#and how those expectations change over time but kinda almost imperceptibly

[frizz22]

What’s in a Name

Ch. 2 Sausage—read on AO3

NOTE: Slight canon divergence. Another lunch, but no Keely this time.

When Rebecca asked him to come to lunch with her mother a second time, Ted wasn’t sure what to expect.

Oh, have no doubt, he knew he was to be some kinda buffer for Rebecca—and only too happy to do so—but the first time he met Deborah, well, he’d been initially impressed with, if a bit insulted by, the elder Welton.

Life was hard, though, and Deborah was working through some things, so he didn’t hold it against her one bit.

Until, until she left to take that call from her psychic and Rebecca shook her head, told them to ignore all her mother’s self revelations, and that her parents would be back together by the end of the week. Until Rebecca conceded that yes, while some people change, her mother didn’t.

No, Ted didn’t hold it against Deborah until he saw the carefully hidden pain beneath Rebecca’s cavalier façade.

Still, everyone had their sore spots with their parents, Ted certainly couldn’t pretend that he didn’t. So he could give Deborah some more good faith during this second lunch.

Except, everything seemed to be strained from the moment they sat down.

Deborah and her husband were indeed back together, and she’d arrived—she only too happily announced—in her newly gifted Tesla.

Stunned by how accurate Rebecca’s prediction had been, Ted tried to catch her eye as her mother relayed the news, but Rebecca merely pursed her lips and kept her eyes resolutely in her plate, her posture tense.

And when the conversation eventually shifted to the past, Ted hoped this would bring Rebecca out of her shell, that she’d perk up and contribute to the memories and he’d get to learn more about her.

But she didn’t. Contribute, that is.

Because Deborah seemed to only want to recall events that clearly made Rebecca uncomfortable. Made her facial muscles twitch and her eyes tighten almost imperceptibly.

On his end, Ted at least managed to maintain a bland smile throughout the conversation. And while he normally wasn’t one to judge, preferring curiosity, it was hard not to be a tad judgey of Deborah as he watched Rebecca shrinking in on herself further and further as the meal went on.

Couldn’t help the smidge of judginess that snuck in as Rebecca played with the salad in front of her, wincing minutely as her mother spoke, but otherwise taking the verbal blows without reacting.

Clearly not missing Rebecca’s silence, all the while missing her daughter’s other cues, Deborah huffed. “Really, sausage, you always—“

And the rest of Deborah’s sentence was drowned out by a ringing in Ted’s ears. He blinked, taken aback by the term.

Sausage?

Did Deborah just call Rebecca sausage? Ted mulled it over, and yes, he had the context right, Deborah really called her daughter sausage. Sausage.

Was, was she not aware of what Rupert put Rebecca through? How he controlled what she ate? How he constantly talked about her physical appearance even now? All those backhanded compliments? Though why the word compliment was in the phrase when it really meant the opposite Ted couldn’t figure out.

Or, his heart sank as he refocused, or had it been easier for Rupert to control Rebecca’s diet because her mother had been doing it all her life… even if only by calling her names like ‘sausage’?

His attention was recaptured by Rebecca finally breaking her strained silence.

Frowning, Rebecca put her fork down, no longer even pretending to eat. “Mother—“ she began, voice tired. “I don’t see—“

“Of course you don’t, sausage, you’ve always refused to.” Her mother cut in, a slight edge to her tone. And before Rebecca could do more than blink, Deborah stood. “I’m off to the loo. Perhaps while I’m gone you can try and open your mind to the complexities of my marriage with your father.”

Ted waited until Deborah was out of earshot before reaching out to touch Rebecca’s hand where it was fisted on the table. “Hey,” he murmured softly, not really knowing even where to begin. “Hey, wanna get out of here? I know a good place for fish and fries.” It was the best he could do, distract her, get her out of here and get her to eat an actual meal instead of pretending to eat one.

A tiny smile loosened her clenched jaw and quirked the corner of Rebecca’s lips, though it didn’t fully erase the tension from her features. “Chips, Ted,” she lightly chided, “they’re called chips.” Her eyes drifted towards the bathroom, distractedly waiting for her mother to reappear.

“Potato, poh-tah-toe,” he drawled, grinning. “Which, coincidentally works, since both those things are, in fact, made of potato.”

Clearly fighting a smile, Rebecca shook her head. “Just because they’re both made of potato doesn’t mean they’re the same.” Her eyes were back on him and stayed there, as did the smile playing at her lips… a win in his book any day.

Brows lifting, Ted propped his chin in his hand. “Suppose you’re right.” He conceded, before his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Chips are a tasty, light weight snack that come in a bag with too much air to justify the price. Fries are delicious deep fried snacks that come in various shapes. Waffle being my favorite.”

She huffed in amusement. “What do waffles have to do with chips?” She asked, cocking her head at him.

“Chips? Nothing. But fries? Everything.” Ted grinned, loving that his nonsense was pulling Rebecca out of the dark place in her head. He stood and offered his arm. “Now, I am suddenly extra hungry with all this talk of chips and fries,” he gave her a broad smile, “shall we?”

Chuckling softly, Rebecca stood, gathered her coat, dropping cash onto the table to cover the lunch, and took Ted’s arm, her hand warm in the crook of his elbow. “Let’s.” She agreed, eyes darting to the bathroom once more before she turned decisively away. “And maybe, just maybe, on the way I can teach you how to be a proper Londoner.”

His hand covering hers, Ted shook his head good naturedly as he led them out of the restaurant and into the spring air. “Or,” he let his accent deepen, “I could teach ya a thing or two about being a Kansas…. er.” He added the last syllable with a slight cringe, it wasn’t his best work.

A full laugh burst out of Rebecca as they walked, her head tipping back as she did and Ted felt a surge of pride. “A Kansas-er?” She repeated, still laughing.

With all the seriousness he could muster with her so full of glee next to him, Ted nodded. “Absolutely,” he immediately owned the term. “It ain’t hard. Mostly has to do with some good ol’ B-B-Q sauce.”

Smiling widely, Rebecca rolled her eyes and they continued to walk for a bit in comfortable silence. “Thank you, Ted.” She murmured after some time, finding her voice as they took their place in line for an actual lunch. “I, I needed this. You always seem to know.” This second part was said with a measure of disbelief, as if Rebecca never imagined someone could know her and care for her in that way. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Rebecca gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you.” She repeated, withdrawing her hand to order for the two of them and pay.

Barely stopping himself from swaying forward to try and find her touch again, Ted rubbed the back of his head. “Ain’t no thing. Coupon for life.” He mumbled, though from how Rebecca smiled at him over her shoulder he knew she heard him.

His stomach flipping over itself, Ted hurriedly turned to find them a table… purposely ignoring how he chose the one in the sun because when the light hit Rebecca’s hair it made it look like a halo.

Shaking his head to dislodge the unbidden thought, Ted sat so Rebecca would have her back to the sun, and thus out of her eyes, and waited for her to join him.

“These,” she stated pointedly as she approached, “are chips, Ted.” A grin curled Rebecca’s lips as she sat and placed the food in front of them.

The tips of his fingers selecting a single fry, Ted cocked his head. “Funny. Sure looks like a fry to me.” He popped it into his mouth. “Tastes like one too.”

Her attempt to suppress a smile failed, and Rebecca merely took a fry as well and chewed it thoughtfully. “Sorry Ted, definitely tastes like a chip to me.”

Their bickering dissolved into a comfortable silence as they truly tucked into their food and was only broken by Rebecca’s phone jangling harshly against the table.

With a flick of her finger, Rebecca rejected the call. “Mother.” She muttered at Ted’s curious look. “Classic move, waiting long enough for me to think she wouldn’t call, letting me relax before ratcheting up my nerves…. Going to guilt me for leaving without a goodbye, no doubt. But,” her eyes met his, “I don’t think I feel guilty this time. I, I’d rather be doing this.” Rebecca gifted him with a shy smile before her eyes dropped back to the food.

Warmth spreading through him at the comment, Ted ducked his head as well.m, wanting to hide the heat flooding his cheeks. Because he’d rather be doing stuff with Rebecca at pretty much any time and to hear she felt the same, even if only in this moment, made him want to say things he shouldn’t.

Made him want to ignore the elephant that was Deborah in the room and the cruel nickname she had for Rebecca. Made him want to ignore the opening the universe provided by Deborah calling…. But he couldn’t.

Okay, it was more didn’t want to, than couldn’t.

Didn’t want to probe what could be triggering when she was finally eating some food, unlike at lunch with her mother. Didn’t want to when she all but admitted that she preferred spending time with him right now, he didn’t want her to regret that. Regret spending time with him.

So, he let the moment pass. Let their conversation flow away from her mother and the stressful lunch and to inane things.

He didn’t want to let the matter go entirely, though. Which meant, the words were still tap dancing on the tip of his tongue when they got back to work and he escorted her—quite unnecessarily—up to her office.

But she was so much lighter after their time together, all smiles and laughter and not a trace of the tension from lunch with her mother… so he chickened out again, not wanting to ruin her afternoon.

And that sentiment lasted until the end of the day and Ted completely lost his chance to bring it up at all. But Rebecca had waved happily at him as she climbed into her car… so it wasn’t really that bad of thing, was it?

Only once Ted got home the dang name was still kicking around in his head and how it could be hurtin Rebecca, and how it didn’t seem like this was a nickname that Rebecca had turned around and owned like ‘Stinky’, but one that still had the power to poke and prod.

And Ted knew himself well enough to know he’d bring the topic up eventually, planned or no, and he’d rather have this one planned. Didn’t want his runaway mouth just blurtin’ something like that out, and the first thing he needed to do to prepare… was find Beard.

Ted had made a few too many cultural faux pas since moving here to potentially go into this blind; he also didn’t want to shame or embarrass Rebecca in any way either. And his friend always had good advice and was an Encyclo-Beard-ia….. Ted stopped mid-step on his way to Beard’s apartment.

Encyclo-Beard-ia?

Oho, he’d have to remember that one for sure!

Chuckling at his own unintentional punniness, Ted knocked out a beat on Beard’s door and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he waited.

“Coach.” Beard greeted him with a nod before walking back into his place and leaving the door open for Ted to follow.

He trailed after Beard, shutting the door behind him, and joined the man at the kitchen table where a freshly opened beer waited for him. “Aw, thanks Coach!” He clinked his bottle to Beard’s. “I’ve got a quick question for ya, wanted to see if ya had any insight before I went and put my foot in my mouth.”

Head cocking, Beard nodded. “Can’t have that.” He remarked dryly.

Scratching at his mustache, Ted huffed. “No sir-ee, hard to get it back out, or so I hear. You know, how do you think that sayin’ got started in the first place? Can’t be cause someone actually went and put their foot in their mouth. Seems impossible.”

Unperturbed by his rambling, Beard’s brow ticked up. “That what you come to talk about? The origins of certain idioms?”

“Idiom? Is that what that is? Hmm, you’re just a regular Encyclo-Beard-ia, aren’t ya!” Ted grinned, unable to wait for another time to use the new nickname he’d come up with for Beard.

His mouth quirking slightly, Beard shook his head. “How long you been hangin’ onto that one?” He asked, amusement coloring his words.

Full well knowing he was stalling, Ted sighed. “Bout as long as it took me to walk here,” he admitted, “you know I can’t keep a good nickname to myself for long.”

Beard chuckled. “Oh, I know. Now, what did you really come over here for? What part of my brain needs picking?”

Careful to stick to the cover story he concocted on the way over, Ted tested his forearms on the table. “I was walking home today through the park, Coach,” he set the scene, making sure to pick something he did everyday. “And I, well I overheard this parent calling their kid ‘sausage’. Floored me,” his hand pressed against his chest for emphasis. “Seems like a cruel thing to do, but then, no one, no one else reacted. Not even the kid. What do ya make of that? Should I have said something?”

Eyeing him a bit, as if suspecting this wasn’t the actual scenario Ted encountered, Beard shook his head. “No. It’s for the best you didn’t. ‘Sausage’ is a common term of endearment here. ‘Specially for kids.” He took a drink and shrugged at Ted’s baffled expression. “Just another food name, Coach, no different from cupcake, pumpkin, or sugar plum.” Beard added tilting his drink towards Ted.

Still blinking, Ted picked at the label of the beer. Of course, of course after getting all worked up on her behalf it turned out to be nothing. Which, well, that was a good thing, he supposed. Better it be a common nickname than a cruel one Deborah used to belittle her daughter.

A frown still tugged at his mouth, though, while this explanation may excuse Deborah a little, but she should still see how the nickname effected her daughter. How she quieted. How she withdrew….

“Coach?” Beard probed when Ted sat there not saying a word.

Shaken from his thoughts, Ted saluted Beard with his drink. “Thanks, Beardo, needed some context.”

With an even more suspicious look, Beard nodded. “Sure thing.” He murmured, letting the silence hang there a moment to give Ted a chance to add more. When he didn’t, Beard shrugged and turned the conversation to a new TV show he started that he thought Ted would like.

Letting himself get swept up in the conversation, Ted decided in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t bring up the nickname to Rebecca—even if he suspected that she didn’t like it—but he would for sure always encourage her to eat whatever she wanted and never, ever, miss a day of bringing her biscuits.

#ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso #rebecca welton #tedbecca #ted x rebecca #coach beard #Deborah welton #fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3

[chemicalpink]

대취타 (DAECHWITA) | EMPEROR!YOONGI X READER | FINAL

Pairing: Emperor!Yoongi x Assassin!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Genre: Emperor AU, Historical AU (kinda), smut, angsty

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of historical public execution, oral sex (male receiving), lowkey breath play, unprotected sex

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE. I hope you enjoy, I had a hard time trying to make this not seem lame so here it is! please let me know what you think!

Summary: You used to be an assassin, got caught and works at the palace as a servant up until you are escorted to the main palace, either to meet your inevitable destiny or for a change of plans. 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Forehead resting against your own as you found yourselves panting, him sliding out as your spasming cunt dripped with both of your releases onto the floor, placing one more soft kiss on your lips with his eyes closed “Marry me”

 You almost sat up with a start. Suddenly the world was bright and hazy. Yoongi had opened his eyes and they were digging like daggers into yours, an unusual look on him. You looked at the emperor apologetically before turning your gaze to the end of the room where there was a pile of books, silently detangling yourself from him.

The silence was deafening.

Then again, who in their right mind proposed marriage while having their cock buried deep inside some assassin turned royal slave. All the same, Min Yoongi wasn’t exactly known for having a right mind. But it wasn’t just the fact that he had proposed seemingly out of the blue, more than it was everything that came with it. The words seemed to tangle themselves inside your brain as you hear him say them over and over again. That he couldn’t think of himself marrying some woman that was inferior to him in mind and spirit. That he had wanted to marry to someone he loved. To think that Min Yoongi had proposed you marriage not in the heat of the moment but fully conscious of his actions would not only mean that he was in it for the great sexual escaped you two regularly went on, but because due to some fucked up mindset the royal had, he believed he could love you. 

Yoongi reached for your hand in an attempt to get your attention, face soft with post orgasmic bliss as he repeated the ill fated words “Marry me, Y/N”

You  snapped out of his hold. “Yoongi I don’t think you understand the situation”

“What is it then, please do enlighten me, Y/N cause from what I understand is me asking for your hand in marriage, twice now” he blinks a few times, looking at you expectantly, crossing his arms like a petulant child

“FUCKING READ THE ROOM MIN YOONGI ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND”

“Well I’m not, but you seem to be”

“I’m a fucking assassin, my hands? they will forever be tainted red” you look down at your hands and the blond man comes near to hold both of them inside his 

“Y/N I couldn’t care less about that, it’s not like I’m a saint either”

“You just don’t understand”

“Then help me out” somehow his ever consistent and aloof tone gave you more chills thana you could’ve imagined if he were to raise his voice at you “Y/N I’m serious with my proposal, the sex is amazing, but you’ve proven to be an excellent addition not only to my court, but to my life”

You are shaking, voice trembling and just above a mere whisper “I was the one that killed your mother on that freezing December night”

He freezes in place.

He seemed oddly composed for someone who had just been told the responsible of his mother's death was none other than the woman he thought he wanted to marry

You remember how a few years ago, he had gone on a killing rampage, exposing heads outside his palace as if they were homemade decorations, swearing to find the person responsible for his mother’s death and get revenge. It had been months of bloodbath. Some had considered the emperor’s son to have gone completely out of his mind. 

You storm off. Not before accepting the responsibility of your actions, perhaps Yoongi had also been a good addition to your life “I’m fine with you deciding to execute me for my crimes, I understand whatever sentence is best fitted for me, your majesty” for the first time since you had arrived at the palace, you don’t dare to look him in the ye, opting to follow court protocol and bow deeply before taking your leave, attempting to detangle yourself from your messed up robes and even more messed up string of thoughts.

The following days to that conversation were a blur and for the most part, uneventful, the emperor had opted not to gravitate your way unless strictly necessary, oddly enough, the air wasn’t awkward at all, it was as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you in the first place. Yoongi had retreated to being an aloof ruler, along with regular trips to meet his once very occupied and spoiled rotten concubines, all the while you were kept apart from. Sometimes, you would receive jobs outside the palace and were expected to fulfill them according to instructions. More times than not, you were left wondering if you would make it back to the palace or if it was one hell of an excuse to execute you.

Hearing approaching footsteps, you couldn’t help but hide the best that you could behind one of the hostel’s walls. Hooded and well muffled with the cape, as you did your best to camouflage yourself into the shadows and become a mere wisp of darkness. A maid from the hostel trudged to the open window and closed it, grumbling. Lightning illuminated the landing. You took a deep breath and reviewed the plans that you had so painstakingly memorized throughout the three days you had been guarding that building on the outskirts of the kingdom. Five doors on each side. The target’s bedroom was behind the third one on the left.

Stealthy as a specter, you walked down the landing. You pushed the target's bedroom door, which opened with an almost imperceptible squeak; waiting for another thunder to rumble to close it carefully. A second flash of lightning illuminated the two figures sleeping on the canopy bed. Young Hee must not have been over thirty-five. His son, small and beautiful, slept soundly in his arms.

“I’m not murdering a poor kid’s mother”

“So you’ve gone soft”

“No I haven’t gone soft” “What could a poor merchant woman have done to you for her to deserve such an end to her life”

He sits down on his throne “You didn’t even hesitate when killing my mother, though”

“Yoongi I-” he turns his head to you, a sharp gaze following your every move, as if he was a predator waiting for the precise moment his prey took a wrong turn to jump on them. You turn your gaze to the floor immediately “Your Majesty”

“Listen Y/N- I’m a very busy man, so I’ll make it easier for you” he stood up from where he was sitting, and although you weren’t looking directly at him, you could hear him move around the room until you were able to see him stop right in front of you, a hand you were so familiar with once caresses your cheek as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him face to face “It’s either her life, or your life. Easy choice, Y/N”

You can feel your heart wanting to burst out of your ribcage at that exact moment, finally understanding the importance behind such a horrifying task, the mirroring in the situation. And the choice was as simple as it could get. “Kill me instead”

You could see the rage inside his eyes, even as he stood still for a few second, steady as ever, unfaltering as he called over one of the palace’s servants to get him the royal seal, the infamous red ink that decorated the skin of those in line to be executed by the royal himself, an utmost sign of rage, of personally wronging the monarch. A sense of longing crossed his gaze for half a second as he locked eyes with you before he took your wrist in his hand and stamped the cold ink on it; you couldn’t keep your body from reacting to the action, whether it was having him touching you again, the almost imperceptible stuttering of his movements when he did so, or the knowledge that you’d have to face an execution, making you shake lightly as adrenaline filled your veins. 

Preparations were something the emperor certainly didn’t scattered in, back when he became known as the cold hearted borderline psychopath he had a vaste fame of, ikt was mostly do to the whole antiques that surrounded his personal executions, the way that they seemed to mimic a kingdom’s festivity was almost breathtaking, were it not for the fact that the main entertainment of the day would be having you publicly executed.  You had been waiting for that night for a whole week. Sitting in the wooden corridor nestled to one side of the golden dome of Min Yoongi’s personal library, remembering how the last time you had been there, things were so different from how they were now, where the emperor had asked you to marry you in the worst way possible and you had confessed the greatest murder of the dynasty; you let yourself be carried away by the music that rose through the amphitheater. With your legs dangling under the railing, you leaned forward and rested your cheek on your crossed arms. One could almost swear the palace was preparing for a wedding, if the way you were constantly dressed up and down during the week, the way the palace’s servants were constantly bustling around the building to ensure the greatest quality for the evening, the greatest night for the kingdom. The execution of the Empress’ murderer. 

“You seem oddly calm for someone who's about to be executed” Jungkook mentions as he approaches where you were currently hanging out, a few minutes to spare before a small group of designated maids were to call you to get you ready for the night.

You look up at him tiredly, without separating your head from where it was laying, catching him taking a seat by your side in the most infantile way you had ever seen the royal guard do, shrugging to no one in particular, you add “You know, accountability and stuff”

“Oh and she grew a moral compass during her time here” if he was expecting a bickering comeback, the way you used to do back when he was designated to look after you, he was certainly not getting anything other than be met by an extended silence that seemed to rise the tension and seriousness of the whole interaction between the two “Why are you letting this happen to you?”

“What are you talking about” this time, you do turn to face him, confused as to where he was expecting the conversation to go.

“You didn’t kill his mother”

“I did”

He huffed out air, sounding a bit exasperated at your response; you could have even sworn you saw him roll his eyes faintly “No you didn’t, you were a mere 15 year old” there was a bit of laughter behind his sentence before he regained his composure and went back to his former self from a few minutes ago, looking at your face quizzically as if there was something hidden in there that held the answer to his question  “So why are you doing this”

You try and miserably fail to convey a nonchalant look on your face as memories of your time with the emperor fill your mind, not just the carnal ones, but those where you would watch him work for his place in the royal hierarchy, the soft sides around the rough edges that were publicly hidden on purpose, turning away from the guard you say softly “Yoongi’s a great man”

“Okay sure, he could do with a more...tame temperament, but what does that have anything to do with you chopping your own head off”

You try your best to ignore the way your heart seems to physically ache at the thought behind the answer; you almost don’t get enough strength from within to mutter “I’m hoping to get him some closure, be an even better ruler”

“That’s- definitely not how it’s supposed to work Y/N” Jungkook says incredulously 

 “I was technically part of the killing so, it’s all the same”

He huffs before going to stand up, dusting off his uniform and already facing away from you, before you can hear him call for you one last time “Yoongi’s in his room, you know, he was looking for you a few hours ago, in case that information helps in any way”

So perhaps you were naive for thinking that he would answer his door, he would have no reason to do so, especially given the circumstances, if it were you, opening the door to the person that had confessed of murdering your mother, and having them come up at your room, you wouldn’t even need to think it once to decide not to further interact with them, but Jungkook had said Yoongi had been looking for you before, so the chance of him wanting to see you alive one last time were there. Unless you were reading it all wrong. You turned your back on the huge wooden door you had come to know as the emperor’s bedroom a few months back, resigned, when you heard the creaking of a door opening and a calm steady voice.

“So you’re going to just knock on my door and run away the same way you entered my life and are now leaving it forever?” his frozen tone still having an effect on your body as you turned to face him properly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity “Came to discuss a bargain for your life?”

“Not at all” you lock eyes with him when approaching him, until you were practically inside the room, his judgemental gaze still on you “I wanted to say my goodbyes properly, your majesty”

“Then don’t waste my time and come in already, Y/N” 

The royal wasted no time in cornering you against the door, face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin, the tip of his nose nuzzling the side of your face and you knew him enough to know he had his eyes closed to keep his composure as he talked “I’m going to miss you like a fucking mad man” 

It felt like falling back into routine, the way he kissed you, down to your neck up to your collarbone, pushing past the robes that covered your skin, in preparation for the ritual, his hands roaming freely in a familiar way, grabbing all the right places as he draws little sounds from your throat, all while he worked the both of you to where his bed was placed, although he was giving your body and pleasure a decent amount of attention, you couldn’t brush off the fact that he irradiated an angry aura, words left unspoken as he got his anger out by pleasuring both of you. Maybe himself more than you, as he removes himself from caressing your body as he usually did and positioned himself above you, his member laying flat on your already expecting tongue,as soon as you realised what his intentions were when he started undressing himself, his hips thrusting a few times in an experimental manner, soon enough finding a  pace at the same time as you bobbed your head up to capture as much of his length as you could inside your mouth, your hands captured under Yoongi’s weight, unable to help you work him further, the way you’d done before. 

You feel him start to thrust further into your throat at one particular kitten lick of yours to the tip of his cock, your head starting to hang from the edge of the mattress you two were on as he picked up the pace, his cock filling you up all the way until it hit the back of your throat a few times, you trying to whine around him, only further encouraging him to take a handful of your hair and push you further against him, your gag reflex taking the best of you as he held you there, nose close to his navel, deep grunts ripped from his lips, the air leaving your lungs and becoming slightly light headed after a few seconds of you tapping his thigh in a motion to let him know to let you breathe, at which Yoongi locked eyes with you, a mix of anger and longing in his yes as he  thrusts a few more times as saliva started dripping from your mouth, tears decorating your pink stained cheeks before he removed himself from you, giving you a few seconds to gain air before he repositioned both of you. A deafening silence taking over both of you, as you were still catching your breath and he positioned his cock at your entrance, his tip, wet with your saliva, playing with your folds for a few seconds, as you take a sharp intake of air when he enters you and immediately sets a slow deep pace. You can feel his member filling you up perfectly, mind racing with flashbacks to all those other nights before where the emperor and you shared endless nights all over the palace. 

The knowledge that this would be the last time creeping up in the back of your mind. You feel an unfamiliar wetness hit your neck where Yoongi was kissing your skin, rolling down as you identified it as tears, as he was still passionately thrusting into you. 

“I don’t want to lose you” his voice barely above a whisper, trying to conceal the way his chest was tightened with sadness 

“You have to let me go, Yoongi” one of your hands comes up to caress his locks as he pushes up to stare at your face, anger long gone and replaced with utter sadness before one last thrust has him filling you up with his seed, warmth enveloping you, a soft whimper leaving your lips as his cock leaves your cunt, a briskly wind coming from the window causing your body to shiver for a second at the loss of body heat on top of you.

“I guess this was it then” his cold and unnerved facade was on again, making the cold shivers in your body that much worse as you watched him adjust his clothes and walk out of the room, leaving you to dress yourself and ultimately face your fated destiny at the end of the day.

The palace’s front plaza is filled to the brim with spectators as the news got out that the Emperor was finally getting revenge for his mother’s killing, people from the kingdom and even some people from neighbouring ones all lined up in the outer sides of the fire marks that decorated the space to illuminate the middle path where you were placed in the end of it to walk your way up, two unknown guards on each side of you as each grabbed your elbows to push you forward, the rope certainly leaving marks on your skin as it was wrapped tightly around your wrists.  

You could only catch a glimpse of Yoongi’s blond hair, wrapped in his infamous black and golden hanbok, drums roaring in unison, people screaming as you watched him take the sword from the swordsman that had prepared the ritual beforehand, as someone wrapped a cloth around your eyes and you were promptly pushed forward, legs buckling every few seconds as you came to realise what you were about to face, it hadn’t been clear before, mere seconds away, finally falling to your knees, head bowed down in resignation as you could barely hear the sharp sword cutting the air around you, gasps from the crowd filling the air along with the constant sound of the drums around you. You could only hope your death would bring much needed peace to the monarch and his kingdom. Your heart seemed to want to burst out of your chest, if anything, Yoongi was known for being an espectacular swordsman, which hopefully made the whole execution that much easier. You could hear cheers and a metal cutting the air before your body fell limp to the ground.

But your consciousness never left, the drums couldn’t be heard anymore, cheers were replaced with confusion as a pair of hands helped you up to your knees, fumbling with the cloth around your eyes to come face to face with Min Yoongi kneeling before you, a subtle smile on his face as one of his hands caressed your cheek before helping you up beside him.

“I’m sure you all must be confused right now” he announced to his subjects “This woman right here, has got more courage in her than anyone that has ever worked for me, any of us, for that matter. Which is why I’m asking once again, publicly, for the first time, for her hand in marriage” he turned to face you, as you were still dazed by the whole ordeal, his hand in yours being the only thing holding you down “Marry me, Y/N”

#kwritersworldnet #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtanuniversity #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #bts fanfics #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios

[lilyofthesword-writes]

The Deal (The Mandalorian Oneshot)

Summary: You work as a mechanic and part time mercenary (when required) for Ran and his crew. Ran forces you on one more mission with an old Mandalorian “friend” alongside Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an and Zero.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 3,220

Warnings/Disclaimers: Some violence, mentions of past injury

A/N: Takes place during The Prisoner. There will probably be a follow up piece at some point. I need to decide which direction to go in first.

Masterlist

You had just set down your soldering iron, having almost finished with an incapacitated droid’s wiring, when a pre-Empire ship landed in the the docking bay. Was this the “old friend” Ran had mentioned with a suspiciously sly grin? Part of you hoped so. This guy was supposed to be your ticket out of here. At least... If everything goes according to plan.

Pulling off your gloves, you swiped away the sweaty hairs sticking to your forehead before moving to the nearby lockers for your armor. Now that the esteemed guest was here, you might as well get ready. You didn’t have much armor-wise but it was enough to protect your chest and back. Being the newest member of the crew, they had not afforded you much to work with.

Now suited up, you attached your blaster to your hip and hid a vibroblade in your boot. When you turned back to face the ship, the ramp was down and Ran was walking vaguely in your direction with a Mandalorian at his side. Wait... A Mandalorian?! Ran had failed to mention that part.

They stopped by Mayfeld first for introductions with you being called over shortly after Mayfeld made his typically dumb comments. You offered a handshake to the Mandalorian while giving your name.

He hesitated momentarily before taking your hand in a solid grip. “Call me ‘Mando’.”

You nodded resolutely. Man of few words. You could work with that. It was certainly better than Mayfeld never shutting up.

Then, Burg found his way to your group, making mention of how he expected Mandalorians to be bigger. And finally there was Xi’an. She started in her typical psychotic fashion with one of her knives to Mando’s clothed throat. He didn’t even flinch having obviously already met, something else you had to learn on your own. Apparently, this Mando had run with Ran’s crew years ago. Just from this meeting, you wondered what changed. The current Mando just didn’t seem the type.

During the whole exchange, you kept quiet off to the side, trying not to roll your eyes or shake your head. Your “teammates” were being assholes again, and you wanted no part of it. Though Mando’s helmet faced the others, you could feel his gaze on you. Being a part of all of this... Yeah, he had no reason to trust you.

As the group meandered to the ship you now knew as the Razor Crest, you fell to the back and made yourself as small as possible so as not to attract their attention. Mando was the only one to notice, fading away from the crew to fall in line with you.

“What’s someone like you doing with them, Mesh’la?” he asked in a hushed tone.

Mesh’la? What does that word mean? You just shrugged, keeping your gaze straight ahead. Burg may have said he was small, but to you he was tall and imposing, especially when he was so close to your side. “I don’t have much choice. I owe them.”

His helmet tilted to the side, silently asking you to continue. Why does he care? Shaking your head, you sped up your gait and climbed the ramp.

Once your little rag-tag group plus the droid Zero settled aboard the ship, you took a moment to lean back on the wall and close your eyes. It was one of the ways you calmed your nerves. With Zero plugged into the system, Mando climbed down the cockpit, joining the rest of you in the hull. Then, the “fun” began.

“Let’s see your face, Mandalorian,” Burg started in along with Mayfeld.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing quietly but still with plenty of exasperation. This was Mando’s ship, and they had the nerve to harass him about his helmet. “Are we really doing this right now?” you muttered under your breath.

Xi’an called your name in a poisonously sweet tone, “Dear, keep your mouth shut.”

Guess she managed to hear you over all the noise. Maker, you really did not like her. She was always on your case about something, trying to make your life harder than necessary.

The boys continued egging Mando on, Burg going so far as to get physical to force the helmet off. In the scuffle, they managed to hit a button for a compartment in the far wall, causing it to swish open and reveal both the cutest and strangest little creature you had ever seen.

Mayfeld picked it up and held it out where you were able to get a better look. Its bright brown eyes enraptured you immediately, and stars, you wanted to pet those big ol’ ears. Its oversized robe that it was swaddled in tied together the whole aesthetic. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and you would give your life for this child.

Then, the former Empire lackey had to start screwing around. Mando visibly tensed underneath all that armor like he was ready to rip Mayfeld apart if anything happened to the kid. It was when he pretended he was going to drop the little one that you broke. Pushing yourself off the wall, you gently snatched the kid away into your arms, one hand holding his head protectively.

“Kriff, what is wrong with you?!” You tenderly stroked the child’s head. He happily cooed at you, reaching for your face. “You may be a merc, but there are lines that should not be crossed!”

The entirety of the hull was stunned into silence at your outburst, including yourself. You usually kept to yourself, only speaking when spoken to, but you were fuming now.

As you faced Mando to return the kid, Zero announced an immediate drop from hyperspace. Tousled and sent to the floor, you somehow swiveled yourself just enough to keep from squishing the child, landing hard on your shoulder blade. The Razor Crest violently docked on the prisoner ship, preventing you from sitting up to check on the kid. The instant the vibrations ceased, you found yourself being pulled up to your feet.

“Thanks, Mando.” Cute baby babbling attracted your attention. “You good, Little Green?”

He squeaked, pleased with his new nickname. His clawed fingers clutched your chest armor. Had you not been wearing your armor, he probably would have left little holes in your shirt with how tightly his claws clung to you. You gingerly pried him off, and passed him to Mando, earning you one solid nod. He placed the kid back in the sleeping compartment, safely shutting him inside when he was comfortable.

After making sure the hatch was correctly attached to the prisoner ship, Mando returned to your side. His stance made it clear he was not going first. That was Mayfeld’s job anyways. You usually were somewhere in the middle when it came to scoping out a new environment, so you stood by waiting for your turn. Once Burg was down, you started towards the hatch, but you were harshly shoved to the side and knocked into Mando.

“Oh, sorry, Sweetie. Didn’t see you there.” Xi’an’s lips curled into a predatory grin.

You gave her no reaction, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. You waited for her to disappear down the hatch before shaking your head with a sigh.

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Mando muttered.

You shrugged with a light laugh. “People like her probably don’t want to.”

With that, you slid down the ladder.

Of course there had to be a shootout. Your group had run into a set of security droids, their fire pinning you down in the hall. Firing a couple of shots, you turned to Mando but only caught a glimpse of his cloak swishing around the corner. Kriff! Where’s he running off to?

It was only when he was completely out of sight that the others noticed, Mayfeld griping about him abandoning them. You continued shooting at the droids, not doing a very good job of aiming from your position. Cautiously poking your head out to get a better idea of where they were, you saw Mando standing proudly behind the droids. As though for dramatic effect, he paused before extending the blade to the knife he was holding. The way he did it with such confidence... Okay, kinda hot.

Stuck in a trance, you could only crouch there and watch as Mando radiated grace and power, slicing through the droids like a whirlwind. And you had to admit the unexpected flamethrower was a nice touch at the end. What other weapons did he have at his disposal?

With the droids out of the picture permanently, you gathered yourselves and made for the control room where a rather sad, unimpressive New Republic officer sat quivering. Mayfeld immediately teased and threatened the poor guy, though you were pretty sure he was more terrified of Mando’s presence than Mayfeld’s word vomiting. The officer held up a remote that could call in the authorities who would destroy the ship. Having had enough, Mando stepped in to calm the situation. However, your soft breath of relief was short lived. Mayfeld brandished his blasters, aiming them at the officer. Mando set his firearm’s sight on the ex-Imp who returned the favor.

“We don’t have time for this,” you scowled and raised your blaster at Mayfeld. “Let’s just get what we need and go!”

“You know, I liked you better when you didn’t speak,” he spat. “And what, you’re on his side now?”

Mando almost imperceptibly inched his way to place himself more in between you and Mayfeld.

“And I liked you since never. So there’s that,” you snarked, keeping your firearm trained on him. “Mando’s right. No one needs to die.”

You caught a glimpse of hope in the officer’s eyes that was immediately snuffed out with one of Xi’an’s throwing knives. No one appreciated that move, especially since it caused the remote had been accidentally activated. Finding the cell number, you all ran from the room and down the alarm-ridden halls, Burg using his raw strength to pummel and throw a couple of large, black droids housing heavy artillery along the way. Reaching the target’s cell was easy after that.

When the cell door opened, you did not expect to see a male Twi’lek. Then again, you didn’t know what you were expecting to begin with. Qin, as you quickly learned, was Xi’an’s brother and Mando’s former ally from when he worked for Ran. Before you had time to comprehend everything, Burg was shoving Mando into the cell. You reached out for his arm to pull him back out before it was too late, but wound up on the floor next to him.

Xi’an’s lips turned upwards into a sneer and peered at you through the opening in the door, making it clear she was the one you threw you in.

“Guess this is goodbye, Sweetie. Just so you know, I always hated you being around,” she hissed with a grin.

“Tch. At least the feeling is mutual,” you growled back and sat up. How did anyone put up with her?

Before running off, they shot a blaster into the cell. Mando pulled you underneath him, wrapping around you so his beskar could shield you both from the laser blast loudly bouncing off the walls. When the sound ceased, Mando lifted his head tentatively just to be sure the blast had dissipated. He lifted his weight off of you, and helped you to your feet.

“You alright, Mesh’la?” There was that word, again.

His hand lingered on your shoulder just a moment longer than it should.

You nodded with a frown. “Other than being pissed at those guys for locking us in here, I’m fine.”

A light squeeze to your shoulder and he released you, checking out the opening at the top of the door. He let out a frustrated sigh. There wasn’t much time to get back to the Razor Crest, and if you did manage to get out, you’d have to make it back before the others did. Things were not looking very good.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes to think. “This was supposed to be an unmanned vessel, right?”

Mando rotated on his heel to look at you. “Yes.”

“So then the droids are the ones who can open the doors.”

“Yes...”

His head snapped back to the door, hearing a droid marching down the hall. It was like he read your mind. You were about to ask him if he had anything that could trap a droid when a grappling wire shot out from his vambrace, wrapping around a security droid and dragging it to the door. He proceeded to drop the droid while keeping its dismembered arm which he used to open the door.

“Damn, you’re good.” You had to keep your jaw from dropping.

With a cocky head tilt, he ushered you out of the cell and back to the control room where Mando hit the right switches to close specific doors, splitting up the four mercenaries. Rats in a maze.

Burg was the first combatant. He had gotten to the control room where you and Mando ambushed him. While the win did go to you two, damn it hurt being slammed into the ground like that. After that, Mando had you head straight for the ship to take care of Zero while he focused on the others. Unfortunately for you, you ran into Qin just as you were about to climb the ladder.

“Aww, how cute. You abandoned your little Mandalorian to get out of here alive,” Qin cooed menacingly.

You whipped around with your blaster in hand, clicking the safety off. “If that’s what you want to think, fine.” Your lips pressed together in a fine line.

“Now, now, Sweetheart.” He kept coming towards you slowly as though trying to make himself seem docile. “How about this? You and me leave together. We live and you get whatever reward Ran has for you.”

“If you’re anything like your sister,” you scoffed, “then I’d be better off leaving you for dead here. Now stand down.”

He chuckled, “How can I stand down when I’m unarmed, Sweetheart?”

Hearing that pet name from his mouth made your skin crawl. You wanted to get away from him as fast as possible, but you’d never make it up the ladder in time nor would you be able to run past him. You could just shoot and he would never bother you again, but you really did not want to kill anyone. You had gone the past few years as a temp merc without having to commit such an act. Sure, you hurt people but you could never bring yourself to cross that line. It still made you sick just leaving a bruise on someone.

Qin could feel your reluctance and kept slinking closer. You needed to do something. If he made it within arms reach, he would attack and you could possibly lose your gun, your advantage, in the scuffle. While you were scrappy, your physical strength could be easily overpowered. Thankfully, you didn’t have to worry too much about that.

Mando rounded the corner silently (how in all that armor you will never know) and now had his blaster pressed against the back of Qin’s head.

“Unarmed but still a threat,” Mando snarled through his modulator.

Qin froze on the spot. “Mando... Good to see you, again...” He nervously laughed.

Mando did not say a word. He grabbed Qin by the arm, forcing him to turn around so his back was to you while being cuffed.

“You killed them, didn’t you?” Qin asked quietly.

“They got what they deserved.”

Back on the Razor Crest, you sat in the copilot seat to Mando’s left while Qin, who was not allowed out of anyone’s site, sat to the right. Just before Mando jumped into hyperspace, the child appeared next to you, tugging on your pants. He practically clambered up your leg to settle himself in your lap, much to Mando’s chagrin.

“Hey, Little Green,” you whispered, bouncing the cutie on your leg.

With hyperspace, came a comfortable silence. You were lucky Qin decided to keep his mouth shut. He was technically still a prisoner.

“I used to be a mechanic on Coruscant,” you started.

The pilot seat swiveled just enough for you to know Mando was listening, his helmet titled curiously.

“You wanted to know how I ended up on Ran’s crew, right?”

He nodded for you to continue. In the corner of your eye, you saw Qin pretending not to pay attention.

“Because Ran and his crew started up a shootout with a rival merc group, I was shot and bleeding out. He did help me but apparently saving my life after being the cause in the first place wasn’t a fair trade to him. I wasn’t in my right mind to argue...”

Qin just smirked knowingly. After getting to know Ran, it wasn’t uncommon for him to pull stunts like that. He always got what he wanted.

Mando turned to fully face you as you looked away to rub the little one’s ear who contentedly babbled and played with the fingers of your free hand.

“Is there any way out of the deal?”

You shrugged. “This was it. If I helped retrieve the target,” you paused to glare at Qin, “then Ran would consider the deal fulfilled.”

“Then, you’re done.”

You sighed heavily. “I hope so. Pretty sure he won’t be too happy about losing three members while only gaining one.”

A chuckle snuck through his modulator. “You let me worry about that, Mesh’la.”

Qin sauntered down the ramp first, happily greeting Ran. Mando followed shortly after, placing himself in front of you.

“Where are the others?” Ran frowned.

Mando straightened his stance more, if that were even possible. “No questions, right?”

“Right...” Ran’s gaze focused on you as he said your name. “Got some more droids that need fixing.”

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to not grind your teeth. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Yeah, well you lost crew members.”

Mando shifted to block Ran’s view. “The target has been retrieved and delivered. The deal is complete.”

He definitively turned his back on Ran, his cloak flourishing behind him. It had a very “I have spoken” vibe. Mando nodded for you to return to the ship. You registered Ran folding his arms like he was angrily pouting before walking off with Qin.

Back in the cockpit, the kid crawled his way back into your lap during take off.

Mando tilted his helmet in your direction. “Was there anything of importance to you on the station?”

“No... All I have are the clothes on my back.”

“Good.”

That was when the X-Wings dropped in and fired at the merc station, explosions lighting up the area.

“You brought that remote with you...”

Mando hummed in response.

“Nice.”

The Razor Crest jumped into hyperspace and fell into another contemplative silence. Now you could appreciate the way the blue and white lights whizzing past reflected off Mando’s beskar. It was almost ethereal. As if on queue, he spun the pilot’s seat around.

“So. Need a job?”

You smirked lopsidedly as the child took one of your fingers in his tiny hands. “Why? You got any openings?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #baby yoda #grogu #xi'an #mayfeld #migs mayfeld #burg #zero #qin

[oo-hazel-oo]

The Lucky Batch

hey y’all! i’ve been working on this for a hot minute — turns out i am incapable writing anything shorter than 5,000 words, so sorry in advance for how long this got. a huge thank you to @cosmicghostie for being the ultimate writer's cheerleader and to the rest of the lucky batch for giving me such amazing characters to work with! you all genuinely brighten my day, so i hope this brightens yours! ♥︎

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lucky: a few days in the life of Clone Force 37’s unofficial therapist

content warnings: blood/injury, weapon use, lots of emotional distress (but also some fluff to make up for it!!)

Thumbs didn’t know when he had become Clone Force 37’s unofficial therapist. It just kinda happened.

His original role as the squad’s battle strategist shifted after he realized that his usual skill-set wouldn’t be helpful to a squad who typically threw strategy out the window.

Yet even without a set strategy, the unconventional group somehow had a relatively high success rate when it came to their missions. Thumbs had assumed it was their unpredictability that gave them an advantage. Or the fact that each of them had unique abilities, unlike any soldiers he had ever met.

However, the longer he was with Clone Force 37, the more he started to notice just how special his batch-mates were.

The twins, Foxy and Pepper, had caught his attention first. Both were skilled in their own ways, but what stood out to Thumbs was how each was fiercely protective of the other. He wasn’t sure what the pair had gone through to end up on the Clover, but he couldn’t help but notice the weight of Foxy’s quiet around strangers or the subtle promise behind each sticker that Pepper placed. Thumbs knew more than anyone, love was always accompanied by fear.

He saw this fear in Master Kenhla, every time she glanced towards the two padawans she had come to mentor. Despite her powerful posture, Thumbs could see how she carried the galaxy on her shoulders; not so that she could manage more, but so her brothers could bear less.

Brothers like Rane and Skip, who had lost everything, everyone, before finding their place with the Lucky Batch. Or Sparks and Ryder, both of whom blamed themselves for tragedies of the past.

They all had lost so much… Yet, by some miracle, they had found each other.

Thumbs would do anything to make sure it stayed that way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This particular day had started normally, which for Thumbs meant wincing as three screaming forms barreled towards where he sat knitting at the back of the ship. He set his needles down, knowing he would not be getting back to work anytime soon.

“Here we go,” he mumbled under his breath as his batchmates shouted from across the hull.

“THUMBS!!!”

The small stampede, which was revealed to be Sparks, Ballast, and Luna, raced towards him, each one attempting to outpace the other.

“Oh Maker, Ballast, what did you do?”

The batcher in question skidded to a stop, mock-offense written across his face. “I didn’t-”

Thumbs gave each of his batch-mates a once-over, scanning them for injuries. “Should I get Pepper? Is anyone hurt?”

“Not yet,” the two mechanics both mumbled under their breath.

Thumbs sighed in equal parts relief and exhaustion. Ballast and Sparks had been ‘friendly’ rivals for as long as he had known the pair. Unfortunately for him, their rivalry often extended outside the realm of mechanics and into the everyday affairs of the Lucky Batch, with Thumbs usually acting as the chosen mediator of these disagreements.

Sparks pointed at Ballast, pleading his case. “He ate all the cookies Jack made me!”

“You’re overreac-”

“And drank all my caf.”

Now Thumbs understood the near-murderous look on Sparks’ face.

His brother had always done so much for the batch and asked for very few things in return, one of those things being his morning cups of caf: a simple but necessary pleasure that allowed him to function throughout the day.

Thumbs brought his attention back to the pair in front of him, wondering whose word to trust more. Then he brought his gaze down, to a much more reliable source.

“Luna, what happened?”

The padawan looked up nervously, her eyes partially hidden behind choppy bangs. Thumbs smiled when he noticed she was wearing the mittens he had knit for her. He had originally made pairs for both her and Brisk while they were stationed on a colder planet, but now Luna liked to wear them for fun, claiming they made her look like an ewok.

The young girl shrunk from the attention that was suddenly on her, moving closer to Ballast’s side.

“I…”

“What happened is he drank all my caf.” Sparks stepped forward, jabbing another accusatory finger towards Ballast. “The caf that prevents me from strangling my brothers when they get on my nerves.”

Thumbs spoke up, attempting to diffuse the rising hostility. “I thought you didn’t even like caf, Ballast. I always see you drinking that tea Jackal likes.”

The mechanic shifted on his feet nervously. “Well, I…”

Thumbs looked towards his brother curiously, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Something about the whole dispute seemed off, almost like Ballast was covering for someb-

“Wait,” a small voice piped up from behind the three brothers. “B-Ballast didn’t take your caf, I did.”

“You-” Sparks spun towards the voice with an instinctive glower before recognizing its source. His features softened almost instantly. “What?”

Luna shrugged sheepishly. “I wanted to see if it was good… It was! And Master Ken said I was exceptionally energetic during our training afterwards.”

Thumbs fixed his gaze on Sparks expectantly, curious how he would react to the young batcher’s confession.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, wringing her mittened hands. “I know I should’ve asked.”

Sparks cleared his throat awkwardly as he waved off her apology. “No, it’s uh... It’s fine.”

Luna’s expression remained uncertain and Ballast elbowed Sparks in the side, urging him to reassure the young girl.

“Really, I mean... I shouldn’t even be drinking that much anyway,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily.

Ballast grinned at Sparks, eating up the moment.

Thumbs couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto his own face as well. For a squad of soldiers who had fought countless battles and overcome powerful enemies, they sure did surrender fast when it came to their padawans. No one onboard the Clover was immune to their effortless charm.

Luna eventually looked up at Thumbs, seeking his own approval, which he happily granted with an encouraging thumbs up.

There was a welcome moment of silence before Sparks’ head jerked upwards once more.

“Wait, what about my cookies?”

“Hmm...” Ballast looked to the floor dramatically, feigning deep thought. “You mean the chocolate chunk cookies with sea salt and a fine caramel drizzle?” He smirked before continuing. “I have no idea.”

Sparks took two threatening steps towards Ballast and within seconds the two of them were chasing each other throughout the Clover with Luna giggling in their wake.

For the clones, who quite literally were forced to grow up too fast, the padawans’ presence reminded them of what a childhood should be. It kept them grounded, desperate to preserve that feeling for the young girls for as long as they could. And if that meant that Luna could get away with stealing Spark’s caf, then so be it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That evening’s supply trip was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out operation to gather necessary materials for the coming weeks. But it had already been three hours since Ballast, Sparks, and Foxy’s expected return and no one on the Clover had received an update on their whereabouts.

Thumbs wasn’t someone who paced often. While the rest of the galaxy seemed to be in constant motion, Thumbs always tried his best to remain still at its center. But the longer he waited for his batchmates’ return, the more he felt like he was spinning off his axis, unable to stop the repetitive trajectory of his feet throughout the hull.

He wasn’t even aware of his own movements until they were interrupted by the sound of distant yelling. Strained shouts echoed from outside the Clover’s walls, nearly imperceptible amidst the intensifying wind. Their tone, panicked and desperate, was more bone-chilling than the rain that had started to fall around them.

Storms had always scared Thumbs. He hated seeing flashes of lightning, understanding that the explosion of thunder would follow, but never knowing when. Deep down he knew that thunder was harmless, that lightning posed the greater threat, but at least it was quick, unexpected, gone in a flash. Thunder was slow, deafening, inevitable.

When the Clover’s ramp finally lowered to reveal a bloodied Sparks cradled in Ballast’s arms, he knew that the lightning had passed.

This was the thunder.

Thumbs watched in silence as his brothers stumbled into the hull of the ship, a trail of mud and blood left in their wake. Ballast and Foxy eased Sparks onto the closest bunk, removing his armor to better assess the injury. Luna and Brisk dashed into the room, their eyes widening at the horrific sight. Luna’s breaths came in labored bursts as she called for Pepper, tears streaming down her face.

The squad’s medic came running, following the worried gaze of the two young girls who stood near the bunks. He spared a brief glance at Foxy before quickly donning a pair of gloves and shouting orders to nearby batch-mates. Hearing the commotion, Master Kenhla arrived and immediately ushered her padawans out of the room, not wanting them to witness the sight of their brother in pain.

While before Thumbs had been unable to sit still, now he felt frozen, cold as the ice on Hoth. His brothers were right in front of him, yet he felt as if he were watching the scene unfold from millions of miles away.

He kept thinking back to that morning — Sparks had been fine, albeit cranky over his lack of caf, and now…

Thumbs hated it. He hated how things could change so quickly.

He watched as Ballast, usually explosive in his mannerisms, now held Sparks’ hand in his own, whispering words of comfort as his brother lay motionless on the cot.

Thumbs suddenly felt sick to his stomach, a shrill ringing filling the air around him. The echoes of a memory that had been stagnant for years, forced into the depths of his mind, suddenly emerged:

An argument, a battle, another brother gone. A hand desperately squeezing his own before going limp, devoid of all life.

Another hand, this one from the present, landed on his shoulder, dragging him out of one nightmare and into another. A voice was speaking, asking if he was alright, telling him to sit down.

Thumbs’ guilt only increased. Hands that should be helping his fallen brother were instead on his own shoulders, urging him towards the nearest seat. He shrugged them off with an uncharacteristic roughness, finally taking a few shaky steps towards Sparks.

He had almost made it to the bunk when the same pair of arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him back.

“Thumbs, stop,” the voice urged. “You need to let Pepper help him. There’s nothing you can do.”

He knew the words were supposed to be comforting. He had spoken the same ones to almost every soldier who had come to him burdened with the invisible weight of survivor’s guilt. Sometimes it was what they needed to hear; other times, it wasn’t.

The last thing Thumbs saw was an oxygen mask being lowered onto his brother’s face before eventually succumbing to the arms around him, letting himself be removed from the scene.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Thumbs woke up the next morning with a headache.

Foxy, who had been the one to escort him out of the room the night before, filled him in on what had happened during the supply run.

Apparently as the trio had made their way back to the ship, bandits had intercepted them. The ragtag group of thieves were lacking in both numbers and artillery and hadn’t been particularly difficult to subdue. Sparks had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the unforgiving crossfire of a supply trip gone wrong.

Thumbs wished he had been there. Maybe then he could’ve shouted to his brother in warning or pulled him out of harm’s way. Stars, he would’ve jumped in front of the deathly bolt himself if it meant Sparks was still standing at the end of the day.

The two of them had grown close over the past few months, especially after Thumbs learned the story behind Sparks’ name. He could tell that his brother’s outwardly gruff attitude was just a shield used to protect the sensitive, guilt-ridden soldier beneath. Even one offhand criticism of his work as a mechanic could bring him back to the accident and a past he wished desperately to forget.

Because of this, Sparks would often work through the night, losing himself in the wires and circuits of the ship to ensure he didn’t make the same mistake twice. Thumbs was always at his side reminding him to take breaks, to drink water when he was thirsty, to eat when pangs of hunger hit...

But there was little he could do for Sparks now as he lay unconscious in the hull of the Clover.

Pepper had done everything he could, luckily managing to stabilize their brother within a few hours of the incident. Sparks was slowly showing signs of improvement — he had even woke up briefly in the early hours, mumbling something about watering Percy, before slipping back into the depths of unconsciousness.

Percy was the name of one of Sparks’ plants, something Thumbs discovered after walking in on his brother affectionately repotting it in a moment of assumed privacy.

He smiled at the memory, shaking his head in disbelief. It was just like Sparks to be worried about keeping his plants alive while he was barely clinging to life himself.

With nothing to do but wait until his brother woke up, Thumbs made his way into the hull of the ship where he found most of the batch engaged in a lively game of Dejarik. It was a tradition, meant to keep the batches' spirit alive when faced with tough times.

He almost started towards them when he felt a presence to his left, distanced from the laughter of the others.

Thumbs’ gaze landed on Ryder as he stared out of the cockpit window absent-mindedly, though he knew from his expression that his mind was anything but absent.

Thumbs approached slowly, not wanting to startle the squad’s weapons specialist.

“Hey Ry, you alright?”

Ryder glanced up, a flash of surprise illuminating his expression, before looking back down, his face once again shrouded in darkness.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A barrage of laughter sounded from the other side of the room, where everyone was still gathered. “Think I’m gonna go for a ride though.”

“Oh, okay…” Thumbs replied, wanting to say more to his obviously-distracted brother. “Mind if I tag along?”

“You always do,” Ryder said, shooting him a small smirk.

“Hey!” Thumbs laughed, punching his shoulder lightly.

Ryder chuckled, nodding for Thumbs to follow him to the far corner of the hull. Once there, he opened the weapons cabinet, extracting a couple blasters and holstering them on his form.

Thumbs looked at his brother questioningly.

“Just in case,” Ryder said, carefully checking over his chosen artillery.

Thumbs nodded quickly, admonishing himself for not thinking more practically, especially after what happened with Sparks. It was a dangerous thing to give the galaxy the benefit of the doubt.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The planet they were currently docked on was beautiful. The hues of its rolling hills were softened by the dying light, the gentle breeze transforming the tall grasses into golden waves. The sky’s colors evolved with each passing minute, all evidence of the previous night’s storm lost to its changing shades.

It was Thumb’s favorite time of day. At dusk the light never seemed harsh; it was sympathetic, understanding. It hovered, never fully settling, like a cloud. But dusky light was also ephemeral. Thumbs wished he could freeze it, trap it in a jar and release it when he needed its soft companionship.

He knew too many people like dusk: perfect, until they were gone.

“It’s pretty here,” Thumbs eventually broke the silence, a welcome distraction from his own thoughts.

“Yeah,” Ryder replied as his eyes traced the horizon, “It is.”

“That why you’ve been coming out here so often?”

Thumbs knew his brother liked to take his speeder out on rides whenever he needed a break from the confines of the Clover. He would even accompany him from time to time. But recently he had been escaping much more frequently and Thumbs couldn’t help but worry that something else was going on.

Ryder chuckled lowly. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“Hey, you’re kinda hard not to notice.” Thumbs smirked, gesturing a hand towards his brother’s head: “Ya know, cause of the hair.”

Ryder grinned, blowing a stray strand out of his face. “Yeah, sure thing curly.”

Thumbs ran a hand through his own coily locks with a shy shrug.

The two brothers fell into a comfortable silence as fireflies blinked to life around them. Thumbs pretended they were shooting stars, closing his eyes and wishing for the speedy recovery of Sparks back onboard the Clover.

After a while, the air seemed to become heavy and Thumbs could tell that Ryder needed to get something off of his chest.

His suspicion was confirmed when he heard his brother sigh deeply, preparing to speak.

“Lately…” he started, tugging on the end of his turquoise braid. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

Thumbs nodded and moved to sit beside him in a subtle gesture of comfort.

“About them?”

Ryder nodded, knowing Thumbs was referencing his past squad.

“I’ve been having the dreams again.”

Thumbs’ face fell. He remembered the night he found out about Ryder’s nightmares as if it were yesterday.

He had been awake in the hull of the ship, too afraid that something bad might happen if he allowed himself the privilege of closing his eyes. Ryder had started tossing in his sleep, muttering the names and numbers of unfamiliar clones. Thumbs shook his brother awake, eventually guiding him outside of the ship when he struggled to regain his breath. The two of them had sat on the Clover’s ramp until long after the sun rose, each finding comfort in the other’s presence.

Since then, the nightmares had decreased, but every now and again they would return. The guilt would return.

“In the dream, I’m back on the venator,” Ryder described, his voice hoarse. “First there’s the flashing lights. Then voices, their voices, but they eventually fade away and then there’s just static. For a moment, everything is quiet, just a faint buzzing...”

Thumbs gave his brother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, letting him know he was still there, still listening.

“And then I’m in the escape pod. As I’m drifting away, I look back towards the ship, but it’s not the venator anymore. It’s the Clover.”

He paused, swallowing thickly.

“And then it’s just gone. Swallowed by fire.”

The unsettling images unearthed feelings that Thumbs never had the courage to voice out loud, but the anxious thrumming of Ryder’s fingers on the side of the speeder reminded him of his current task: to show his brother that he was there for him now, regardless of what happened in the past.

“Ry, I know there’s not a lot I can say. But know that they would’ve been so proud of you, of the soldier and brother you’ve become,” Thumbs reassured gently. “We all are.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ryder mumbled.

Thumbs frowned, knowing his brother wasn’t convinced.

“Well, this was supposed to be a surprise, but it looks like you need it now.”

Thumbs pulled out the pack he had brought with him, rifling through it until he found a small bundle. He nervously presented it to Ryder, who observed the way it had been carefully packaged in colorful gift wrap and adorned with stickers, most likely donated by Pepper.

“I made this for you,” Thumbs spoke as Ryder opened the parcel. “It’s a blanket, obviously, but it’s… Well, it’s got a little more to it than that. Each row of stitches is made of yarn from all the different places we’ve been to as a batch. Thought it could be cool to see how far we’ve all come. But I also know how important it is to you that we honor our pasts, so down here,” Thumbs pointed at the bottom left corner, “I stitched in the names of CT-2019 and CT-1882. And over here is General Lyle’s.”

Thumbs looked up at Ryder, trying to gauge his reaction.

“I know it doesn’t change anything, not really, but I thought maybe it could help you sleep at night.”

There was a long moment of silence as Thumbs began to doubt the impact of his gift. The whole idea was starting to sound stupid now. Maybe if he had-

“I… Thank you, Thumbs.” Ryder finally spoke, his voice cracking slightly. “Really. It’s- It’s perfect.”

Thumbs grinned, glad to see the glimmer of hope return to his brother’s eyes. “Of course, anything for my vod.”

Ryder held the blanket close, tracing his finger over the carefully stitched names of his old squad. His eyes scanned over the various colors and textures that Thumbs had incorporated, recognizing yarn from planets they hadn’t been to in years. How long had his brother been working on this?

He was just about to ask when a subtle movement drew his own gaze downwards. Thumbs was quietly bouncing his right leg, a nervous habit that Ryder had picked up on throughout their time together. He doubted that Thumbs was even aware of his own anxious mannerism, but Ryder could tell that something was on his mind.

“Hey, vod?” Ryder placed the blanket down, his focus now on his brother.

“Yeah?” Thumbs replied, still staring straight ahead.

Ryder thought back to something his companion had told him just moments ago, something that had made him feel important, valuable, seen.

“People notice you too.”

 Thumbs chuckled, thinking back to when he invited himself to join Ryder on his impromptu speeder trip just hours before. “Yeah, I guess my constant pestering makes it hard not to.”

“Yeah...” Ryder continued, almost hesitantly. It would be harder getting through to his brother than he thought. “But we also notice why you do that.”

“And why’s that?” Thumbs asked casually, not quite sure where Ryder was guiding the conversation.

“Because you care.”

At this, Thumbs finally met his brother’s eyes, confusion painting his features. The words were simple, yet something about them did not fully compute.

“No matter how many idiotic things we pull, you’re always there for us.”

Thumbs held his brother’s gaze, considering his words intently, before looking down to his feet. He frowned before mumbling something, barely audible above the light breeze:

“Not when it counts.”

The words sliced through the air, contrary to the soft tone in which they were spoken. Ryder couldn’t help the immediate snap of his head towards his brother.

“What do you-”

“Yesterday, with Sparks,” Thumbs interjected, his voice gaining strength. “No amount of pestering could’ve helped him.”

There was something about the way Thumbs was speaking — something that Ryder had missed before, something familiar — that was unravelling with each passing moment.

“But he’s okay now, he’s fine,” Ryder tried to console, his brow furrowed.

Thumbs scoffed. “That was just luck. I heard what Pepper said: If his injury had been just an inch to the left…” He ran a hand through his hair frustratedly.

“Well, luck is kinda our thing,” Ryder said, repeating words that Pepper had spoken to him when he first joined the batch.

“But I don’t want it to be!”

Ryder looked up in shock. In the entire time he had known Thumbs, he had never once heard him raise his voice. But shock soon turned to concern when he noticed the tears streaming down his brother’s face.

“I don’t want to rely on luck,” Thumbs choked out, his voice softening. “Not… not when it comes to the people I care about.”

Helplessness.

Ryder was well-acquainted with the feeling — the image of his former general on the other side, the wrong side, of an escape pod window, forever etched into his memory. He tried to think of something to say that could comfort his brother, but the only words that came to mind were the ones Thumbs had already spoken to him moments before.

The whole batch knew that Thumbs had always struggled to take his own advice and that reminding him to do so never seemed to have an effect. It was unusual to see him in such a vulnerable state, something the former-strategist was well aware of as he avoided his brother’s gaze, shame written across his tear-stained features.

Ryder cringed at the sight, knowing he would need to take a more unconventional approach to offer his brother reassurance, one that would hopefully provide him with a fragment of control in a galaxy that seemed to feed on chaos.

Ryder nodded once, steeling himself, before reaching down and pulling his twin blasters out of their respective holsters.

“You know,” he started, attempting to keep his voice level, “I got these from CT-2019 and CT-1882. They were graduation gifts.”

Thumbs turned his head curiously, wiping away a stray tear in the process. A small part of him fought back the urge to smile: unlike his brother, he had been given craft supplies and a book for graduation.

“I could teach you how to shoot ‘em, if you want.”

Thumbs looked towards his brother incredulously.

“Ry, I’ve shot a blaster before...”

Ryder exhaled breathily, a playful grin gracing his features. “Ah, not ones like these. These here are DC-17 hand blasters.” He held his weapons in front of himself reverently. “They’re more powerful than your standard blaster, more efficient too.”

Thumbs hesitated, his confusion at the sudden shift in topic still evident, before nodding slowly.

“Alright, sure.”

Ryder spent the next few minutes guiding Thumbs through the best way to handle the blasters — helping him correct his stance, improve aim, and prepare for recoil. The process was strangely reassuring, giving Thumbs something tangible to hold onto, something he could control.

“Hey, Ryder?” Thumbs asked, looking down at the weapon in his hands, the echoes of its former owners serving as a comforting reminder that those who were gone could still protect their brothers who lived to fight another day. Maybe when Thumbs was gone, he could do the same.

“Thank you.”

Ryder had just begun to respond when a noise sounded from behind them.

Thumbs startled and spun on his heel, impulsively throwing the first thing he could think of towards the nearby bushes: Ryder’s blaster.

He mentally facepalmed as his brother jumped off of the speeder, aiming his remaining blaster towards the sound. He held out a hand as he crept closer to the bushes, silently telling Thumbs to stay back.

A tense moment passed, before a tooka revealed itself from behind the bush.

Thumbs sighed in relief before looking up at Ryder guiltily.

“Probably not the best use of the blaster,” he said with a cringe.

“What, you wanted to shoot it?” Ryder questioned breathlessly, a smirk growing across his features.

“No, of course not!” Thumbs smiled, relieved that his brother didn’t seem upset over his moment of panic. The tooka sauntered up to him, rubbing its head against his legs.

Ryder retrieved the discarded blaster and walked back towards the speeder, the remnants of a smirk still visible on his face. “Well, looks like good things can come from bad luck.”

“Yeah,” Thumbs huffed, looking down at the small animal by his feet. “Guess so.”

And maybe that’s what Clone Force 37 was: a group of outcasts who were all in the process of turning their histories with bad luck into good things — good luck.

“C’mon, hop up,” Ryder said as held out an arm. “Let’s get back to the ship.”

Thumbs let himself be pulled into the speeder, the firm grip of his brother’s hand a silent reassurance: I’m here for you.

He leaned back, his eyes reflecting the stars that had started to appear above. He wondered how many of them he couldn’t see, how many millions of lives were being lived just out of his view.

Thumbs glanced over to the brother at his side, thinking about how lucky he was to have crossed paths with him, with all of them, in a universe of infinite proportions.

“We should probably pick up some caf for Sparks on the way back… I know he’ll want some when he wakes up,” Thumbs spoke, laying all the way back in the speeder.

Ryder nodded in agreement as they lurched forward. The sun had finally disappeared from view and the two soldiers soon became mere silhouettes against the dimming night sky.

But anyone familiar with Clone Force 37 knew that they were so much more than two small blips on the horizon:

They were brothers.

And Thumbs was positive that nothing in the galaxy could ever change that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

@the-lucky-batch @lavenderstaars @lynnpaper @foxlock @maygalodon @mango-peachjuice @radbatch @letsunity @burnthashbrown27 @generaltano @catboy-tech @cosmicghostie @namesmox @monako-jinn-stories @longearedowlfromouterspace @lusiawonder @just-another-dreamerr

#the lucky batch #clone force 37 #fam force 37 #cf37 thumbs #cf37 sparks #cf37 ryder #cf37 ballast #cf37 luna #cf37 foxy #cf37 pepper #cf37 kenhla #cf37 brisk

[giggleandtears]

Crimson Renegade, Part 3

What it feels like to match wits (With someone at your level) 

Summary: Danvers and Kirk enjoy winding McCoy up

Pairings: OC/Jim Kirk(Platonic), OC/Leonard McCoy(Eventual Romance)

A/N: If you haven't seen Star Trek Discovery season 2, Pike makes it well worth it. ;-)

Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Guiding me to the closest patient area, McCoy offers his hand to assist me in sliding onto the bio-bed. Jim quirks a brow at the chivalrous gesture but McCoy has already turned away to gather a few supplies for the exam. When Jim saddles up beside him, my mind runs wild with comparing the two men. Though they are roughly the same height, the air that surrounds them couldn’t be more different.  

Jim’s flaxen hair, crystal blue eyes, and perfectly chiseled jawline, screams fairy tale prince more than captain. Unless you use Captain Pike, circa 2250, as a barometer. Jim’s the type to whisk you off for an idyllic weekend getaway in a cabin, nestled between snow-capped mountains. A roaring fire would await, champagne chilled and at the ready. I think Dr. McCoy would take a slightly different approach. The fire would remain, as would a refreshing beverage. But replace the champagne with bourbon laden hot chocolate. The cabin would stand resolute against the onslaught of swirling flurries, having been built with the strength of his bare hands. Jim and McCoy are two sides of the same coin but only one is commanding my full attention.

"Ok, what you playin' at?” McCoy whispers to Jim, like salt through a grinder. It’s not standard practice for the captain to escort an uninjured crew member to the Med-bay just for a friendly hello. Jim looks on in unabashed amusement and lets McCoy continue his tirade. “We almost got shot to tarnation and you’re here to introduce a woman? Good god man! Have you no shame?” He says in a huff, gathering and regathering the same tricorder and PADD. “Are those boots even regulation?”

“They are.” I chime in sweetly, like honey flowing fresh from the comb. The boys slowly turn at McCoy’s covert mutterings being so easily overheard. “But the tights sadly are not, yet.”

Walking over to me, McCoy places the PADD beside me and can’t stop his eyes from wandering down. Under further inspection, my boots are indeed regulation, stopping just above my calves. The tights, however, are of my own design. Dark mesh blends expertly with my boots before shifting into a less opaque hue, coming to a point over my knee. Tracing McCoy’s gaze downward, I completely understand why the higher hemline of my dress uniform and the illusion of knee-high boots leaves the doctor’s mouth a bit parched.  

Clearing his voice before he continues, McCoy begins to run the tricorder around my head, then on a steady path from my forehead to abdomen and back. “So, what brings you to our favorite tin can in the sky?”

“I'm working on a new shield prototype with Scotty. Can't steal your head engineer, so here I am.”

“At least he's not on that ice planet anymore.” Jim says, with a nearly imperceptible shiver.  

“You always say that, but I had fun on Hoth.”

Shaking his head, Jim snorts wryly. “You’re about the only one.”

McCoy raises his brow at the name, no doubt never hearing of that planet in any star system. Sadly, that also means his knowledge of historical fiction is sorely lacking. How it’s not a more beloved genre is beyond me. Jim mouths ‘You don’t want to know’ to McCoy and lets it drop.  

“Keenser’s hooch always kept me warm. And what else do you really need besides that and good company?” I say. “Besides, it never seemed to be as cold as everyone whined it was.”  

A small smile highlights McCoy’s handsome features as he continues my scan. Although the warmth of his smile is unmistakable, the delicate lines around his eyes seem to narrate a tale of inner weariness. Something tells me coffee, a nap, or even a stiff drink couldn’t lessen whatever’s weighting on his shoulders.  

Returning to the conversation at hand, McCoy’s asks about my position on the Enterprise. “If you're a commander, doesn’t that make you chief engineer?”

“A commander is usually the head of a department. If Scotty needs me, I’ll be there to lend a hand but the prototype is my first priority.”

McCoy hums lowly in understanding, although his gaze has been diverted. He's concentrating deeply on the tricorder in his hands. After each tap of the device, his expressive brows grow closer and closer together.

“Something wrong?”

“Yea.” McCoy begins in a huff. “This darn thing is on the fritz again. I tried a few tricks Scotty taught me but nothin’s workin’. I assumed you were human and bypassed the initial scan but that didn’t help. You are human right?”

“To my knowledge, I am. Is trans-species a thing?”

“You’d be surprised.” McCoy says wryly. “All I got was you’re alive, but a bucktooth gopher in a melon patch is less obvious than that.”

I fail at holding back a snort.  “I have absolutely no idea what that means but it was certainly entertaining.” Offering to take a look, I extend my hand. “Let me see.” The blueprint for each circuit board and screen readout, run through my brain with ease. Fiddling with the small piece of technology is as natural as breathing.  Feeling the heavy gaze of a man no more than 2 paces away from me, is not. Widening his stance, McCoy impatiently crosses his arms after I open the back of the tricorder. I don’t think my brooding companion takes kindly to anything impeding his work, especially a pesky piece of equipment. “The circuits and connectors are in perfect condition, not charred or corroded. So, it must be a programming issue.” Replacing the back of the tricorder, I widen a few scan parameters and disable a couple more, then hand it back to McCoy. “Here, try this.”

After restarting the scan, the familiar steady beeps resume.  

“Well how ‘bout that.” McCoy says, with quiet astonishment. “How’d you know to do that?”

Swinging my legs like a schoolgirl, “Engineers are more than contraband and a good time, Dr. McCoy.”  I say, with cock my head and a cheeky grin. “Or haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve heard a lot of things but that don’t make’em true.”

Leaning the tiniest bit forward, “Is that a challenge?”  

McCoy meets my eye with a sumptuous quirk of his brow. “Only if you can deliver.”

A smile slowly spreads across my face. His steady gaze is electric, sending waves of heat to tickle my skin. Neither of us is backing down. With each passing millisecond something becomes abundantly clear; I am in trouble. Jim clears his throat, breaking us of the spell neither of us intended to cast. Honestly, I forgot Jim was even here.

Leaning back, I straighten my spine and clasp my hands in my lap. Professional as always. “So, did your scan turn up anything interesting?”

“Yea. Are you always this hot?” McCoy asks innocently, without any trace of innuendo.  

This is just too easy.  

Before I can reply, McCoy corrects himself.  “Is your temperature always this high?”

He’s learning  

“Yes. My temperature is usually above average for most humans. 99.3 to 102.4 is normal for me.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

Smiling, “I thought doctors liked specificity.”  

I expected to hear a smart quip but it never comes. McCoy’s face has grown dark.

“There’s also a fair bit of pressure at your temples and occipital lobe.”

Jim stiffens, instantly on alert. A nervous stab blooms in my stomach. I just got here. I can’t be grounded already. McCoy places a calming hand on my shoulder but addresses Jim. Silently they spar, only using their expressive eyes to communicate. I can read Jim like a well-trained empath but McCoy is a completely different beast. The altercation only lasts a few seconds but the decision is final.  

Jim sighs and stuffs his hands roughly in his pockets. “I’ll be right over there, ok?” After nodding, he saunters up to nurse and starts a friendly conversation. Jim manages to only look back once, our concerned expressions mirroring each other.  

“If only he was as protective with himself as the rest of us.” McCoy says.

Smiling weakly, I hum in agreement. With an ever-increasing nervous energy, I pick at the jagged edge of my thumb nail. I’m willing the pressure in my head to subside before McCoy takes the tricorder to me again.  

As if I'm a doe in a wooden glen that’s easily spooked, McCoy speaks much softer than before. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?”

I rub my forehead. “5, maybe.” Even to my own ears, it sounds more like a question than an answer.  

McCoy stares at me disapprovingly. Maybe I don’t have as good a poker face as I thought. He asks how long I've been having headaches and if they make my duties more difficult. I have to think back but it's been over 6 months. I can handle the pain but the dizziness that sometimes accompany them is harder to shake off. I've been found in a dark supply closet more times than I care to count. McCoy bobs his head with each detail I recount, though his lips remain pursed. He picks up the tricorder once again but decides to hand it off to a passing nurse.  

“Do hypos help with the pain?” McCoy asks. Vigorously rubbing his hands together, he steps forward. Meticulously, he feels around my throat and neck.  

“Only for a few hours.” I answer honestly.  

“What did your last physician say about them?”

“Since I could still fulfill my duties, not to worry until that changed.”

McCoy’s hands still. Exhaling harshly, his nostrils flare. “What kinda bonehead, idiotic...” With a sigh, McCoy calms himself. Letting the matter drop, he continues his exam. McCoy softly eases my head to the side to rest in his large palm. His nimble fingers purposefully flutter up and down the tendons in my neck, even into my shoulder blade. When he tilts my head back, I can’t help but stare. McCoy is so, determined. It’s as if my pain and discomfort are the only thing important to him. For a moment he closes his eyes to concentrate more intently on what he feels beneath his fingers. Smiling to myself, I close my own eyes before I’m caught.  

A slight sting radiates at the base of my neck where McCoy was focusing his attention.  His deft fingers and what I suspect was a sly hypo start to alleviate the pressure that’s been building for hours. Releasing a heavenly sigh of relief, I slowly blink open my eyes. Having them closed for only a few short moments; my lids have become quite heavy.  

McCoy tips my head back with a knuckle under my chin. When my eyes catch the light, he inhales suddenly. “Well I’ll be-.” He whispers, astonished. He slowly moves forward as if an invisible string is pulling us together. I’m enveloped by his impressive stature. His warmth seems to seep into my every pore and somehow, I already know I’ll miss it when he moves away. A sly smirk creeps onto my lips when McCoy’s eyes round in amazement. Imaging myself through his eyes is intriguing. Warm brown eyes of amber with flecks of maroon. It’s a fairly typical combination in this day and age, except they weren’t always like this. The longer the light shines in my eyes, the red specs bend and shift until it nearly overtakes the brown. I found the change to be off-putting at first but I've grown to like it.

McCoy leans in closer and cocks his head to the side. “Retinal morphic photoplasia.” Taking a pen light out his pocket and sweeps it over my eyes. “With a nearly a 47% increase in your concentering rate. That’s mighty rare.”

I shrug nonchalantly.  “Yea. It’s just one of my many tricks.”

McCoy smirks until he realizes how close he is to me. His hand has inched up from my neck and is cradling my cheek in his palm.  Clearing his throat, he gently guides my head down and releases me. Dr. McCoy returns to his PADD, tapping harshly. His faced is etched in frustration as he mumbles to himself. I sigh inwardly. I miss the teasing back and forth, the banter. I’d even settle for Mr. Grumpy Pants.  

I speak as light and airy as possible. “So, am I dying Doc?”

“No!” McCoy says, jerking upright. “Why would you go and say somethin’ like that?”

“Because you're looking at my readings like I have the plague.”

“Now that would be a magic trick, since it's been cured for over 600 years.” Sighing, McCoy places the PADD down. “I’m just not too keen on mysteries in my Medbay.”

McCoy explains my scans are in normal ranges, though a little odd. The headaches could be stress related but he’s concerned about the duration. Since I can't think of any triggers and I couldn’t have come into contact with any alien contagions, McCoy decides to take a few samples and run some more extensive test.  After getting a nurse up to speed, McCoy gives me some very pointed instruction.  “Tell me immediately if the headaches get worse. It doesn’t matter if you can still do your duties.”

“Sure thing, Dr. McCoy.” His name rolls easily off my tongue. However, McCoy’s pinched expression looks like his mama forgot to sweeten his lemonade. “Did I say something wrong?”  

He shakes his head ‘no’ but doesn’t offer any further explanation for his sour expression. I’m starting to think maybe that’s just his face.  

Shaking it off, “So, am I good to go?”

“Yes ma’am. No palpations, fever, or hives to speak of.” McCoy drawls.  

Smiling, “Great!  Thanks Doc. I'll try to keep it that way.” Hopping off the bio-bed, I look around the Medbay.  “Now where did my escort get to?”

“Jim,” McCoy says, hollering over his shoulder. “Don’t you have a ship to run?”

Jim says a few last words to an utterly bewitched nurse and walks away. He leisurely walks over, smiling to himself. “So, what I miss?”  

“I don’t know. Home trainin’?” McCoy says, dismissively. I snort softly into my hand and McCoy rewards me with a small smile. But Jim’s piercing gaze is squarely on McCoy, waiting for my results.

McCoy answers simply, all joking aside. “The commander is cleared for duty-”

“Glad to hear it!” Jim says. His jovial-self returning.

“And she knows where to find me if that changes.” McCoy gives me another pointed look for good measure.  

Inwardly I chuckle to myself but stand straight at attention. I give the doctor an emphatic though comical two-finger salute. I know we haven’t had an active military in centuries and technically McCoy and I have equal rank. But he understands me nonetheless. Or I should say we understand each other. If my condition changes and I don’t tell him, he will hunt me down and there will be hell to pay. McCoy nods curtly, satisfied with my answer. After a beat, his eyes soften and the corner of his mouth lifts just a touch. Relaxing again, I smile in return.  

Jim sees our mostly silent exchange and shakes his head. He looks like the cat that caught the canary and I’m not sure I like where this is headed. “You know I always thought you two would get along.” Jim may be right but that doesn’t mean he has to point it out. “You never let me have any fun.” Oh, how I wish that was true. “Both of you can drink me under the table.” True. Jim pauses for good measure. “And you both hate people.”

And there it is.  

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose.  

“For Christ's sake-” McCoy growls.  

“I do not hate people!" We say in perfect unison.  

Slowly, McCoy and I look at each other with the same horrified expression. Brows in our hairlines, eyes bugging out and mouth agape.  We even mirrored each other’s tilted head. Neither of us know how to address what just happened, so we quickly act like it didn’t. McCoy becomes intensely interested in his PADD and I kick myself at falling for Jim’s bait so easily. His smirk is already insufferable but I do address his previous assertion.  

“After an 8-hour shift, who wants to be around people that can't hold a conversation, let alone a drink?” I ask rhetorically.  

“Couldn’t agree more darlin'.” McCoy says, clearly on my side.  

Trying to bite the inside of my cheek does little to disguise my smile. “Thank you.” I’m not sure what garners my appreciation more, his immediate understanding or being called darlin'. I haven't been called that particular term of endearment since I was a child. Oddly, I’m not averse to it. Especially coming from the doctor’s lips.  

“Wait,” Jim interjects, “are you finally admitting there are people you don’t like Commander?”

“Yes, and you are quickly becoming one of them Captain.”

This is quickly ramping up into a tit for tat situation and McCoy is having none of it. “Jim, can you let my patient get a hot meal before you start up again?”

Snickering, I mouth ‘Thank you’ and head for the door. As the doors slide open, I stop and look behind me. Jim is slowly walking with his back towards the door, whispering something to McCoy. I don’t know what he’s saying but McCoy crossed his arms in a huff. “Jim, you coming?” Jim turns smoothly on his heel, not missing a beat. The moment Jim’s back is to McCoy something peculiar happens. His arms drop and he … chuckles. His broad shoulders gently shake until he sighs to himself. For a moment he stares into space. The makings of a smile start to form-

“Danny, you coming?”

Jumping slightly, I turn towards Jim’s voice. He’s mere inches from my ear. After scowling in his general direction, I try to get one more glance at McCoy but he’s already gone. We walk in companionable silence toward my quarters but Jim is determined to spoil it. He keeps smirking like he has a secret every time he catches my eye. Its driving me nuts.  

Exhaling slowly, I mourn my sanity. “I know you have something to say. Spit it out.”

Jim shrugs nonchalantly but smiles nonetheless. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just that you owe me a bottle of whiskey.”

#star trek #star trek aos #jim kirk #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy #bones #jim kirk/oc #leonard mccoy/oc #enterprise #star trek enterprise #red shirt #fanfic #fanfiction #jim kirk x oc #leonard mccoy x oc

[skellebonez]

So apparently in JTTW, Baije kept trying to get the monk to say the thing that would activate the torture headband? According to a post I just saw anyway. So I'd like to prompt something where Monkie Kid era Monkey King and Pigsy are arguing, and Monkey King brings that up, because it's kind of /messed up/. Preferably with prompts 25 or 47 because those seem vaguely fluffy and I don't want it to end /sad/ plz?

There are multiple times in the book (though it happened more often early on) where Zhu Bajie took full advantage of how much Tripitaka trusted him and made Wukong’s day miserable because of it, he isn’t the middle brother for nothing! The two have a better relationship as the book goes on, but as an eldest sibling I can tell you... even if you're on good terms later, sometimes you still remember the ways they used to mess with you... also I went overboard. Very overboard. This is really long.

"You have until the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me…!"/ “Tell me what you want me to do."

Things had been going so well... at least as well as could be expected given they had only really seen each other twice after 500 years of Sun Wukong vanishing.

Their first meeting, their initial reunion, wasn't so much a meeting and more "hey I'm here to help MK fight because things are actually really bad and I totally don't already know who two of you are" and then lots of saving the world without the time to talk to or call out his once elder brother before he ran off. Their second meeting was not long after, Wukong coming to check up on MK at the shop and "oh yeah uh I kinda know your boss Bud". Which. Nice job revealing his secret Wukong.

That was a very interesting conversation, explaining to MK that he was indeed The Zhu Bajie from the stories and yes Tang knew and no only Tang knew and no he did not want to talk about why this was kept secret. Then it devolved into MK insisting the two of them needed to hang out together and then questions about Sandy and then how it was so cool that his dad was friends with his mentor. The at first befuddled and then completely shocked expression on Wukong's face as he finally put two and two together made agreeing to MK's insistence so much easier.

Easier than being pogo'd to Flower Fruit Mountain and then being stuck there as MK ran off to do "hero stuff" with Mei, anyway. At first it was awkward, being shown around the mountain by a man who he had spent years of his life with and was clearly trying to not look uncomfortable at the time lost between them.

Then the monkeys attacked. Well. Less attacked, more jumped on Pigsy in sheer excitement. It only took a few seconds for Wukong to cackle and pull them off him with the care of a roughhouseing father. Some of them were just little ones barely new to the world (he didn't miss how much more careful Wukong was with them), but Pigsy recognized a few of the elder ones from the time he had come here to bring Wukong back after the... WBS and Wood Wolf... event.

He also didn't expect any of them to actually remember him or to see Wukong acting so positively parental in comparison to how he acted the last time he was here. It was strange, he knew the Monkey King could be caring and that he had changed on their journey and must have become different over their time apart, but this was a side he had never truely thought he would see from him ever before. And he couldn't help but chuckle a bit at that.

It was like a tension line was finally let slack. They didn't simply slide back into banter, but they were much more relaxed. Wukong pointed out where he had been training MK, showed him to where his house stood (Pigsy wondered if he ever tried to rebuild the palace that had burnt down long before he visited all those years ago, but did not dare to bring that up either). The house was much more modern than he had expected, even having full internet access and TV and a kitchen.

He would never tell anyone about the passionate 1 hour conversation they had about cooking when he realized Wukong picked it up as a hobby. No one will ever know their debate/rant on how to properly prepare dough for steaming and how so many people do it wrong.

At some point they ate a lunch Wukong had prepared, much better than Pigsy expected, and that's probably when it went downhill.

He'd made an offhanded joke about people who use too much seasoning. Wukong joked back, asking if his underseasoned cooking was up to Pigsy's standards. Pigsy had shoved the monkey on old reflex, not hard and not nearly enough to move him, saying if he wanted him to compliment his cooking he could have just asked like a good big brother.

That had started a friendly wrestling match, not unlike ones they had had before and that drew a crowed of monkeys excited to watch. That wrestling match turned more violent before Pigsy had realized it and somehow, some way, they started actually fighting. He yelled about how Wukong had no right to just make MK his sucessor. Wukong yelled about how he chose MK because he was the most qualified and capable person he found. Pigsy shot back that he barely knew him before training him and if he had even bothered to try knowing him he would have known he was Pigsy's kid and he was a shitty mentor. Wukong screamed at that, scaring off most of their audience with the volume, picking Pigsy up off the ground entirely with his arms pinned down.

"You take that back right now, Bajie!" Wukong hissed out in a dangerous tone, one Pigsy didn't give a single damn about heeding in his anger.

"You have until the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me...!" Pigsy fought against Wukong's hold, scrambling for any kind of purchase he could get with his feet dangling off the ground.

"Or what, Bajie? What!? Are you going to find another fillet and tell MK the sutra for it this time!? Are you going to make him not trust me like you did Tripitaka!? ARE YOU!?"

The words made Pigsy stop, but it was Wukong's tone that made him try to turn back to look at him. He'd sounded angry before but now he sounded... genuinely upset. Not angry upset. Sad upset. "I wouldn't do that."

"You did before." Damn it. He really was sad upset...

"Yeah... Yeah, I did." Pigsy admitted with only slight hesitation as he looked at the ground beneath him. "I'm sorry. About how I acted back then. I made everything harder than needed. I made Master hurt you and you didn't deserve it. More often than I'd like to admit..." There was a beat of silence before he decided to take a chace with a question that would probably upset Wukong more. But he had to ask. "How... how painful was it?"

The two of them didn't move for a while, Pigsy just hanging limply until Wukong slowly leaned down and set his feet back on ground. His grip losened slighly, but he didn't let Pigsy go as he rested his forehead against the back of Pigsy's head with a sigh. "Very. Very painful. It... the way it... Bajie, I don't want to-"

"You don't have to," Pigsy interrupted, raising one of his arms now that he could move to grab and squeeze his wrist. "If 'very' is all you want to say, I get it. I'm sorry."

"You already said that."

"And I'll say it again because I mean it." Pigsy pulled away, Wukong’s grip weakened enough for him to without even the smallest fight, and turned around to face him.

He reached up, Wukong giving him an odd confused look as he placed his hands over and around his forehead. Realization dawned quickly and he tensed as Pigsy felt the almost imperceptible scars hidden under his well groomed fur. For the band to have been impactful enough to leave marks at all, let alone after all this time... some didn't feel like cuts or stretches, more like burns almost.

"I'm sorry too," Wukong said suddenly. "For being an ass. I wasn't exactly the greatest travel companion myself at times. And for... for disappearing."

"I already forgave ya for the stuff on the journey long ago," Pigsy said as he pulled his hands back and crossed his arms. "Couldn't sit right with myself if I held a grudge for what you did after the shit I pulled. But I appreciate the apology for up and vanishing. And uh, I'm sorry for calling you a shitty mentor."

"You better be!" Wukong chuckled, standing up straight with an awkward crooked smile. "But, you know, I could stand to be a better teacher. You weren't wrong when I said I don’t know enough about MK."

"I could tell you a few things," Pigsy offered. "Nothing personal, just like how we met and what his job is like. To make up for the. Everything."

"Hmn..." Wukong made a point to rub his chin in thought, clearly about to do something Pigsy wondered if they would both regret. "On one condition."

"Tell me what you want me to do," Pigsy sighed out, fully resigned for whatever the Monkey King was going to ask.

"Cook me dinner."

... that... was not what he expected at all. "That's it?"

"That's it!"

That wasn't near enough to make up for anything in Pigsy's mind... but if that’s what Wukong wanted he supposed that was a start.

#im rereading the book and rewatching osps videos #i added in enough references to a particular story i think #i know it 99.99% unlikely the fillet left any marks #let me have this for one fill #pigsy #monkey king #sun wukong #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #prompt fill

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Art Therapy (Short)

(A/N: I still don’t know how to write Islanzadí but I needed to get my ‘Arya has always kinda been that person you don’t expect to have a sketchbook but does’ headcanon out of my brain. Have some really badly written, forced-out-at-11PM Islanzadí trying to be good!parent during MI!Eldest. Again, sorry for the quality, but I pushed myself to write this and I’ve been away from MI so long that it feels a little clunky to be writing it. Izzy is inconsistent and her reasons for doing things are all over the place and make zero sense. So yeah, you’ve been warned that it’s a jumbled cluster.)

MODERN INHERITANCE

ART THERAPY

Islanzadí paused at the door, inspecting it as one would inspect a patch of earth suspected of concealing a minefield.

It was too early in the morning to be called late, but too late in the night to be called early. While it wasn’t unusual for the queen’s daughter to be up at this hour due to recent events and their lingering after effects, it was unusual for the light to be on. Islanzadí could see it now, a faint line beneath the door. Two conflicting beams, the soft red glow of a teardrop lantern and a bright slash of white light, settled across the mossy floor at her feet.

Islanzadí did not hesitate out of fear. A mother did not, should not, fear facing her own daughter. She told herself that she hesitated out of respect. This was Arya’s room, her sanctum, after all. She called it a ‘base of operations’ in a close-to-home joke, the place she always returned to if she disappeared into the night to fight her inner demons side by side with old fyrn breoal. After everything that had happened the queen was loath to breach one more place of peace for her daughter.

Then again, it would not be the first time Islanzadí had entered in the dead of night, once more attuned to the natural instincts of a mother when her child is in danger. Finding her daughter curled in a corner with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees was painful, and the nights the queen had to wake the younger elf from the clutches of her dreams were worse.

The light on was something new. Something that she did not know how to react to. If Arya was awake then she didn’t want to intrude.

But if she was having trouble again….

Islanzadí carefully opened the door, just enough to peer inside.  

Like many nights before, the queen saw that the bed was still made, corners tucked tight in the strict, military efficiency that Arya had picked up in years spent alongside Varden soldiers. A sleeping bag was on the floor beside the bed with a spare blanket bunched at its end from restless sleep. The makeshift indoor camp was lit by the teardrop lantern on the nightstand above, cast in strange, ruddy shadows.

Compared to the gentle glow of the lantern the white light was almost startling. A simple white werelight hovered just above the knotted, cup-like roots of the stand at Arya’s desk, bobbing and turning lightly with the imperceptible changes in the air.

Islanzadí breathed a quiet sigh of relief that she didn’t even realize she was holding in. Arya had an arm folded on the desk and her head rested on it, her left hand laid over a page and pencil still loosely in her relaxed grip. The woman had fallen asleep in the middle of her work.

With soft footsteps the queen padded into the room. It wouldn’t do to sleep in such a way. As she reached out to gently wake the younger elf though, the sight of what scattered the desk gave her pause.

What had to be over a dozen sketches littered the usually tidy surface. Islanzadí had known that Arya often drew when her mind was troubled, but she had never seen the results for herself. As gently as she could Islanzadí collected the papers together, curious at what had driven her daughter to such a late hour.

Brom started back at her from the first page, gruff around the eyes and holding his pipe up to his lips. The hard line of his jaw gave the impression that he had clamped his teeth down on the pipestem, soft clouds of smoke wafting up around his nose. It was the face of a man who was thinking and grumbling to himself in equal measure, but there was a softness to it that led Islanzadí to believe that whatever was giving him such trouble was something he deeply cared about.

One was of a campsite. Brom was still present, perched on a rock with his ever-present pipe in hand and using it as a pointer as he called criticism to the two young men that danced around the burned down fire at the center of camp. One was obviously Eragon, Zar’roc a sudden streak of pastel red in an image that was dominated by only two other shades: the ebony of the pencil and the expanse of shaded blue that made up Saphira where she crouched beside Brom. The other man was unfamiliar to the elvish queen, but she suspected the lean youth with near-black hair and hand-and-half sword was Murtagh.

Islanzadí’s chest tightened when she shifted to the next page. It, and the one following, were done in what appeared to be frantic, almost manic motions. Most of the paper was dominated by deep grey, walls and barred windows all almost black cut through by patches of startling crimson red and the pearly, muddied white of a single light fixture high on the wall. The floor was a cooler tone but puddled with the thick red pastel, which collected under the iron cot and shredded, sooty sheets.

It was one of several views from a personal hell. A view from the corner.

And then it was a portrait again, another from frozen memories of travel. The light silvery tones that dripped from the foliage signaled an early morning, but half of the occupants of the work were asleep. Eragon lay sprawled comfortably beside Saphira, one of her wings draped over his form. Above him, the dragon was watching him carefully, as a mother would a sleeping cub, her gaze protective and gentle all at once.

Another page almost overtaken by dark ebony. A sliver of moon cast the starless sky into faintly silvered darkness, reflected by the path below. Trees arced and bent over the strip of earth, monstrous shapes boiling up from between their trunks. At the end of the path, a lone figure wreathed in ghostly red tendrils that coiled up and around their body like ethereal smoke.

Glenwing was next in the line of art, and beside him, arm tossed casually over his shoulders in friendly companionship, was Fäolin. Both were smiling, laughter playing at their lips. Fäolin had his free hand around the neck of a bottle of dwarvish beer, and by the fading background it was clear that the memory took place in a bar. Even without color the neon of the signs flickered and hummed, bringing a sense of welcome despite the clear signs around that indicated that the war was never far away.

Saphira’s egg, the edges of the carry bag that was her home for over two decades puddled around its base. A gentle pulse of life and warmth in the blue and white that decorated the marbled surface. A glow of hope, all contained inside a single layer of shell.

A view from the branches of the Menoa Tree, looking down at the sprawling expanse of roots that raced away from the great monarch of the forest. Light played through the needles above, pinpricks of dappled sunlight that strained to reach the forest floor.

Eragon, his forehead pressed against Saphira’s snout as the Rider and dragon shared a moment of quiet peace. The rigid hold of his far shoulder compared to the slope of the other indicated it was not long after the battle for Farthen Dur, a time of chaos, tumult and new realities. It made the frozen scene of simple yet deeply primal comfort that smoothed over Eragon’s features that much more poignant. Reminded those that saw it that he was still a growing youth and Saphira was not yet a year old, yet they had been thrown into a world that required, demanded their lives for the sake of millions of others.

“One of these days we will give each other a heart attack.”

Islanzadí couldn’t suppress the sudden jerk of surprise at her daughter’s bleary words. The younger elf lifted her head and stretched, tossing down her pencil as she did. Arya winced when the light of the white werelight caught her eyes, and with a tap on the floating orb the color changed to the same muted red as the lantern on the nightstand.

“I was going to suggest you move to your bed before you strained your neck.” The queen gave her daughter a slightly forced, gentle smile, heart still fluttering at the start.

Arya nodded, still appearing half asleep as she rose from her desk and tapped off the light. She waved groggily over her shoulder to indicate to her mother that she was fine before she tumbled onto the bed, not bothering with the covers. It was a good sign. The younger elf was heavily in sleep debt as it was, and Islanzadí did not want to be the source of another night of under four hours of rest.

Islanzadí placed the stack of sketches back on the desk with a newfound reverence before following Arya towards the bed. She gathered up the discarded blanket on the floor and draped it over the woman’s body, smiling again at the muffled mumble of “Thanks, mum.” that drifted from where Arya had buried her head under the pillow.

She touched the lantern by the bed, lowering its intensity till it winked out. Gently pulled the door shut behind her.

And gave a very quiet, very tired, sigh of relief.  

#modern inheritance #eragon #inheritance cycle #modern inheritance cycle #the cyclists #modern inheritance stories #arya #brom #saphira #islanzadi #queen islanzadi #war trauma #flashbacks #art therapy #PTSD #islanzadi is just a clusterfuck to write ngl #woman does not know how to parent #everything is just awkward as fuck #mic shorts

[krisdreaming]

MASTERLIST | PART 2

˗`ˏ THIS IS PART 1 - READER POV ˎˊ˗

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Fem!Reader

Summary:  After the accident, you’re willing to give up anything so that Hajime can live. All things considered, your memories of him in exchange for his life seems like more than a fair trade. When it’s done, neither of you understands what’s happened, and it leaves you both hurting. Still, even without your memories, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He still loves you more than anything. Your love will find a way… right?

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, Hospitals, Mentions of Character Injury / Death

A/N: I’m so excited to start this journey! This part is the only one that has any kind of supernatural / magical realism elements. It kinda just made the most sense to me as the vehicle for the entire rest of the plot so just... bear with me 😅 After this chapter, it’s all just normal canon-verse. 

Without further ado!!

The golden late-afternoon sunlight pours through the lone window in the hospital room and pools on the floor, not quite reaching the bed where Hajime is lying. The contrasting stringent white hospital lighting does nothing to improve his wan complexion. His cracked lips are turned slightly downward, and you wonder, with a sharp twinge in your chest, if even in this state, he can feel pain.

“I’m here, Hajime,” You say for what must be the hundredth time, reaching out again for his limp hand. The doctors have said that talking to him may help to comfort him, but you wonder if he can even recognize your voice. Even to you, it sounds small and foreign, hoarse from who knows how many hours of tears. The only response is the steady beeps and hums of the machines keeping him alive. You give his hand a gentle squeeze.

It’s been a week of this, now. A week since you got the call and rushed to the hospital as fast as you could. A week since you saw him lying too-still in that bed, a swath of bandages and a tangle of wires making his body look so, so small and helpless. A week since you sank to your knees the moment the doctor had left the room, clutching Hajime’s hand to your face until his skin was slick with your tears, only realizing afterwards that the strange, gasping sounds you’d been hearing had been coming from you all along.

You’ve spent every day here since. You’ve hardly eaten. What little sleep you can get is plagued by nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat, reaching out desperately for a warm body that isn’t there. All that you know is this room, this chair, this bed, and the shallow rise and fall of Hajime’s chest.

A breath shudders out of you when you’re reminded, again, of what the doctor had said when you’d arrived this morning. “Y/N-san, the improvements we’ve been hoping to see haven’t been coming at the rate we’d expect. As it is now, the reality is that he may never wake up. The severity of the damage is becoming clearer as we continue with our testing. As difficult as this is to say, it may be the time to start preparing to say goodbye.”

You squeeze your free hand into a tight fist, feeling your nails dig into your palm. You run the thumb of the hand holding his gently across the backs of his fingers. “You know,” You begin, haltingly, trying to keep your voice as clear and normal-sounding as possible, “When this is all over, I’m going to make us a big picnic. I’ll make those onigiri you like so much, the ones with the pickled plum inside. You can eat as many as you want. I promise I won’t yell at you,” You pause to swallow back the thick feeling in your throat, “And we can have whatever else you want. Just say the word, and I’ll buy it. It’ll be the meal you’d never let any of your athletes eat in a million years,” You laugh softly.

“And by the time we’re done eating, well, the sun will probably be almost set. We can just lay back on the blanket and watch the stars come out, like we did that night last summer.” You pause, looking at him almost as though you expect him to answer, or at least nod. His expression doesn’t change.

“We can plan some more for the wedding. It’s going to be here in no time at all, you know,” Your thumb goes to the ring on your finger, twisting it back and forth in what’s become a familiar motion. “I know you don’t like the planning much, but we have to get it done.” You fall silent for a few moments, not wanting him to hear the way your voice has started to waver.

“Or maybe you’d rather just plan for the honeymoon,” You finally pick back up again, “We need to decide soon where we want to go. Hotels and plane tickets sell out fast, you know. What would be really fun is if we could visit Tooru in Argentina. I know you think it’s too far, but honestly, when else would we ever have the chance?

“We don’t have to spend the whole time with him, of course,” Your voice drops lower, “We’d want some time to ourselves. I hear the beaches there are nice. Or we could find a really nice hotel with a Jacuzzi and fancy room service.”

It might be your imagination, but the expression on his face seems just a little bit softer. It’s not a smile, but his lips aren’t turned down quite as hard as they had been, so you take it as a sign that you should keep going. “Of course, you know that I don’t really care where we go. We could spend the whole week in a hotel on the other side of Tokyo and you wouldn’t hear me complain.” You can practically see his incredulous smirk at that, and you choke out an almost-convincing laugh. “Well, you know what I mean.” You fall silent again, still tracing your thumb against his fingers, lost in your thoughts now.

All the while you’d been talking, you hadn’t notice the slowing of the heart monitor. His breaths are coming slower too, the rising of his chest barely noticeable anymore. Outside, twilight has fallen, and there’s no longer any natural light coming in through the window. You notice all of this at once, but you suddenly feel so sluggish that you can’t bring yourself to move, much less press the call button for one of the nurses. Even as the beeps fade to a single, steady whine, you feel frozen in your seat, his hand still in yours. There’s an eerie sense of calm descending over you.

When the whine stops, it seems to shake you out of whatever stupor you’re in. Blinking, you look around and find that the two of you are no longer alone in the room. In the corner farthest from the door, a human-like figure stands shrouded in the faintest yellow glow, like the last remnants of the sunset outside. It has the face of an elderly man, but there is something decidedly un-human in the way it carries itself.

“Hello, Y/N,” The figure’s mouth moves, but it’s almost as though its words are projected directly into your mind rather than spoken into the room. There’s a tingling quality to them, almost like an electrical shock, but not something altogether unpleasant.

You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, thinking that the lack of sleep must be affecting you more than you realize. When you finally lower your hands, the figure hasn’t moved. “Are you… Death?” You aren’t unaware of how preposterous the question sounds. You grip Hajime’s hand tighter, and the figure seems to smile.

“Hardly. The concept of death itself as an entity is little more than a construct of the human imagination.” There’s a pause and a sound you could almost consider a chuckle, then it continues. “More accurately, I suppose you could call me Life.” It looks at Hajime’s still body almost mournfully. You aren’t sure how much time passes, or if any has passed at all.

“This life is very precious to you. Yes?” Its attention is back on you now.

“More than anything,” You breathe out, “I – I love him. We’re getting married.” You hold out your hand so that the being can see the ring on your finger. As if it would care. For some reason, it does lean forward and inspect the ring carefully.

“Hm. These kinds of things… they aren’t so cut and dry, you know.” Assuming at this point that you must be dreaming, you nod dumbly, even though you don’t really know at all. “Still, all hope is not lost. With the right material, a repair could be made.”

“A repair?” You parrot back, feeling your heart catch in your chest. Is it even beating right now?

“It will require something made up of the same stuff as the existing soul. Something strong and plentiful. Do you understand?” Your brow furrows, and you shake your head. Dream or not, you can’t even pretend to know what this being is trying to say.

“Your memories,” It says gently, as though explaining something simple to a small child. “If I could use all of your memories of him, I can save his life.” It watches you intently for a few moments, but you feel frozen in place, trying to comprehend what it’s asking of you. “I would understand if you decline. Others have.”

“So he will live?” It nods. “But I won’t remember him. Not even a little.”

“Not one memory can be spared,” It confirms. “It’s the only way.”

“Will I fall in love with him again? Will he – will he stay with me?”

The being gives an almost imperceptible shrug. “It can’t be known. Your future – that’s something you will have to work out on your own. The only thing I can promise you is that his life will be spared.”

You’re already nodding. “Then I’ll do it. We’ll find a way to be together. He won’t give up on me.” The being’s lips twitch briefly, but it nods.

“If you’re certain,” It’s already reaching toward you, fingertips hovering near your forehead.

“I am.” You screw your eyes shut, clutching onto Hajime’s hand tightly with both hands. “Do it,” You prompt, when you don’t feel the being move. And just like that, you’re awash in a sea of light and warmth for a few blissful moments before being plunged into a deep nothingness.

Taglist ; Send an ask or PM to be added! 

@pretty-setters​, @pink-panda-pancakes​, @usernamekate94​, @kellyyween​, @deerixiie​, @amzoeee​, @mididoodles​, @ntngann​, @kiiroyah

If your url is written without you actually being tagged, it means tumblr was giving me issues tagging you, but I’ll definitely try again next time!

#Haikyuu #Iwaizumi Hajime x reader #Iwaizumi x reader #Iwaizumi Hajime #Haikyuu x reader #kylao #keep you like an oath

[dannyphantom-rewrite]

What's "how to get to cracker barrel" ?

What's "how to get to cracker barrel" ?

Oh now that, that one isn't Actually a wip. It's a short story I finished ages ago that later ended up being inspiration for one of the plotlines in an anthology style audio drama podcast I want to make some day. There's 4 main characters:

The Mckellen sisters Jamie and Lady who aren't Actually sisters but pass rather well for twins since one of them is actually a changeling, Natalie Anderson, photographer and lady's GF, and Gavin Walker, a mage still haunted by the death of his fiance, Caleb Adams, mostly due to the fact that his fucking ghost won't leave him alone.

Art by @unded-bun (click image for higher quality)

I'm leaving out a lot of details, but I'd be happy to fill in the gaps if anyone asks.

I'll Also throw the story itself under a read more here, bc I'm still super proud of it even though it's a few years old now.

A small hotel on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. There is a Sonic Drive-in across the busy street. Bright neon lights in the window state, “Open 24/7!” A Greyhound bus is idling in the parking lot. A man, Gavin Walker, climbs off and crosses over to the hotel. He walks easily, but not confidently. Approaching the hotel’s entrance, he spots a cat eating from a plastic bowl in front of the door. The feline is small, and feral. He is black, with white paws. He does not pay Gavin any mind as he enters, only continuing to crunch on dry cat food.

There's a desk on the left side of the lobby. The receptionist smiles kindly as he checks in. Her eyes are tired. Gavin gives her a knowing nod, and travels deeper into the building. There is a sign marked, “Out Of Order.” on the elevator. This is a good thing. Gavin takes the stairs, of which there are three flights. This is also a good thing, because three is a good number. He enters the hallway, which is old, and worn. The walls bear chipped yellow paint, and the floor, faded red carpet. Gavin continues down the hall after checking the time on his phone. It is exactly 11:59PM. He turns the device off and begins to count the seconds. At sixty he has stopped in front of the elevator. The fluorescent light above him flickers. The elevator does not have an out of order sign on it. It is the same elevator as before. Gavin enters.

He presses the button for the first floor. In the lobby the check in desk is now on the opposite side of the room. The lights are off, the receptionist is gone. It is daytime outside now. The bus is gone and the Sonic is closed. The road is vacant. There is a cat outside. She is white, with black paws. She looks up at Gavin as he approaches. They lock eyes, and he kneels in front of her.

“Hello, cat.” He says.

“Hello, Mage.” Says the cat.

She flicks her tail, “What is it you seek?”

“Direction.”

She nods and stands, before making for the road. The Sonic across the street is closed, but it was never empty. A Sonic is not a sit down restaurant. Customers are expected to pull into a parking spot and order over an intercom, and then a waitress delivers their meal directly to their car. Gavin’s pretty sure places like Sonic were more common in the 1950’s, and he knows that drive in diners are a dying breed now a days. The thought gives him a strange sense of nostalgia for something he’d never actually experienced, and he shudders involuntarily.

The cat sits down in the parking spot furthest from the building. She watches as he presses the the button on the intercom, listens, ears swiveling, as they are greeted with static. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Gavin can see something moving within the darkened restaurant. An outline of a figure, only vaguely humanoid. The thing moves like a deranged ape, long, long arms dangling to the floor and dragging it forward. Its back is hunched, legs short and stumpy. Gavin can not see its face, and he does not wish to. The intercom crackles to life.

“WhAt can aH’ do fER ya’lL?” Drawls The Thing in the Sonic. It’s got a southern accent thicker than congeling visera, and the pitch of it’s voice fluctuates wildly. Gavin glances uncertainly at the cat, and she nods.

“I’m looking for Direction.”

“Ahhhhhh……” groans The Thing, “WEll, watch’ Yer goNna wanna dO is hEad doWn the road, bout maybeEEee…..foUr, five miLeS, an’ yer gOnna wanna look fer’ weEl, watch yer gonna wanna fiNd is soMeTHing’ idEaliZed, ya knOw? Like uh, somethin’ kinDa romanticized, an’ a liTtlE faKe in sOme senSe but reAlLy true in anOther, ya follow?”

“Yeah.” said Gavin, even though he did not follow at all.

“Yep,” Continued The Thing, “n’ yer gOnna wanna gEt yourself sOme rasPberRy lemONade when ya get theRe, It’s some gOod shit, lemme tell ya.”

“Alright, I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

“Good, GoOd, That’s Good. Y'all have a niIiiccceee daaaaaay nooooow.” And then the intercom crackled once more, and returned to spewing static. Gavin released the button and looked around for the cat, hoping, maybe, for some more guidance, but she had long since abandoned him. He started walking down the road, away from the Sonic Drive-In, and The Thing inside, and hopefully towards where he needed to be.

Gavin started to think as he walked, which was not something he liked to do often. He much prefered to act in the moment without much consideration for the consequences of those actions until they themselves became the moment. Gavin did not like to think because he often thought much too deeply, and it sometimes scared him. Gavin thought about a lot of different things in quick succession, he thought about the missing greyhound bus, and The Thing in the Sonic, and wondered if the disappearance of one had to do anything with the appearance of the other. It probably did. He thought about what The Thing had told him to do, and why he was doing it. He thought about why he’d come here in the first place, to this inverted little section of Georgia. And he thought about Liminal Spaces, about busted elevators and darkened hotel hallways and empty stairwells. The air shifted suddenly as a pickup truck speed past him, it had a faded confederate flag on the back window.

Liminal Spaces, simply put, were the areas between one place and another. The small spots in the middle of point A and point B where reality seems to be altered in such a way that the change is almost imperceptible, and yet, it is still enough to leave you feeling so impossibly strange.

Liminal Spaces can also be doorways, if one knows how to properly open them.

Gavin isn’t sure how long he’s been walking down this empty stretch of road, but it’s been long enough that he can no longer see the Sonic Drive-in behind him. It’s not even a dot in the distance now, just gone, as though it were never there to begin with. He keeps going. He walks until his feet hurt, and his legs ache, and keeps going even after that. At some point he sticks his thumb out towards the road, tired enough to risk hitch-hiking, but no cars have gone by since the pickup truck. And at some point he takes a moment to rest. He sits down on the shoulder, and just breathes for a while. And then when he stands again, he sees the Cracker Barrel just down the road. Exhausted as he is, he knows it isn’t possible for him to not have seen it earlier. Gavin decides it’s best not to dwell on that, though, because this is exactly the kind of place where Cracker Barrels can just pop into existence. (Although, as he enters the restaurant, he remains somewhat annoyed that it couldn’t have decided to do it a little sooner.)

The front of the Cracker Barrel is a store selling all manner of things. There's a back corner full of vintage candy, a small section of organic make-ups, and another full of knick-knacks like salt and pepper shakers, and dreamcatchers, as well as the usual crap that tourists like to buy, T-shirts and mugs and what not. Gavin has never actually been in a “regular” Cracker Barrel, so he’s not sure if this is a completely normal thing, but he’s certain that a “regular” Cracker Barrel would not also be selling such wares as bottled crocodile tears and Unicorn meat slim jims. There aren’t a lot of people in the store, and yet Gavin finds it impossible to get a good look at any of them. The people look normal, but they move like extras in the background of a film. The only person in the room with any notable features is the waitress standing by the back. She’s short, and her hair and eyebrows have been dyed a vibrant blue. As Gavin follows her into the seating area he can't help but stare at her hair, and he finds himself thinking that it can’t possibly be dye, it’s too bright, somehow. She smiles at him as he sits, and her teeth are a just little too sharp.

Once he’s seated, she says, “Can I start you off with a drink?” Her voice has a pleasant, lilting tone to it.

Gavin thinks back to The Thing in the Sonic, “A Raspberry Lemonade? If that’s something you have here?”

She nods, and goes off to get him one. Gavin leans back in his chair and takes in his surroundings, trying to relax. The decor in the Cracker Barrel has a sort of vintage, rustic feel to it, there’s things like black and white photos, and old advertisements on the walls. All the furniture looks antique. There are quite a few other customers present. Most of them look like the same nondescript folk from the front, but a few stand out. There’s a woman in the back corner, she’s dressed in black furs and her head is an ember eyed wolf skull. She’s sitting across from a man with the skull of a stag upon his shoulders, the antlers adorned with ivy. There’s something resembling a giant moth sitting two tables away, slowly crunching its way through a Caesar salad. Occasionally, there’s a figure leaning against the kitchen doors, they look as though they’re made up of television static. Gavin’s eyes start to hurt from trying to look at them, so he turns his attention to the menu instead. The waitress returns with his Raspberry Lemonade, and he orders the Country Fried Shrimp.

Gavin takes a sip of his drink and finds that he agrees with the Thing in the sonic. It’s definitely some good shit.

“Funny seeing you around here, Gav.”

Gavin looks up from his drink, almost spills it in surprise.

“Is this seat taken?”

Gavin manages to shake his head.

Caleb Adams pulls out the chair across from him and sits. Gavin stares at him. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads, “NORMAL HOROSCOPES: Making your day a little more magic whether you like it or not.” Gavin’s not sure if it’s supposed to be advertising for a psychic’s shop or if it’s some strange indie band he’s never heard of. Knowing Caleb, it’s probably the latter.

He finally manages to speak, “You’re dead.”

“Yeah?” Caleb leans an elbow on the table, and props his head up in his hand, his smile never wavers, “And?”

“And- and I don’t know, Fuck, I don’t know.”

The waitress briefly interrupts his existential crisis by depositing his Country Fried Shrimp on the table. Gavin looks down at it and tries to focus on the smell of greasy seafood instead of the dead man sitting across from him.

“You seem confused.” Caleb’s voice sounds uncharacteristically sympathetic.

Gavin nods.

He sighs, frowning “Eat your lunch, and then we’ll talk.”

Gavin eats what he can, but it’s a large portion, and he’s somehow not that hungry. He takes a final bite, and pushes the plate across the table, silently offering Caleb the rest of the shrimp.

The barest hint of a smile returns to his face, “Thanks, but no.” And then he’s frowning again, “Why’re you here, Gav?”

“I just went where I was told to-”

He shakes his head, “No. I don’t mean the friggin’ Cracker Barrel, I mean Here.”

And Gavin doesn’t really know what to tell him. That he’s here because he felt lost and desperate? That he didn’t know what to do anymore? That it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s fine, everything's fine and he’s just tired?

But he doesn’t tell Caleb any of that, he just says, “I miss you.” And he can’t keep his voice from cracking.

“I know you do.” Caleb places a hand over his, “But this is damn near one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done. You knew this place wouldn’t be safe for you.”

He feels numb, “I didn’t really care.”

“Gavin,” Caleb grips his hand now, “Look at me, please. I mean, really look at me.”

So he does, he looks up at him, and finally, meets his eyes.

They have not changed. Death has not reduced the amount of compassion behind them, nor faded the sea blue color. Gavin stares. Eyes are supposed to be a window into someone's soul, a way to truly see into them, and Gavin just stares because Caleb’s eyes are still capable of conveying so much, and he can feel tears running down his face…..

“It’s time to go home, Gav, okay?” He gestures to the window, and the Greyhound bus has pulled up, “Your ride's here.”

And Gavin knows has to force himself to look away and loosen his grip, and he can’t bring himself to.

“It’s alright.” He says, “It’s going to be alright. I’ll take care of the bill, Please just let go.”

And Gavin finally, Finally manages to tear himself away.

He does not feel anything but relief as he leaves, as he boards the bus and settles into a seat. He leans back, and watches through the window as the world shifts and shimmers and is suddenly dark and starry once more. As the Greyhound pulls out of the Sonic parking lot, Gavin closes his eyes, and slowly falls into the comfort of a deep, dreamless sleep.

#southern gothic #tag game #Walker& Anderson #short story #ask #jamie McKellen can and will kick your ass bitch fights the fae on the regular #gavin just needs a nap and caleb needs to stfu lmao

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Which Fic

I was tagged by @stusbunker!

Which of your fics…

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

Finally. I think reader engagement has definitely declined in general, though.

…got a better reaction than you expected?

The Right Spot. I’m still a little flabbergasted by how popular this was. Like, I thought it was hot, but I didn’t realize that many people would be into it. 

Runner-up, The One Where Reid Is Reading Harry Potter. This is such a dorky little bit of wishful thinking; I really didn’t expect it to get any notes, but I love that so many people shared my emotional attachment to reading out loud. 

…is your funniest?

The Rockstar AU, especially Daisies and Cheers. There’s so much comedic potential in all those characters that doesn’t get put to use because of what they all do; I just started thinking about what they would be like if they were making music and partying, instead of saving the world, and fuckin ran with it. 

Runner-up, Brains Over Beauty. Mostly because I refer to Sam as “Lumberjack Ken.” I’m still giggling over that. 

…is your darkest or angstiest?

Set Yourself On Fire. It’s about Sam between seasons 3 and 4, and it touches on some things that came from a very real emotional place: self-destructive tendencies, depression, drinking, drugs, that sort of fun stuff. I have a lot of fics that are sad or feelsy, but there’s usually some sort of positive spin. This one is just fuckin dark, emotionally. 

…is your absolute favorite?

Probably the Coffee & Psychopaths series. When I started writing Quitting, I knew there were a couple parallels between the characters that I wanted to write about, but the more I wrote, the more I found... and I’m still amazed by the way those canon plotlines wove together. So. Much. Plot. 

This series has become a place for me to dive headfirst into philosophy, psychology, neuroscience, dorky history trivia, and so many more of my favorite subjects, and tie them together with Sam and Spencer character studies, and I love being able to connect all those dots. I love every single fucking sentence of this series so far and I can’t wait to write more. 

 …is your least favorite?

I Can Change. It was my first fic in the Supernatural fandom and when I started it, I had no idea where it was going.

…was the easiest to write?

Big Damn Heroes. I’d had a few of those character exchanges in my head for a loooong time, and the crossover challenge gave me an excuse to finally write them out. I had so much fun writing that and I think it shows.

…was hardest to write?

Lost At Sea (But I Am Home). All of Marked was difficult in its own way (trauma processing! Fun times!) but this even more so. The plot is very very subtle, there’s a lot of emotional nuance happening, and I really wanted to stay true to Dean as a character, and the meta bits are, like, deep and meaningful and shit, and on top of all that I saddled myself with some running metaphors that were tricky to integrate... yeah.

…has your favorite lines/exchange/paragraph? (share it!)

Marked, Chapter 20. The entire conversation with Sam, but especially this: 

“There are good days and there are days when… when it feels like it’s crushing you. And that doesn’t mean you’ve failed, or that you’re not strong enough, or whatever else, because even if you’re doing everything right, the bad days are going to happen. What matters is that you’re trying. Every day you get up and take one little step, in spite of everything you’re carrying, that’s a victory. It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s the step that matters.”

Also, I think a few of the exchanges in Sharp Edges are some of my best work, particularly the negotiation conversation and the last few paragraphs. Such as:

“You good?” he asks, falling back on what seems to be his mantra for the evening.

“I’m… no, not really, hang on,” Spencer mumbles, and Sam flinches, moving away instinctively.

“Shit, sorry, what -”

“No, wait, that’s not - just… can you reach the tissues, or do I actually have to stand up right now?” Spencer asks, with a disgruntled sort of glare at the box of Kleenex on the end table.

Sam laughs, awkward and self-conscious. Spencer blinks owlishly up at him, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Then a smile spreads over his face slowly and he’s laughing too as Sam leans and stretches over to grab the box.

“The male orgasm is really inconvenient sometimes,” Spencer mutters.

Sam lets out another snort of laughter, looking away to give him some privacy as he cleans up. He’s not sure what the etiquette of this whole situation is; it’s such a strange thing, oddly intimate, and even though Sam’s still fully-dressed, he feels exposed in a way he’s not used to.

“Now I’m good,” Spencer says quietly. He’s got his knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, but he tilts his head back against the wall and aims a hazy, heavy-lidded stare at Sam. His lips part and curl up in a barely-there smile, and his tongue flicks out over the pink curve of his lower lip.

Those edges that Sam first noticed are harder to see, now; he’s all soft eyes and softer mouth, flushed skin, messy hair… all except the line of his jaw. That’s still wickedly, unmistakably sharp.

Spencer should come with a warning sign: handle with care. Sam’s not sure who that sign would be protecting. It could be handle with care: fragile, or, just as easily, handle with care: sharp edges.

Either way, there’s a good chance of someone getting hurt here.

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks.

Spencer’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly with surprise, and his pupils are huge and dark, liquid-looking, hypnotic. He blinks, slowly, and suddenly looks about ten years younger. He’d been so self-assured ordering Sam not to draw blood; that confidence is gone, now, like he’s had less experience with kissing than with telling people how to hit him.

Oh, Sam thinks, and tries not to let his own surprise show on his face.

Also also, Origin Stories has some of my favorite conversations/overall themes, but they’re long passages and I’m not gonna paste them here! 

…have you reread the most?

Uh not gonna lie I’ve re-read Everything a lot. Because... unf. That’s my go-to fantasy. 

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

Most of my favorites are already cited here! But if you wanted a short, concise kinda one-shot sampler plate, I’d start with:

Let’s Get Married - happy, poetic.

Told You So - sexual tension and snark.

Heart of Gold - feels.

Prey - hot but also weird and unsettling.

…are you most proud of?

Marked. I’ve talked about this fic so much, I don’t think it needs to be reiterated, but Marked means so so much to me.

Tagging: @cockslut-padalecki @deanwanddamons @butiaintgonnaloveem @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @dontshootmespence and whoever else wants to! 

[hoodoo12]

Ménage (9/13ish)

SFW. Confessions, soft kisses, coming to an agreement, surprise.

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @janitor-boy @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @yogsathot

Enjoy! ~

With another sincere, if tight-lipped, smile at the demon, Dewey walked out the back door. The clouds had swiftly covered the sun, and for a moment he mourned the opportunity to see the way her hair caught the sunlight as she knelt in her garden, thick gloves protecting her hands as she pulled weeds with single-minded tenacity. Feeling shy all of a sudden, his toe dug into the soft dirt at the edge of her garden, clearing his throat after a moment and feeling that gentle shock of seeing her eyes settle on him, rather than through him, as they had done for so long.

“Molly, I . . . I’ve got something I wanted to tell you.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. There was more, on top of everything else? She got to her feet, dusting off her knees, and tugged the gloves from her hands. “Okay. What is it?”

Dewey took a deep breath, and for the first time since he had been alive, he felt the faint stirrings of butterflies in his stomach, such a foreign and startlingly human reaction.

“First of all, I want to say again how . . . how sorry I am. Truly. You’ve been so sad and so lonely, and I didn’t do a thing to help.” There was an inscrutable shift in her expression when she registered the word change from couldn’t to didn’t. “You have every right to be angry with me. I . . . I guess I understand now why you . . . ” He gestured toward the house. “Why you’re so attached to him. I hate to admit it, but for a demon, he seems . . . solid.”

Which was honestly the nicest thing he would allow himself to say about Beetlejuice right now.

Molly continued to listen in silence, so he plunged ahead.

“For an angel, I've been kinda selfish. For the longest time, at least in my mind, it was just you and me, y'know? You were my charge, my girl, and then you just . . . just invite some stranger in. He just happened to be a demon, which meant I could make the case that your soul was in danger and, well, here we are. Honestly, I should have found a way to appear to you sooner, but . . ."  Dewey stalled, scratching nervously at the back of his head. "I . . . I wanted to be near you for the wrong reasons."

She spoke up then, her head tilted to the side in confusion. "The wrong reasons?"

His wings ruffles uncomfortably, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he had seen her on so many times.

"As your guardian, it's natural for me to . . . to bond with you, even if you're unaware of it. I'm supposed to care for you, and I do. But . . . I care about you too. More than I should. And I was afraid that if I . . . if I let you see me, if I got close to you . . . the temptation would be too much."

"Temptation?" Her brow furrowed, and he felt ice slip down his gullet at the look of near dread on her face. "Dewey, what are you talking about?"

He tried to find the words to tell her. He wanted to string together every poem he'd ever read, every love song he'd ever heard, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to properly express how he felt in words alone. So instead he took her hands, leaned in, and kissed her.

It was everything he had dreamed it would be. It was the most terrifying moment of his existence. She was soft, warm, her scent surrounding him like drugged perfume, and she wasn't pulling away. He let his lips linger against hers for a moment, a single second that held years of longing, before stepping back. There was a tug at his heart when he saw her eyes had closed, dismay twisting in his gut when he saw tears leaking out from beneath her lashes.

“Oh honey, don’t cry, please . . . I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Despite the worry that sent a chill through his body, he couldn’t help but marvel at the ability to brush her tears away, lifting them from her cheeks as he had wished to do for ages. Her breath hitched as she opened her eyes, and she shook her head.

“I-It’s not that . . . Dewey, I . . . I felt you.”

Confused at first, he looked down to see where his hand still cradled hers, astonished to find that his golden aura had enveloped her almost up to the elbow. Molly let out a sob, and he let go of her hands, watching the glow fade. For those moments, just for a few precious seconds, she had been able to feel the depth of his feeling for her, felt each second he had spent loving her from a distance, and it had overwhelmed her.

“Moly . . .”

He didn’t know what to say after that. A lump gathered in his throat as he watched her regain her composure, terrified of what she would say next while simultaneously dying to know. After a minute or so, her tears dry though there was still a slight quiver to her mouth, she took a deep breath and caught his eyes with hers.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said softly, and Dewey let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Don’t be. I probably would have done the same thing.”

It was Molly’s turn to take a step closer, though she didn’t reach for him. “This, um . . . this is an awful lot for me to process.”

Almost imperceptibly, his wings began to droop; that sounded an awful lot like the beginning of a rejection. Then, her warm fingers stroked down his arm, linking momentarily with his.

“But I think I understand now, at least a little. I just wish . . . I wish you could have done this sooner.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” A soft smile curled on his face, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

Though it was still sore from her chewing the previous night, her teeth nipped at the broken spot on her lip, which quickly grew red.

“I’ll admit . . . I don’t know what to do now.” She nodded toward the house, and he understood what she meant. “I summoned him. I brought him here. And he’s been so kind to me. He’s a demon, he can take what he wants, but he was patient, he asked what I wanted. He . . . you know, he’s just a lonely guy. Just as lonely as you and me, maybe more. That’s probably why the spell brought him here.”

She took a breath. “I’m willing to try this out, to let you stay with me . . . to be with you. But he’s part of the deal. As far as I’m concerned, this is his home now, just as much as it is mine.” Her brow raised in question. “Can you live with that?”

Dewey smiled, lifting a hand to gently push a stray curl back behind her ear. “For you? Absolutely. Besides, as far as demons go, I’ll admit . . . he’s pretty cute.”

That caused her to laugh, the first genuine smile gracing her mouth since he’d arrived, and his heart melted in relief.

“Okay,” she breathed, pausing for a moment before leaning forward and brushing a kiss over his cheek; a spot of heat lingered where her lips touched his skin.

With Dewey following, Molly went back inside the house, not surprised to find Beetlejuice roaming around her home again, fully clothed this time.

“Beej, can we talk for a sec?”

⁂

Beetlejuice watched Dewey walk--walk!--out of the house. To find Molly, to talk to Molly, to explain himself to Molly, all at his suggestion. Her house felt empty now, with no one else in it. That shouldn’t hurt as much as it did; he was used to being alone, and it was going to happen again pretty quickly, so why should there be a bitter taste in the back of his mouth? Alone was his lot in life. He should be used to it.

He picked at the frayed strings on his jacket’s sleeve. He could only imagine what an angel approaching Molly outside was going to look like. Although Dewey wasn’t in a flowing gown, he was at least dressed nicer. And with the snow white wings, and with the sun coming down, creating a golden corona of light around him . . . shit.

Shit.

He’d shot himself in the foot. He should’ve stayed angry, stayed indignant, and forced this celestial interloper the fuck out of here. Now he just felt reduced and stupid.

He wondered how long he’d spend by himself before someone messed up and accidently called him again, after Molly sent him away.

With a moan of despair that no one heard--also a standard thing in his life--Beetlejuice got up from the couch. He went the altar Molly had set up and ran his fingers over the candles and grimoire she’d put there. A small bowl held charred remains of plant material and on closer examination, a few strands of her hair that she’d used in her ritual. They weren’t much, all heat curled at the ends, but they were as blue as the sea and he pocketed them as a reminder of her. He doubted she’d give him any long strands, after Dewey would explain how demons could continue to influence people if they had tangible things to focus on.

They were still outside talking. He wandered into the kitchen under the pretense of getting more coffee, but also to get a peek at them. He was a world class voyeur, and should have been spying on them all along, but the pain that settled into his gut had pinned him to the couch.

The window over the sink was open. He’d forgotten that. Beetlejuice saw them in her garden, standing so close. Her hand was in his! He pushed her hair behind her ear!

He should be seething, but he just felt tired. This was the expected result, after all.

He couldn’t hear much, but with his head down he caught a little. Dewey was saying something about "for her? Absolutely!"

Beetlejuice flinched. She was asking the angel to help banish him. He tensed in anticipation of being sent away without even being next to her again.

But then--

“For a demon, he’s pretty cute”?

Beetlejuice’s head snapped up as those words made it to his ears. He must have heard wrong, because Molly laughed like she was delighted to hear that. He watched her press a kiss to Dewey’s face, and then lead him back to the house, towards the back door.

Quickly, Beetlejuice skipped back to the living room and stood by the altar again, picking up the green candle like he’d been there all along. Hoping his expression was neutral enough to disguise he’d overheard tail end of their conversation, he turned when she said they should talk.

“Sure,” he replied to her question quietly. “I’m ready to go.”

“Go?” Her brow furrowed, and in a split second, she realized that he must have seen them talking in the garden, might have even seen the kiss, and had come to the conclusion that she had chosen Dewey over him.

Indeed, his face was a stony mask of resignation, but those amber eyes couldn’t completely conceal his hurt, and Molly felt her heart splinter inside her chest.

“Oh, honey, no. No, you’re not going anywhere.”

She crossed immediately to him and reached up to cradle his face between her hands, softly kissing the corner of his mouth. No matter how many times she reassured him that she wanted him around, that he could stay as long as he wanted, he always seemed convinced that he was moments from being sent away, and it broke her heart.

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

Dewey let his eyes trail across her form as Molly made her way across the room, a little less ashamed now to be looking so brazenly. The euphoria of kissing her, of telling her, showing her his feelings for her and to not be turned down was still running hot through his body, and he was surprised to find that seeing her kiss Beetlejuice didn’t sting the way it did the night before. This might not be quite the challenge he was expecting it to be.

Molly took the demon’s hand and led him over to where Dewey was standing, waiting. He smiled, shoving his hands almost shyly in his pockets.

He’d thought they’d come back in to at least banish him in person, and he hadn’t been looking forward to seeing the gloating triumph in the angel’s face. Molly walking over to him, Molly telling him he was staying, Molly kissing him was all unexpected, and Beetlejuice gaped for a moment.

Then while he was stunned she took him over to Dewey, and the angel continued where she’d left off.

“We decided . . . well, we think we could make this work.” Dewey gestured to the three of them, his hand plunging immediately back into his pocket, a nervous trait he had never managed to shake. “If you wanna give it a try. She obviously cares a lot about you, and . . . I think we could manage. If it makes Molly happy, it’s worth a shot.”

His brows raised, questioning, hopeful. “What do you say?”

“Make this work?” he repeated stupidly. He glanced back and forth between the two of them, trying to understand what that meant, exactly. “Like, I stay here, and you stay here, and Molly . . .?”

"Yeah," she said encouragingly, squeezing his hand. "I would never make you leave, Beej; if you go, it's because you want to, not because anyone is making you. I told Dewey that as far as I'm concerned, this is your home too. He's willing to keep the peace, and if you're willing to do the same, then there's no reason we can't all stay here."

Still lacing her fingers between his, she leaned her head against his shoulder, reaching out to take Dewey's hand in her free one. "I know it's not going to be easy right off the bat, but . . . I think it's worth a try."

Dewey squeezed her hand gratefully, moving just a bit closer, still a little unsure about how  Beetlejuice would react. He still wasn’t sure what all of this meant for his angelic status, but since he hadn’t burst into flame or had his wings vaporized, perhaps . . . perhaps this really could work. Maybe he could gain more than he bargained for.

Slowly, Dewey reached forward with his free hand, skimming his fingertips along the back of Beetlejuice’s hand before tentatively linking their fingers.

“You know, I’ve never been much of a rule follower. Definitely not when I was alive. So why now, right? If it makes my charge happy to have you here, to have us both here, then what’s so wrong about that?”

If his brain wasn’t so occupied with trying to make all this fit together, he’d had made some biting remark about how that sounded like a pitch for the lamest, most common denominator sit com idea ever: "A Demon, An Angel, And Her!" But Molly was leaning on him, her hair smelling of shampoo and sunlight, and Dewey had stepped closer and took his hand, and that nothing else in the world important right now.

He already knew how warm Molly was. He was not expecting Dewey to be just as warm, maybe even more, and his fingers twitched against the angel’s, automatically wanting more.

His brow still furrowed, he knew his hair would be a wild mix of green, yellow, and embarrassingly, pink at the heat from the simple handholding. Fully expecting to be sent away, this option wasn’t one that even crossed his mind.

The three of them? Here? Together? How--?

Details could be sorted out later. He’d made worse deals, for less.

The pause he took in coming up with his answer made Molly nervous, her stomach rolling into a tight, squirming pit. What if he said no? What if he refused to be around an angel? Would he territorial, possessive, or would he simply leave? Dewey seemed equally anxious, his thumb running back and forth over the back of the demon's pale, shaking hand.

Licking his lips in more a nervous gesture than a sensual one, Beetlejuice nodded.

“Yeah . . . okay?” He cleared his throat and tried to eliminate the squeak in his voice, to sound more like he’d been earlier: confident and on top of things. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s give it a go.”

Her heart lifted, a smile like the sun coming out from behind the clouds spreading across her face as she squeezed his hand. Molly felt buoyant, hopeful, and perhaps, even genuinely happy for the first time in her adult life. In less than a day, her life had gone from hopeless and empty, to chaotic, to bursting with promise. Maybe that heavy feeling of being beneath a shadow, being cursed, would finally lift. Maybe, finally, she could see the sun.

Dewey's dark brown eyes watched as Beetlejuice's hair flickered in different colors, like a shifting, uncertain kaleidoscope. Did the colors mean something? Certainly every time a new emotion seemed to drift across his face, a new color filtered up like colored water through flower petals.

But then the demon agreed, and Dewey could practically feel Molly's relief as if it were his own, his smile widening as she pressed herself closer to him, her eyes warm and wide as a summer sky. For a brief instant, he saw a glimpse of a future that was hard-won, but peaceful, the three of them able to fill her home corner to corner with life and affection. He would get to be with her, be there for her, in all he ways he couldn't before. Two souls placed on opposite sides of the chessboard could find kinship and mutual respect for one another. It was everything he could have ever dreamed for, and more.

And then it fractured, darkened, shattered when he heard the prim clearing of a throat from her living room, his entire body going cold with dread when he let go of Molly and Beetlejuice's hands, darting around them to see another winged figure, tall and slender as a willow, their wings easily twice as large as his and a deep, rich gold in color. Their head lifted, sculpted brow arching as the cast a disapproving gaze in his direction. A voice that seemed to echo, a voice as androgynous as its maker, filled the room.

"Honestly, fledgling, I expected more from you."

 tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Dewey Finn #rp #AU #Beetlejuice x OC #Dewey X OC #Beetlejuice based on Blumjuice

[wewillwriteyou]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love || Chapter 3

A few elements from the main plot: A fine line falls between fiction and reality: what starts as a musical slowly becomes a game-changer. Tables will turn and it will get clear as the sun that the only unstoppable power in life … is love.

Summary Chapter 3: Joe decides to organize a little night out at the pub with the whole “theatre gang”. Things will not go as expected. 

Word count: 4.4k+

Warnings: Mention of alcohol, language and a hint of angsty arguments blink and you’ll miss it

A/N: Things start to get interesting and in this chapter, you’ll finally understand some of everybody’s love interests’ dynamics, so ... don’t miss it! 😏

Friday, 18 October 2019

“Is it possible to fall for someone without realising?”  

“Oh honey, you really know nothing about human heart…”             

“I don’t. Can you teach me? Can you heal me?”

One pirouette after the other, her mind was more and more confused.

She stopped all of a sudden, thumping with her feet on the wooden floor of the stage. Sighing, she brushed her hands through her loose hair and let them fall to her sides.

The auditorium was completely empty at that time of the day and besides, it was Friday so a lot of people were preparing for the night out.

Not Elizabeth.

She had spent the day studying for her imminent exams and decided to use the evening to do one of the things she loved most in the world: dance.

She had always danced, since she could remember. Even now that she was at college, and she was studying something completely different – she was studying to be an architect, just like her parents - she still took lessons sometimes and danced anytime she had her free time - which was almost never.

That’s part of the reasons she threw herself into the role of princess Hyv for Joe’s play: her character had a few sequences and even a solo at some point in the second act. Now that the play was starting to take shape, she rehearsed every time she could.

Dancing was one of the few things that she never got bored of doing and it had always helped her find inspiration and answers to the problems clouding her head.

She inhaled and exhaled and repeated the choreography from the start. She had pretty much come up with it herself but she had incorporated some of the moves that Malcolm, the choreographer Joe had chosen for the play, had taught her.

Music was playing in loop in her headphones and she let herself flow to the rhythm of the song.

The sequence was constantly evolving, following her train of thoughts. And that evening her thoughts brought her to Gwilym.

She couldn’t figure out why things had changed and when.

Before the summer, everything was fine between them, but now it seemed like there was a gap, a line drawn in the middle of their friendship and she didn’t know whether she was willing to try and cross.

Worst thing was: she didn’t know who to talk to about this…

Joe was her best bud but she didn’t feel comfortable talking to him about Gwilym, after all, he was his best friend too and she thought it could have been weird.

Denise had a lot of things going on in her life and even though she knew she could count on her, she didn’t wanna bore her with her teenage drama problems.

Gwilym himself was been one of her best friends but she couldn’t talk to him, for obvious reasons.

As those thoughts crowded her mind she began spinning and spinning again, till she perfectly landed from her last pirouette, nailing the ending of her choreography.

In spite of the mess in her head, dance had managed to make her body focus solely on the moves, as if completely separated from her mind.

She couldn’t help but smile as she took out her headphones when she suddenly heard a clap of hands.

She jumped on her feet and rushed a hand to her chest, trying to make out the source of the applause in the darkness of the auditorium.

As he walked toward the stage, she immediately recognised his figure.

What are the chances? her inner voice sarcastically commented.

“Jesus, Gwilym you almost gave me a heart attack” she had heavy breath as if she had run the half marathon.

He softly giggled as he climbed the stairs to the stage and walked up to the girl.

“Is that choreography yours?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She imperceptibly nodded, suddenly feeling insecure and exposed. He had seen her perform something that had come out of her body like a force she couldn’t control… she felt as if he had seen her naked.

“Something I’m working on… - she replied, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear nervously – I thought I was alone”

“I hope it didn’t bother you I watched…” he half-smiled as if to excuse himself for having witnessed something that seemed so personal.

Shit, why are you always such a gentleman, she thought.

“I actually feel a little weird – she said, softly giggling – I can improve a lot and it’s not even finished yet and–”

“What? Are you crazy?” he interrupted her.

“Excuse me?” she was confused.

“Liz that was incredible! - he continued – You should definitely show that to Malcolm and to Joe absolutely…”

She felt her cheeks reddening more than they already were and she smiled “You really think it’s good?”

“Yeah it’s good! It’s pretty fucking amazing actually…”

She laughed “I think you’re too kind with me, but thanks Gwil”

He smiled back and for a few seconds they just stared into each other’s eyes, not knowing what to say or do and trying to understand what was happening.

All of a sudden they both burst out chuckling, trying to break the tension.

Elizabeth was trying her best not to look too much into that awkward silence. She did not want to create expectations. She did not want to let herself daydream. She did not want to throw herself into a pit of helpless hope.

Gwil’s voice brought her back to reality.

“I will look like a fool next to you” he chuckled.

“What are you talking about? You’re a good dancer!”

“Now you sound even crazier - he laughed harder – but I appreciate the effort…”

Liz didn’t know what came onto her, but she unexpectedly grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to her “I’m sure you’re better than you think”

She positioned in front of him and instructed him to put a hand on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

“Now one step at a time, let’s go back, forth, right and left until we make a circle” she patiently said.

And they did.

She guided him at first, but after a few circles, she felt him take the lead. She smiled and he smiled back, absorbed in the euphoria of the moment.

They were spinning faster and faster until Elizabeth left her grip on his left shoulder and spun open their embrace. Gwil immediately caught what she was up to and with a swift move of his arm he made her spin once, twice, five times, before catching her and lifting her from the hips.

She squealed and started wiggling in his grip “Gwil! You know I’m ticklish”

He put her down after a few more spins, as they both chuckled.

When her feet touched the ground again, she realised – but she was sure he had noticed too – they were really close.

She looked up at him and he just gave her a gentle smile, the one he always did when he found himself in lack of words, his signature.

She cleared her throat and took a step back, immediately looking down.

“See? You can dance” she half-laughed before nervousness took over her face again.

Liz glanced at his face and she could have sworn she’d seen a hint disappointment in his eyes.

She didn’t have the time even wonder about it, that they heard voices coming from backstage.

“For the last time, no! I don’t think it’s missing a character -  Denise sounded exhausted – the play is perfectly fine as it is”

“Yeah but don’t you think there should be another sorcerer?” Joe was stubborn as usual.

Why am I not surprised? Liz found herself to think.

They appeared from the back curtain and were startled to see their friends there, standing less than two feet apart and looking as guilty as if they’d done something stupid.

Which was kinda true.

“What are you two doing here? - Joe frowned – rehearsal is not until next week…”

Gwilym and Elizabeth shared a look but Gwil was faster to reply “I asked her to read lines – he lied – we had nothing to do so we came here to get used being on this stage…”

Joe glanced at Liz and she was smiling nervously. She was quite a good actress but had always been a terrible liar. He stared back at his best friend and he had the same awkward smile.

“Alright, if you were boning I don’t wanna know guys” he joked, but unexpectedly felt a sting of jealousy he was fast enough to ignore.

“WhAt?” Liz’s voice came out a bit altered as she tried to hide the redness on her cheeks.

Why was she being so weird about it? Was something really going on with those two? Joe couldn’t bring himself to answer that question.

“As I said, not my business guys – Joe continued - but now you have something to do tonight…”

Liz sighed “What do you need us for?” she asked.

Joe shook his head “You don’t have to do anything – he replied – I thought I would organise something at the pub tonight for the whole theatre gang, you know? To get to know our colleagues better outside of the play.”

“Okay first of all – Elizabeth was the first to speak -  don’t ever call us ‘the theatre gang’ ever again” she stated and Denise and Gwilym chuckled.

“Second of all… - she continued - What time is it?”

Joe grinned “Nine pm at Green’s”

“Neat – Gwil jumped in – we’ll be there”

Elizabeth internally screamed at the use of that pronoun. We.

So much for not daydreaming, uh? she thought.

“Cool – Joe replied – and guess what? Miss Lucy and her servant are coming as well, can you believe it?”

The smile left Liz’s face as she caught with the corner of her eye Gwilym smiling at the mention of Lucy’s name.

“I still don’t know how he convinced them” Denise chuckled.

“But I did – Joe talked back – and who knows? Maybe she’ll even agree to dance with you…” he winked at Gwilym and Liz felt like a bit of her heart was being ripped from her chest.

She kept on smiling flatly.

“Yeah maybe…” Gwil chortled lightly and the others followed him.

All that Liz could hear though, was the music she’d been listening to before, her steps on the wooden floor, one after the other, and that small, broken piece of hope falling into the pit.

She could feel her heartbeat hammering in her ears, until a muffled voice woke her up from her thoughts taking her back to reality.

“Liz? Are you with us?” Denise asked her, rotating her body to look at Elizabeth as the mattress bounced underneath her. Sitting on the other bed there was Alex, who had the same worried expression.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Sorry girls, I’m just a little bit tired - she nervously chuckled, caressing her forehead and abandoning her back against the chair - what were you saying?”

“Alex doesn’t want to come tonight” Denise whined, tilting her head towards the brunette who couldn’t contain a soft laugh that escaped from her lips.

“What? Are you joking?” Elizabeth shockingly asked, almost jumping on her feet.

“I already told Joe: tomorrow my parents will arrive in town and they asked me to help them with the moving and that shitty stuff, like lifting boxes and storing objects on the shelves. I’m probably gonna spend my whole Saturday with back pain and something tells me that reordering a house in hangover wouldn't be a great idea” Alex stated, crossing her legs and caressing her knees.

“You’re wrong - Denise replied, raising her chin - I’ve read many articles, like thousands of articles, about how easier is to move furniture when you’re drunk” she used such a serious tone and made her statement sound so real, that the two other girls couldn't contain the loud laughter.

“She’s right! I’ve heard about that too!” Liz said, standing up from her desk to sit down near Denise, who high-fived her.

Alex shook her head and covered her face with her palms. She was aware that it was a lost battle when it came to arguing with those two. It’d only been a few weeks but she already loved them.

“Besides, you’re the new girl. In movies, the new girl is always the talk of the town. You have to respect the cliché” Denise added, shrugging her shoulders.

“Sorry to disappoint you Didi - Alex started, getting up from the bed and walking towards the wardrobe to swung it open - let me fix this problem as soon as possible” she added extracting a short, black dress from the closet.

Elizabeth and Denise screamed and clapped their hands, getting up to their feet to reach and hug Alex, who giggled and theatrically announced:

“Let’s get ready”

***

The pub was pretty crowded and it smelled like cheap beer and old cigarettes, but the dim light was perfectly paired with the glam-rockish music that was playing in the background.

Liz, Alex and Denise were squeezed on a tiny, not-so-comfortable red couch, chatting lively as they were waiting for the boys to return to their table with the drinks.

“And did it hurt?” Alex curiously asked, leaning her elbow on the wooden surface in front of her. Elizabeth behind her was warmly smiling.

“Not really - Denise answered, curving her lips a little - the real struggle came when I started to take hormones. But it was all worth it, believe me. I think I’m finally feeling my real self like this”

“Sure as hell ‘t was worth it! You’re absolutely gorgeous!” Alex said leaning back on the couch so that she wasn’t covering Elizabeth, who didn’t hesitate to agree.

“You know I think the same,” the read-head stated, with an, it’s obvious tone.

“You two are angels, for real” and saying this, Denise couldn’t help but get a little emotional as she felt her eyes getting watery.

Alex noticed and extended her arm behind Denise’s back to hug her, while she rested her head on Alex’s shoulder for a moment and Liz winked with a proud smile.

“Alcohol is coming!” Joe’s voice announced a second later, as he was approaching the table followed by Gwilym.

An uncountable number of beer’s pints and bottles were dangling from their hands, and the three girls immediately stretched their arms towards them to avoid a complete disaster.

When they were all sat down with a cold beer in front of them, Joe raised his pint.

“Cheers, people!” his tone firm and serious.

“Wow mate - Gwilym said, patting his shoulder - what and inspirational discourse” the girls giggled and lowered their sights, to escape from Joe’s cheesed off gaze.

“I’m putting my entire creativity into the musical project. You can’t expect me to find poetic words even during an alcoholic Friday night!”

“I’ll drink to that” Alex said between the chuckles, raising her bottle in Joe’s direction.

“Thank you! Cheers, girl!” he immediately replied, toasting his pint against Alex’s bottle.

The others, shaking their heads in amusement, followed them and in a moment their chins were all addressed to the ceiling as they were all taking a long sip of their beer.

Soon a noisy chattering emerged from their table, as they were all feeling very talkative. Probably thanks to both the alcohol, that was making them pretty tipsy and the pleasant company.

“So, tell us Joe – Denise blurted, taking another sip from her second beer and already feeling the alcohol loosening her senses – what’s your type?” she inquired, cupping her face with both hands. All eyes were on him, as Joe visibly blushed.

“What does that even mean? Are we in second grade or something?” he stuttered, drinking as well.

He didn’t know what was making him so nervous. Maybe the fact that his brain had almost immediately associated Elizabeth with his type.

Or maybe his mind was simply clouded because of the alcohol.

He opted for the second alternative. Easier and less scary for sure.

On the other hand, Denise felt completely disappointed. A last little spark of hope was expecting him to confess his love for her. Even just that he liked her and he wouldn’t have said no to a casual date. But her rationality reminded her that it was more likely to see a dog fly than to hear Joe say I love you, Denise, let’s run away together on a white horse.

She tried to chuckle with the others, as she sank into the couch to hide her upset expression.

“Why don’t you ask the question to these two? – Joe mumbled pointing to Gwilym and Liz – they seem to be pretty close lately”. His tipsy and talkative self said the words he didn’t dare to speak. He still wasn’t sure whether he wanted an actual answer.

The thing he was sure about was that the tiny flick of jealousy he had felt in the auditorium and that he had been feeling quite often lately, was getting harder and harder to ignore.

“What?!” Elizabeth shrieked, opening her eyes wide. Gwilym, at the same time, scoffed on his drink, coughing a little not to die right on the spot.

“Pair on the stage falling in love in real life. A classic” Alex joked, winking to Joe, who fingered-gun her, and friendly pushing Denise with her elbow, making her finally smile.

“I let you have the part of the typical movie cliché. New girl” Liz sassily replied to her friend, stealing a sip from her beer with challenge in her eyes.  

“Wow. What a bad girl – Denise faked a shocked tone – ‘m sure Gwil loves bad girls” she added. Alex clapped her hands and burst out laughing and Joe tried to follow her right up, but his laugh only covered the ache he felt at the pit of his chest. Elizabeth and Gwilym shared a shy smile.

But, as soon as Gwil opened his mouth to talk back, the little bell on the top of the door rang and Lucy, Ben, and Rami made their entrance in the pub.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and puffed, taking the glass to her mouth to cover her annoyed face.

Gwilym stood up and waved at the trio to recall their attention.

“What is he doing here?” Alex whispered in Denise’s ear when she saw Ben taking a chair to sit next to his girlfriend on the other side of the table.

“Joe invited them because Rami and Lucy are part of the musical too. Hasn’t he told you?” she answered, leaning closer to Alex.

Ben looked at her and smirked, whilst the brunette as a response raised an eyebrow and looked away.

“No. He hasn’t”

A thin layer of tension had fallen between the entire group. Only Joe and Gwilym didn’t seem to notice it, as they kept talking non-stop to, respectively, Rami and Lucy.

“So – Gwil started, moving his chair closer to Lucy – ready for the tiring rehearsal?”

She adjusted a perfect strand of perfect blond hair behind her ear and started to show off about her past theatre experiences.

Elizabeth was watching the entire scene with a disgusted expression written all over her face, as she was trying to extinguish the fire of jealousy that was burning inside her chest.

Beside her, Alex chortled noticing the way Rami was completely ignoring Joe’s words and concentrating his attentions on Denise and Denise only.

“Do you know him?” she then asked, whispering in her friend’s ear once again.

“It’s a long story” Denise asked, sighing and rotating her eyes.

“Well, long story short: I think he likes you” Alex suggested, elbowing her with a grin painted on her lips.

“Don’t you have something else to do instead of playing Cupid?” the other replied, not being able to hide her half laughter.

Alex laughed along and started to get through her bag searching for her pack of cigarettes. She then put one in her mouth and got up.

“Actually I have – she said winking at Denise - excuse me, Madame” she jokingly asked to Elizabeth, who moved her legs to let her pass.

Ben followed her with his eyes and, as soon as the door closed behind her back, he slid an arm on Lucy’s chair.

“I’ll step out for a smoke” he announced in her ear, lightly kissing her cheek. Lucy snapped her head in his direction with widened eyes.

“What? You can’t leave me alone with – she hesitated, lowering her voice even more – them”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like they’re gonna eat you… And you have Rami anyway – but when he turned around he noticed his friend had sat down at Alex’s place, near Denise; when he met his girlfriend’s gaze he saw she was looking at him under the lashes with her eyebrows raised – I’ll be back in a minute. Promise” he rapidly solved the question, getting up and walking fast towards the exit.

Lucy puffed and abandoned her face against her palm, before going back to faking interest in what Gwilym was talking about.

On the other side of the table Denise was silently asking for help to Elizabeth, not being able to handle Rami’s insistent advances anymore. But Liz seemed on another planet, with her eyes fixed on Gwilym.

Joe had noticed her gaze as well and at that moment he couldn’t lie to himself: he was jealous. For the first time since he had met her, he wanted Elizabeth to look at him that way. The same way she was looking at Gwilym.

“Joey – Denise’s voice startled him – why don’t you buy me a drink, sweetie?” she was clearly trying to let Rami think there was something between her and Joe. But deeply, she knew she was doing that just to see Joe’s reaction.

“Sweetie? Sorry, Den. I-I think I need to go to the bathroom” Joe excused himself and left the table at the speed of light, leaving Denise with her insecurities behind.

Once he’d stepped out, Ben let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and turning his head left, he’d recognized Alex’s silhouette pressed against the bricked wall.

Ben couldn’t tell what it was: he just felt strange anytime she was around, anytime she met her in the hallway. Even if she had been ignoring him since their first meeting, outside the auditorium.

As he walked closer to her, he could see her body tensing, showing how annoyed she was.

He lit up one cigarette as well and abandoned his back on the wall, few feet apart from her.

“Hi” Ben tried. But as a response, Alex let out a long trail of smoke.

“Are you ignoring me?” he then asked, immediately regretting his decision. Alex giggled, but he could tell it was a burst of sarcastic laughter.

“Wow, your sixth sense is incredible” she answered without giving him a single glance.

“Okay, but why?” Ben asked again, nervously wrapping his lips on the cigarette soon after. Alex finally turned her head, but the expression on her face didn’t omen anything good.

“You even have the boldness to ask such a question – she thundered, interrupting herself to take a puff from her cig – because ‘ve met so many people like you that broke my heart in the past. And, even if she’s spoiled as fuck, your girlfriend Lucy doesn’t deserve such a treatment. Nobody does.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t even know me and ‘re already jumping to conclusions!”

“Oh, c’mon Ben, be serious with yourself. Do you think that flirting with other girls when your girlfriend is literally in the room next to you isn’t a little bit shitty?”

Ben didn’t like her tone and her attitude and he didn’t like to hear the truth spilled to him in that brutal way.

But damn, he liked her.

“You could have just admitted you were jealous. It would have been easier” he shrugged, attempting to erase some tension and reacting the only way he knew how: faking indifference and taking the piss of the other person. Though, judging by Alex’s face he realised he had just made another snipe.

“Think as you like it, Ben. I’m not falling for your bullshits – she replied condescendingly – I only pity your girlfriend, to be honest” another grey stripe flew out from her mouth’s corner.

He didn’t know how he could like her. He didn’t even know why he liked her so much. He just did. He felt literally attracted to her by a magnetic field. And more he stared at her, more he felt the need to kiss her.

She had that strong attitude that intrigued him and the impossibility of the situation made everything even more exciting.

“Let me offer you a drink. To start again” he said, imperceptibly scrolling his shoulders.

“No thank you. I’ve already drunk too much tonight” she coldly replied, continuing to smoke her almost finished cigarette.

Ben nodded to himself and absentmindedly kicked away a pebble.

“Is there the slightest chance we could become friends one day?” he asked, tilting his head towards her.

Alex sighed, but when she looked up at him to answer someone cut her off.

“Mate! How are you?” a blond boy questioned, approaching the two of them. Once he was closer, Alex recognized him: he was the guy that had helped her to find the auditorium.

“Hi mate! ‘s been a while” Ben answered back, patting on his shoulder and smiling to him. They talked a bit about practice and sport and Alex understood they were probably in the same rowing team.

“And … hi to you too” the blond guy then said, diverting his attention to Alex. She grinned and waved back.

“Allen, right? – she inquired and he nodded – ‘m Alexandra. Last time I didn’t have time to introduce myself”

“Yeah, I remember. Last time you were pretty desperate, looking for the auditorium. Right? – he teased pointing a finger towards her; Alex laughed lightly and scrolled her shoulders, all under Allen’s intense gaze – so… can I offer you a drink?” he then asked getting closer.

Alex smirked and looked at Ben.

“With pleasure” she answered always staring at Ben. She put out the cigarette right near his shoulder, against the bricked wall, before throwing it in the trash can.

She then perched herself on the arm Allen had offered her.

“See ya, mate”

“Mmmh? Yeah, yeah. See you, Al” Ben carelessly replied.

“Have a good night” Alex sassily added, before stepping into the pub followed by Allen.

Ben remained there. Looking at the black sky above his head, with a finished cigarette dangling from his lips and thousands of thoughts crowding his mind.

In that precise moment, he knew that the knot to his bundle of thoughts was only one. The answer to his questions had a name. And her name was Alex.

-

Chapters: ⬸ previous | next ⤑

A/N: Things are getting intricated, folks. As always, please comment and reblog this chapter if you liked it. For us writers, there’s nothing better than get to know your opinion about what you read. 

Enjoy!

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#crazy little thing called love #CLTCL #borahp cast #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody cast #joe mazzello #ben hardy #gwilym lee #lucy boynton #rami malek #allen leech #joe mazzello x oc #ben hardy x oc #lucy boynton x rami malek #gwilym lee x oc #borhap boys imagine #smut #fluff #angst #sweetgcreature #deakyswhitequeen #wewillwriteyou #wewillwriteyou masterlist

[lizzytheauthor]

Hey-o, not sure where I’m gonna upload my writing yet, probs google drive but I haven’t gotten around to it yet, so here’s the prologue to the new thing! Also, this is going to be horror, so if you are unnerved easily, or don’t handle horror easily, you might want to avoid this. There will be themes of questioning reality, loss of time, loss of free will, and more. I’ll try to tag what’s applicable this prologue is (mostly) tame though.

Prologue

“You know, you’re lucky! This center has only been open for about a month. People are already raving about how it’s going to ‘revolutionize the field of psychology’. It’s booked straight through the next year.”

I continue staring out the car window. Whatever this state worker thinks is comforting...well, clearly she’s never actually talked to a kid before, or rather, taken note of their reactions.

“’Completely cured in two weeks of less!’ Doesn’t that sound great?” she continues.

She’s practically begging for me to feed into her. I don’t.

“Well, I’ve already taken a handful of kids there, and they have seen remarkable improvement so far.” she pauses, to see if I say anything.

I see this, center? No, this looks more like those old crazy houses in the horror films. The kind that have ghosts around every corner. The bronze plaque on the gate reads, ‘The Institute of Revolutionary Hypnosis’. Two weeks and I’ll be cured? Sounds unlikely. How can you ‘cure’ someone of the trauma of seeing...I don’t buy it.

We pull up and get out of the car. I look up at the building, and spot a woman staring at me through the window, 3rd floor up, long brown hair or black? It’s a bit creepy, but I suppose you find those kinds of people here don’t you?

“Come on, now, please?” I hear a tinge of irritation in her voice. Which she quickly tries to mask with that please at the end.

It only comes off as bitter to me. I’ve always been good at reading emotions though, maybe to others they wouldn’t see it.

As we walk towards the door I see two very large, very intimidating, men on either side of the double doors, which also seem larger than normal. Maybe. Between them is a lady, she seems young, but still older than me.

She lets out a far too cheerful, “Hello! You must be…?”

The social worker answers for me, “Ah, this is,” she reads her clipboard, “Ralph Gingham?” she looks over at me for confirmation, I nod. “He’s scheduled for treatment, you should be expec-”

“Yes! Ralph! We’ve been waiting for you. C-PTSD, right? Probably some other things rattling around in there too, eh?” the receptionist lady says this with a smile that seems off. I don’t like how happy she is discussing my mental illness. This whole exchange feels off and artificial. Like they are both read the lines for a play, and I’m trying to guess the blanks.

“Yea, I was under the bed when my parents were killed. I guess it fucked me up or something.” I can’t help myself, maybe it’s their cheerfulness. I can’t stand the happiness of everyone around me, while I’m…

“Well aren’t you a cheery one!!” she interrupts my thoughts with the statement. Not a question. “Well, let’s get started with the tour! I can take him from here.”

Almost imperceptibly, I feel like I see her wink, at the state worker. No, maybe not. I don’t know. Maybe. Who knows?

We enter the lobby, past the large men. I get the feeling I won’t be getting past them if I think about fleeing. It’s large, and mostly empty. There’s a desk, with a chair and a computer, and a phone. The typical stuff you would expect from a reception desk. Some potted plants scattered around, although they look fake. Nothing offensive, and perfectly normal.

“So, let’s start! I’m sure you’re dying to see where you’ll be staying for the next two weeks!” Every word out of her mouth feels rehearsed, very well rehearsed.

“Uh, sure. I guess.” As we walk into the first hall, it only just occurs to me that none of my stuff is here. Wait, “Oh, hold on. My backpack, I left it in the-”

“Oh no worries, I’m sure you can handle two weeks without your game boy!” she sticks her tongue out at me, and I’m immediately offended. “All your clothes, food, entertainment, everything! We supply it here. No pesky outside communication to disturb your thoughts, your recovery.”

I have no reason to trust her, but I can’t exactly go running out the front door. So, I guess that’s that. I’m excommunicated from the world for two weeks.

We walk through the hall, I think I missed what the receptionist said. I feel like we’re heading towards a cafeteria, but that’s all that is, a feeling. The hall is spotless, no smudges, no cobwebs, nothing. I’d swear it was painted yesterday, but as I drag my hand across the wall, no paint comes off on me.

I bump into the now stopped receptionist.

“Excuse me, could you not do that?” she asks me.

“What?” I feign ignorance, though I know she’s talking about my hand along the wall.

“The uh, dragging your hand. Hitting the doors bothers the other...roommates” the pause she has before roommates bothers me, but not nearly as much as the fact that I didn’t notice any doors in the hall before. Normally if I drag my hand along a wall I can feel the gaps for a door, or something.

I didn’t with this hall. I decided to just listen to her, and walk obediently by her side.

“Thank you!” she resumes her cheerful tone and her quickened pace.

We enter the cafeteria, and it’s tidy. Not quiet, but not loud. The first thing I notice is that the people in here seem to be of widely varying ages. Some old ladies, some younger boys.

“I didn’t realize everyone here was so...varied.” I say.

“Oh yes, there’s no issues between roommates, since the treatment just works that well. Honestly, we cure you after just two or three sessions, but we need to keep you for a little longer to make sure nothing comes back.” she points to a sign in the cafeteria, ‘Days since last incident: 439’

“I thought you just opened last month?”

“I don’t know where you learned that, but no, we’ve been open for 439 days,” she pauses, smiling at me, “as you can see, we’ve never had an incident. And we don’t expect that to change any time soon.”

I don’t believe her. I don’t know, maybe I don’t believe the social worker. Who knows. I’ve never heard of this place either way, and I can’t exactly look it up, can I?

We make our way to the line workers, the people serving the food. All of them are smiling as they work, which doesn’t seem. I don’t know, it seems off, but not overtly so. “Hi Miranda,” one says with a wave.

“Hey Brian, how are you feeling today?” neither of them breaking their smile

“Fantastic! Here for some food?” it was just then that he notices me, “Oh! Hello sport. How are you?”

Miserable, actually, thanks for asking.

“I’m good. Thanks.” the words leave my lips, but they weren’t mine. Maybe they were? Miranda gives me a look, it makes me feel like she’s happy that I said that.

“Wonderful, always great to hear. Want some pizza? It’s pizza Friday!” he says this with such conviction, I believe him.

I could’ve sworn it was Thursday though. Maybe the days are just blending together, I’ve never been great with dates, even in school.

“Uh,” I look at Miranda.

“He can have a slice, we do have a schedule to keep though.” she says, glancing at her watch.

I happily accept the plate, with a slice of pizza. Maybe I’m just hungry, that’d explain some of the off-ness, right?

We continue walking, we exit the cafeteria, and enter a different hall. I think. Honestly, I can see myself getting very lost here, “Hey, Miranda. What do I do if I get lost?”

She responds, “Oh, you won’t get lost, I promise. This tour is very informative.”

Never breaking her cheerful attitude. She certainly seems confident. This place must take in other types of mental illness? Certainly not everyone is great at navigating this place. I mean, I got lost my freshman year of high school over a dozen times. My high school must have been at least half the size of this place, if not smaller.

On the second floor it’s just...doors. So many doors, and halls.

“This is where most people sleep, obviously the caretakers won’t be sleeping here, but all the roommates do.” Her use of caretakers unnerves me.

“Caretakers? Why do you keep saying roommates? Will I have to share a room?” I can’t stop the questions. They just kinda spill out of me.

“Oh, a quizzical one. The doctors, the watchers, me. That’s what I mean by caretakers, just people who will be taking good care of you.” she pats my head, which makes me feel condescended to. “As for the sharing a room, yes, you will. Just one, we have two people to each room. Most people like the company.” She smiles at me again. “Trust me, you’ll love them.”

Each door has a number and a plaque next to it, with two names each. Seems similar to the hospitals I’ve seen. We walk through a couple hallways, and we stop at room 39. I read my name, ‘Ralph Gingham,’ and underneath, the name, ‘Pete Mozzato’.

“Here’s your room!” she opens the door as she says this. This Pete isn’t here, so I guess he’s out and about. “Pete is really swell, I think you’ll get along nicely.”

“How old is he?” I ask. Again, without thinking.

“He’s 19, same as you.” she gives a brief pause, “We don’t segregate people during relaxed activities, like eating, or playing, or such. But we do try to match each person with a person the same age for sleeping arrangements. ‘It helps the circadian rhythm’”

She says this, but I don’t really understand, nor do I think that’s true. Either way, at least I’ll have someone who can relate to me somewhat.

“And that’s it! You’ll see that we have some decent outdoors equipment, and activities, in the back. Kinda hard to miss those.”

“But, I feel like I haven’t seen a whole half the building, let alone the 3rd floor!” I may have raised my voice a bit.

“Hush, hush. No need to raise a fuss. The third floor is for treatments, you’ll see it plenty. The rest is just other rooms. You’ll see there’s bathrooms scattered about, and you know where the cafeteria is. You also know where there’s activities. That’s all you need.” she walks into my room, expecting me to follow.

And I do.

“I’m sure you’ll want to relax a bit, your schedule is printed on the calendar on your half of the room, Welcome to The Institute of Revolutionary Hypnosis!” She closes the door behind her as she says this. I want to go open the door and yell at her, but I don’t.

Schedule says my first ‘treatment’ is at 9am. I look at the clock, on the wall above the door, and see that it’s already 8:01pm. It’s strange. I didn’t even notice the sun going down, but a glance out the window confirms it. Guess I’m here, let’s hope this helps me.

#horror #my writing

[mingiswow]

03 | Blood Princess

Pairing: RM x reader, OT7 x reader

Genre: Mafia!au

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of rape, mentions of violence

Word count: 1850 I got a little carried away ops

A soft chill wind came through the windows and traveled over your body, making the pores bristle and a shiver run down your spine. You slowly opened your eyes, not used to such a bright light in the morning. You looked around still a little dizzy from the sleep not recognizing the place you were. The walls were a light shade of yellow, almost imperceptible. Everything was so clean and neat, the curtains were so white you thought it could hurt your sight. You weren’t used to this. Your previous room - or dungeon as you used to call - was dirty and dark, full of weapons and training equipment, your bed was small and stiff, you couldn’t call that a bed.

You looked over your body and noticed a soft satin camisole adorning it. Your hands fumbled slowly through it, feeling the softness and comfort of the piece of fabric over your body. God, you couldn’t remember the last time you wore something so comfortable.

“Did you liked?” the soft voice woke you up from your thoughts, making you quickly turn your head towards the sound. Namjoon was standing on the room’s door, a tray full of delicious food on his hands. You nodded, your cheeks turning a few shades of pink from the idea of the man changing your clothes and seeing you naked.

He slowly walked towards you, careful after the events of the day before. You were sad but you couldn’t blame him that much, he was a gang leader, a mafia boss, having too many feelings and emotions might make him weak.

He pulled the little tray feet and put it on top of your legs. Your eyes glimmered looking at the food. There was a cup of coffee and another one of orange juice, there was sausages, eggs, fruits, bread, and a croissant.

“I didn’t know what you liked so I just asked for a lot of things. I hope you like them” his voice was soft and careful, his eyes were soft as well. You could notice he was having a hard time struggling to not look at your half covered body. You nodded before whispering a small thank you. You grabbed a piece of sausage and bit, closing your eyes enjoying the delicious taste of it. “The maid said your body was very bruised and hurt when she exchanged your clothes yesterday” you peeked him through the cup of coffee, waiting for him to continue. “I called a doctor to make a few examinations on you if you don’t mind, of course”.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?” he tilted his head at your question, his dimple showing slightly.

“Why are you making all of this to me. I mean, I have no value, nor to you nor to Papa” he sighed at your statement. “I really appreciate. I do. But I feel like I don’t deserve it” you gasped when you felt his body embrace yours. His arms wrapped you tightly, his head on the crook of your neck. You would never admit to yourself that his body intertwined perfectly to yours.

“I’m so sorry of what you’ve been through. Yesterday I was a jerk, ok?! I’m so sorry for it” his hands grabbed the side of your face, making you look him in the eyes. You felt your whole body melt and a heat crawl to your cheeks again. “You are part of BTS now and we’ll treat you like you deserve to be. We are a family bonded by the weirdest and worst situation but we still are one and we should take care of each other as such” his thumb caressed under your eye, cleaning a little tear that fell.

Never in your entire life you’ve been treated like this, like a real person with feelings, emotions, and dilemmas, like a human being. You were so used to be used, to be a weapon, to be a toy that you couldn’t even remember a day someone was nice to you. Even in college you were treated like this, you always felt like everyone knew who you were. But the reality was that you were just a scared little girl, one that lost her family, her life and her innocence too soon.

“Thank you, boss” you managed to say, your voice cracked and low from the tears you were holding.

“You don’t have to call me boss, you call me Namjoon or however you want” he said, a sweet smile playing on his lips, his eyes closing a little from the action.

“You are not like the other I’ve met” you confessed, looking at your lap, your fingers playing with each other. He chuckled and nodded.

“No one in BTS is like the others you’ve met. Our stories have a tough background and we are here for various reasons. We honestly don’t like the violence of the whole thing but we do what we do” you nodded. “Everyone protects everyone more than killing for the sake of it. Well, Jimin kinda likes it and Tae loves burning things, I mean, you get used after a while in this world I guess” his hands reached yours, holding them tight and bringing to his lips, where he left a long soft kiss. “You don’t have to worry with nothing for a while, ok?! Just enjoy your kind of freedom” he said getting on his feet to leave the place. “I’ve got a few clothes for you just until your new ones arrive and don’t come with I don’t need because you do” he smiled seeing right through you. “I’ll leave you now. Have a great breakfast and see you around”.

“Thank you, Joonie” you managed to say before he left, a silly smile playing on both of your lips.

He closed the door behind him, his heart fluttering and the stupid smile on his face. What type of sorcery you had to make him so stupid around you?

“Watch out, Joonie, you might be falling in love” he met a smirking Yoongi, his frame leaned against the wall. “You need to remember why we have her here and don’t get lost in emotions, we don’t have the privilege of it” he warned the friend that cleared his throat and nodded, leaving for his office.

You ate the whole tray smiling, for the first time since you can remember you felt like you belonged somewhere. You felt like people liked and appreciated you.

You left the bed and walked over a rose golden chair that stood in front of a dressing table. The furniture had a pile of clothing, still with the tags on it. Your hands touched the fabric and it was even softer than the silk you were wearing. You wondered who chose those pieces since they were so fancy and beautiful that made you think if Namjoon had a wife or a girlfriend to pick them for you. The thought made you bite your lower lip.

You went to the bathroom, taking the nightgown off your body, the cold fabric making it shiver as the piece slid down pooling on your feet. You stood there for a while wondering if you should take a shower or a bath but since you were so excited to meet everyone properly and explore the house, you decided on a shower.

The tiles on the walls and the floor had beautiful gold details like it was gold marbled. The actual shower was golden and got you wondering if it was actual gold. But judging from the fact it was a mafia leader house, it probably was.

The warm water reached your body and it felt like heaven. So many years showering in freezing cold water made you forget how relaxing was warm water. You forgot about time, you forgot about worries, about Papa or Namjoon. Your mind was focused on the overwhelming sensation of the water and your body hugging each other like it was a classic melody. Your eyes shut and your mouth agape, little moans leaving past your lips. The sensation was too good, almost sensual.

After a while enjoying the feeling, you turned off the shower and grabbing a perfectly fluffy and white towel. You dried your body and wrapped it with the towel, leaving for your room.

You grabbed a black dress with red details on it, sliding onto your body. The piece fitted like a glove, hugging your waist perfectly and accentuating your chest. You saw a pair of red sandals and put them on, admiring your figure in the mirror. For the first time since you earned the infamous nickname, you actually felt like a princess. You were being treated like one, eating and dressing like one.

You left the room, looking around for a familiar face but the hallways were empty. You went down to the first floor, walking around and looking at everything. Your finger gently touching a few things here and there, taking care to not break anything.

“Y/N! You wo… WOAH!” your cheeks got red and you bit your inner cheek to suppress a smile when you saw Jimin and V looking at you from head to toe. “Ya you look fine” he said, a smile playing on his plump lips. You never saw a gang with so many beautiful people. If two of Papa’s men had 10% of their beauty was an overstatement.

“Thank you Jimin” you smiled, nodding your head slightly. “Hm… Do you know where is everyone?”

“They are in Joon’s office” Taehyung answered unbothered, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his Gucci pants. “Do you liked the clothes I chose for you?” you smiled unconsciously, maybe Namjoon didn’t have a girl in his life.

“Yes, thank you so much, V” you twirled playfully, giggling and earning a whistle from Jimin. “But aren’t these expensive? I don’t need that much” you stated looking at the little tag at the bottom of the dress where you could read the words Miu Miu.

“Only the best for our best girl” he winked and you chuckled.

“You guys will turn me into a spoiled girl”.

“It’s what you deserve, Y/N” Jimin answered, snaking his hand on your shoulders and hugging. “Now come, I’ll take you to the all mighty RM” you nodded, giggling at the way he said the words.

He led you through the hallway until you reached a big red wooden door, he pushed it open and you expected to see Namjoon and the boys but you met a beautiful library. The shelves crowded with different books, all colors, sizes, and themes. Your finger ran through some of them, feeling the rough covers of it. They all seemed very expensive and rare.

A title called your attention. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. Your hands went straight to grab the title. The hard red leather cover with gold details seemed so beautiful. When your fingers touched the book to grab it, a secret door opened, revealing a large office.

“I see you have a great taste in literature, miss Choi” Namjoon’s voice greeted you and you smiled to the man, happy to see him again.

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#blood princess #bts #bts imagine #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #kpop #kpop x reader #bts reactions #rm #rapmon #rm x reader #rm fanfiction #kim namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon reactions #jin #suga #v #jhope #yoongi #taehyung #hoseok #hobi #jimin #jungkook

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

Linked Universe Fanfic: Fright

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my @ LinkedUniverse fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name (Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story) I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 1.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

I wrote a bit of fanfic for @linkeduniverse . It’s 3 pages long in Word so I’ll put it under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Night fell on the young heroes slowly but steadily. Soon enough, it was getting hard for them to see slivers of midnight-blue sky between the tree branches above them. They found a clearing just off the forest path and set up camp. As Wild and Four set about starting a fire, Twilight and Time scouted the area for monsters and got a lay of the land. Satisfied, they came back a few minutes later to a roaring fire and their seven companions enjoying idle conversation.

It can get tiring on a long journey like the Links’, so one must make their own fun. “Guys,” Wind said suddenly.

A general murmur of acknowledgment spread through the group.

           “We should tell stories.”

           Wild sighed. “You know I don’t like to do this.”

           Wind started to protest but was interrupted by Time.

           “Let the kid have his fun,” he said to Wild with a shrug. Looking at Wind, he asked “Stories about what?”

           “I dunno, something we haven’t talked about yet?”

           Warrior piped up, “How about something scary? We don’t tell scary stories often.”

           Wind’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” he said.

At the same time, Time’s and Twilight’s darkened. They knew this might not be as fun as Wind hoped it might be. The Links looked around at each other, waiting for someone else to start. It was my choice to tell stories, Wind thought. May as well start.

“I had some pretty scary things happen to me on my quest… not really terrifying, more like stressful. It was on my twelfth birthday that my sister Aryll was kidnapped. A gigantic bird came out of nowhere and snatched her up. The whole time it took to save her, I couldn’t bear to think what she was going through. She was only nine.”

A sister? Wild looked up. It had never occurred to him that one of the other Links had a sibling. He tried not to think of his sister if he could help it. Between knowing she died in the Calamity and not properly remembering her anyway, it was unpleasant for him. Wind now had his full attention.

“It took a while, but I finally saved her. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off my chest… then Tetra was kidnapped. Our crew decided to chase after a ghost ship. She jumped aboard and didn’t come back. It took a few weeks to find the ghost ship and save her, but she had been turned to stone. She was freed later, but…”

Four perked up when he heard this. His Zelda suffered the same fate.

“Well, anyway, I didn’t have too many jump scares. There were some redeads, but other than that it wasn’t too scary.”

Wind looked around the group, evidently finished with his story. Wild hesitated but spoke up. “My Zelda practiced and prayed for almost all her life to master a sealing power that could defeat Ganon. It was terrifying when the Calamity came and we both knew full well that she couldn’t hope to use that power. I… I couldn’t show my fear. I had to be there for her. She needed me to lean on, and I couldn’t deny her that.”

The rest of the group couldn’t help but stare. They had all had to push fear aside to defeat evil, but they never suppressed their feelings like Wild. Most them hadn’t, that is. They waited for Wild to finish, but he seemed to be lost in thought again. In a few meaningful looks, they agreed to leave him be.

Legend picked up the proverbial torch. “I woke up in the dead of night from a vision of Zelda to my uncle holding a sword and shield I didn’t even know we owned. He told me to stay in bed, but you know I couldn’t do that. I found him mortally wounded in the dungeons of Hyrule Castle… then, later, when I thought I was about to save Hyrule, the wizard Agahnim sent me to the Dark World. It was like Hyrule, but it was just… wrong. It was an evil reflection of what I knew. Seeing my world perverted like that was almost too much.”

Silence followed for a good few moments. Still, Time and Twilight were stony-faced. Sky looked around and figured it was as good a time as any to say his bit. “My Zelda went missing. We were riding our loftwings together. I could feel us having a moment. The clouds around us, inches away from each other… a tornado cropped up and pulled her underneath the clouds. I spent the next few weeks traveling the air and surface trying to find her.”

“I was this close,” he said as he held up his hand, almost touching the tips of his thumb and index finger. “So many times, I almost caught up with her. I lived knowing that while I was doing my own adventuring and fighting, so was she. I knew she could handle herself, but it still stressed the daylights out of me. So I guess I’m in the same boat as you,” he finished, gesturing at Wind.

A minute or two passed before Wind asked, “anyone else?”

Twilight looked over to Time. Time gave a near-imperceptible nod.

“I don’t like to talk about this too much,” Twilight began, “but I suppose I can share it with you all. I don’t want to invalidate what you went through or anything, but your fear came from what was around you. Your surroundings, your loved ones in peril, all of that. I’m not an exception.”

The others looked at him, wondering If he was trying to show them up or leading up to something terrible. Inwardly, they hoped he wasn’t being humble for a change.

“My gir—best friend, my friends were all taken from our village.”

Only Time noticed the change of wording. He understood Twilight’s reluctance to get attached to anyone.

“I was the last kid left,” Twilight continued. “Our world was stuck in perpetual twilight that kept us living in fear and darkness. I was only saved by the Triforce of Courage. I wasn’t the same, though. You’ve seen me turn into a wolf before. I’m mostly comfortable with it now, but I wasn’t always. The Triforce somehow knew I had the spirit of a wolf. Being a ranch hand, I know how vicious wolves are. How dangerous they can be. It scared me that that was the essence of who I am.”

Legend felt a modicum of guilt. The Dark World transformed him into a helpless rabbit. That was unsettling in its own right, but now he realized he faced the lesser of two evils.

“As I adventured, I began to understand that wolves are ruthless against their enemies, but they take care of their own just as fiercely. What I had to give and what I had to do to save my friends made me realize that. Malo, Talo, Beth, Colin… Ilia. I didn’t know where they were or if they were safe.”

All the Links understood this feeling well. Twilight felt no need to continue that train of thought.

“Those of you who had companions had someone that was easy to trust. The King of Red Lions, Ciela, Navi, Tatl, Ezlo, Fi; you knew you could count on them. Midna was something else. For the longest time, I had no way of knowing if she actually had my back, or if she was just using me. That scared me too.”

The sound of Navi’s name made Time flinch, but everyone was so focused on Twilight that they didn’t notice. The longest silence yet followed. Even Wind was speechless. Whether it was out of fear or shock or respect, Twilight couldn’t tell. He felt slightly guilty for unloading all of this on them.

Time eventually began to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. The other eight stared at him. He had faced far worse pressure in his life, but he knew that he owed his friends a glimpse into his past. He had never told them much about it, only enough to bring them to visit Malon.

“Time?” Hyrule asked. It was the first time he had spoken all night.

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want. We’d understand.”

“No, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I… I’ll be brief.”

The Links had no idea what to expect. They were on the edge of their seats. Time leaned his elbows on his knees. He stared straight ahead, seemingly transfixed by the fire. The eldest of the heroes took a deep breath, then spoke:

“I was afraid of being alone.”

The others waited for him to continue, but he didn’t say anything else. He was silent for the rest of the night. Everyone decided that it would be best if they let him be and turned in for the night.

Wild had trouble sleeping. What did he mean by that? He always had a companion, right? He was never alone. How could he be afraid of being alone?

The Links woke at dawn to see their gear neatly packed. Time was making breakfast over a rekindled fire. He had a tired look in his remaining eye. It occurred to the more perceptive of them that he probably hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night.

#linkeduniverse #my own #fan fiction #my writing #zelda #creator content #damn this was fun to write

[cordytriestowrite]

Caught? More Like Captured

Loki x Reader

One Shot

Summary: Loki's hiding spot puts you both on full display.

Warnings: First work with a warning! Idk it's kinda smutty? Just want to be careful.

You could not hide your shock as your friends appeared from behind tables and chairs cheering and clapping. Tony had done a good job of convincing you tonight would be a normal evening at your favorite bar in quiet celebration of your birthday. You had no idea the bar would be filled with your closest friends ready to party the night away in your honor.

A drink was shoved in your hand, champagne bubbling in a sparkling glass flute, and you took a greedy sip. Clint slipped a paper party hat strap underneath your chin and you laughed, filling the room with your joy. It was your first birthday without your family and your first as a member of The Avengers but you knew in no way would it be the last great year you celebrate being alive and surrounded by the best team anyone could ask for.

Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the smiling faces of your friends; Steve, Tony, Natasha, even Sam made it despite being sick for the past week. You found yourself spinning in slow circles as you took in the sea of familiar faces, looking for one in particular.

"Where's Loki?" You asked, your feet lifting out of your heels to stand on tip toes and look for the tall, slim god. Your height didn't change and neither did your search for him. It was like no one heard you despite being so closely packed in the small bar. It was like that whenever Loki was mentioned, silence and a stiff ignorance. You asked again, louder, unwilling to be ignored on your birthday even if the topic of conversation made people uncomfortable.

"Where is Loki?"

The chatter between Tony and Natasha ceased and their pleasant smiles morphed into slight frowns. You felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder and turned to see Bruce, shoulders hunched and face turned in a grimace.

"We invited him, I promise, but you know how he is."

You turned and took in the faces of your friends and the nods you received confirmed Bruce's claim. You stared down at your champagne flute, the bubbles still running swiftly up the side of the glass to pop in the open air, and downed it all in one go.

You spent the next hour smiling and dancing and drinking, there was a lot of drinking, but in the back of your mind was a bitter, depreciating thought and this thought had a name: Loki.

Loki had always been a floating, swimming, needling thought in your head ever since you joined The Avengers. You would watch him skulk around Avengers Tower like a wraith. You observed how he haunted the team; how Clint's eyes would harden at any glimpse of the trickster, how Natasha would flinch almost imperceptibly at his sudden movements. It had been so apparent upon your arrival that he was not wanted, not trusted, nothing more than a prisoner on earth while his brother ruled Asgard, and yet you found him always on your mind.

Maybe that's why you confronted him that day, away from the others in a shadowy hallway. Maybe you thought it was the only way to rid yourself of him. You had expected a fight, anticipated at least verbal jabs and silently prayed for the encounter not to end in fists, or worse, a swift dagger to the abdomen. You thought you would die, but it was better than the idea of this god of mischief turning you mad from the inside out.

There was no combat, no insult, no fury or fear. But there was flirting and banter and jokes. The hallways was filled with whispers, with giggles, and when a gentle hand raised your own and pressed an equally gentle kiss to your knuckles you knew your head would never be rid of thoughts of him.

You excused yourself from a conversation you had yet to engage in, feeling hot and stuffy and decidedly tipsy. You maneuvered around the small clumps of lighthearted discussions (and one intense debate between Wanda and Nat in a language you didn't understand) feeling the need to separate yourself. And maybe it was because you were drunk but you decided the best place to be alone and pout was the photobooth next to the bathrooms.

"Oh!" The startled sound escaped your lips as you pulled back the photobooth curtain and revealed its unexpected occupant. Your bewilderment heightened in the form of a sharp gasp as the occupant pulled you inside.

"Hello, love." His silky smooth voice whispered against the shell of your ear. You struggled to right your head, it was swimming with alchohol and the sudden shift from standing to sitting sent your senses into a perplexing whirl of sight and sound and touch. You brought one hand, your free hand, to the side of your head and held it with tense fingers pushing against your scalp as if your head would slide off to the side otherwise.

The voice came again, low and warm, its heat matched the temperature of the hand that was traveling up your arm to encompass the palm against your skull. It was a familiar hand, a comforting hand. Your sense of smell came back to you and you inhaled the enveloping scent of him deeply. That voice, that touch, that smell...

"Loki, you came!" You fell into his arms in a cocktail of happiness, relief, and intoxication. He accepted you gracefully with a deep chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine though his large hands, settled and spread across your back, brought heat to your skin even though your clothes.

"Surprise." He whispered as he continued to laugh quietly. He pressed a kiss to your temple. You could fall asleep in his arms, as you had many times since your encounter in the hallway of Avengers Tower all those months ago. Where others go cold at his presence, at the mere mention of his name, you only found heat and friction and a sweet fire in the pit of your stomach. You felt toasty contentment and finally your mind stilled its thoughts of Loki. Your eyes shut as you exhaled lightly upon his neck.

"Now, now don't fall asleep on me. Don't you want your present?"

You perked up at the word. Pulling back from the embrace you smiled at the twinkle in his blue-green eyes. You knew that twinkle, the twinkle that set the others on edge. It amused you and excited you, making you eager to find out what was unfolding behind the shine of mirth.

"You got me a present?"

He smirked, wrapping a long arm around your waist letting his fingers trail boldly along your backside.

"Something like that."

He growled playfully as he lunged into you, pushing you back against the weak wall of the booth causing it to shake and rattle in protest. Your legs kicked up reflexively to maintain your balance. The small shriek of surprise dissolved into giggles, then to moans of pleasure as Loki's lips trailed down the column of your throat his mouth opening wider to suck and lick as he reached the collar of your dress.

You could see the flash of light through the thin skin of your eyelids. Your hands reach up to push Loki away, confused by the sudden flash like lightening in your small hideaway. You opened your eyes half expecting to see the god of thunder himself somehow squeezed into the booth before you.

"Lok-" His mouth moved from your collar bone to your lips, encompassing them fully and swallowing down any attempt you could make to bring his attention to the flashes. Another burst of bright light washed over you and you realized you had closed your eyes again having let yourself get lost in Loki's lips and tongue and big, strong hands. You opened your eyes and tried again to push Loki away.

"Pet," Loki whispered huskily, his lips still on yours and his hands traveling up your bare thighs under the dress. "You know I love the chase, but now is not the time to play hard to get."

He slipped you out of your underwear faster than you could respond. You watched it sail behind his shoulder and land in the corner of the booth right as another flash emitted from the opposite wall. Below the dark hole where the flash originated was a screen reflecting back to you the image of you, love-bitten and out of breath, and Loki, predatory and excuding a sexual energy that could not be confused for any other emotion.

"Oh shit." You whispered, eyes unable to look away from the timer from ten, the countdown to the next picture. The screen reached three before you were turned away from it. You found yourself straddling Loki's hard lap, your tight dress riding up to your waist as your knees stretched to either side of his long, strong thighs. From this position Loki received the full burst of florescent light when the timer reached zero. His hands froze their ministrations on your back, leaving your dress halfway unzipped.

"What what that?" He asked, looking up at you with irritated confusion. You swallowed and for the first time Loki's presence could not chase away the feeling of cold spreading out from your gut.

"It was a photo. This is a photobooth. We must have set it off." The waiver in your voice set Loki on edge and his hands moved from your back to your upper arms, squeezing hard enough to reveal how anxious your tone was making him.

"Where do the photographs go?" He asked, his voice hoarse as it teetered on the edge of a whisper and full volume.

"T-They print," you explained, "outside. You're meant to collect them-" but you didnt get a chance to finish. Loki lifted you from his lap and you found yourself pressed against the corner of your both as he pushed past you to open the thin red curtain. He froze in the makeshift doorway and you watched his frantic, hurried, alarm shift to a guarded, defensive line of shoulders and neck. You hastily plucked your underwear from the floor and put in on, though you were positive in your rush you put them on backwards. Two steps brought you close enough to see past Loki's form and meet the eyes of Tony and Steve.

"Caught you." Tont sang off key after a terse beat of silence. His eyebrow quirked behind his glasses as Steve withdrew the printed strip of photo paper. Your face turned red as Steve's eyes widened moving along the print.

"Or should we say, captured you." Steve smirked, eyes lingering longer than necessary on the photos. He cleared his throat and held out the paper to a snarling, seething god.

Loki snatched the images from the captain's hands and thought you couldn't see his face you expected some sort of silent command had passed between the man and god since Steve turned and left, dragging Tony with him.

"Captured, like a camera. I get it. Capsicle you get funnier as you thaw." Tony's voice trailed as they departed and rejoined the hum of the crowd beyond.

Loki's stance did not change even though you were alone again. You brought a hand up to rest on his shoulder but hesitated. You had been so careful, laying low under the eyes of your friends, afraid of what they would think of your relationship. Now it was out there, impossible to keep secret once Tony Stark was involved. You cleared your throat and he glanced over his shoulder, allowing your to see one impish eye.

"You should see yourself, darling. All ragged and helpless under my touch. I think I quite like these small photographs."

You could hear it in his voice, the playful flirtation that sparked flame low in your stomach. You waited, like prey frozen in fear of its predator. You awaited with sweet anticipation for what would come next.

Loki turned, slow and calculated. Your licked your lips as your eyes traveled over him, blocking your path to escape. You smiled and the movement set him off faster than a gunshot. He took one step, then another, and another until he had to pressed tightly against the far wall.

"Now who told you," he purred, yanking your dress back up and running his fingers along the edge of your underwear, "that you could put these back on."

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