looked at her for a moment. Pursing his lips, he nodded. “Okay, I'll think about it tonight. We can talk more about it tomorrow, but I wouldn't say anything around the others yet.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I won’t.”

They continued the remainder of the walk back to their rooms quietly, and when she entered her room, it was surprisingly empty. She assumed Mark went to bug Jaemin, but she wasn’t going to complain. After talking to Renjun, she had a lot to think about.

Why did she agree to sneak into the west wing? There was no telling what could happen if they were caught. But then again, she couldn't help herself. Not only did she feel like someone was being wronged, she was curious. If what was behind the doors wasn't so bad, why couldn't they go inside? Why was so much of the facility a secret?

She tried to imagine what Chenle looked like. She thought of someone happy and smiley. Someone that was so bright that they made people happy just by being in the room. That's what she imagined him to look like based off of what she had heard so far. A part of her wanted to help Renjun for Chenle. Another part wanted to help for Renjun. And the other part for herself. So she decided she would. She was going to help Renjun find Chenle.

But how, she wondered. There was no was they would both be sent into the west wing at the same time for being pretending to be sick, was there? Not when they had an entire separate medical clinic outside of the west wing. What about the key card? There was no way they could get close enough to a soldier to get a hold of their key card. Especially without them noticing. She hadn't even talked to a soldier since—

Her eyes widened. She did know a soldier; and he was their only way into the west wing. They needed Lucas.

—

masterlist | part 1 | part 3

#nct dream au #nct dream #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #mark au #mark angst #jeno au #jeno angst #jaemin au #jaemin angst #chenle au #chenle angst #donghyuck au #donghyuck angst #haechan au #haechan angst #jisung au #jisung angst #renjun au #renjun angst #nct angst

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Trying New Things

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1600 Warnings: 18+, asshole Tony

Tags: @lokilvrr @queennightmarewing 

Bucky was broken, but he hated being treated like so. Everyone in the compound walked on eggshells around the former assassin, acting as though he was a ticking time bomb. Even Steve, his life long best friend could put on the parenting act when it came to Bucky. And he despised it.

Bucky would never tell anyone what was wrong. He didn't want to seem too fragile, and whether he liked to admit it or not, he still had some of the 1940s tendencies. He was afraid to express emotions, both because of his teachings when he was younger and the fear of looking unstable to his teammates.

You noticed how Bucky reacted though. In the mornings before anyone was up, when it was just you two, one of you guys most likely cooking and small talk filled the silence. Bucky and you weren't close by any means, but it was nice to know he trusted you enough to banter and cook with you.

When everyone would start filing out of there rooms, Bucky would go more quiet. A please, thank you, and excuse was all the really left his lips. And if someone said something remotely rude or directed at Bucky in a bad light, he'd tense up and try to stick it out until he could find a reason to leave the situation.

Until one day you had had enough of watching this man be ridiculed in the place he was supposed to be able to call a home. It had become a thing to try a joke about everyone's troubled past, but it should have been common sense that Bucky’s past was off limits.

Apparently not to Tony though. Stark was still fuming and untrusting when it came to Bucky. And it was understandable to a degree, but Tony had a knack for taking things too far or getting under someone's skin. So during a team game night, when he made a comment about “the man who killed my parents,” you lost up.

Up until that point, Bucky had been starting to relax, drinking a beer and even laughing every now and then. There was a lightness in his eyes rather than the usual steely blue. But then Tony opened his mouth and Bucky went ghost white. You saw the change in his demeanor, everyone going silent and staring at the soldier, and you snapped.

Never would you have thought of laying a hand on another teammate unless absolutely necessary, but you lost it. The next thing you knew, you were standing over Stark, hand flying across his face with the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room.

“You complete and utter asshole! For once, can you learn how to shut the fuck up?” You yelled at him. You heard a chair move and footsteps leaving the room, quickly turning to confirm it was Bucky. “So much for wanting all of us to be a fucking team when you're the one being the one trying to divide us. Not everyone is okay with shit they did before and you of all people shouldn't be bringing it up.”

With that, you grabbed yours and Bucky’s stuff and left the room, deciding to go check on him. You paced for a few moments, deciding you needed to calm down before going to see him.

When you finally did, you found his door partially open, him sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. Closing and locking the door, you sat the stuff down on the dresser and made yourway to the broad man.

“Bucky?” Your voice was soft and practically angelic to him. “Hey, are you okay?”

He moved his head from his hands with a heavy sigh, light tear streaks on his face. “Yeah, yeah I'll be fine”

You sat down next to him, “Can I… Can I touch you?” You asked.

Bucky looked at you, and your heart nearly leaped out of you chest. He was smiling some, sadly but it was there and there was something new on his eyes, “Sure.” You started playing with his hair and there was silence between you two until he laughed a little, “Never thought I'd be the damsel in distress.”

-

The next few weeks played out like so. You were at Bucky’s side at every chance you could get. The two of you decided to go ahead and reintroduce things into Bucky’s life, help him move on and cope.

There was a lot of small things: Dinner, movie, gyms, beaches, parks. Things that he could add into his life weekly if he wanted. Then there was more emotional things. You bought him a new art pad and pencil so he could draw like he did before the war and even taught him how to cook.

One night Bucky had found himself in your room late, the two of you talking and reminiscing about good times you had. Silence had filled the room and when Bucky spoke, you were sure it was hin excusing himself to bed, but you were wrong.

“Can I ask you something?”

You looked over at him, sitting up at you did to which he followed your lead. “Give me your best.”

He seemed nervous which was a shock to you. “You can tell me no, I won't be angry or anything but I probably won't get this experience for a really long time if I don't have it with you… but… could I kiss you?”

A blush immediately illuminated your cheeks. You nodded, not having the words to answer. Bucky cupped your cheek with his flesh hand and pressed his lips to yours, stomach igniting into a million butterflies.

He pulled away with a smile on his face. “I'm going to head to bed, good night, (Y/N).”

That kiss was just the beginning. The next few weeks following, tension built between you two. It went from a kiss, to cuddling, to a french kiss, to making out. And you knew. You knew that if Bucky kept wanting to try the next step where this would lead, and you couldn't wait.

After an early morning training session, you and Bucky had crawled into your bed to cuddle and relax. Admittedly, things had grown increasingly more domestic between you two.

There was silence at first, the two of you drinking in the comfort and tranquillity. But Bucky’s voice broke that. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded, turning around from your spooning position to face hin. “Of course.”

He smiled some, eyes darting everywhere but your gaze and you knew it was something he was embarrassed about. “How does… Sex work now? Has anything changed?”

You pondered the question for a moment, “Not to my knowledge. Kinky things like spanking and choking aren't considered taboo but other things are. And people get made fun of if the other person didn't cum.” You shrugged. “Why?”

Bucky opened his mouth then closed it. “Do you think… Would you be willing to- We don't have to, it's just -”

“Are you asking me to have sex, Barnes?” You asked, a slight tease in your voice.

He had never blushed that darkly in front if you. He nodded, obviously embarrassed. “Yeah.”

A brief moment of debating passed before you pushed him to lay back on the bed and straddled him, “You're lucky you're hot.”

Before he could protest, you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. His hands shot to your hips, holding you against him as the two of you kissed.

It quickly escalated, clothes being discarded, thrown haphazardly around your room. He never stopped touching you, hands leaving a fire in their wake and he unknowingly teased you. You begin to grind on him, the lust starting to take over.

Bucky pulled back from your lips, eyes blown and lips swollen, “Please, (Y/N), don't make me wait any longer. I've been torturing myself thinking about it for weeks, I don't need you to tease me now.”

“Weeks?” You smirked some, happy you had had that effect on him. You pulled a condom out of your bedside drawer. “Get your pants off, soldier.”

He wasted no time throwing them and his boxers somewhere that wasn't on him, cock thick and standing tall. Your mouth practically watered at the sight.

Making it a little show just you tease him, you pumped him a few times, teasingly licking the tip before slipping the condom on him. You repositioned yourself on top of him, letting yourself sink slowly down. Both of you shuddered, not used to the feeling, both of you having gone quite some time without.

Once you had adjusted to his size you wasted no time. You rolled your hips, bouncing on him as if your life depended on it. You moved Bucky’s hand to your clit, demonstrating how to rub before setting your mind back to bouncing on him.

He rubbed the sensitive nub, watching your chest as you bounced on him. He was fine, keeping it together and holding on to his end as he watched you, but he lost it was you came undone on top of his, his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

The two of you cleaned up before getting back into bed and cuddling again, contentedness washing over the two of you.  You felt him smile against your shoulder and begin peppering your bare skin with kisses. “Hm… looks like I'm going to have to come up with another list of new things I want to try with you.”

#bucky #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel smut #marvel x reader #smut #sebastian #sebastian smythe imagine #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x read #trying new things

[thejacketandthehook]

Breaking Dawn 6/?

Title: Before Dawn

Author: thejacketandthehook (aka everystareverywhere)

Summary:  Emma Swan and Killian Jones only had one thing in common: Emma’s best friend and Killian’s brother were dating. But Emma and Killian could not get along. That was, until the day they had to work together through a tragedy that no one saw coming.

Rating: General (but that will change to Mature in later chapters)

Word Count: 22,955

Disclaimers: I own absolutely nothing.

Author’s Notes:  So, I’ve been in the mist of writing this particular story for almost two years. And I’m hoping that if I have support, I’ll be more motivated to finish it. So my story is based off of the movie “Life As We Know It” starring Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel. And below is the first chapter. I hope you enjoy.

You can also read it here: A03

@searchingwardrobes

When you lived with someone, it became easier and easier to learn the little things about them. Things that no one else was privy too, or was even aware of. And there were things about Killian Jones that Emma came to realize. And most of them were actually good things, even though she couldn't believe that. For instance, she was surprised to learn that unlike her, Killian was actually a morning person. Which was a good thing, considering that he worked on the docks and often had to be there just as the sun was rising. He was also up by the time Henry started to stir, so that also was a major plus for him. Also, that he never drank coffee. Not that he was much of a tea person, but coffee was something that just "tasted disgusting." Emma almost dropped her coffee mug when he proclaimed that one morning. Also, he was exceptionally neat. Everything had its place, and it just made sense to keep it all organized.

And he could cook. Not just heat up some spaghetti and meatballs cook, but actually cook. She was stunned when one day she came from home work to the house smelling like meat, garlic, and onions. Emma almost floated to the kitchen, her nose her guide as she took in that magnificent smell. For someone who basically lived off of ramen noodles, the smell coming from the kitchen might as well have been from heaven. Her mouth watered, her stomached growled (she didn't even realize she was hungry) and her mind could think of nothing but what was making that wonderful smell. She was expecting to see Mary Margaret in the kitchen - as sexist as that sounded, Emma was certain that Mary Margaret could cook like a master chef; she just had that look. So she was stunned when she saw Killian actually putting a huge pan of something into the oven and look over his shoulder as he closed it. "Ah," he said, either ignoring Emma's jaw that hit the floor, or not noticing it. "Dinner should be ready in about a half hour. The mashed potatoes have to turn a slight golden color."

"What are you--" There was so much moisture in Emma's mouth, it was almost embarrassing. She was acting like Pavlovs' freaking dogs! "What are you making?"

"Sheppard Pie. A classic back in England." He wiped his hands on the towel beside the stove before working on the dishes that piled up in the sink.

Emma dropped her bag on the table and said, "I got it. I'll do the dishes. After all, you made dinner."

He smiled. "I can live with that." He stepped aside and wiped his hands again.

But the surprises just kept on coming.

"Wait, you can play the guitar?" Emma asked dumbly almost a month after Mrs. Gold's appearance. She watched Killian take a guitar out of the case and put the strap for it around his body.

He raised an eyebrow and looked up at her from under his hooded brows. He looked back down as he started to tune it. "See how I'm holding a guitar and currently tuning it, that could give you some indication."

"Just because I know how to turn an engine on doesn't mean I'm a racecar driver," she responded, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

He chuckled light. "Touché."

Or the fact that he knew how to sail a boat. And not a little motorboat, no, but an actual boat, with sails and such. He's talked about bringing Henry out onto the water with him, but that Emma put her foot down. She's sure that he's great at sailing, but doing so with a baby a little over a year old? No. That she would not agree to.

"Why don't you come too?" he would ask.

Emma would shake her head no, with no explanation, and leave the room.

Of course, though there were things about Killian that made her raise an eyebrow. He had traits that continually got under her skin.

His language was something that Emma had to continually tell him to watch, especially since Henry should be saying his first coherent word any day now. Emma would die if his first coherent word was "bloody."

He also kept forgetting that he wasn't living in a bachelor pad anymore. He would hog the television for hours, watching a soccer match after soccer match. Emma had no idea how he could stand to watch people running around after a ball and call that entertainment.

What drove her crazy, in all honestly, was how freaking amazing he was with Henry. Sometimes, just a few times, Emma watched Killian with Henry and in the back of her mind she could see why Elsa thought she and him would have been good together. He loves Henry, that's a no brainer. And he doesn't mind being silly, if it makes the baby laugh. Killian's favorite thing to do was to blow on Henry's tummy, make him squeal and laugh at the same time. And in moments like that, Emma smiled because she forgot that her best friend was gone and she was suddenly taking care of their house, their child, what should have been their future. When she saw Killian with Henry, she almost wanted to turn around and tell Elsa that maybe he wasn't so bad. She would never admit that she liked him, but she could say that she more than tolerated him.

Emma wasn't the only one who was surprised at learning the little things about Killian. The man himself was shocked to learn the little tidbits that made up Emma Swan. Like how she was not a morning person. Get her up before seven, and you might as well be asking for a suicide mission. One morning, when Henry was crying nonstop while Killian was in the shower, she had gotten up to take care of him. Killian was surprised when he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his wet head with a towel, to find Emma still in her pajamas (a baggy shirt and boxer shorts that made his heart speed up in a way he really didn't like), her hair a huge mess and black circles under her eyes while Henry was nipping at the pieces of bagel as he sat in his highchair. When she saw Killian, she muttered, "Yours" as she passed him, presumably going back up to bed. For reasons he didn't know, he couldn't stop thinking about that morning for weeks.

Or that she was messy. She left dirty cups in the sink and it seemed like her supply of shoes just kept multiplying. Though he didn't really like going into what they called her bedroom (which at one time was the guest room), he had to once to put jewelry back in her room before Henry got it. Though the bed was made, the rest of the room liked like a bomb exploded; clothes everywhere, shoes that he was sure she stepped on continuously, and a garbage can overflowing with trash.

She also ate like she was in high school. If Emma had her way, they would eat nothing but grilled cheese sandwiches and onion rings. While Killian agreed that both of those things were amazing, neither one of them could (or should) eat that every day. When he inquired what she did with Walsh, she simply shrugged and said, "We discuss what take-out we're going to get. Neither of us cook."

But he also noticed how, when she got home from the work, the first thing she did was go over to kiss Henry on the head. Whether he was sleeping, watching television, or just babbling to himself, she always kissed him on the head. Or that at least once a week, she needed to have a glass wine at dinner. Or she was always ordering stuff for Henry through Amazon. He didn't know why he liked knowing these things about her; he just did. It almost tickled him to know that he was probably the only person who knew that Emma cried whenever that commercial about the two people falling in love over gum came on. Okay, maybe "cried" was the wrong word; more like she teared up. Point being that she was a woman who had a lot of walls up and she didn't like to show too much emotion. So when she did around him, he felt honored. Like he was being rewarded for good behavior or something. He liked it.

What he didn't like was the Walsh probably knew what she looked like first thing in the morning too. Or that she was messy. Or that she licked Nutella off of a spoon when she was stressed. She watches The Princess Bride (and had the whole movie memorized) when she's upset. He knew he was the only one who saw her get emotional, because he knew what she was like around other people. But when you live with someone, you can't put your walls up 24/7. And he liked that. He liked that he saw her tear up, show emotions.

He just couldn't understand why he didn't like Walsh knowing things about her too. It was like he wanted to keep her a secret or something. He didn't want other people knowing things about her. It was stupid, idiotic. He told himself that constantly. But that didn't stop the pang of something deep in his gut when he saw her stumbling into the kitchen and automatically going to the coffee maker. Because Walsh, he was sure, has seen her like that. And he didn't like it. Not one bit.

He told Robin about his problems, during one of his nights off that he got. Emma and he kept pretty close to their schedules, which helped trying to balance their once normal lives for what they were living now.

Robin, however, was useless. He just simply chuckled and told Killian that Emma was getting under his skin. "Better watch it, mate," he said, gulping his beer. "You might find yourself falling for her."

"Not bloody likely," he said, gulping his drink as well.

~*~

Emma forgot it could get this hot.

It was a muggy and humid 95 degrees Fahrenheit, and it only day two of what to seemed to be the week literally from Hell.

"Good Lord, I didn't think Maine could get this hot," Killian said one late evening. He stood in front of the small fan that they found in the basement, trying to cool himself off.

"I can't believe they didn't have central air," Emma commented, bouncing Henry on her lap, though how he kept laughing was beyond her. Her lap was all sweaty, and he himself had small sweat beads along his forehead. When she noticed that, she quickly wiped at it with a damn towel before giving him his bottle filled with water.

"It's an old house, Swan. The cost of that would have been outrageous. Plus, who knew it could ever have such a long heat wave in Maine?"

"The meteorologists say we've broken a new record,"

"Well, I will always remember where I was the week we had a heat wave that broke a record," he said, moving away from the fan before clasping in the chair. His shirt was undeniably soaked through, and Emma most certainly was glad he didn't take it off. Because she didn't need to see him with his hair chest glory. Not that she knew what he looked like without a shirt--Wait, no. That wasn't actually true. There was that one summer that Liam and Elsa took Killian and Emma to the beach once. They only did it once because Emma and Killian fought so much, no one really could enjoy themselves. She even commented when he took his shirt off that no one wanted to see that. He gave a remark that made her roll her eyes and stick her tongue out at him.

"I'm sorry," Elsa had remarked after she watched their exchange. Liam and Killian were walking over to the water, and Emma was so happy to have a few minutes of quiet. However, she could tell from Elsa's tone that what she was about to say would not be a genuine apology, but rather a comment. "But are you two twelve-years-old?"

Suffice to say, neither Emma nor Killian went with them to the beach again.

Killian continued with his rant. "I was in a house with no air conditioner, sweating my --"

"Killian," Emma said sternly before purposely looking down at Henry who was watching his uncle with the upmost fascination.

He changed paths. "Sweating profusely."

"There is an air conditioner," Emma finally remembered.

"What? Where?"

She took a deep breath. "In the Master."

Killian's eyes looked up towards the stairs. "Oh."

They were silent. It had been four months since....the funerals, and neither of them have stepped foot inside of that room.

Henry started munching at his hands, getting them all wet. "Oh, he's biting his hands again." Killian got up and went to the freezer to get him his teething toy.

Killian gave him the toy, and Henry started happily biting at it. "We have to do it, Swan."

"I know."

"For Henry's sake."

"Of course."

Killian walked over to the stairs. Emma picked Henry up and held him against her hip. "We can do this," she told him, as well as herself.

"I know. It's just..."

She took his hand in her empty one and squeezed before dropping it. "I know."

He nodded. She did know. That's why doing this with her, just going into this room...She knows what that means. No one else would truly understand, but she gets it.

They went upstairs and walked down the hallway together. When they got to the room, Killian took a deep breath before opening the door. It creaked and slowly opened. Emma straighten Henry on her hip before fixing her shoulders and walked into the room.

She almost wanted to walk right back out.

Here's the thing with unexpected deaths: everything looks normal on the surface. And that's what killed Emma. Because everything looks normal. Elsa's make-up table was waiting for her to come back. In fact, her little stool was pushed back just enough, probably from the last time she sat in it. Liam's shoes were lined up in front of the closet, waiting for him to come back and pick one to wear. The remotes for the television and Amazon Fire were sitting on top of each other on the nightstand, next to the book Liam was reading, a bookmark poking out of it. The pillows were crooked and Elsa's dresser had clothes sticking out of it and it was just a little too much. Because this room....This was Elsa and Liam's private place. Of course Emma was in here before, and Killian was too. Just usually with either Elsa or Liam.

Killian walked in next to Emma and took her hand. "We can do this," he reminded her. "For Henry."

The little boy in Emma's arms had no idea what was going on around him, and kept munching on the ice in his hand. Emma rubbed the back of his head as Killian stepped further into the room and over to the air conditioner. It took Killian a few seconds to figure out why it wasn't turning on ("Plugging it in usually helps." "Shut up, Swan.") but then the machine started making the sounds of turning back on and suddenly the place was finally going to cool down.

Emma sat down with Henry on the bed, the little boy dropping his ice before getting up and jumping on the bed. He was falling more than he was standing up, but he was laughing.

"Careful lad," Killian insisted before walking over to him. He held Henry's hands, who now more stable, jumped even more.

Emma couldn't relax, and instead walked over to Elsa's vanity. Elsa loved her make-up, and had more brushes that Emma had ever used in a lifetime. Though make-up was never high on Emma's list of needs, she knew how foundation worked, and mascara, and eye shadow and such. But when you get into highlighter and eyelash curler, Emma shook her head.  She had no idea how those things worked, and honestly didn't care at this point. Oh, she wouldn't care if Elsa put it on her, in fact she loved those nights when Elsa wanted to test a new product on someone and Emma was a willing subject. She herself just had no idea how to use it.

"Oh, I forgot they had Netflix in here," Killian said, sitting on the bed as Henry cuddled up next to him. "What do you want to watch, lad? Mickey Mouse?"

Emma smiled over at them before going and sitting next to Henry on the bed. Henry started sucking his thumb and within minutes of watching Killian try to find something that would entertain him, he was tight asleep.

Emma leaned back on the bed, prompting herself up on the pillows. Killian then leaned back as well, and noticing that Henry was sleeping, whispered to Emma, "Want to watch anything on Netflix?"

"Are we going to Netflix and chill?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emma wished for them to come back in. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, certain that Killian was going to make some comment. After all, she opened the door to it.

But when she heard nothing but the sound of the air conditioner, she opened her eyes and saw him just looking at her with a small grin.

"Did you just position me? Because --"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered as she fidgeted.

Surprisingly, he stopped talking. She gave him a small glance (he was still grinning) before looking back at the screen. Killian was clicking through the choices before --

"That one!" she said.

He stopped before looking at her. With a raised eyebrow he asked, "Lucifer?"

She shrugged. She didn't want to admit that she had a small crush on Tom Ellis, from watching him in a British show that she had stumbled across a year ago named Miranda. She especially didn't want to point out that Tom Ellis was British, with dark hair, and (from what she saw in interviews on Youtube) was a total dork. She especially didn't want to point that out because if Tom Ellis had blue eyes, it would sound like she was describing the man sitting next to her.

"I heard it was good," was her only defense.

Killian looked at her before pressing the play button. "Let's see if you're right, Swan."

~*~

They watched the first three episodes before falling asleep during the fourth. They tried to stay awake, but the heat and a one-year-old will do that to you.

~*~

It was a Tuesday night, which meant that Emma was blessedly free. However, Mary Margaret wasn't picking up her phone and Emma really didn't feel like making small talk with Regina, so she was kind of just hanging out in her bedroom. She should go out. Go to a club for a while. Or a bar, at least. Maybe see a movie. It was weird seeing a movie by yourself, but Emma read somewhere that it was actually a wonderful experience. Or she could call Walsh and spend some time with him. She saw him on Sunday, but for some reason she just didn't want to spend another night hanging out in his apartment or going to some restaurant. She was so sick of eating out. Killian made such wonderful meals, she was actually getting spoiled.

She was thinking of maybe reading a book when she could hear the sounds of someone (hopefully Killian) running up the stairs and towards her room. Without knocking, he slammed opened the door and before she could yell at him about privacy or ask him if Henry was alright, he said, "Mary Margaret's in labor."

Emma jumped off her bed before asking, "How do you--?"

"I just saw David bringing her to the car. He said her water broke."

"Oh, they must be so thrilled! They're gonna keep us updated?"

"I asked David to do so, but I bet he's gonna be really busy."

"Right of course. We should go see them, when the baby arrives."

He nodded. "I was thinking that too. We should bring flowers. Or something."

"Maybe food. Don't women want regular food after they give birth?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How would I bloody know?"

"I just meant--I don't know either, but I'm sure that that would be a good idea."

"Whatever you say, love. I'll keep you updated."

"Yes, please."  

Hours had passed and they still hadn't heard a word. Neither were too concerned, though. Emma, especially, remembered Elsa's delivery with Henry. Though Emma had been patiently waiting in the lobby for any update, she was told later by Liam that Elsa yelled insults at him that would have made a sailor blush. "But," he smiled down at his boy, "twenty hours of labor was worth it for this fellow."

"I don't see you pushing a baby out of your body," a slightly drugged up Elsa retorted.

"Nor will you ever see that." Liam then leaned down and lightly kissed his wife's forehead. "You're bloody amazing, though."

Emma was actually at work the next day,  trying not to roll her eyes at Graham as he once again missed the bullseye badly, when her phone rang.

"Killian?"

"Yeah, David said she had the baby."

Emma practically bounced in her seat. "And...?"

"And what?"

"Killian!"

He chuckled. "A boy. Mummy and baby are fine."

Emma smiled wistfully. "A boy. Does he have a name?"

"No, not yet. When is your lunch break? I'll come by and pick you up."

"On what, your motorcycle?"

"No, love, the...Liam's car. I found the keys."

"Oh. I get off in--" she looked down at her watch "-half an hour."

"I'll be there."

When she hung up, Graham was looking over at her. "What?"

"Nothing. Just sounded so...domestic."

"Shut up. You try living with someone for three months and not sound domestic from time to time."

"It's not a bad thing, Emma. I'm actually quite proud of you."

"Proud?"

"Yeah. You are living a, dare I say it? Normal life with a man you can barely tolerate. I'm proud of you."

"Shut up, Graham."

Sure enough, a half hour later, Killian pulled up in Liam's CRV. Emma jumped into the passenger's seat before taking a deep breath. "Did you stop at Granny's?" She said, referring to the diner that both Killian and Emma have considered to be their second home. Which is ironic, considering that was where their first date was held.

"Aye. I got Mary Margaret a turkey sandwich, unsure if she would want to eat anything more than that. But I also got you a grilled cheese."

Emma reached behind her to pull out her sandwich as Killian backed up and pulled out of the parking lot. "Oh, my God, thank you! I've been craving one all day." As she opened the container she asked, "Henry's at day care?"

Killian gasped before saying, "Damn it! I knew I forgot something!"

Emma almost dropped her sandwich, ready to turn this car around and go back home before he chuckled. "I'm kidding, love. Aye, Henry's at daycare."

She shook her head before muttering, "I hate you."

Killian smiled, knowing that she was just saying that.

~*~

           They walked quickly into the hospital, smiling from ear to ear. Emma barely remembers even asking the nurse for Mary Margaret's room number, but luckily Killian caught the number and lead her down the hallway.

           Knocking gently, Emma slowly opened the door to reveal an exhausted looking Mary Margaret on the bed and David standing by the windows, gently bouncing a buddle of blankets in his arms.

           "Can we come in?" she asked.

           "Of course! Of course!" Mary Margaret insisted as she gestured for them to come further into the room.

"Congratulations you guys," Emma commented before going over to Mary Margaret. On sudden impulse, Emma leaned down and quickly gave the new mother a quick peck on the cheek. Mary Margaret looked surprised by this, but other than giving a small smile said nothing.

"Yes, congrats to you both," Killian said before placing the bag from Granny's on the small table in front of Mary Margaret. "We brought this, thinking you might actually want food instead of flowers."

"Oh, that's a lovely thought," Mary Margaret replied, tears gathering in her eyes. "Sorry, sorry. I'm an emotional rollercoaster right now." She reached over for a tissue before wiping her eyes and giving a small laugh. "You're gonna have to excuse me."

"Of course love," Killian said with a small smile.

"Is that him?" Emma asked as she walked over to David.

David smiled down at his son. "Yes. May I introduce you two to Mr. Leo Nolan."

Emma leaned over David, gently holding onto his shoulder. "Hello Leo. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Hi Leo," Killian said, also smiling over at the boy. He looked back over at Mary Margaret. "And how are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "Probably as good as I look."

"You look bloody amazing."

"That's what I told her!" David insisted.

Mary Margaret scoffed. "He lies and you swear to it," she said as she shook her head.

"Do you want to hold him?" David asked Emma.

"Sure!" she exclaimed before dropping her purse on the chair and holding her arms out for the newborn. She remembers the first time she held Henry, and is once again surprised by the weight of the baby. Or rather, the lack of one. "God, how can babies be so light?" she remembered asking Liam and Elsa. "I've held books heavier than him."

"Hi Leo," she said now to the baby in her arms. "It's so very nice to meet you."

"Can I hold him?" Killian asked.

"Of course," Mary Margaret said as David squeezed in next to her on the bed.

Emma handed Leo over to Killian, who gently took him in his arms. He began very gently bouncing Leo, and Emma tried very hard not to smile at the imagine.

When she looked over at the couple on the bed, she noticed David watching Killian with a small smile that new fathers can never seem to get rid of, but saw Mary Margaret looking straight at her with a smile of her own.

"What?" Emma asked, but Mary Margaret simply shook her head and looked over at Killian.

~*~

Emma and Killian were walking down the hallway talking about Leo and leading back towards the lobby when Emma turned her head to the left. It wasn't like she saw something out of the corner of her eye, or even that a voice in her head said to turn left. She just did. And she saw the hallway. The hallway that only a few months ago she, Killian, and Walsh ran down to get to the stairs. The hallway that would lead her to the biggest change in her life (and for her, that was a pretty big deal).

"Swan!?"

Emma quickly looked in front of her to see Killian about four feet ahead. He walked back, his eyebrows knitted together, concern all over his face. "Swan? Are you okay? I called you a couple of times, and you just stopped walking."

"Yeah, no. No, I'm fine. I am. I just..." She looked back down the hallway. Just like in movies, she could almost see three ghosts running down the hallway, heading towards the stairs. She wanted to burst into tears. How could she be so happy just minutes ago, so happy about a life coming into this world, when her best friend and her husband died in this very building just months ago? How could she walk into this hospital and not even pause for a moment to remember them?

Was she forgetting them?

Emma almost had to stop the gasp of breath from leaving her mouth, but knew that she couldn't stop the tears gathering up in her eyes. She was moments away from losing it, she just knew it.

Killian gently touched her arm. "Emma? Love, what is it? What's going on?"

Emma simply nodded her head towards the hallway. She knew that Killian understood, because a moment later he just simply went, "Oh."

So gently, Emma almost didn't even realize it at first, Killian put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the exit. They said nothing, both holding back tears as they walked to the car.

When Killian unlocked the car, Emma ran towards the passenger's seat and opened the door as quickly as she could. The door hadn't even shut before she let out a loud gasp and the tears that had been threatening to fall, came quickly down her face. She took a loud breath as Killian got into the car and shut the door, his head falling back onto the head rest.

"I didn't even think about them!" she sobbed. "How could I not remember them when we got here?"

"Because of the baby," he said quietly, though she was sure that his voice was shaking. She couldn't see through the tears in her eyes, but she was certain that he was crying too.

"But I didn't give them one thought, Killian! Not one thought! What kind of friend am I?"

Killian gave no response. Or maybe he did and she didn't hear it. She was sobbing so hard, her head pounding from the lack of oxygen and how hard she was crying.

She didn't know how long she was crying in the car, whether it was a few minutes, or more like thirty, but when she calmed down enough to take deep breathes, she noticed that Killian was holding out napkins.

"Thanks," she muttered before taking them and blowing her nose in a completely unladylike manor. Then she rubbed her eyes and when she looked at the napkin, it was all smudged from her mascara. Great, she thought, I probably look like a raccoon.

She kept rubbing her eyes, reminding herself to breath as she did so. When she finally calmed down enough, she looked over at Killian. And then she wanted to break down again. Because he was not unaffected by her outburst. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was all red, probably from crying and then rubbing his face with the rough napkins.

"We're not forgetting them, Emma," he said when they both calmed down. "You're not...You're not a bad friend."

She sniffed, but said nothing.

Reaching over, he gently took her hand in his as he said, "I read...I read a quote once...'Babies remind us that time moves on.' And it's true. That's all that happened here, Emma. Leo...Leo is the future. Henry is the future. But Liam and Elsa...they are never far from my mind, and I know that Elsa is never far from yours. So, no, you're not a bad friend. You're just thinking about the future. As we all should be. And you know," he squeezed her hand as he continued, "you know that Elsa would kick your ass right now. And Liam would kick mine. We just saw a newborn baby, Emma. And that's a beautiful moment."

She nodded before doing something she never in a million years thought she would do.

She leaned over and kiss him on the cheek.

When she pulled back, she simply whispered, "Thank you." He gave her a small nod before letting go of her hand and turning on the engine.

#csfanfiction #cs ff #captain swan #fanfiction #once upon a time fanfiction #once upon a time #emma swan #killian jones

[stuckwith-harry]

Chapter 1: November

A particular brotherly feeling

Summary: She has a brother and an ex-boyfriend to spite, and he desperately needs a date. So when the rumour that Harry and Ginny are together makes the rounds at Hogwarts, she has the ridiculous idea to use it to their advantage and play along. Harry wants to help her out just like any brother would, and that is the only reason he says: “Okay. Deal.”

A/N: This story was requested by @katiechasedbells​. Well, Emi requested Hinny + TATBILB-esque fake dating. I added the Christmas theme, because Christmas is great. Rated T for f-bombs, f-bombs, and more f-bombs, one (1) light innuendo so far, and some slightly heavier themes later on. Merry Christmas, I love you fools!

Ao3

November

Santa tell me, if you're really there Don't make me fall in love again If he won't be here Next year

Santa tell me - Ariana Grande

“… and I guess that’s all I came here to say.”

Dean carefully raises his head to see her reaction, shifting on his feet. Judging from the way he is struggling to meet her eyes, it’s clear he wants this conversation to be over just as much as she does. “I’m sorry, Ginny.”

Ginny nods once to indicate she understands. She does – perhaps more than she likes to admit.

“Thanks for being honest, at least.”

Dean’s shoulders relax, and she can’t help but wonder just how worried he was about ending up at the receiving end of a particularly vicious Bat-Bogey hex.

“I hope Seamus knows he’s lucky”, she says. When a deep red flush creeps up Dean’s dark cheeks, she doesn’t fight the urge to roll her eyes. “C’mon, how oblivious do you think I am?”

To this, Dean says nothing: He’s suddenly fascinated by his own shoelaces, and Ginny considers that answer enough.

“Thanks for understanding”, he says finally.

Ginny finds herself untangling the arms she had kept crossed over her chest. “It’s fine. I get it.” She tugs at the crimson-and-gold scrunchie around her wrist and shrugs. “You gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?”

Dean smiles at her flatly, and that’s it. He squeezes her shoulder before he turns around, leaving her standing in the half-dark of the short passageway.

Ginny glares at the heavy crimson tapestry that hides the short cut to Gryffindor Tower. Only days ago, the two of them were snogging each other in this very spot like their lives depended on it. At least until Harry and Ron barged in on them and ruined the moment.

That reminds her she has somewhere to be, so she takes one last look and then turns her back on the spot.

She never would have guessed this is where they’d break up.

***

Just as Ginny makes it back to her dormitory, Harry Potter jumps down a flight of stairs several floors below. He’s late for Quidditch practice, his team – Ron – is still playing inconsistently, to say the least, and like that isn’t enough to worry about, he catches the eye of none other than Romilda Vane when he finally makes it to the bottom of the marble staircase.

“Hiya, Harry!”

“Quidditch practice”, Harry tells her abruptly, rushing past her.

To his dismay, shaking her off is no easy feat, and she’s still keeping up with him when he marches outside with the longest strides he can manage.

“Rumour has it you still haven’t found a date Slughorn’s Christmas party!”, she tells his back. Harry sighs at the cloudy sky – one, because that damn party is giving him headaches to rival Voldemort’s, and two, because she’s absolutely right. “So, I was thinking …”

Not that he’s planning on telling Romilda Vane that.

“I’ve – uh – found someone, actually”, he says.

“Really?”, she says, sounding slightly crestfallen. Harry notices it not without satisfaction. “Who?”

“It’s a – surprise”, Harry says wildly, wondering how on earth she doesn’t notice he’s making all this up on the spot. “Well, uh, practice calls, see you around!”

And with that, he all but runs off down to the Quidditch pitch, where his disgruntled-looking team is waiting for him.

Merlin help him, he’s got to find a date.

He’s just opened his mouth to apologise to his teammates when he spots someone running towards them from the other end of the pitch. As they come closer, he recognises Ginny, who’s rather unceremoniously pulling her long, fiery hair into a ponytail using the Gryffindor scrunchie around her wrist.

“Where’ve you been?”, Harry asks, snapping into his Captain self, when she finally jogs up to them.

“None of your business”, she shoots back. “Captain”, she adds, when he raises an eyebrow at her.

With great effort, Harry keeps from grinning, and he’s still fighting an inexplicable jolt of smugness when he says: “Alright, everyone, time to get going before the rain does …”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Ginny swing a leg over her broom and kick herself off the ground with more force than strictly necessary. She shoots into the sky like a missile, her long, flaming ponytail trailing after her, a bursting streak of colour against the dark grey clouds looming over them.

Of course, the rain doesn’t wait for them to finish practice. The seven of them stick it out for a full hour before Harry takes pity on them, so they retreat to the castle, shivering, soaking wet and, if possible, in an even worse mood than before.

On the way back to the common room, the team falls into the usual groups, and Ginny finds herself walking between Ron – who’s dragging his broom after him with slouched shoulders – and Harry, who catches her eye when she looks over at him.

“You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, you know, just the general murderous attitude”, he says, probably because there’s no non-awkward way to say something is clearly wrong, but I’m afraid you’re gonna hex me if I ask you outright.

Still, his tone and his grin loosen the knot at the pit of Ginny’s stomach a little. Ever since last summer, she hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that he’s trying to establish himself as some sort of honorary big brother to her, and another one of those is the last thing she needs at the moment.

It also doesn’t feel like them at all.

Like the aftertaste of a truly lousy practice and the pent-up energy she’d been saving for Quidditch isn’t enough to drive her up the wall, she now finds her thoughts circling back to her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – and it doesn’t even bring the rush of angry self-righteousness she’d hoped for. Instead, she feels oddly deflated, and Merlin, she’d have chosen any fucking thunderstorm over this.

And it’s not – heartbreak. Even as the weight of the breakup sinks down on her, Ginny finds she has no desire to fling herself on her four-poster bed and sob into her pillow until all the crying gives her a headache: something she’s watched every single one of her roommates go through at least once. She would have expected to feel some sort of shock or betrayal – at least a little despair – but there’s nothing. Not quite.

By the time they’ve changed into dry clothes, the common room is packed, and the armchairs closest to the fireplace are all occupied, so they sit cross-legged on the thick, scarlet carpet and begrudgingly spread their homework across the floor. Harry is still doing his utmost to build up Ron’s spirits again, who seems to have fallen into his usual post-practice hole of self-loathing, but Ginny pays them no attention and gets started on a half-hearted History of Magic essay instead.

She lets herself be distracted when Harry gives up on trying to talk sense into Ron and scoots closer to the fireplace with an exasperated sigh. Happy to think about anything else, she gives him what she hopes is a compassionate sort of grin and says: “Sorry practice was lousy, Captain.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he says with a smirk. “Practice was spectacular.”

Behind them, Ron snorts into his homework, and Harry turns to him. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad and you know it.”

Ron and Ginny simultaneously raise their eyebrows. Just then, Ginny can see Dean climb through the portrait hole, and because that’s the last thing she wants to think about right now, she turns to Harry and says: “Look on the bright side, it can’t get much worse from here.”

“Don’t challenge him”, Harry mutters – quietly, so only she can hear him.

Ginny laughs with more enthusiasm than the joke deserves, in the hopes to distract him, but unfortunately, Harry isn’t that oblivious. He follows Ginny glances and looks over his shoulder to see Dean standing in the middle of the common room, looking oddly out of place, and back to Ginny, who’s been trying – and failing – to avoid eye contact.

Even worse, it seems to have caught Ron’s attention, too.

“What’s going on with you two?”, Harry asks, perfectly casual.

Ginny plays with a dog-ear on the upper right corner of her Transfiguration paper, where the y of her last name has disappeared in the crease. “We broke up”, she says shortly.

A small silence falls, but it’s not Harry who catches her attention first.

“What?”, she snaps at Ron when she sees his face.

“Nothing”, he says, not quite meeting her eye. And then, very quietly: “Well, I’m sure it won’t take you long to find someone new.”

Right there and then, Ginny would love to push him into the fucking fireplace. She opts to get to her feet instead, because she isn’t going to sit here and let her brother slut-shame her like he, of all people, would know what the fuck he’s talking about. “You know what, Ron?”, she spits, loud enough for half the common room to hear. “Go fuck yourself. Figure you could use the experience.”

And with one last glance at Ron’s quickly reddening face, she storms out of the common room.

The miserable day stretches and becomes a week. Slughorn’s party blows up in the back of Harry’s mind like a disgustingly sparkly balloon until it consumes his every thought, and while he’s not particularly pleased about it, he decides it’s time to ask for advice.

So, when he catches Hermione on the way to lunch, he decides to bite the bullet.

“Hermione – who do I ask to this stupid party?”

“Harry! Merlin, I thought you would have found someone by now!” Harry fights the urge to sigh at the sight of Hermione’s shocked expression. “It’s in less than three weeks!”

“Which is plenty of time”, Harry tells her firmly. “It’s just, uhm …”

“You’re trying to get your admirers off your back”, she says matter-of-factly, rummaging through her bag.

Harry grimaces. “If you have to put it like that. Well – I kind of told Romilda Vane I’ve got a date because she wouldn’t leave me alone, but if I don’t find one soon, she’s going to figure out I lied. Plus – I really don’t know who to ask.”

“Anyone, Harry”, says Hermione in her most exasperated voice. “Ideally, someone impressive enough to get Romilda off your back for good, although, between you and me, I’m not convinced that kind of person exists. But there’s got to be someone.”

“You’re one to talk, who are you bringing?”, Harry shoots back at her.

Hermione blushes a pale shade of pink, but doesn’t reply.

By sheer virtue of not being in the same year, Ginny and Dean manage to avoid each other during the days following the breakup. On the rare occasion that they do pass each other in the hallway or in the common room, they give each other polite smiles, which, at the very least, is an improvement from her last breakup.

Regardless: It turns out that even the most amicable breakup in history leaves traces that sting, so she spends the rest of the week throwing out all every bit of homework that Dean has ever doodled on – tiny sketches and notes in the margins for her to find in class the next day. On Wednesday, he sheepishly gives back her scarf, and by Thursday night, she’s learned to avoid their regular armchair in the common room.

Less than a week to untangle their lives.

Apart from Dean, she’s been avoiding Ron as well, who continues to be his usual, insufferable self. Ginny doesn’t think she can handle another snide remark about her and Dean without exploding and taking everyone in a radius of ten miles with her, so perhaps it’s fortunate they’re both so busy with schoolwork she hardly sees him.

Ron is neither the only person to raise an eyebrow at Ginny’s dating habits, nor is he the first – that honour goes to the twins – and it’s not particularly new or surprising either, but all that makes it worse, if anything. As far as Ron is concerned, Ginny has snogged a dashing total of two people in her entire life, and she’ll be damned if she lets him shame her for that.

It’s only Luna no one knows about. But if Ron is so determined to make her feel like a horrible person because she has the audacity to snog exactly two different boys, she’s not about to throw a girl into the mix and watch what he does with that extra ammunition.

Dick.

She’s marching down a hallway near the Transfiguration wing, arms crossed, when she hears laughter from nearby, and just as she stops, Michael Corner and Cho Chang come around a corner, and arm in arm at that.

The three of them come to an awkward halt with half the hallway still between them. Ginny and Michael make reluctant eye contact.

“Hi, Michael.”

Michael opens his mouth as if to answer, but then something in his face flickers: he deliberately takes his time as he turns to Cho, appearing not to have heard Ginny at all, and kisses her flat on the mouth.

And while that’s a nice – and noisy – reminder why breaking up with him was one of Ginny’s better decisions, watching him flaunt how glad he is to be shot of her is the last thing she needs today. She pushes past them, almost knocking over a bewildered-looking third-year, and stomps down a flight of stairs, where she promptly runs into Harry.

“Hey”, he says, blinking at her. “What’s going on?”

“I’m plotting a murder”, she says briskly. “Happy?”

“As long as it’s not mine.”

Ginny grins despite herself. He already has that disgusting, protective look on his face she’s come to loathe so much – but they’re friends, real friends, so she tells him about Dean and Michael and Ron, in short, clipped sentences that clearly indicate she doesn’t want pity.

“Alright”, she says when she’s blown off enough steam to feel like she can go for the rest of the conversation without yelling. “Your turn. Really, I could use the distraction.”

Harry looks over his shoulder when the nearing sound of many feet on stone indicate dinner at the Great Hall is over. He sighs.

“Our team is giving me a stomachache, is all”, he says. “Ron and Hermione aren’t really talking right now, so I get to decide who I feel like hanging out with today, which is fun. Uhm – Voldemort is out there, I guess.”

Ginny snorts.

“And I need a date for Slughorn’s stupid Christmas party”, he says over the humming of the students scuttling past them. “Which is clearly the most stressful thing out of all of these. Hey, Colin, what’s up?”, he adds with little enthusiasm when the startlingly blond kid – Ginny recognises him from class, but they’ve never talked much – turns around and blinks at the pair of them, at least until the dinner crowd runs him over.

Ginny turns back to Harry, who sighs. “Thanks for letting me vent, anyway, Harry.”

“Any time,” he says, looking slightly startled when she pats his arm. “Happy to help.”

In hindsight, they absolutely should have seen it coming.

Friday becomes a Hermione day because Harry begrudgingly decides he needs to visit the library, and he can’t convince Ron to accompany him. He hasn’t even made it down to the right floor yet when she comes running towards him, her bushy hair flying in all directions.

“You asked Ginny!”

It’s not a question.

“I what now?”

“Oh, come on, Harry, half the school is talking about it anyway. When did you ask her? Since when has this been going on? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Hermione, what on earth are you talking about?”

Hermione’s face adopts the tragic look Harry has come to associate with her not being able to answer McGonagall’s questions – something he doesn’t get to see a lot. “Slughorn’s party, Harry. Everyone’s talking about how you’re bringing Ginny, and rumour has it you’re going out and all that.”

“And since when do you mindlessly believe rumours?”

“I don’t!” She seems offended. “But you did say you were looking for a date, and it makes complete sense to bring Ginny! Frankly, I was almost surprised you hadn’t considered it sooner. So, are you not –”

“There you are!”

Harry looks up, and his stomach jolts: Ginny is running towards them, her long, flaming hair flying behind her.

“Hi, Hermione, Harry, I need to talk to you right now.”

“I –” Harry lets himself be dragged away by Ginny, who’s grasped his hand and is now pulling him behind her until they’ve found an empty classroom.

“What’s going on?”

“So, I take it you’ve heard the rumours”, she says, locking the door with her wand.

Harry looks at her with wide eyes. “Yeah, what –”

“Have you told Hermione it’s not true?”

“I was going to when you kidnapped me!”

She crosses her arms and looks at him with a glint of mischievousness in her eyes that reminds Harry of the twins. “You haven’t. Great.”

“Who made that up, anyway?”

Ginny shrugs. “My money is on Colin. He probably heard more than we realised the other day.”

It takes Harry a second to remember what she’s talking about. “For the record, I wasn’t asking you – I was just telling you –”

“I know that. I guess it sounded like you were asking me or something.”

“And apparently we’re dating, too?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that one, too”, she says. “They’re all insane, I’ve had to explain to three of my friends that we didn’t make out behind the greenhouses in the last hour alone.”

Harry feels himself blush. Ginny bites her bottom lip and grins. “I’m assuming you still really need that date.”

“Well – y-yeah, but …”

“And I wouldn’t mind a way to get back at Michael. And Ron.”

“What … does that have to do with me?”

“You see, out of all the people at this school …” She steps closer. “I reckon it would piss him off the most if I dated his best mate. So, the way I see it, we could help each other out here.”

Harry stares at her in stunned silence. Then: “You’re saying we play along.”

Ginny nods, and Harry’s mind runs into a thousand directions at once, pulling at every limb.

This is insane.

This is Ginny.

Ron’s going to kill him.

No was never an option.

Ron is going to kill him.

“So, what, we – pretend we’re actually together?”

“Yeah. Just for a while.”

Harry only hesitates to declare her insane because he’s quickly beginning to see the appeal. If he shows up to Slughorn’s party with not just a date, but a girlfriend, and it’s Ginny Weasley – well, that might just get Romilda to leave him alone for good.

“Ron’s going to kill me.”

“I’m told you have a knack for surviving the impossible”, she says, wiggling an eyebrow.

Can’t argue with that.

And the truth is, he can understand why Ginny would want to stick it to Ron. Not that he’d ever tell Ron that. Harry doesn’t have a death wish after all.

His mind zooms back to the day they walked in on Dean and Ginny, and the weird surge of protectiveness he had felt. That’s the only real feeling he’s ever had towards her, he tells himself firmly – so isn’t dating her the perfect chance to prove that?

He wants to help her out just like any brother would, and that is the only reason he says: “Okay. Deal.”

#hinny #harry potter #fanfiction #hp fanfic #apbf #jessie writes

[selenecrawford]

Selene Crawford: The Contrarian, The Devil and The lover's night

Warning: Cursing, gun violence, mild sex (no explicit still there is sex)

Ieyasu stopped writing his medical report to take a lot at the man who swore never contact him again. Nobunaga Oda his adopted brother with whom he broke ties six years ago.

“As you can see I'm busy go away.” Ieyasu went back to his writing only to sense Nobunaga taking a seat.

“Do I need to call the police?” he kept writing without taking his eyes from the paper.

“I need you tomorrow at my office. We might need you services. Please.” said Nobunaga.

Ieyasu stopped writing and look up. “Did I heard correctly? Need. Please? Who are you?” Ieyasu was surprised to hear those two words coming out of Nobunaga's mouth.

“Things change, people change.” said Nobunaga with a shrug.

“Look, seasons change, the days change, but you? No, that's not true you will never change. So get out, you are giving me an ulcer.”

Nobunaga took his phone out and showed Ieyasu a picture of Selene.

“Wait, that's...Selene? How do you know her?” his tone was accusatory and cautious.

“She is my executive assistant. How do you know her? I thought you weren't a ladies man.” Nobunaga returned him the question.

“And I'm not, she does community service at the docks we had coffee from time to time in the past. A very stubborn, caring person.” said Ieyasu trying not to show concern. “Is she OK?” Ieyasu couldn't help it. Selene was a chatty girl and was always helping. It had been a while since he had any contact with her and was wondering what might had happened to her.

“She is in danger, there is someone who wants her dead and is trying all they can to kill her.” Nobunaga laid the bait. He knew very well that “Yasu” as he used to call him when kids was a contrarian person. He might behaving like doesn't give a fuck but he was worried about her. His eyes were betraying him.

“So, what am I supposed to do here? Nobunaga I'm a doctor, not a superhero.” Ieyasu couldn't stop rolling his eyes.

Nobunaga smirked and stood up.

“You know where I am located. Come and visit. She will be happy to see you.” with this he left. “Oh and I forgot, she is dating Masamune.”

Ieyasu's eyes grew really wide and started asking questions on rapid fire. “What the hell are you saying? You can't be serious, that womanizer? Hey come back here. For the love of Fucking God...” Nobunaga hold the laughter until he arrived at the car. Once inside he couldn't help it smirking. Ieyasu was still the same, spitting hate but always the worry wart. Meanwhile, Ieyasu had to stop writing after hearing the news.

“Goddammit Nobunaga!”, he did it again pushed the right buttons and now he can't stop worrying about Selene.

“Of all people why it has to be him. That man is a time bomb. I better get there tomorrow. That woman is always so clueless.” with that he started to prepare his medical bag and setting all his affairs in order. He will go there put sense on the situation then go back to his life. Closing his eyes Ieyasu that was not true, that will only be just the tip of a new iceberg.

Six years ago he walked out from the group when Nobunaga almost died on the last attempt from a mafia boss. He just couldn't keep patching him up until he died on his arms. That and Mitsurani that guy could be so dense at times that his most elaborate sarcasm wouldn't do a dent on him. At times he missed the group but then not so much the danger.  And now he is back because of her, Selene. She indirectly helped him get his life back on track. Selene tried to impose her or tell him what to do she just smiled and tolerated him. He didn't want to tell Nobunaga more than necessary since the bastard is always rubbing in when he thinks he is right. Which is all the time according to him. That never ending hope of hers.  Someone needs to put some common sense on that place. Well all he needs to do is tell her how bad Masamue is for her and then he leaves. At that thought Ieyasu stopped and sighed deeply.

“Who am I kidding. That woman might even be worse than him.” still Ieyasu was determined to go.

As soon as they arrive to her apartment Selene went to change and started making dinner. The lack of attempts to her life, the threads or any other action from the stalker gave her a much needed break. Still as per Nobunaga's instructions Masamune was supposed to be her bodyguard 24/7. Which it meant sleeping on the same place. At first became awkward but then Masamune began seducing her in bed. Always taking it slow, he was showing her different way to pleasure both. Remembering those first times she felt her cheeks getting warmer. Little by little he won her heart until she completely fell in love with him. Selene stopped chopping at that moment. He heart was beating hard at that thought. Love? Could it be that it is really love? Letting a shaky breath out Selene was deep in thought when Masamune arrived at the kitchen. This time he decided to be shirtless, only wearing a pair of black jeans fresh out of the shower. He stood behind Selene and hugged her from behind.

“Everything OK?” Masamune nuzzle her neck sending shivers through her body.

“Yes, just making dinner. I see you are already comfortable.” Selene had to giggle.

“Yup, I'm getting used to this routine.” once again he nuzzled her neck and gave Selene soft nibble on her shoulder.

Selene stifled a moan biting her lower lip. Masamune was not playing fair. “You know I'm chopping the vegetables can you help me? And maybe later we can do some cardio?”

Masamune had to laugh at her way to name sex a different name except the main word. She was a box full of surprises, when they started sleeping together, she was really shy but with time she opened up to him. He showed more than one way to please him without letting her loose her virginity. She was a fast learner, and while it took him all his self control he was letting her be the one to make the decisions. At times he will just look at her sleeping next to him. He will always love to see her so peacefully relaxed. When was the last time he looked forward to have a day, or to cuddle while watching a movie at home? Every moment was a treasure for him. His heart felt a pang at the thought of losing her. But how much they still have together? Will he dare to open more his heart to her? He didn't dare to make the most important question. What will happened if he looses her just like his father? Involuntary he tensed up. Giving a head shake he hided his face Selene's  hair. No, he can't think of that right now. Why worrying about the future when she is here in his arms. Loving...him? His heart pounded faster when the thought formed in his mind. Is she in love with him? Or is just lust? Giving a tighter hug Masamune sighed. No use to torture himself like this. Putting his mind in blank he concentrated on smiling her essence.

“Something on your mind?” Selene just finished her task and put her arms over his.

“Just thinking about a kitten I rescued a couple of months ago.”

“Really? And how is that kitten?” Selene turned around to face him.

��Well she is behaving so far, but sometimes she is a hard...ouch why was that for?” Selene just pinch softly his ribs and laughed  provoking him. Turning off the stove with one hand Masamune started kissing Selene's with alternate kisses and bites.

The shivers that went down her spine awaken her desire for the man in front of her. Why he has to look so calmed when she was a ball of nerves? Once the assault on her neck was done he took her mouth and explored it with enticing movements of his tongue. Selene responded each movement with same need he was showing her. At some point she couldn't suppressed a moan trying to respond to him. As always he would grab her by the buttocks and make put her legs around his waist.

“I think we need to continue this on the bedroom don't you think.” Selene was completely red, agitated for that session of deep kisses. He sited her on the counter.

“ I have something for you, could you wear it for me?” Masamune took a little black velvet box and opened it. Inside was a crescent moon pendant with a little cat sitting on it. The pendant was not big enough but it was the perfect size for her to wear.

Masamune just saw her reaction smiling softly. Selene opening her eyes widely she was delighted with it. Lifting her hair up she waited for him to put it around her neck, she touched it with such a reverence that made him emotional. Not wanting to let her see him like that Masamune rest his face over the top of her head and took a deep breath.

“Masamune are you OK? What's wrong?” Selene lower his face so she could see his eye.

“Nothing, just I like the way it looks on you.” His eye was shinning.

Selene didn't push for more, at times she knew when he was wearing the mask and when he wasn't and this was one of those times. Feeling daring she started kissing his neck and then slowly reaching his earlobe. Tracing his ear with her tongue she made him forget anything.

“Kitten I need you now.”

“Then take me all you want and need.” her voice was soft lower than usual. It had the desired effect she was looking for.

Masamune took her on his arms and took her to the room. Both took their clothes off admiring each other. Selene felt more confident than other times. She was now assuming the initiative, seducing him with kisses, licks and soft nibbles on his chest, neck and ears. Meanwhile, Masamune was restraining himself but his kitten was giving him such a sweet torture until it proven to be too much.

At some point he turned around and put her against the bed and started exploring her in the same way she did. Both couldn't help moaning, sighs and whimpers while they exchanged caresses, nibbles and kisses. Masamune then tower over Selene and decided it was time.

“Kitten you are still on time are you sure about this?” Masamune dared to stop to make one last time question.

Selene's response was to hold him close and whisper “I want to be yours please, Masamune.” her last words were a plea mixed with a moan.

Closing his eyes Masamune started his entrance making sure not to hurt her in the process. Selene felt a sharp pain but hold it until it passed.

When they were completely immersed together, Masamune started to lead the rhythm taking Selene with him. Both got lost on their own emotions and sounds. Increasing their tempo until they became one. Selene bit her lips to muffle a cry then fell exhausted next to Masamune. Tears started rolling down her eyes while she was smiling. Masamune worried cradled her in his arms taking her tears away with his lips.

“Did I hurt you Kitten? Why are you crying? Selene?” Masamume  started to panic, when Selene touched his cheek. Her face was red as a tomato and whisper.

“I never felt like this before, it was such a wonderful feeling and for some reason I couldn't help it, I..., no you didn't hurt me my dragon, you just made me so happy I cant control myself.” he kissed her with all the love he couldn't voiced. He felt the same way, he finally knew that she was the one he had been looking for. Holding her close to him Masamune keep kissing her until their desired was ignited again. Once again they loved each other and let their feelings known without words. They fell asleep in each others arms. The soft rays of the moon filtering thru the curtains were illuminating the room. Selene was deeply asleep but at some point Masamune opened his eyes and whispered in a fearful soft tone. “I love you Selene and I don't want to loose you.” carefully he hold her close to his heart and fell asleep once again.

Early in the morning, Selene received the visit of one her friends. Mai. One of the fewest persons Selene considered a friend and an important contact. Mai was a specialized seamstress and her work was always top of the line. After the greetings, she left Selene with two special orders Selene had requested a few weeks ago. Excited she went to the room to find Masamune recently getting out of the shower. Part of his hair feel on his right eye covering it. Selene brought the suits and told him.

“Good morning. I got something for you.”

“ Let me guess, you?” raising his eyebrow on a playful tone.

Once again the masks are worn but this time their bond is deeper, more connected. They know it but each one is afraid of the other. Afraid of rejection of not corresponding their love even when last night they became one. Still their eyes spoke in silence to each other. They simply decided to give themselves more time to prove it was worth it or to prove their fears were well founded. Selene put the suit on the bed, opening the cover she showed it to Masamune.

“Well what you think?” her smile was beaming, expecting his reaction. The suit was composed of 3 pieces, black trousers and the jacket with a royal blue vest, the buttons were on gold with a tie black with a simple golden dragon on a moon as a decoration. The shirt was white complimenting the attire.

Masamune was speechless he didn't expected such an exquisite gift from her. He took the hanger and touch the suit. It was softer than usual but it was not silk. Selene urged him to try it on very excited. With her help he was already dressed up. It was on that moment that the door bell rang and Selene went check who it was.

Opening the door soon she was attacked on her stomach with a bat knocking the wind out of her. Trying to get her Selene started to fight when She say him. Paralyzed for the sudden appearance she turned around in time  to see Masamune running toward her. Before he could shoot the man dressed completely in black with red converse shoot Masamune 4 times to the chest making him fall on the ground.

Selene tried to yell in vain, no sound came as she was trying to still recover her breath. Her vision became blurry with tears while struggling, at this point she couldn't believe what she saw. Taking a deep breath she broke the lock on her arms, sending one of her assailants to the floor. Darting to run toward Masamune, Selene felt the electric shock and felt unconscious to the floor. Her last thought before losing consciousness was to know if Masamune was alive or dead.

@colivara @elievalentine @jennacat84 @datemasamunemaiwaifu @masa-little-kitten @notsafefortum-blr @epicdragonlady @yeshasays @mikamiw @pirateprincessyuki @unstoppablelinda @xathia-89 @kimi00twin @shouta-bakugou @cailannuesugi @la-piperina @sengokuotaku82 @rimalovegood

[helianthus21]

10 Years Of Castiel

Day 3: Cas & the angels or Cas & the Winchesters

because why can’t he have both? inspired by B99′s episode “The Party”

Samandriel shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

“Stand still,” berates Rachel, sending him a glare that is just this side of disdainful.

“I'm nervous,” he defends himself. “We're finally meeting the man Castiel chose over Heaven.”

He says the name Castiel like a revelation. Like he's not sure he's worthy of tasting the word on his tongue.

Anna steps forward and puts a hand on Samandriel's shoulder. “He did not choose one thing over the other,” she assures gently. “He simply moved into a new home.” Her hand tightens on his shoulder, not less gentle, but with underlying sternness to it. “In any case, have I not told you to dress appropriately for this, Samandriel?”

Samandriel looks down at the work uniform of the Wiener Hut his vessel was wearing when he said Yes, and his eyes widen in panic. He hadn't thought of changing his vessel's costume. Now what would they think of him? When Anna mentioned appropriate outer appearances, he'd thought 'take a human vessel', for burning the humans' eyes out was considered a social faux-pas when attending human festivities. Really, it would be just rude.

“Humans have a high regard for their 'dress code', I believe it is called,” provides Hannah helpfully.

Even without seeing it, the whole flock that stands in a circle around the entrance of the Bunker can feel Balthazar's eye-roll as a wave rolling through their graces. “Someone who thinks wearing those ridiculous plaid scraps of clothing is à la mode has no business judging other people's fashion senses, trust me, darling.”

Anna rounds on him. “And you,” she says, pointing an almost accusing finger at him. “Behave. No snide remarks towards Dean. In fact,” she considers, face turning oddly green around the edges as she visualises the multitude of Balthazar's possible social transgressions. “Don't talk to Dean at all. Find an unobtrusive corner and when approached talk about... wine. Yes, that might be for the best.”

“I'll just talk about fighting techniques and military strategy,” Inias practically bounces with excitement at the prospect of acquainting himself with these humans. “They are all hunters, right? They'll love the subject of war.”

Anna looks around the group one last time and asks if everyone's ready before she presses the door bell. After just a few seconds, the door opens and Castiel greets them with a mild smile and excitedly buzzing grace. “You're here!” he says, and then, more subdued, “Thank you for coming. I hope you found the way without complications.”

“Hello, Castiel!” greets Samandriel. He'd only ever caught glimpses of The Rebellious One, and it is an honor to be graced with his presence. “Your trench coat is magnificent,” he says, and judging by the warning squint Anna sends his way and Balthazars gleeful amusement he must have promptly made a fool of himself.

But Castiel doesn't seem to notice. “Thank you. I wear it every day.”

Behind his back, Samandriel hears Balthazar murmur something that sounds like “This promises to be very entertaining.”

At this very moment, another figure joins them at Castiel's side, rubbing a hand up and down his back in a manner that seems like it’s a familiar gesture between them. Castiel leans into the touch and smiles up at Dean Winchester.

“Hey, so, glad to have you here and all that,” Dean greets them half-heartedly, but Samandriel beams right over his lack of courtesy and sticks out his laden arms towards him.

“We bear gifts for our hosts!”

Reluctantly, like he suspects the carton to hold a bomb instead of a dessert native to human cuisine, he accepts the present. “It's pie!” Samandriel encourages, until Dean finally opens the lid.

He observes the contents, and then a judgmental look that could rival Archangel Raphael's (may he rest for their peace) hits Samandriel from under long lashes. “That's not pie,” Dean corrects drily. “That's cake.”

Samandriel shifts again, nervous about having misstepped. “I-,” he stammers. “Aren't those... the same?”

A heavy silence follows, so charged that it reminds him of the calm of the gathering of Grace before a smiting. Then: “They're not the same!”

“Dean.” Castiel intervenes by laying a hand on top of Dean's shoulder, and the effect is instant. Dean puts on a more relaxed posture and plasters on a smile.

“Thanks for the... cake. Can I offer you some of it? Maybe,” he shrugs a shoulder. “All of it?”

Before Samandriel can respond, Anna pushes her way past him into the Bunker, halting just in front of the hosts. “That would be most gracious of you, thanks.” With another warning glare towards the group of angels, she leads the way to the center of Castiel's birthday party.

Inside, there are people Samandriel has heard of from the Gospels. Sam Winchester may be the most prominent of them, but there's also Claire Novak of the bloodline of Castiel's vessels, and the prophet Kevin Tran as well as who appears to be his mother looking askance at the angels. The woman beside Sam Winchester is a Man of Letter legacy and huntress with the name Eileen Leahy, as she tells them. Two other women surprise Samandriel by throwing their arms around him in greeting, appearing to prefer a much less formal greeting ritual than the rest of the hunters. The one with the red hair, Samandriel learns, rules over a land called Moondoor, and the other one introduces herself as Donna, a sheriff of some American state that is not Kansas, where they’re currently located.

Human hunters are not the only guests on this party, however. There's a gruff looking vampire who grunts out he's “Benny” and then disappears to whisper something into Dean's ears, a young psychic by the name of Patience and an anxious looking dreamwalker who never leaves Claire Novak's side for too long.

In the dark haired young girl who laughs about something the other sheriff, Jody Mills, is saying, Samandriel can sense faint traces of vampirism. He's curious about the story she could tell, but hesitates to approach.

“Samandriel!” Castiel's voice catches him unaware and he whirls around. His little heart beats against the fragile ribcage of his borrowed body. Castiel is carrying a plate with a slice of the cake he brought and offers it to Samandriel. “Sorry, I should have told you. Dean prefers pie. But I personally find your cake most excellent. Can I ask, where did you buy it?”

“I made it myself!” Samandriel says, his wings spreading proudly over his head in the etheric plane.

Castiel seems impressed indeed, just as Samandriel had hoped. “Good work,” he praises and Samandriel feels as if the skin on his vessel's face heats up.

When Dean again steps up next to Castiel, he supposes his chance has come. He'll befriend the new family of The Rebellious One. “What did you think about the movie Tombstone?” he asks, apropos of nothing. Anna had briefed them about social etiquette, but her lecture about How To Start A Conversation had seemed so unnecessary complicated to him back then.

Dean raises an eyebrow his way. “You've watched Tombstone?”

In reality, Samandriel has only read the synopsis on the back of this flat visual device humans use to play back their animated pictures, but he nods eagerly.

“Well, it's one of my favourite movies. What was you favourite scene?”

And that question makes Samandriel's mind go blank. “Uhhhm,” he stumbles through an answer that won't come, can't come because he can't have a favourite scene of something he has never watched. “When they... engraved... the tombstone?” He tries, thinking he can't be too far off when the title already features a tombstone.

One side of Dean's mouth twitch, and he opens it to keep their conversation going, but before he can do so, Castiel takes his hand and moves to pull him away from the little circle they’ve formed. “Can I speak to you for a minute, Dean? Sorry to leave you, Samandriel, if you would join Charlie over there, I believe she wanted to show you how the Google worked.”

And with that, they're gone. Samandriel turns his attention to the young woman who grins and waves him over with a gesture of her hand.

***

“Why are you mad at me? It's your angel friends who're screwing up your birthday party! You should be yelling at them!”

Dean storms through the door to their bedroom, directly followed by Cas who closes the door to give them even more privacy.

“They're not the problem, Dean. You've been dismissive, contrary, and downright rude to them when all they've been doing is try to fit in. You completely thwarted Inias' and Samandriel's attempts at conversation!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If you can call that a conversation...”

“When Inias started his retelling of angelic warfare you claimed such conversation topics were banned in the Bunker. That was an outright lie, there's almost nothing you like talking about more than beating up enemies!”

“Not with them, I don't.”

With a sigh, Dean lets himself flop onto their bed. The springs squeak but there's another noise accompanying it that has nothing to do with old furniture. He exchanges a look with Cas, and notices he's already drawn his angel blade. With Cas as rear cover, he jumps off the mattress and peeks under the bed.

Three pairs of blue eyes are blinking back at them.

“Surprise?” Balthazar tries.

*

“In my defense, I was just trying to keep them in check,” says Anna, as Cas drags them all back to the war room. He can't believe he'd been so wrong about his brothers and sisters. Well, again.

“I was trying to investigate your recreational interests to find a common ground for social bonding,” defends Inias, facial expression distorted into a sad frown.

“You mean you were spying on us,” barks Dean. He turns around to confront Balthazar. “And what's your excuse?”

Balthazar shrugs, not looking guilty at all. “Just wanted to raid your secret alcohol stash.”

While Dean's still trying to put his indignation into words that aren't stammers, Anna turns to Cas. “I'm sorry, Cas. I tried to hold them back.”

Castiel touches her forearm gently. “Don't blame yourself, Anna. I should've known this was a bad idea.” He turns towards the rest of their guests. Despite the fact that this 'birthday party' had not been a wish of his – Sam and Dean had insisted, not taking no, or 'I'm an angel, I don't have a birthday' for an answer – he feels dejected about the less than favorable turn of events.

“Maybe,” he starts, shoulders slumping with defeat. “Maybe it's best if you go. All of you.” He gestures to the angels, making sure they know he's addressing them and only them.

Anna nods at him sadly but understandingly. She moves to usher the ragtag group of angels towards the door.

But: “Wait!”

The sudden protest surprises both Cas and the angels. And most of all, probably, the speaker himself: Dean's scratching at his neck in a manner Cas knows indicates his nervousness.

“I mean – Cas, you don't have to,” he sighs, looking a bit out of place in this strange circumstance where he finds himself defending the angels of all people. “They meant well, don't punish them on my account.”

“Dean, it's not-”

“I was giving 'em a hard time, Cas, you were right,” he looks sheepishly at Cas. “I'm just wary whenever angels are in the picture, I can't help it. You've been hurt so many times, and I can't stand watching you go through this every time. But these guys,” he gestures to Anna and Samandriel, and even Balthazar, “they're good people, Cas, and you wanted them here and I shouldn't have been such a... jerk,” he laughs dryly. “It's your party and you should enjoy it with everyone you love, and if that includes those no-good, pain-in-the-ass angels, then who am I to stand in the way. You deserve it, man.”

Castiel takes a look around, notes the look of hope on Samandriel and Inias' faces, watches Rachel's hard frown melting away in the face of Donna's winning enthusiasm, the quiet curiosity with which Hannah pokes at a bagel on her plate, and finally, catches Balthazar's encouraging grin.

They are good people, he thinks. Dean's right, he shouldn't throw that away because of a minor faux-pas. He turns to Dean again, leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Dean.” For indulging him. For trying to protect him even when the situation doesn't necessarily warrant it.

And also, “No one's ever expended such an effort for me.” He gestures around at the party, at all the people who've shown up to celebrate his existence. His grace beats a happy rhythm against his ribcage.

Dean smiles back at him.

“Well, it's about time,” comments Balthazar, the softness in his eyes betraying his posed nonchalance as he nips at his newly snatched wine glass.

Castiel bumps his shoulder against him in a brotherly affection that is new to him. He decides he likes it. “Thank you, too,” he says. He takes in the mix of bright souls and pulsing graces, and thinks that what they've created today, the merging of his two worlds, might indeed work, could even be something good, if they'll let it.

It’s worth a try, in any case.

#10yearsofcastiel #tenyearsofcastiel #castiel #ficlet #destiel #tho i think i kept it subtle #birthday party for cas #everybody lives #bc i make the rules #i wrote this quickly #not sure im happy with it but here it is #spn #im sorry that sam doesn't have a speaking role argh:o but i wanted to finish it in time #long post

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Father

I’ve been contemplating writing about this. Not because I didn’t know how to write it all, or the words that would do justice. But because it’s one of the things lesser known about me, and saying it here is akin to giving a piece of my heart to all of you reading. But here goes; I’ve tried to keep it short. Tried to make it less ‘white’. These, despite the amazing roller-coaster of a journey I’ve had, are the willingly forgotten bits about me.

I saw it on a movie. ‘Gardens of the Night’. While the plot was around pronography and prostitution that I largely skipped for some unspoken reason, the girl and her emotions mirrored mine. The more I saw, the more I understood that something had happened to me as a child. Something wrong. Abuse. Facts state that more often than not, in most sexual child abuses the offender is someone close to them. My father. And I couldn’t look away from the screen. Here were instances, things that were framed wrong. All that touching, why is someone other than the father doing it? Isn’t that what fathers did? See in my head, the way my father treated me was what I assumed every other girl was going through. That this was life, and that I had to listen to him. After all, he was the reason I was alive, wasn’t I?

It took me some more movies and observations of daughters with their fathers to understand that I was insanely wrong. He makes you sit on his lap to put his hand under your skirt. He doesn’t give you baths because he’s taking care of you. He only talks nice when you’re doing him a favor. It was frankly, too much to process. I lingered around the fact that I am making up things in my head, that I missed my mom and everything my father did was looking wrong to me only because he didn’t do it like a mother would do. Then, when I accepted his nature, I was met with a wall of disappointment. That the one person who was to look out for you and your safety was the only person harming you. That the years supposed to be filled with laughter and love was spent with belt marks and stained clothes. When I was about 14, that feeling turned into anger. I wanted him to know only one thing. That I knew. Knew what he did every night, and that I dare him to try it with me again. But it was late. The daily affair and routine of fetching me from the servant quarters in the dead of the night and throwing me out before dawn, had already messed up my head a little.

I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and was walking around with repressed memories that could shut me out anytime. I got used to the process -- there would suddenly be an incident that triggered something from my past, and I would just shut down. I would faint for anywhere between 10 minutes to 2 hours and nothing could wake me up unless I went to the hospital and they revived me. In that blackout, I wasn’t safe at all. I would revisit all the little things that my mind had safely tucked away hoping I will never find out. And why with such vivid details, why did I have to remember his voice and every move he made? That’s right eidetic memory.

I had bangles on my hand in a park. Glass bangles. I remember him walking to me with this long lanky legs covered by a brown trouser. I looked at him, my vision had my two chubby hands with bangles on their wrists. He wasn’t smiling, he was angry. That was my singal to keep quiet and do as he asks. He pulled my hand and dragged me behind a big cement building. Maybe it wasn’t too big, I was just a kid; it looked pretty big to me. He undid his belt and forced my hand between his legs. I yelled, he clamped my mouth. I fought, he placed one leg around me. I couldn’t remember anything other than the pain in my wrists as he held them firmly and the speed. It felt like my skin would come off anytime. When it was done, my bangle broke. And in a rush to hide the incident altogether, he pulled them off both hands and threw it in the garbage that stung me eyes. That’s how I got my first scar on my left hand. When I wake up from these blackouts, I am exhausted to have relived the moment again. I can’t feel the air in my lungs and everything is plain cold. I shiver, I feel numb. Then, I look around at the faces around me and know I’ve survived it yet again. He was miles away and he couldn’t touch me at all. Most of the school and the teachers in India attributed my fainting spells to being weak and underweight. They laughed, it became a long-standing joke. I let it be. It’s easier than having to explain what I saw. The thing is, I wish it all played out a little differently. That day in the park was the only time I resisted him; to me resistance equalled more pain. I’d rather just keep quiet and wait to be away from him. His drinking, his smoking, his rants afterwards about me and how he hated me all led me to wish only one thing. I wanted his love. I wanted to be on my best behavior and hear him tell me I was his daughter, a good little girl, and that I’m the best thing in his life. I heard two of those when he was busy fulfilling his needs with me in the picture, but I never heard him call me his daughter. Turns out the story ran long back, to when I was even littler. In Pune when Prerna and her friends, who had come down for her birthday, all sat around the table, I joined in the conversation. All was fine until they started talking of beaches in Mumbai and how one of her friends took her dog walking in the evenings. I shut down and entered another repressed memory. Here I was, walking with my father into the sunset. Well, almost. Here he was propping me up on a stool next to the bajji vendor parked on the Marina Beach. And there he went, only to reunite with another woman who was not my mother. He only came back when the sun was almost setting. And my blackout fast forwarded into so many evenings just like that where I would sit on the sand, play with a stray dog, and smell the fumes of the oil from the vendor. My father. Happily on the beach. Having an affair. In front of his daughter. To every other eye, it must have looked like we were a happy family of three. Little did they know that I wasn’t of her blood, or that smile on his face was only when he was with her. When I snapped out of this spell, a lot of things made sense. His resentment towards me and my family. His shedding of parenthood for I was not a child he ever wanted. His insistent nudges to send my mom off to the US so he could be free. What didn’t add up was -- why did he find pleasure in me. What a twisted thing it was, and how twisted was it to hear that after the divorce he went on to marry again. Yes that’s right. My mom hearing the story, rang up a friend in the Income Tax Department and he traced him down to a government college. Where he worked with his new wife. Did I want to see her picture? No thanks, the memory of her ID card around her neck was the last puzzle piece I needed. It broke my heart even more to know he had one son and one daughter. And that they were a happy family. Was I not enough? He didn’t hurt his children from a second marriage and decided to ruin the life of his first child? That validation I was seeking from him all those years crumbled away. It was no fault of mine, I could've borne every piercing pain and scar and yet that wouldn’t have made him a better person. Couldn’t have made him love you. When mom and I came back from the US to give the marriage another shot, I cursed my life over and over. My mom was unaware of everything because she had fled to the US. Her side of the family supported my dad because they had tossed the responsibility to him. It was all a big mess, a bomb that was running out of wick. In India, my mom didn’t work. She stayed home and tried to be a good housewife. And just like I feared, my father went back to his old ways. I had grown up now, I wouldn’t even have to kneel. The hunger in his eyes, the way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he saw me getting ready to school -- these are the things that stuck with me and made me fear every guy. That look, what a common look it was in the world, feasting on bodies, drinking the fear. I tried so hard to not be at home when my mom went to buy groceries. As soon as she stepped out, a game of cat and mouse would ensue. I would run through the rooms, the corridors, trying to make it out of the house and to the terrace. Most times I failed. His stealth always surprised me; his otherwise lazy attitude would disappear and in its place an irresistible urge would build up. My clothes have torn, and he has had me quickly change in the 20 minutes it took mom to come back. I would make up a reason for the new dress, or a scar or two. She always believed me. I saw him again, when I thought I far from him. And what are the odds, he walked straight into my grandpa’s house in Erode. This was supposed to be a safe place, where my mom grew up. If he would come and go as he wished, could they even be trusted? What have we been doing believing them all our lives? My mom had many thoughts at that moment, but I watched her keep her calm and did the same. Inside I was disappearing. My aunt rushed my mom and me into a room and locked us on the outside. When I heard his voice, I wished I was mistaken. That same raspy, half croaky voice. Saying that he wants to see me again, that my mom was wrong to deny seeing his own daughter. There. I heard it. Half of me despite it all, wanted to go see him. I wanted to walk across the corridor, down the steps and up again into the patio. I would be shaking all over, cold and numb, but I wanted to see his face as he said that again. This time in front me, his daughter who had grown almost to his height. But I was locked in and that was that. He spoke, he left. The door was unlocked, and we blocked out the only family we had for turning on us dead wrong. That night, I saw my mom breakdown. She yelled in the middle of the house and demanded answers. A lot of things surfaced. The fact that she wanted her parents to take care of me and not my father was new. I heard it and a little joy bloomed within. Distant relatives came from all over, all hosting their own panchayat. They wanted her to make it work again with my father, the situation was that of family honor now. My mom grabbed me from the corner in the middle of all this and said

“If you think I married to lay with him one night then let it be. This life in my hands, this little girl is the only good thing out of this marriage and I cannot give any more to him.” How powerful. That made sense. In fact, that’s the possible the only way to look at it. Why they got her married to a man like him, against the wishes of the entire town, we will never know. Why my mom didn’t listen to her litter sister and take the bag she had packed to run away before the marriage, we will never know. It was mom and me again, just like it had been in the US. We were fools to think years changed anything at all. I think that’s why when I caught my mom giving her life a second thought, I brought up divorce. It was all for the good. That’s why, when we came to India for good we picked Bangalore and not Chennai. That’s why, in almost every relationship, I ended up imagining my father when in bed. I couldn’t shake it off. I went to therapy like my mom advised. I switched therapists because the minute I unraveled my tale and brought to life every incident with horrific detail (what’s here is the surface) they needed a day or two off before they could see me. I broke the news to my mom at 19 on the insistence of my permanent therapist. My mom broke down and couldn’t look at me the same. She swore on all her family gods. Then I started healing in ways that were too painful. My then boyfriend cheated on me because I couldn’t ‘just do it’. I learned I was more than my body, and freezing up was okay. I started mingling with boys at school only after I knew I could defend myself and throw a few punches if it came to that. Little by little, I watched movie movies with scenes from an abuse. I accepted, I processed, I hugged myself and promised never to let it go through something like that again. I learned that there was no point seeking the love of a father because in this life I was gifted with a monster. When I think of the times in kindergarten in India, I remember the way other kids babbled about their fathers. How they got gifts, and how they went to the movies. I made up stories to stay in loop and imagined a father so pristine. I did that for most of my life actually. He would walk two steps behind me, and push a stubborn lock of hair behind my ear. He would buy me cotton candy, and advise me on dating boys. He would say I looked the prettiest in white, and hated it when I wore dark lipstick. Half of this was Pradeesh Uncle, and the other half my mom fulfilled. She became my father and mother and tried so very hard to not make me miss a father figure in my life. That’s the only problem with her. She believes that’s possible for me to do. Accept her as a double parent and never want for anything at all. And that’s where she goes wrong. As strong as a woman she maybe, and as well as a father she may play, some things just don’t become right with a lot of good. The cigarette he ashed on the left side of my neck when I refused to undo his belt. That I pass off as a birthmark to those who ask. His picture taking when I was old enough to take bath. I still can’t bring myself to look at the mirror in my bathroom. Any tall, skinny man; the restlessness that brews inside I just can't deny. It doesn’t matter if my mom is around me. If I know I can take down that man. The mind is used to forgetting, the heart used to forgiving, but the body remembers. Father: a wish I wasn’t granted.

#nanowrimo #nano 2018 #nano writing #life story #lifestruggles #life stories #child abuse #anecdote #writedaily #loveforwriting #writing #wrimo #truthsdiary #day15

[rebclheartsarchive]

burn this fucker down | self para

summary: i see a red door and i want it painted black. no colours anymore, i want them to turn black. i see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes, i have to turn my head until my darkness goes.

In the middle of the German quarters that evening, Michel stands tall. Proud. Proud as the first moment he walked into battle as a soldier, a firearm in his hands and his shoulders back. He;d thought then that he was filing his purpose in the world. He’d thought it was to fight and protect, to keep his loved ones safe from the awful things in the world. In a way, he was right. It was just his course of action that was wrong. He was not made to be a soldier, to stand on soil and fight to the death. He was a catalyst. The cause for change that would bring forth a new world. A world that was better, where there weren’t kings sitting on thrones and ordering soldiers around when they themselves knew nothing of battle. Not the way Michel did. If they had, they would have know that it was pointless. That armies and land grabs did nothing but cause conflict for greedy men that they used toy soldiers to resolve. It made him sick to his very stomach, and he could not stand it any longer. 

“You’re all disgusting.” He spits out, looking around at German royalty and nobility alike and god, he couldn’t wait until he never had to see their faces again. “Each and every one of you. You sit there, laughing and drinking as nothing ever happened. As if the war was something that can be moved on from so simply.” Michel scoffs, glaring around the room as faces become shocked, some angry and hurt, some merely confused. How typical of them all. “You live a meaningless existence in a world of privilege with no consequences for the choices you make and the lives you live. You hold no care for the people that gave everything to ensure such a lifestyle.” He shakes his head, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It feels like a weight lifted from his shoulders to finally say such things to their faces instead of muttering in dark corners, instead of during meetings in the dead of night with others that shared his thoughts. All these thoughts that he’s had for years now finally coming to a boiling point. 

“You’ll all get your due.” He promises, voice full of conviction as he nods his head at each one of them. Not that there are many in the common room at this time of night. No matter though, they would all become aware of how he felt soon enough. “You’ll see.” He turns on his heel at that, stalks out of the rooms and closes the door behind him. Now, now it was time to really begin his work. With the knowledge that his loved ones were safe ( his sister he’d made sure would be away from here, Melchior was home, and Anton...he was safe at least ), Michel made his way towards the meeting spot where eight men were gathered, waiting for him with torches in their hands, the fire illuminating their hall. All eyes turned to him as he cleared his throat, excitement plain in his eyes. 

“After all of our careful planning, the time has finally come.” There’s half a smile on his face as he says it, and he can see the future so clearly now that it was almost upon them. A brand new world, a new monarchy in Germany with him at the help.”This day will be their reckoning for all they have done to us. For their neglect of their people, their soldiers. All their selfishness and willful ignorance. Let it end today.” He’s met with nods of agreement, a sort of life in their eyes and desire for more that he’s sure matches his own. There’s more there than there has been in years because finally, they feel like they have something to fight for. A real purpose in order to achieve a life of true peace. Fighting for king and country was all well and good, but he was not proud of his monarchy or his country anymore. He was not proud of the king he served under, of the toxicity that surrounded the Luxembourgs. He wanted better, thought he deserved as much from his king, and it only made sense that he be removed to put in place someone that would do their duty well.

They all part directions moments later, each of them knowing their role and which of the bombs they were set to light. They had spent months planning, thinking of all the factors that could go wrong. There would be no room for error, everything had to go smoothly. He reaches the first of the bombs quickly, the one he’d planted not all that long ago and he sets alight the long strings that leads to the bomb. It gives him enough time to run, sprint his way to the next one, and the next, setting them both alight before he heads toward the exit. He keeps on running until he finally reaches the edge of the forest and then he stops, turns, and watches. He listens as the bombs go off ( flashes of past battles coming to mind as they do ) and watches as the city crumbles around him. It’s quite the sight, a whole castle crumbling down, seeing everything on fire. It was for him to react in chaos but this time, he simply stops and watches. In the fire he sees the revolution, can so clearly see a new start. A world without corrupt monarchies and greedy men that take, take, take and not care what is left in their wake.

Part of him grieves for the lost life, the people that would die because of his actions here today. But if it means an end to the current world they live in, so be it.

#p: michel #hello 911 pls come and collect my delusional hoe child