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aggresivelyfriendly · 3 years

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-Tis the Damn Season- Year Three

Jingle Bell Rock Me

Hi anybody reading! She’s a tiny bit short, but so am I, and I think that’s cute! Lol! Thanks to @dirtystyles for the beta!

"Excuse me, Emma." His voice, the one that's been echoing in the hollows of her body for a year and that she hasn't heard except for on the occasional call in the same amount of time, nearly buckles her knees. It steals her breath and speeds her heart. She imagines her cheeks and chest have gone that red color.

It's not the same over the phone.

Emma thought she had prepared herself, at least a little. No amount of busyness could make her forget that she was going to see him. Emma had done her best to distract herself with trips to the market for her mum and to the pub to see anyone in town. She knew seeing him in those places was less likely. She really wanted to see him, to look at him full on, but Gemma was already looking at her a little funny, with her fluttering lashes and subtle panting. She hopes it's subtle. She's just about to get a hold of herself, she is sure of it, when his fingers brush over the keyhole in the back of her sweater. She'd worn it for this very purpose. Hoping they'd find themselves in the vicinity of the mistletoe or alone in the kitchen, or her bent over a chair in the snowy garden, wherever, and he could get his hands on her a little, despite the chill of the December weather.

It was everything she had hoped for, but that he went for it so immediately, another victory, is what makes her sure she's miscalculated her strategy. His opening volley has her ready to fall down dumbly and suck him off, and she hasn't even looked at him.

Emma can feel the goosebumps pop up and she hears his suppressed chuckle at her excitement at his presence, his touch. And that does it. If she was looking at him, could look at him, she would be rolling her eyes, maybe giving him a two finger salute. She suppresses the eye roll. Luckily, Gemma is doing it for her.

"Harry, are you just going to be a pest all evening? Surely some friend you still trust is here, don't lurk when I've found one of mine." Gemma put her arm around Emma's shoulder and turned her. It's lucky, because now they both can look at him, and Emma can do so unobserved. Gem is still talking to him in her dressing down tone, she'd loved to use that one on an assortment of dickheads in sixth form, and Emma almost laughs realizing where she perfected it. On Harry, who is looking at his sister with amusement, her barbed tongue having no impact on him. His backbone is stiffer than Emma's, though other body parts have more in common. His eyes are as wandering as hers. He slid his gaze to her, he stays near the acceptable places, though her lips tingled when he stared at those momentarily. When his gaze dropped lower, she could tell where it was roving though he feinted and parried so fast Gemma may very well not notice.

Emma is not so disciplined, and her gape is not the dance of a fencer, but is the blunt of a broadsword. He looks better than last year, she thinks. He's thicker, she can already feel his wider presence between her thighs. His hair must be longer, but he's got it wrapped up and she can't wait to pull it free and clutch at it later.

She's only seen him twice, in a year. Seen him through a call on her tiny iPhone screen.

The first had been early, just after she got back to Amsterdam and he texted to get her address. Later that day, when the giant bouquet of flowers arrived she had to call him.

"Do you send all the girls you fuck enough flowers to give their roommates sneezing fits?" She'd immediately taken the piss. Defensewas the best offense.

"Only the ones I'm hoping to fuck again." He'd been quick to respond and she was glad she hadn't yet answered the FaceTime call he must have immediately initiated. Emma got her blush under control, maybe just enough color in her cheeks to make the video call slightly more flattering, though the white and yellow blooms gave her a good backdrop to work with.

"Well aren't you a charmer!"

"Right out of your knickers!" He flashed his eyebrows and she realized he appeared to be in a hotel room in his boxers. Oh, OH, that's why he's flirting so hard.

Does she wanna do this, on their first phone call, have video chat sex? Is that a thing? He's laying back on the bed and she's about to throw her penny and pound into the ring when she hears Lula come into the entryway. "Behave! My roommate just got home!"

"Oh, should I say hello?" He asks and his hand slides to his stomach, right over the butterfly tattoo she had kissed until it fluttered a week before.

"No, I don't want to hear the screams!" Emma stage whispered.

"Oh, she's a fan?" He asked like only one answer was possible.

"Yea, of me. And she's been trying to get me laid for months." Emma giggled. "She says I study too much, I object, she doesn't study enough."

"Well, we took care of that." He made a curious face then. "You're not gonna tell her?"

Did he expect her to blab to anybody that would listen that she'd banged a pop star? Maybe phone a tabloid? "No, I don't think I'll tell anyone. I like the idea of you as my secret."

"Our little secret!" His dimpled smirk really did her in.

"Our dirty little secret." She filled in the missing word, it fit snugly in his growing dimples. The possibilities too. She'd hugged her flat mate and excised herself to make good on the promise the phrase made.

And then they didn't do more than text for ages, he was on some massive tour and the time zones had her not seeing his texts for hours because they needed to sleep and she needed to lock herself in libraries and labs. The second time they spoke he'd been on a break, in California, and he'd called to see if she could fly out. She was at the airport, oddly, but she was going to Reykiyavik, not Riverside.

She'd told herself the whole flight that it was silly to feel sad. They knew with their schedules that seeing each other might only happen over the holidays. It was such a given they hadn't even discussed it.

So, as much as she wanted to, and was overwhelmed that he'd even thought to ask her, she'd just told him, "H, I can't. I'm on my way to my summer studies."

And he'd just said, "Ah well, I'll just have to keep dreaming about seeing you then." Those words had colored her night visions for months.

He'd also left her a detailed message about what he wanted for Christmas three weeks ago.

His morning voice on her phone for three delicious, descriptive minutes was the closest she'd gotten to what he sounded like in person.

Her dreams were really bright then, almost technicolor, better than reality. At least reality with someone who wasn't Harry, as she found out in October.

It still hit differently, his voice, in this moment because she could see what he looked like too. In his jazzy button up and tight jeans. The guy she'd dated for a bit, Marko, had reminded her a little of Harry. But looking at the real thing now, in the flesh, not painted on hues, but living and breathing, she couldn't quite recall why.

Maybe just the hair. Though, Harry's was longer now, curlier, wilder.

It made her wild. When they made eye contact, she felt it in her toes. There was a pause in conversation, everyone waiting, Gemma waiting, for them to greet each other. Emma knew she should say hello, but she was busy trying to regulate her breathing. Panting wouldn't do, but that's what the collision of her daydreams and her wet dreams was inspiring.

Harry saved her, of course. "Hey Emma! It's so good to see you." The way he said good, the tone was almost like when he'd called her a "good girl" when she woken him up with a blow job last year. . Or, she thought it sounded like that.

God, what was he doing to her. She was nodding.

"It's really lovely to see you too, Styles, you've had a big year!" She'd started paying attention, when she had the time.

He blushed. Oh god!

"God, don't get him started, his head will only get bigger!" Gemma said affectionately, jostling Harry a little. "And you," she'd pointed at Emma then, "don't forget that time we had to help him hide coming home off his tits and he pissed himself. He's still my idiot little brother! No matter how famous!"

Or handsome, was Emma's addendum. She said it in her head. But they were all laughing and Gemma had given him more reasons for the attractive flush on his cheeks and deep press of his chagrined dimple. "We wouldn't want him to get a big head!" Emma giggled.

"I'm big enough everywhere else!" Harry tried to boast before Gemma started a story about how they'd had to special order a hat once, because of his massive cranium, and Emma could only sneak glances until he decided to loudly leave.

"I don't have to take this abuse!" He narrowed his green eyes at his sister. "Emma, if you want to have a conversation where my sister doesn't make it her job to insult me, I'll be in the kitchen." Near the mistletoe her mind added.

"She'll pass, I'm sure!" Gemma laughed.

Emma just smiled, as placidly as her galloping heart allowed. "I'm sure I'll need a refill at some point. Maybe then!" Her eyes promised she'd find him.

Which was how she'd wound up on the countertop of the back bathroomn with her palm between her teeth, her tights around her ankles and Harry's head between her thighs.

"Shh, shh!" He laughed up at her and god, he looked so in his element on his knees during his mother's party with a naughty glint in his eyes. Emma wrapped her hand around his chin and pulled him up to her.

"Come here!" She breathed against his mouth. The kiss tasted of her and who knew how much she liked that? Harry apparently, based on the knowing look he gave her when he pulled back to get his dick out of his tight jeans. "Convenient skirt this!"

"Inconvenient jeans those are. Are they some form of birth control?"

"Huh?" That stopped him as he was rolling the condom onto himself.

"There's evidence that wearing things too tight on your bollocks might reduce sperm count. That an extra measure to stop groupie babies?" She shouldn't ask about or imply she didn't want him sleeping with anyone else. They only saw each other once a year. She pretended even to herself that she didn't care who he slept with the rest of the year. If she wanted to know, she supposed she could ask, but she didn't. She also pretended not to compare her other rare dates to him.

There is no comparison.

"I'm gonna have to buy a whole new wardrobe!" He laid his nose against her collarbone and she pressed hers into his hair. She'd pulled off the head scarf as soon as they'd gotten into the bathroom and she was taking full advantage of the access. He was right, it was a little awkward, but Emma could see the potential and it was perfect for pulling.

He was perfect.

Her eyes had closed and she needed to get him back into gear, she should know better than to question a man's manhood when she was trying to use it. "Do you think you could afford it?" Her sarcasm was evident. She got her hand around the funny texture of his skinned cock. "Seems to be working just fine, still, and with possible positive side effects. Should we test it out?"

He lifted his head and his heavy breaths and blown out pupils suggested her stroke had brought him back to their present activity. He caught her mouth and her hips and brought her to the edge of the sill before sinking into her. He'd done his job well, the resistance was minimal and exactly what she remembered. He stopped for just a moment and she wondered if he enjoyed the fullness as much as she did. They exhaled together, made eye contact.

"I've dreamed about this for a year!" He started to move and stole the breath she would have said 'me too' with.

She knew she was making too much noise, she had every time she was with him. He was shushing her again and grinning proudly. "You have to be quiet." He laughed against her mouth.

"Make me?" Was what she said.

"Well, that would involve stopping, and I've no intention of that." So instead he caught her face and licked into her mouth while redoubling his stroke. He covered her mouth with his palm a moment later when her neck went soft and her head hit the mirror.

It was coming, the wave she'd been searching for that had receded too quickly when she'd insisted he kiss her after getting off moments ago. She bit down on his hand to muffle the groan growing in her lower belly.

"Ow!" He looked up from where he was jawing the tits he'd popped out of her bra. Emma squeezed down on him, hard, Iiterally. "Fuck!" He kept eye contact and sped up his thrusts, hitting up just as he had been when she bit him. Her eyes closed as she started to crest, popping open again when the door rattled.

Harry thought quickly and put his hip against it. His strong hold on her doubly useful. They both looked to the lock.

"You nearly done?" An unremarkable voice called.

Harry smirked at her. Covered her mouth and yelled through the door, "Yes, nearly!"

Emma didn't think she could come like that, but she was wrong. Her orgasm was all the stronger for the palm secured over her mouth and the person through the door who might hear. And for Harry's cocky cheek while he pushed into her, until his face dissolved and he groaned. She should have put her hand over his mouth.

Instead her fingers went there and he sucked dutifully.

That set her mind running. Should she ask about meeting later? Tonight, or their traditional, she hoped, Boar's Headon Boxing Day get-together?

They'd already gotten into each other; last year they'd wound up together any free moment, but she didn't want to presume. A week full of stolen moments, some texts messages, a couple phone calls, and a back bathroom fuck did not entitle her to anything.

This wasn't enough for her, but she was too afraid to ask for more. Even what she'd had last time.

"God!" He breathed as he pulled himself free and her off the sink, fixing her skirt before washing his hands and dick, not in that order, in the basin, "How am I gonna wait until tomorrow night?" He turned a drowsy sated smile on her. "What time can you get away to the Boar's Head?"

"You still want to meet up?" She hoped she didn't sound as astounded to his ears as her own told her she did.

He's folding his beautiful dick into his jeans and he's about to do the little jump he does to position it when he just stops. He looks at her quizzically. "Why wouldn't I want to see you?"

She needs to pee and use the sink for the inelegant water in hand wash out, but she'd rather do that in front of him than reveal her insecurity. "It's just...we just..." She pointed between the two of them.

"Yeah, and we can do more," He motioned between them. Then his face lost the cheek and was replaced by a look of focused earnestness that made her heart beat harder than seeing him in person an hour ago. "And if I only get to see you once a year, because you're terribly ambitious and I'm terribly busy—"

"Yeah, you're just busy, not ambitious." She'd try to diffuse the intensity of whatever she's hoping he's about to say.

"So busy, I only get to see my dear Emma once a year, I want to sleep with you."

"You just did!" She reminds him.

"No, really sleep with you, not just sex." He pulls her in. Inside the hug, he kisses her. "Plus, we need time to talk. I want to hear all about this year's research and whatever power plant you geeked out over all summer."

"Yeah?" She's starry eyed and weak kneed, again, still.

"Yes, you muppet. I don't miss you all year just because you taste so good." He kissed her then. "Though you do taste better than anyone else."

She takes the compliment, and only thinks about it on a loop all of Christmas Day, and night. She completely forgets about it after she and Harry have tasted each other by noon on Boxing Day. Then he reveals their real first kiss, and Emma is too busy feeling their current kisses and trying to recall details of that Christmas delight while they sneak around and carouse anywhere they can.

He had to leave earlier than last year. And it's not until he's pulled off, from their private goodbye, before his pub send off where they flirt just enough to annoy Gemma, that she thinks about it.

She's not innocent, she saw other people 11 months out of the year, well three, but she couldn't help but wonder, who else was he tasting?

He implied that he had something to compare her to. Even if it was favorable, she found it bothered her. A lot.

She could ask him; instead she decides to just remember his taste and his interest, it'll have to carry her through until next yule.

It's not her business, it's too far down a road not taken anyway.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #tis the damn season #chapter three #jingle bell rock me

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

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Peonies

Pairing: Tattoo Artist! Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has a new client who knows exactly what she wants. And a tattoo.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language; filth F I L T H, i’m not joking this is smut (praise kink; slight daddy kink; fingering; slight spanking; unprotected sex; hair pulling??? Steve Rogers’ face??????????)

A/N: listen. LISTEN. Steve Rogers has been the bane of my existence for too many days to count now, so i had to let it all out somehow, ok? @the-chocolate-moose is the sole reason for me unleashing this filth on you all so go yell at her if you don’t like my first ever attempt at smut, i can’t be held responsible

A/N2: THIS is what prompted this whole thing; have these images in your heads as well, so now sit back and enjoy this fuckery

A/N3: @the-chocolate-moose suggested i name this Peonies bc “it’s nice and close to penis”; i thought “just fuck me up man idc anymore” would be more fitting

masterlist

Steve is not in the mood today. He’s not in the mood to listen to Nat constantly blowing and popping her gum, he’s not in the mood to watch Sam obsessively clean the leather seats in the entire studio, he’s not in the mood to smell the acrid odour of cigarettes that Bucky brings in with him after he’s had his break.

He’s definitely not in the mood to feel his tshirt sticking to his back and shoulders as he’s working on the design of a new tattoo. With the AC broken, he’s more than grateful for the small autumn breeze that occasionally wafts in through the open doors. Maybe he should just close for the day. After all, none of them have any appointments left and who even comes in to get a tattoo at 4 pm on a Friday?

“Hi.”

Steve looks up from his notebook to be greeted by a woman leaning on the high counter. She’s smiling, a cheeky grin that he’s only ever noticed in regular customers whenever they come up with a new idea for a tattoo. Her fingers tap on the mahogany, indicating nervousness and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when he hikes his glasses up on his head.

“Hi.” Steve smiles – customer service force of habit or just because she’s so damn gorgeous? “How can I help you?”

“Well, uh – I’m here for a tattoo obviously.” She says, eyes flashing down for a second. “My friend recommended your studio and I was in the neighbourhood anyway, so I thought I’d stop by to make an appointment.”

“What do you have in mind?” Steve asks, taking out the planner, ready to find a free spot for her.

“Oh, I want my hip covered in peonies.” She says with such nonchalance as if she’s just going to buy some milk.

A quick inspection of the upper part of her body over the counter makes Steve wonder if she does have any tattoos and whether she knows what she’s getting into. His weariness must be written all over his face because she just giggles and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry. I have a pretty big back tattoo. I know I’m going to be yours for at least five hours.”

And the way she says it, a corner of her lips raised into a tiny smirk and her head tilting to one side makes Steve lick his lips. He chuckles, shaking his head because he’d be damned if he doesn’t like the way she’s making it sound. He’s more than aware of her eyes on him as he stands up and invites her to take a seat on the couch. Planner and notebook in his hands, he settles down next to her, without failing to notice the way her tight skirt rides up her thighs when she scuttles closer to him.

“Tell me.” He says, glasses back on the bridge of his nose and pen on paper.

“Right, well I want it big.” And there it is, that amused tone in her voice again, but he’s more focused on her fingers brushing the top of her hipbone to the middle of her thigh. “And I want it in illustrative style because I can’t deal with blackwork and watercolours are just too much for me.”

Soon Steve has a pretty clear idea of exactly what she (Y/N, he found out earlier, after she’s repeated his name, tasting it on her tongue like a particularly delicious candy) wants; she seems to know a lot about tattoos, and he would be lying if he would say that doesn’t turn him on just a little bit. Maybe that’s why he can’t help himself from biting his finger, while listening to her. He’s excited to start to work on her tattoo, and he’s more than excited to spend some time with her, so when she asks him whether they’re open on Sunday he doesn’t even take time to consider.

“No, but I can open up only for you.” He offers and he doesn’t miss the thought that can be clearly seen on her face for a split fraction of a second.

“So it would only be the two of us in an empty studio while you’d be working on me for – how many hours did you say? Four?” Her eyes narrow, her voice purring and her fingers lightly graze his forearm.

“At least.” He nods, playing into her game with a smirk.

“Well, then. Being yours for at least four hours does not sound bad at all, Steve.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Y/N.”

Bucky and Sam give him hell after Y/N’s left, hooting and hollering like two fucking teenagers. Steve just rolls his eyes at them, ignoring their jabs and lewd jokes, but he doesn’t miss Nat’s knowing smile.

“What?” He snaps when she wouldn’t look away. “What???”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s just funny how you wouldn’t even show her our portfolios.”

“Why?” He asks defensively. “You don’t do big ink, Bucky only does watercolour and Sam’s on holiday next week anyway.”

“But she’s coming in on Sunday.” Sam points out, chuckling.

“And you seem to have all the answers to support your already possessive behaviour there, punk.” Bucky laughs.

“Fuck off, all of you.” Steve grumbles, already on his way to the back of the studio where he can work in silence on what must be now his new favourite flowers.

“Just make sure you don’t drool on her when you’re gonna tattoo her, bud!” Nat yells after him and he slams the door shut on a wave of laughter.

It’s Sunday and Steve looks at the clock right when it turns exactly 4 o’clock. His gaze instinctively turns to the door, but of course he shouldn’t expect her to be there right on the dot. Instead he looks down at the paper, trying to decide whether it’s detailed enough or too detailed? Is it too big? Too small? Would she like it? Would she want to have his work on her body for the rest of her life? And then another shiver runs along his spine, fingers twitching in anticipation, and his cock might pulse just one second at that particular thought – his work on her body for the rest of her life.

Steve’s startled out of his thoughts by a quick rapping on the glass door. She’s standing there, smile already evident on her face and he takes his time observing her as he makes his way over. He silently praises her for choosing a flowing skirt today, he knows that last tight one would’ve been hell on freshly tattooed skin; yet she’s making up for it with a very tight tiny top. Thank fuck for this particularly warm autumn.

“Hi!” She beams, stepping in and letting him lock behind her. “Ready to do me?”

Steve chokes on fucking air, but he has the good sense to start laughing. He’s thankful her back is to him because he already has to adjust his fucking jeans. She’s throwing her bag on the couch, takes in a big breath and turns to look at him, practically vibrating with excitement. Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on it – he knows how addictive the experience can become, his plethora of tattoos can only stand as an example.

“We’re gonna be in the back, babe.” Steve says absentmindedly, as he goes to pick up the hectograph paper.

“Babe?” She remarks, closer to him than he thought, her breath right on his cheek. “I hope you don’t call all your clients that.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink. He hadn’t realised what he said, and he definitely wouldn’t have said it out loud, but every time he’s thought about Y/N in the last days his mind only supplied him with the image of her saying his name, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her fingers on the tattoos on his right forearm while staring in wonder – babe, be a doll and suck my cock. Pink on his cheeks now as well.

“Come on, big boy. Show me where you want me.” Y/N winks and she’s already sauntering off to the back door.

It’s not his fault that all his blood is rushing to his dick now, it really isn’t. It’s her swaying ass and those long legs that will be completely bare in just a few seconds. Or maybe her inability to say anything without making it sound like an innuendo. Whatever it is, Steve has to readjust his jeans again.

He’s behind her in a few seconds, and he knows she’s doing it on fucking purpose when she steps back into his chest to open the door. She smells like vanilla and patchouli and Steve grunts deep in his throat; she doesn’t even apologise, instead she just tilts her head back until she can look at him and grins.

“You’re really big, did you know that?”

Steve just smirks and with a well-placed hand on her hip, he guides her forward. He can hear the faint giggle; the little minx is playing and she has him lapping from her hands, but two can play at this game, and he doesn’t like losing.

The room is definitely darker than the sunlit reception, but the bright lamp right next to the leather bed makes up for it. It almost feels as if it’s night, and Steve notices the way her back arches just an inch.

She hops on the bed, feet dangling over and she’s holding out her arms, reaching for the paper in his hand. Steve hands it to her without much preamble, and sits down in his chair, set to prepare the ink and his gun. He’s suddenly very aware of the closed door and how small this room is so he’s trying to distract himself in case she’ll be disappointed.

A gasp escapes her lips, making his head snap up. Now or never he supposes, but she’s grinning widely.

“I love it.” She whispers and there’s relief rushing through his entire body. Pleased, more than pleased to be entirely fair – he’s fucking aroused by her praise. Interesting.

“Do you want me to make any changes to it?” Steve asks, remembering that he’s actually supposed to do his job right now, and not get a fucking boner over her glinting eyes. “You’re gonna have this on you for the rest of your life so now’s the time to voice any concerns, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s perfect.” She promises and hands him the paper. Hopping off the bed, she looks at him, maintaining eye contact as she speaks. “Now. Should I get this skirt off or do you wanna do it, babe?”

And there it is. Back to being a little shit, especially when throwing that ‘babe’ back at him. Steve grunts and waves his go ahead, turning back to his gun. He refuses to look at her, to watch her shimmy out of the flowery thing, to look at her legs stepping out of it, to see the smirk on her face that he’s more than sure she’s sporting. He hears that small huff of air she lets out when she lays down, hears the creak of the bed under her body, hears the big inhale he has to take in before he moves his chair to finally face her.

Oh, fuck.

It’s not the long legs or the curve of her thighs or that very glaring dip that he’d so like to explore that do it for him, it’s the panties she’s wearing – red, lacy, small. His hands are hovering above her, blinking lazily over the expanse of skin and she must know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what he’s thinking.

“You know,” she purrs from somewhere to his side. He’s not sure, because her thighs are rubbing together now. “I think I’ll have to take these off as well, considering how big it’s going to be.”

And that’s it. Steve’s had enough of it. He looks down at her, sees her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, one hand right above the line of her underwear, the other squeezing the edge of the bed. He grumbles deep in his chest, which makes her pupils dilate even more. Does she want to play then? Fine, he’ll give her something to play with.

“Yes, I think it would be best if you would.” He says, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest.

She’s startled then, confused for a moment at his blatant answer, but it’s easy to read his smirk. Easy to read what an arm over the armrest and a finger in his teeth means, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips – waiting. Are you going to do this? Daring her.

“Come on, baby, are you going to take them off for me?” He prods further, and it seems that does it for her.

Fingers slip under the waistband and he watches as she lifts up her ass, dragging them over her thighs, knees up and completely off. The piece of cloth dangles from her finger, as she offers it to him in her own silent dare. Are you going to do something about this?

“Any other requests, sir?”

His cock twitches once more, as if he isn’t already fucking hard with her half naked in front of him, an inch away from his touch. He stands up, grabs the panties and tucks them in his back pocket.

She squirms under his stare, legs pressed together but he doesn’t like that. One finger on her knee, and he pushes it to the side, then does the same thing with the other one. Pussy on display, his mouth is watering just as much as she’s dripping on the leather.

He leans closer, hands now behind his back and she’s shivering under his breath on her ear.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He grunts.

A whine and her fingers grab his forearm in a vice like grip. “You know what I want.”

“You have to use your words, Y/N.” Steve tuts.

She groans in frustration, letting her head fall back. “Please, Stevie, I need you to fuck me.”

He smirks then. An eye for an eye, wasn’t it? But she’s pleading and he’s been thinking about fucking her for three days straight already. He’s not in the mood to delay this any further – he’ll have time to savour her inch by inch later. For now, he just wants to fuck her.

He takes off his jeans, already feeling some of the tension leaving him. His boxers follow and he smiles like a Cheshire cat when her reaction is to lick her lips and sit up on the bed in anticipation. She wanted to play, didn’t she?

Steve sits back down on his chair, slowly, languidly and looks up at her. She’s waiting, but he notices the twitch in her fingers, the way her legs press together and she’s squirming on the bed, trying to find some kind of friction. He smiles then – benevolently, like a generous benefactor and raises his eyebrows. What do you want?

“Please.” She moans – practically drooling.

Steve pats his thigh, “Come on, baby. Come here.”

Y/N is on top of him immediately, straddling him, fingers grazing his scalp, tugging at his hair. His hands circle her waist, big hands on her hips and he’s guiding her down until she can rut against his legs. Her lips are on his then, biting, tugging, moaning into his mouth, lapping at each corner, saliva dripping just like her pussy.

“Please, Steve. Please.” She whimpers, because fuck she needs more, she needs so much more, she needs to have him fill her up and Steve is just there, his cock twitching right on her stomach and she can’t take it anymore.

“What do you want, baby?” He grunts, right when his fingers slip inside her folds and yesrightthereyesfuckohfuckStevefuck. “Are you going to cum for me, honey? You going to cum for daddy?”

And shit, she must’ve not known that was something that she likes, because the moment those words leave his lips, as his fingers so expertly pump into her and his thumb is circling her clit, she throws back her head with a scream. Blinding stars and all the lights in the world play right in front of her eyes, and Steve can feel her pussy clenching around his fingers before he takes them out and licks them clean.

Steve waits for her to regain her breath as he kisses her collarbones softly, before he gets annoyed with the fabric between them. He tugs at her top until she weakly raises her arms, allowing him to throw it somewhere she doesn’t really care about. She does, however, care about the fact that he’s also still wearing his tshirt and that’s just a shame because underneath that it’s the most glorious sight she’s ever seen.

The sleeve tattoos are usually entirely on display, but Steve would be lying if he’d say he doesn’t know the effect the eagle on his chest has or the way that BROOKLYN on his abs is always either licked or touched. And of course, her fingers also instantly follow the letters’ path.

“Fuck.” She whispers.

“That’s what I intend to do, sweetheart.” He grins and with one arm around her waist, he has her standing up, pushing her into the bed, ass in the air.

He’s surprised for a second to see the massive lion tattoo on her back, her previous words forgotten somewhere in his hazy mind. She looks at him over her shoulder when his hand traces the lines, before his tongue licks a strip right through the middle of her spine. She arches back, a shudder going through her whole body when she lines herself just perfectly to him. Steve has to steady her with his hands on her hips before she starts rutting against him again.

“Steve, please.” She mewls and he hears the leather hissing under her fingers.

“Manners.” He grunts, lining himself just right.

“Oh, fuck you, Steve!” She seethes, but her words turn into a moaning hiss when a slap crackles on her ass.

“I said manners, baby.”

A low growl, but she knows what he wants. “Please, daddy. Please, I need you to fuck me, please, I can’t. I just – please, please, please.”

Her chant fills the small room, turning into an entire litany of profanities and obscene noises the moment Steve enters her. He groans when he feels her so tight and wet and warm around him and fuck he’d stay like this forever, if she wouldn’t push back into him, asking him to move already. She settles her forehead on the bed when his large hands squeeze her hips almost painfully, dragging himself slowly back, and then thrusting into her with force. He continues his ministrations painstakingly slowly, until she starts meeting his thrusts.

“Fuck, faster, please. Please, Steve.” She pants, hands scrabbling at the edge of the leather.

Steve grunts when she starts moving again, but a hand in her hair keeps her in place. He starts thrusting deeper, faster, rougher, and her head falls back into the bed, letting him do all the work because fuck if she could keep up with this.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? You wanted me to fuck you hard?” Steve grunts.

Her words are slurred in response, but he picks up the slew of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and his name – his name falling off her lips like a delicious chant, and he’s never heard anything more perfect than the sound of his pounding into her, her moans and his name from her mouth. He can already feel her walls clenching around his cock, so he drags her up by her hair, until her back is pressed to his chest, hand around her throat. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, giving him plenty of access to bite along her neck.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

His movements are becoming frantic, and he removes his hand from her hip to bring it to her clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. She’s whimpering now, breathless and a fucking mess, yet he’s never seen her more beautiful than right in this moment, right when she’s coming undone around his cock. He’s right behind her, the moment he sees her eyes roll back into her head, feeling her go slack in his arms. A growl deep within his chest and they’re both sagging over the bed, spent and fucked into oblivion.

He slips out and she lets out a low hiss at the sudden emptiness. Steve watches the way his cum drips along her thighs, and would care more about how much cleaning up and disinfecting he’s going to have to do later if it weren’t for her nails on his forearm. He looks at her, a smile on his own lips in reply to her blissful grin.

“I think I’m relaxed enough to have that tattoo now.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #tattoo artist!steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers x reader #tattoo artist!steve rogers x reader

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

Text

the way it was - chapter 22

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

but you're a king and i'm a lionheart

When Chris had invited Riza and Mia around to the bar for dinner, Riza didn’t expect her daughter to be whisked away immediately by Vanessa as soon as they set foot inside the bar. Chris approached with determination.

“We need to talk.”

Anxiety settled in Riza’s stomach. What was all this about? There was no room for argument as Chris turned on her heel and walked away, expecting Riza to follow.

Riza wondered if this had something to do with Roy. He’d suddenly called shortly after arriving at work that morning to say that he wouldn’t be home until late that night. He had some work to do, but he was sorry, and he loved them both. She didn’t think much of it, just told him to be safe and got on with her day. Then, Chris called shortly afterwards, encouraging Riza to come for dinner. While she thought it would be lovely to spend the evening with her mother-in-law, there was a tiny niggle in the back of her mind that something was happening behind the scenes.

Chris led the way through to the backroom of the bar, into her home. She led Riza into her kitchen without any kind of indication of what the topic of discussion would be, and that made the wait worse. Was this something she needed to worry about? Riza’s thoughts were interrupted by Mia’s happy squeal from somewhere in the house, followed by Vanessa’s laugh.

Uncertainty clawed at Riza’s heart. She wanted to ask what was going on but knew better. Everything Chris did was for a reason, so if she was leading Riza away from Mia then it was something their daughter shouldn’t overhear. Riza bit her tongue.

Once inside the kitchen, Chris gestured for Riza to sit.

“Roy will be working late tonight, but I’m sure you already know about that.”

“He called this morning,” Riza confirmed.

Chris nodded. “He’s going to do something tonight, and wanted you brought here as a precaution.”

“What’s he doing?” Riza asked. Her stomach tightened at the serious look on Chris’ face.

“He’s going to fake someone’s death using his flame alchemy.” There was no hesitation, she stated it as bluntly as she could.

“Oh…" Riza's heart thudded inside her chest at the revelation. "Wait.” Riza paused, something clicking inside of her mind. “Does this have anything to do with Maria Ross?”

It had been all over the papers for a few days. Apparently the soldier had killed Maes Hughes. Initially, Riza had scrutinised the photo and wondered how that woman could have taken someone else’s life. She’d been an exemplary soldier, according to the news, so why would she murder one of her own? The story didn’t quite add up for Riza, and it didn’t for Roy either.

They hadn’t spoken much about it. They didn’t get a chance really when Mia was around. However, he’d spent more time in his study in the evenings after Mia had gone to bed. Riza would pop her head in and ask if he needed anything, only to be greeted by a tired smile and the reassurance he was all right. She’d spotted Maes’ name on the papers in front of him, alongside Maria Ross', which Roy had quickly scribbled down then scored out. Riza knew he was investigating his friend’s death and was worried for him. Roy explained he couldn’t do it at work, so would spend an hour or two looking over things. Sometimes Riza offered her own input but couldn’t do much. She had a good eye for details but wasn’t in investigations. Still, she could be someone he could talk to about it all.

Chris nodded. “It does. He’s going to fake her death tonight.”

“How though?” Maria Ross was in prison. What was he up to?

“He’s staging a prison break and will “kill” her.” Chris used finger quotations to explain herself.

Riza swallowed.

“It’s all staged though, don’t worry. He has a dummy at the ready that I helped procure the ingredients for. Breda came to me with some things he needed, and I helped the operation along. Havoc will protect Ross and help get her out of the country.”

“So, why bring Mia and I here?”

“Roy asked if I could invite you for dinner, partly as a precaution but also because he probably felt guilty he wouldn’t be home tonight.”

Riza nodded, things falling into place. He had sounded regretful on the phone earlier when he said he wouldn’t be home.

“Why is us being out of the house a precaution?”

Chris shrugged. “Beats me, but I have a pretty good theory.”

“What is it?”

She regarded Riza quietly for a long moment, which only caused frustration to build.

“Chris, please. If my daughter is in some kind of danger then I deserve to know what it is.”

She eyed Riza once more before nodding. “There’s dangerous people roaming around Central right now. They each bear a matching tattoo. An Ouroboros tattoo. They’re tied to the military somehow, but we don’t know why yet.”

Ouroboros… Riza had seen that word mentioned before, years ago in an ancient history book. She was sure it had been in her father’s study. “What does the tattoo look like?” At the mention of a tattoo, her back tingled lightly as a reminder. She hadn’t discussed any form of tattoo with anyone in a long time. They weren’t popular around Amestris, so weren’t a regular topic of conversation.

“A snake eating its own tail.”

That definitely sounded familiar to Riza. She was sure she’d seen it on Roy’s desk at home, half-hidden by other pieces of paper.

“And these people pose a threat?”

Chris nodded. “We don’t know who they’re targeting, but yes, they do. Just be cautious, all right? Know that if you ever need anything, I’m just a call away as well.”

Riza sat back in her chair.

“I have no reason to believe they will contact you personally, however, just keep an eye out," Chris warned.

“I will,” she swallowed. She was still in a daze from all this new information. It was weighing on her heavily. If Roy was targeted by them, who was to say they wouldn’t use her or Mia to get to him? She shuddered at the thought.

“Roy Boy asked if I could at least fill you in on what was going on tonight, and promised he’d answer any questions you had as soon as possible,” Chris added. “He sent me a coded message earlier and then a quick call. I have the letter if you want to see it?”

Curiosity got the better of her, and Riza nodded.

As Chris left the room Riza remained in place, processing the information she’d been given tonight.

This was… big. Riza knew of his plan to get to the top and was well aware of everything that entailed now, but… Now it was real. He was taking steps here that, if found out, could get him court-martialled. Her stomach twisted. But she knew him, and she knew his team. They were smart as hell. And if Chris was on their side too, helping them along, it eased Riza’s worries a little bit.

“I also have this, if you could pass it onto him?” Chris handed her an envelope along with the piece of paper. The front was blank, giving nothing away. “More information for him.”

This was usual practice between them both. Over the years when Riza and Mia had gone to visit Chris and Roy’s sisters, messages in letters had been passed onto Riza to be delivered to Roy. Riza knew he’d been overreacting when he insisted on not getting her involved in anything. And she’d been right. What was so dangerous about picking up a handful of envelopes to hand over to her husband?

“I will.”

“I’ll get us a drink.” Chris excused herself and left Riza with Roy’s coded letter.

It was a story. There were various names on the paper, each one starting with a specific letter at the beginning. Those letters were used to spell out the words of his message. Riza didn’t bother to read the story he’d crafted. The message itself was all that held her attention at that moment.

Jailbreak MR. Get Riza and Mia for dinner. Love both.

She smiled at the last part, her finger stroking over the paper.

Sometimes Riza would read the story just to see how he managed to fit it all together. Riza had tried it too in her spare time, leaving little notes for him in his office at home. Then he'd started doing it as well without a word of warning. His were far cuter than hers, with a message of ‘I love you’ left all over the house. Soon, it was common practice and they’d shown Mia how to do it too. Her messages weren’t long or complex, but it was just a bit of fun for the small family.

“He’s a dramatic one,” Chris snorted. “Jailbreak,” she muttered. “I don’t know where he got that flair from.”

Riza laughed. “He used to always tell me it was from you and wondered how I couldn’t see it.”

Chris shook her head and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “He’s a strange one, that’s for sure.”

“He certainly knows how to keep us on our toes,” Riza murmured, turning her focus back to his letter.

“He didn’t want to speak to you about it over the phone, is my guess. Too many people potentially listening in.”

“I know,” Riza reassured her. “I just hope tonight goes well for all involved.”

“That fake corpse was perfectly constructed,” Chris replied, sipping at her water. Her cigarette was absent from her lips. “And Roy, having a flair for dramatics, will make sure it’s well presented.”

Riza’s stomach turned. “Where are they taking Maria?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from the “corpse”.

“No idea. That was need to know only.”

Humming in agreement, Riza took a sip of her own water.

“I had another reason for bringing you here tonight, Riza.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve expressed interest in the part of becoming a part-time informant.”

She nodded. “I have.”

“Have you ever been interested in working the floor? You can absolutely say no,” Chris added, lifting her hands in front of her to placate any objections. “All you’d have to do is sit and talk to people.”

Riza cocked her head and considered it. Then grimaced. “No. The whole reason for me to come and collect the messages from you and the girls was to stop people thinking Roy was cheating on me by going out on “dates” with them. What would happen if word got out at his place of work that his wife was cheating on him?”

“A fair point, and a very good answer,” Chris chipped in. “However, I suppose I worded that incorrectly. Let me rephrase that, would you be interested in talking to people to gather information rather than simply collecting messages?”

“In what way?”

“Military wives love to gossip. They come in every Friday night. While their husbands sit in the bar, we have a space for them to catch up and basically moan about their partners for a couple of hours. It’s in the back of the bar, in that room just off to the right as you go out.”

Riza had noticed the door there but hadn’t thought much more of it. She’d never been through there.

“Your upstart Colonel husband would be a good talking point for those ladies,” Chris ventured.

“Are you asking me to gossip about my husband?” Riza frowned.

“Not at all, but you would be welcomed into their social circle openly. Roy Boy is certainly making a name for himself, especially after coming to Central, and he’s a hot topic of conversation.”

Riza wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Of course. Mostly because he’s a breath of fresh air with all the old stuffy military officials that usually frequent their company.”

She still wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “And I assume these conversations are all innocent?”

Chris shook her head. “Riza, all those women are old enough to be Roy’s mother,” she chuckled. “They dote on him because he’s a kind kid who's friendly and polite to everyone. Always the charmer," she snorted. "Vanessa very quickly put an end to any possible… not so innocent thoughts. She went in there one Friday gushing about Roy’s beautiful wife and his adorable daughter.”

She laughed when Riza’s cheeks turned pink at the compliment, and Riza coughed to hide it.

“I’m not jealous,” Riza assured Chris. “I just don’t want pointless gossip to ruin his reputation.”

“If anything, they love your little family even more now. They ate it up. It’s the truth, of course, but they really do say nothing but good things, I promise. The girls covering the party make sure of it.” Chris sat back in her chair. “It was just an idea,” she relented. “Some other way for you to help. Military wives on a Friday night can be very animated, and I thought you stopping by would get them to open up even more. It’s completely up to yourself," she relented. "It can be a onetime thing or a regular occurrence. It was just something to try."

“I’ll consider it,” Riza stated carefully. She’d need to weigh her options and if she could find someone to look after Mia if Roy was working.

“That’s all I ask. Roy told me a while back you were interested in being an informant, and the idea occurred to me after that last Friday night.”

“What happened last Friday night?”

“Lots more oohing and ahing over your perfect family,” she smirked. “Honestly, they eat it up Riza. You should come and see it for yourself someday.”

“Are you suggesting we’re not perfect,” Riza quipped, smiling over the rim of her glass.

“No one is perfect,” Chris replied with her own smirk. “But they are correct. You are a beautiful woman and Mia is extremely adorable.”

Chris guffawed while Riza mumbled her thanks at another compliment from her. She was sure Chris only did it because she got a kick out of it.

“Every word of that is the truth,” Chris stated assuredly. “Come on, let’s go and see what Mia’s up to. See if she’s tired out Vanessa yet,” she chuckled.

* * *

Mia was half asleep as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom. The offer to remain at Chris’ for the night was there, but Mia had school tomorrow morning so it would be easier for Riza to just take her home. Her mother-in-law had also offered Roxanne’s protection. While Riza appreciated it and welcomed the determined and eager look on Roxanne’s face, she politely declined the offer.

Riza had only been in bed for fifteen minutes or so before she heard the front door opening. Her body tensed in its half-asleep state, but relaxed when she heard Roy sigh from downstairs. Lights were turned off as he climbed the stairs. With heavy footsteps, he reached the top of the stairs but stopped outside Mia’s bedroom door. Riza heard it creak open as he checked in on her. The house turned silent as he did so.

Their bedroom door opened and Riza looked up. Like his footfalls suggested, he looked exhausted, but he still offered her a smile.

“Hi,” he greeted. Roy’s voice sounded a little hoarse as he spoke, discarding his military jacket over the back of the armchair on his side of the bed.

“Hey,” she smiled. “How did it go?”

“Everything went well. The plan went off without a hitch.”

Roy kicked his trousers off and placed it over his jacket on the chair. His shirt however was discarded into a pile on the floor, so he remained in only his boxers. Climbing into bed, Roy wrapped his arms around Riza tightly, giving her a squeeze. A kiss was pressed to her forehead and Riza sighed into it, her body relaxing now she knew that he was home.

“Maria is safe?”

Roy nodded. “On her way to Xerxes.”

“Xerxes? That’s quite a distance,” she commented, racking her brain to try and think how far through the desert that was.

“We’ve determined that whoever is behind it all is working throughout Amestris,” Roy yawned. “I wanted to be safe. I have some associates from Xing, and they’ll escort her there.”

“And are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled tiredly.

“Chris told me what you had to do with the… corpse.” Riza grimaced. Her tired mind couldn’t think of a better or more tactful way to word it.

“It was fine. I saved someone’s life tonight, that’s what matters,” he yawned again, but his expression quickly turned pained. “I did become the villain for doing it though.”

“How come?”

“Edward always seems to be in the wrong place at the right time,” he mumbled. “He saw me ‘killing’ Ross. I had no idea who was tailing him or if he was compromised so I had to go with the murder story.”

“I’m sorry, Roy.”

“It’s all right,” he sighed. “But thank you. The kid hates me for sure now,” Roy chuckled. “But he’ll be on his way to Xerxes soon enough too so he can find out the truth.” His eyelids fluttered closed.

Riza looked up as his eyelashes splayed across his cheeks and his face finally relaxed. The day’s events had been weighing on him, and she was loath to take up any more of his sleeping time.

“Get some rest, Roy,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He grunted softly in response, deepening the kiss for a moment. “Just what I needed to feel better,” he grinned. It was that dopey smile that he only showed when he was tired, and Riza loved it. “Plus, I’ll need it. Tomorrow will be another long day.” Then, she felt him pause. “There’s… something coming up in a few days. I anticipate we’ll need to go after one of the people with the Ouroboros tattoo. Can you go to my mother’s that night?”

“Is this something I should be concerned about?”

Roy shook his head. “No. And I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I really don’t anticipate anything like that coming your way, however, it would give me peace of mind to know you’re all together.”

“You know I can handle myself,” she quipped lightly.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead again. “But until I know exactly what I’m dealing with and how to handle it, it would let me breathe easier if I knew my pregnant wife and my daughter were under my mother’s protection. She has a whole labyrinth of tunnels underneath her bar. If the wrong people come knocking then you can hide under there and I’ll come when it’s safe.”

“The wrong people, huh?”

He nodded. “The Ouroboros gang,” he drawled. “Keep an eye out for anyone with that tattoo by the way. I have a picture of it in my office. I’ll show you it tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, your mother already explained it to me.”

His eyelids drifted closed again and Riza smiled. She lifted a hand to caress his face lightly with her fingers. He flinched in fright but turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.

“Get some sleep,” she prompted.

“You said that before then distracted me,” he grumbled.

“I can take that kiss back,” she joked, moving out of his hold. This caused him to latch onto her torso even tighter.

“Please don’t,” he begged. “I’m sorry,” he gushed dramatically.

“Go to sleep, Roy. I love you.”

He hummed with a smile. “Love you too.”

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

Text

Other Writing Prompts

This is just a compiled list of prompts I’ve collected from Pinterest and other random places, but don’t particularly fit anywhere or just would only fit into the Marvel or Star Wars fandoms. I have other prompt lists that get more specific or more vague as well. If you want to use one in a request to me, just use the following ‘Character Name and Prompt No. 35 from the Other Prompt list’ for example + some details if you’d like.

I didn’t organize this list by mood since it’s about 200 prompts.

Key:

‘*’ Denotes something that could be used as dialogue.

[*] Denotes a swear word that I removed.

One evening, a portal to hell opens at the foot of your bed. A demon strides through, rips off your covers, and begins to drag you through the portal by your ankles saying, "you're going to help me settle a bet."

"But what is power?" "Loyalty"

The girl wrote in the journal as fluidly as fish swam in the sea, or birds rode the wind. It was beautiful, how gracefully she crafted her spells.

"You do know that when you wipe my memories, it doesn't actually work, right? One of the perks of being me." The villain froze at the hero's words. They'd just attempted their grand entrance four times in a row, trying to anticipate the hero's response. Blanking their brain when they didn't quite get it perfect. First impressions were important. PR won battles as much as soldiers did. "Don't worry," the hero grinned, looking the villain up and down slowly. "You're doing great. Very impressive." Now they definitely had to die.

The villain prowled closer, gaze intent. "Mm. The last time someone looked at me like that, we didn't get out of bed all weekend. Good times." "Cute bravado, it won't save you." "You're blushing."

"You could be so brilliant if you only turned your mind to creating things instead of destroying them." The hero murmured. They paused to tighten the villain's restraints, before glancing up to catch their eyes. "I've never seen anything like you. You're stunning." It was so earnest that, for once, the villain didn't quite know what to say. The hero wet their lips, practically on their knees. "Just let me help you, please. You'd be a terrible waste to the world rotting."

"Oh, I could just take you apart. See how long that cold, untouchable reputation of yours lasts then. You're trying so hard to pretend you're not even human, but look at that..." The hero pressed a hand above the villain's heart. They both felt it pounding far too clearly. This was not supposed to happen. There was a reason nobody was supposed to get close.

"If you want me," the hero panted, "come and get me." The villain paused, languidly sweeping a hand up and under their chin. "Want you in which way, Darling? Don't get me wrong, both involve ropes, but it's an important distinction to make before we proceed."

You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain; one too strong for them to beat.

Stab options: Slowly raise their hand to the wound and/or pull out the weapon impaling them while everyone stares in horror before collapsing to the ground from shock and/or blood loss and being caught just in time by a friend/lover.

Hide the wound beneath a dark item of clothing in preparation for the dramatic reveal later where another character touches them and their hand comes away bloody or they overexert themselves and they stumble and wince but still try to insist that they're fine,

even though they are clearly in pain and struggling to stay on their feet. And as the other character peels back their jacket it becomes clear that they're badly hurt and have been for awhile.

Character A tilting Character B's chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. Character A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by Character B's mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, Character B's heart skips a nervous beat as Character A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained. "Who did this to you?"

"I will deny you death until you beg me for it."

"Hold on you died." "Yeah, well it didn't stick."

As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday. Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then.

The hero shows up at the villain's doorstep one night. They're shivering, bleeding and scared. There's also a slightly dazed look in their eyes--they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they are close to passing out they mumble, "...didn't know where else to go..." Then collapse into the villain's arms.

"I loved the woman you were before. Not this monster."

"I dare you to touch her again."

"By the Gods! You love her, don't you?"

"Come here." "Why?" "Just come here." "No, you're gonna hit me."

"Shh, shh." The villain wiped the tears from the hero's face and pressed a kiss to their forehead. "Don't struggle, you'll only make it worse for yourself."

"Hey, hey, hey. Baby, what's wrong?" The hero shuddered from the dram--startlingly vivid. Of fighting and faces, and the the icy clench of betrayal in their chest already fading into unconsciousness. And yet, they couldn't stop crying. Shoulders shaking, uncontrollable sobbing. The villain gathered them close, tucking the hero's head against their chest and making safe, soothing sounds. "Bad dream, huh? It's alright, nothing will touch you while I have you."

"Nobody touches you other than me, do you understand?" The hero looked at the other villain, dead on the floor. Dead before they even touched them. And they hated themselves for the flicker of gratitude, of feeling protected, when everything was all wrong and there was nothing safe in this game at all. Their villain was not kind. Only possessive. "Can we go home?" The villain liked it when they called it home.

They hadn't wanted this. Of course, they'd wanted the hero to stop fighting them. Wanted them broken, despondent, but... The person staring blankly at the walls, terrified of their own power, wasn't what they wanted. "Darling, you're beautiful. You don't need to be scared with me, I promise you that. Look--try and attack me and I promise I can stop you. You're safe with me. You couldn't hurt me if you tried. I'm just like you."

"You killed someone. Do you really think they're ever going to want you back?" The hero looked up at the villain, desperate, shattered. "I'll always want you, even if they don't." The villain said. "I understand what it's like. It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"You're not as evil as people think you are." "No, I'm much worse."

"I was a King!" He bellowed, spitting at the girl's feet. She smiled at him, her eyes sad and yet full of mischief. "And I was a god."

He pulled against the ropes with all his might, but they wouldn't give. "Don't bother," a voice said." He looked up to discover a thin girl bound with the same rope. Although it was dark, he could see her bruised eyes and wrists. "I already tried."

"Don't ever try to get inside my head," he snarled, slamming me against the wall. For several beats we stayed there, his grip crushing my wrists. Finally, his eyes softened. "It's too dark for you."

"You think you have a choice, and that's sweet and all, but it's time you take up the knife and do what you were made to do."

"You-you are--" "Beautiful, a genius, immensely talented--" "Dangerous."

"Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap. I'll call you back when I've convinced him that a cold doesn't mean he's dying."

The villain pressed their lips to the hero's, silencing their sobbing pleas. "Shh." The villain murmured, angling their knife at the hero's throat. "It's better this way."

He was leaning against the wall, trying to support his own body weight, and his gasps of pain were like music to her ears.

"You just killed five men, what do you have to say for yourself?" "Oops?"

For a second, I thought she could actually see me.

Every person on the planet is born with a tattoo on each arm. One matches your soulmate, and one matches your worst enemy. However, most people have no clue which is which. You do, because they are both the same.

In a superhero-supervillain story, you're the hero's love interest, and as such, in classic use-their-loved-ones-against-them fashion, the villain keeps kidnapping you as leverage against the hero. However, an unfortunate complication has arisen; having spent so much time with the villain, you begin to realize you're falling in love with them.

You never kill the spiders in your home. You just whisper; "Today you, tomorrow me." When you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back.

"I feel nothing for you. Absolutely nothing!" "Is that so?" His tone was amused, which irritated me more. "Yep. Nothing." He took one towards me with a smirk on his face. I swallowed, refusing to back up. He laughed at me discomfort. "Relax, Princess. I am not going to jump on you." That relieved me somewhat, until he added, "not until you ask me to anyways."

The hero shows up at the villain's house, hurt, broken and defeated. But it wasn't the villain and they are extremely angry that someone hurt their hero.

The phone rings. The voice on the other end says "we need you again." Then hangs up.

"What's the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?" "Those are children. That's a school."

Everyone has a guardian angel except you. You have a guardian demon. He deals with things in a much more violent, but more effective fashion.

"You have to go, you have to run away!" "Run from who?" "From me."

"Small fire! I said to set a small fire! This is not small!"

Two people running away from a blind, arranged marriage, in which one is supposed to marry the other, meet on the road by coincidence and fall in love with each other.

*Not every prince is charming

When people are born, they are assigned a soulmate. They have an original song in their head that only them and their soulmate know. A person just broke into your house and you're pretty sure they are here to kill you. They're humming your song under their breath.

"What? Do you think I enjoy this? This infatuation of mine? This horrible need to know you are okay?" To realize you can hurt me in a way no one for the past thousand years has been able to?" "Well, stop it then! If caring about me is such a nuisance to you, stop it! It doesn't do much for either one of us." "I CAN'T. That's what kills me. The fact that you can even ask that of me shows how ignorant you are about the power you have over me."

"I want to take a shower, so you should probably join me. It'll save water."

"It's midnight! Where the hell were you?"

"What the hell is your problem?"

"I might have slept with your [clothing article] when you were gone."

"No one has to know about us, I know this could ruin you."

"Just pretend to be my date."

"You should sleep." "I'm not human, therefore, I do not require sleep."

"You broke me and now you expect me to follow you out onto the battlefield? NO. The answer is NO."

"You take me instead, do you hear me? Give her back and take me instead."

"Wait, something doesn't feel right."

"Did you hear that?"

"Stay here and don't move. I'll be right back."

"You told me you were okay! You promised!"

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"How long have you been covering this?"

"You've been trying to deal with this yourself?"

"We could have prevented this!"

"If you didn't want to be a burden, you should have gotten it treated right!"

"You didn't think it was that bad? Are you looking at it?"

"You are not fine!"

"You look really cute in that sweater."

"No, like... It's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes."

"You know I hear you talking, but I still don't have my coffee."

"Do you want to know the hardest thing about having a soulmate? It's not the separation in the beginning, not the endless nights lying awake, hoping and praying tha someone was made for you. It's... It's the love. It's too strong, and you can't fight it. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried... But I'm always going to love you. And I need you to know that."

"You would risk the lives of millions for one person? Why?" "Because it's not just one life... It's yours."

"This might sound selfish, but I don't care about the world. I only care about you."

"I still believe there is a good person in you."

"It was necessary."

"Did you think I really cared about you?"

"This was my plan all along."

"There was no other way."

"How cute. Struggle all you want, you won't be leaving this place."

"This is what you get from trusting me."

"It's too late to go back."

"I'm sorry this had to go down like this."

"That's right, I lied."

"It's all for a good cause."

"You were so stupid. You should have known."

"Just so you know... I don't regret anything."

"Shame. I kind of liked you."

"This is my responsibility."

"You will no longer love me if you see who I truly am."

"I'm a monster." "No, you're not."

"You'd better put that knife down."

"But I did all of this for you?" "I didn't want you to kill anyone."

Person A wins a big stuffed animal for Person B at an amusement park and offers to carry it for them. Person B says they'll carry it themselves and carries it around smugly.

While on a date, Person A very shyly touches Person B's hand and Person B reassuringly (and tightly) holds Person A's hand.

You press your ear against the wall, just in time to hear the scream.

AU where everyone is born with a very unique tattoo on their ankle, nobody else in the world has that tattoo. Every time you fall in love, their tattoo appears somewhere else on your body. (i.e a new tattoo appearing on a celebrity's body in new photos and a very lucky fan (who'd just met them), realizing that it's their tattoo.)

He/She kissed his/her brow as the world around them burned. "See you in the next life, my love." He/She whispered.

"Is everything supposed to go dark?"

"You'd better not die on me."

"They just got a lucky shot."

"Next time, don't call me over only to find you in a pool of your own blood!"

"You need to keep pressure on it."

When a character doesn't realize they've been shot or whatever and their hand brushes against their side and comes away wet with blood, and they're just staring at it like WTF is this and then their knees just totally give out on them and they sink down, maybe gasping a little as the reality finally hits them.

A character that knows they've been shot, but waits until the rest of their crew is out of sight to put their hand against the slowly spreading stain of blood on their shirt, then trying to steady their breathing so they can follow without letting on how injured they are.

Or the character who doesn't realize they've been hurt trying to see if everyone else is okay only to slowly realize that everyone is looking at them with mounting horror. Then they touch their side to find it's wet and oh no.

"Pull the trigger. PULL IT!" He screamed as he took the gun being held in his enemy's hand and pressed it against his own stomach. "I can't!" His enemy screamed. "I can't kill you!"

"You were more fun when we were kids," the villain sighed. "You worshiped me then. It was so cute." "When we were kids, you weren't such a colossal prick." The villain laughed and traced the weapon along their cheek. "Now, you know that's not true. You changed. Not me." The laugh dropped, to something more contemplative, softer, and yet no kinder. "Why did you have to?"

"Isn't that what people do?" The villain asked softly. "Learn to love each other? Could you not learn to love me? You-you who seem to have such a heart to love the world and everything in it?" The hero turned their gaze away, jaw clenched, pity and anger tugging at them in equal measure. "I would not be unkind to you," the villain persisted. Cupping the hero's face, thumbs stroking their jaw. "I would never." "Kidnapping people is unkind." The villain's grip tightened. "Making people fall in love with you and refusing to love them back is unkind." Oh, hell no. The hero knocked their hands away, expression ablaze with rage that they even dared say that. Their heart slammed, anger overtaking pity, teeth bared in a snarl. "I will never love you. Never."

"This isn't the way to make people love you!" "Love?" The villain laughed at that, fondly even, as they looked down at the hero kneeling before them, heat in their eyes. "My sweet thing, this isn't about love."

"All that time locked away, and not a note from you. No visits, no letters, nothing." The villain trailed their fingers along the hero's sides, relishing the sight of them all chained up for them. "You're lucky I'm nicer and won't just leave you here to rot, inmate." The hero snarled at them, making an indignant noise. "Aggressive behavior, now that would be a shot."

"I enjoyed your visits." The villain said, "but it's just not the same with a thick glass wall between us. I know you felt the same way." They didn't look at the hero, making cooing sounds at the hero's child in their lap. The hero's mind raced, desperately trying to think of some way to fix this. To calculate how long it would be before back up came. The very sight of the villain holding onto their baby left them sick with dread, even more so as the child gurgled and laughed. "You never told me about this little one, no they didn't, no they didn't." They smothered a kiss to the child's forehead. "They look like me."

"Shh, shh." the antagonist settled themselves comfortably on the protagonist's lap, looping their arms around them. One hand cupped the back of their head and stroked soothing fingers through the protagonist's hair, guiding their head to rest on the antagonist's shoulder. "It's alright, calm down..." The protagonist's wrists strained against the chains binding their limbs to the chair, heart feeling like it might jack-knife out of their chest, nerve-endings jangling. "Just match your breathing with mine." The antagonist continued, concerned. "We both know I'm going to hurt you regardless so there's really no point in having a panic attack about it. Come on, deep breaths. No

need to cry now, that's good. You can do it." They continued to make soothing sounds, crowning the protagonist's head with kisses.

"I really thought you could save me." The hero cradled the villain close, for now, too many things reeling through their head. "Yeah, so did I."

"You said if I did this, that we'd be done." The antagonist smiled, brushing the protagonist's hair back from their forehead. "You must have known that would never happen. Look at what a great team we make--we're unstoppable!" Their smile softened and the protagonist hated that it still made their stomach flip. "You're incredible!" "Incredibly done." "If I let you go, you'll die. The world can't maintain you the way I can."

"You were everything to me." And now, this. Betrayal and longing, relief at life and despair at monstrosity, sunk like a fish hook in their chest. Painful, inescapable. "How could you?" The antagonist's brow furrowed. They reached out a hand, gently catching the protagonist's tears on their fingertips. "You say that as if we've met before." The protagonist's heart dropped out. "What? You don't remember me?" The antagonist continued to stare at the tears for a moment before their hand clenched to a fist. They nodded to their guards. The protagonist struggled as the security seized hold of them again, dragging them up and backwards. Their desperation pitched. They grew sure. "You don't remember, do you? What's the last thing you remember?" "Oh, and gag them," the antagonist said, looking away. "They're boring me." "[NAME]--" the guards cut them off. The antagonist didn't look at them once as they were hauled out of the room.

They tried again, and again, and again. Each time, they were deftly deflected, tossed aside, pinned, knocked back as if their attacks and all their training was nothing. The villain was good. They tried for over an hour, ears ringing, nose bleeding, ribs cracked, fingers broken, until they were too exhausted to put any strength into a punch and the last lunge ended up more with them sobbing and shaking in frustration against the villain's chest. The villain caught their wrists firmly and twisted them into a more secure hold. They manhandled the protagonist, stumbling in front of the mirror so they could get a good look at just how pitifully outmatched they looked. "This is what you wanted? I'm sure your parents would be delighted to see this."

"Teach me." "What?" The villain started. "Teach me how to fight like you." It was the most incredible thing they'd ever seen. "...You want me to teach you how to kill me?" The villain let go and let them crumple to the floor. "[*]. I need a drink to deal with you."

"I said that's enough now." The villain caught hold of the hero's wrists as they tried to keep fighting, tossing their weapon aside before drawing them close. Arms wrapping around them in an embrace that might have been comforting if it didn't have the unyielding restraint of shackles. "There we go, easy now." You've been hurt enough for one day." Thrashing against the hold did nothing but exhaust the hero and eventually they sagged. They sank together to the ground in a tangle of limbs, rocking slightly. 'You hurt me,' they wanted to scream. 'This is your fault.' "Shh," the villain murmured--warned, they didn't even know anymore. "It's enough. You've done more than enough, you'e fought so bravely, but just listen to me. There's no shame in surrendering and living another day, right?"

The villain was curled up in their bed. Fast asleep, in their bed. No broken windows, no broken locks--just there. A bolt of rage shot through the hero before they got a better look at them and... Oh wow. They let them sleep, Tucked over another blanket and went into the kitchen and made food, something warm to drink and fished out some painkillers. Their eyes flickered over when the villain made a clammy appearance. "Sit down," they ordered. "You're not going anywhere until I've taken a look at your wounds." The villain sat, huddled up in one of the hero's old hoodies. "You're not interrogating me. Or angry." "Oh, I'm furious. But shockingly enough for once not at you. If I ask you what happened, you're going to run aren't you?" The villain didn't deny it. This was different, somehow.

"I loved you at your darkest."

The fighter frowned when I stepped into the ring, his stance slackening a little as he took in the sight of me. The roar of the crowd was deafening as they grew rowdy, waiting for the fight to start. But he said, in a low growl of a voice, "I don't fight girls." My lip curled as I replied, "too bad, because I fight boys." And knocked his legs out from under him.

"You took a bullet for me." The villain stared at them, numbly almost, as the protagonist gasped for breath that didn't want to come down. "That was stupid of you." They wished they had some excuse, some clever plan, but it had simply been instinct. They wished they had some witty comment, but it hurt too much to think. The villain stepped closer, standing over them. Watching them pant, propped weakly on one elbow, the other hand clamped to their side. "I wish you hadn't done that," the villain said. "So do I, [*]." They squeezed their eyes shut. They snapped open at the touch of hands, and the antagonist's face was right there. Close. "Are you scared? Do you want me to make it quick for you?" [*]. Really?

"You can't just keep me!" "You'd prefer I fight you and your friends?" The villain returned. "I wouldn't. And you are an excellent piece of peace-keeping leverage. A noble cause. I would have imagined you'd be all aboard.

"Don't do this," the antagonist entreated, anguished, wary. "You don't have to do this." The protagonist stared back, heart drumming in their ears, a dozen longings swelling beneath their tongue. "I don't want to. You're all I ever wanted." It hurt to, finally, admit it aloud and the antagonist's breath hitched. "But this is--this is wrong. Can you really not see that?" "Loving you can never be wrong." Their chest ached. "The things you do for love can."

"Not what you expected?" The villain smiled, frosty. "I had plans other than you too. I suppose we'll both have to make do." The hero drew back, wide-eyed, because no. This was not what they'd expected at all. A little awkwardness, a little chill, not a dead body on the bedroom floor. "What are you?"

"Don't worry." The villain caressed their partner's cheek, down the oh-so-vulnerable line of the hero's throat. "I won't hurt you. Suspicion always turns to the spouse first in these things." "I'll tell." "And then where would that leave you? Like it or not love. I'm all that you have in the world now. We need to look after each other."

When someone's heart breaks, so does a piece of our world; this creatures fissures,

valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell the story behind the Grand Canyon.

"You're such a complete disaster." Groans the villain, scooping the unconscious hero off the sidewalk. "Like, holy hell, how does anyone let you out of their sight? Stop picking fights with people you aren't ready for."

"Fix it." "I can't." The protagonist dropped to their knees, a sick feeling curdling in the pit of their belly. "Please--see, I'm begging and everything. Fix it." They swallowed hard. "Please." Their voice cracked. "I can't." The antagonist said. They tugged one hand through their hair, jerking the other in a gesture for the protagonist to get up. "I'm not saying it to spite you, I literally can't. This is beyond my power. I'm sorry." The protagonist stared at them in numb disbelief.

"Hand over the girl." "Not going to happen."

"Does it hurt?" The hero asked carefully, looking at the huge scar that trailed from the other person's shoulder, down their chest to their stomach. The scar was pale in colour and bumpy; raised above the skin ever-so-slightly. The other person looked away, blinking fast. "It did. Years ago, when I first received it." "I can't believe someone could do this to you," the hero whispered. That got the other's attention, their head snapping towards the hero. "You did this. YOU did this to me and you don't even remember." They hissed.

"You need to eat something." The hero scowled, wrapping both arms around their grumbling stomach. "You need to mind your own business." The villain stepped forward slowly, arms held out in front of them, palms up. "You fainted on me last week, and I can hear how hungry you are. If you won't take my money, at least let me buy you some food. You help everyone, let someone help you for once. Don't let your pride stop you from taking the help you need to continue saving lives." The villain smiled crookedly. "To continue stopping me."

"Your city is in ruins. You are--" The villain stopped, gloves half off, and raised an eyebrow. "You're wrapped in my cape." Swaddled in the thick fabric, only the hero's face was visible, their expression trapped between a scowl and a pout. "It's cold down here, and you left it in reach. If you weren't too tight to heat your lair while keeping me prisoner down here, I wouldn't have had to resort to thievery." "You look adorable," the villain said, forcing a sneer into their voice. Because they did. They looked adorable and warm and perfect.

Character B bleeding heavily while Character A tries to staunch the blood, but Character B is more concerned about the fact that stoic Character A is sobbing and panicking.

When help is a few hours away and Character B has to stay awake, Character A rambles loudly about random stuff, trying not to break down and cry and to keep them awake.

"Show me your scars," he said. "But... Why?" She asked quizzically. "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

"You go ahead, I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

"Don't talk to me. It's 6 AM and I haven't had coffee yet, so anything I do or say cannot

be held against me."

"Dude, that jacket is mine, give it back."

"YOU USED MY TOWEL?!"

"Where is he?" "My lady...." "Answer me."

"Wait, when did I take off my clothes?"

"I"m fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten."

"I'm not here, actually, this is a projection from.... [planet].... I moved there recently."

"You have no idea how to make toast?!"

"I haven't showered in four days."

"You're more zombie than human."

"Fix her." "No." "Because you can't or you don't want to?" "Because she'll break again. And you'll be back here, on my doorstep, begging me once more to fix something that wasn't meant to be fixed." "So you don't want to?" The healer's eyes were cold. "No."

"You made me love you." The hero said. They stared out of the window, quietly, watching the rain spit down across the streets. The villain froze in the doorway, studying them, the cup of love-potion spiked tea still cradled in their hand. "I've known for weeks," the hero continued, idly almost. They didn't glance over. "It's obvious. Too sweet in the tea." "You're still drinking it." "I wanted to see what you would do. Waited." The villain swallowed at that. They hadn't done anything--aside from give the tea. Perhaps that was the most damning thing of all.

"She's crying, what do I do?" "Go comfort her." "How do I do that?" "Start with hugs." "With what?"

"I always knew I'd take a bullet for you," I say as pain ebbs through my chest. He/She crouches beside me, clutching at my shirt. Sobs echo from him/her as my lids grow heavy from the weight. "And I always knew you wouldn't take one for me." I whisper and shut my eyes.

First she realized she was pregnant, then she realized her baby would only be half human.

An all female crew is picked for the first [planet] mission. They all come back pregnant.

Imagine a villain getting injured and losing their memory and the hero finds them and takes them back with them, taking care of them and the villain gets their memory back after like a week but doesn't say anything because the hero is being so nice to them and nobody has been that nice to them in so long and they don't want it to end and they're maybe getting fond of the hero, but don't tell anyone. But eventually something happens and the hero is in trouble and they're trying to get the villain to run away because they still think they're an amnesiac with no idea how to defend themselves and they've grown to like them and don't want them to get hurt, but the villain just pushes past them towards whatever is trying to hurt the hero and just goes guns blazing and destroys them.

"I wish I had a camera."

The shackles grazed her wrists as she changed positions in an attempt to get comfortable.

You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise.

You are fighting in a war when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off of you.

The rain came down in heavy sheets. He pulled his soaked [type of hat] down to protect his eyes and moved forward. Where was she? Would he find her in time? A dark shape against the bridge railway caught his eye when the lightning flashed. He rushed forward and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. He couldn't tell for the rain if she was crying or not, droplets streamed down her face. Her mouth opened to let out a cry, but when she saw it was him, she pleaded with her eyes. He only nodded and put his arm around her. He'd protect her.

My head pounded as the toxin flooded my veins, but when I looked at her I could tell what it was doing to her was much worse.

A woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She's unaware that she's actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who's fallen for her and is certain that this time he'll get it right.

"What have you been doing? Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know."

"You're hurt!" He pulled the arrow out of his chest. "Oh, that's nothing." She stared at him. She'd thought she'd seen the arrow pierce his heart. How was he even alive? He laughed. "Don't worry, dear. It takes more than one little arrow to kill me." She was pretty sure she'd seen his eyes glimmer for a second.

"It's 2 AM. I think that's enough of that."

"Watch, this is the best part!"

"Why are you doing this?!" The villain grinned, their malice as tangible as the ground beneath the hero's feet. "Because you fell in love. And you needed to learn that love won't save you when there's a gun to your head."

It's not like she meant to trip and spill coffee all over him. It was just the way of her people.

The villain gently lifted the hero's chin with a fingertip. "Don't you see? We're the same, you and I." The hero narrowed their eyes and smacked the villain's hand away. "You and I will never be the same. I'll make sure of it." The villain grabbed the hero's wrists in an iron grip before they even knew it was moving. "Darling," the villain chuckled, "you don't have a choice."

The villain snarled, "you will find the moment you hurt them is the moment I tear out your heart and shatter your bones. If you dare destroy them as you have threatened, then they'll find nothing left of you."

"You're not allowed to die, dammit!" The villain's voice quivered, threatening to break as they shook the hero's limp shoulders. "I promised myself you wouldn't die here. I promised you I'd get us both out of this. Dammit, I promised!"

The villain's breaths were shallow and panicked as they laid the hero on the ground, blood staining both their hands. "Damn it," the villain muttered as they ripped a piece off their shirt and pressed it flush with the hero's ribcage. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Didn't want you to think I was weak," the hero mumbled, their face an already alarming shade of white. The villain grimaced, tears blurring their vision. "Well, I'm afraid you're about to witness first hand just how weak I am."

"The world is ruthless, unforgiving. I came to realize that long ago when my wife was

stolen from me." She lifted her hood to reveal her face. "She wasn't stolen. She left."

The villain shook their head. "What a pity..." "Let me go!" Begged the protagonist again. "Please," she sobbed. "Please. "You could have been Queen. It's a pity you chose this path instead." The villain lifted their dagger.

"I"m the daughter of a King who forgot my name."

"Go to him. He waits for you."

*He became King because he wanted to marry you.

One night, a dark King appeared and offered me his hand, his heart, and his Kingdom.

Arranged marriage AU where I am the Prince/Princess who sneaked out to a tavern and while I was there I got into a fist fight with another patron. Fast forward to the next day where I am meeting the person who has been engaged to me since birth and oh wow your eye looks horrible, what did I do.

Your father is forcing you to marry someone you've never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Halfway down, you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over.

"If a god falls in love with you, you can never really die."

Person A and Person B are in the kitchen. Person A is short, while Person B is slightly taller. Person A: *Struggles to retrieve items from top shelf* Person B: "Do you need me to get it for you?" Person A: *Gasps* "How dare you insult the vertically challenged!" Person B: *Laughs* "Okay then..." Person A: (Moments later) *Defeated sigh* "Help meee....."

Person A: *Completely serious* "I have to get something off my chest." Person B: *Fingers crossed* "I hope it's your shirt, please."

Person A noticeably disheveled as they enter the room. "Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff." Person B, also disheveled and grinning smugly enters the room after. "I'm stuff."

The villain smiled, watching the anguish on the hero's face as their so-called friends handed them over. "I guess," the villain sighed. "You're nobody's first priority." They reached out, pulling the hero closer by their restraints. "Except mine, of course. Don't worry. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you." The hero shivered, turning their head away.

"I'm all yours," the hero held up their hands. "Just leave them out of it. This is just you and me, right?"

The villain panted for breath, hands bloody--a little dazed and starting to shake. "They were going to hurt you. I-I panicked. I know it's bad that I--" "Shh." The hero held out an arm and the villain crumpled against them. "It's alright. You were only trying to protect me, weren't you?" The villain nodded. "Then I forgive you, it's okay. But you know there are going to be people who don't see it my way, who wouldn't understand like I do." "But you can make that go away. You can do anything." The villain said. It took everything the villain had not to shiver with delight.

"There," the villain carded their fingers through the hero's hair. "Isn't it better to feel clean?" No more blood or grime or gore on battered skin. Instead, fluffy towels, steaming water, soothing scents and oils which soothed all aches and pains. "It would

feel even better if you weren't in the room. Bit creepy, that." "You know you can't be trusted not to abuse my hospitality."

"Stop it." The command, the quiet authority cut straight through to the villain's brain. "You're overthinking," their sidekick said. "You know what you get like when you start overthinking. Come here." The villain moved over thoughtlessly. Their sidekick guided them gently down onto their knees, taking the villain's head in their hands. Their fingers massaged soothing circles and the villain's eyes fluttered closed. "That's right," their sidekick murmured. Good. Just focus on me. Take some deep breaths."

"You are so terrified that people will never love you, that they'll leave you," the protagonist murmured. "That you would never give them the chance to do either." The antagonist stilled in the doorway, just for a beat. The protagonist looked at them, heart seized in their mouth. "That's not love, you know. Love necessitates choice." "Just as well then," the antagonist replied. "That I'm not looking to give someone the chance to love me. Sleep tight." The door slammed shut behind them.

"I miss you." "You miss an illusion." But the villain paused all the same, hand rising as if about to touch. Faltering. Their hand dropped. They steeled themselves. "Take them away." Cold.

*And mighty we became.

"That has got to be the lamest pick up line in existence." "Don't worry that's just Plan A." "So what's Plan B?" "To take you hostage."

"I'm fine," the antagonist said. "Okay." "I'm fine." They'd just said that, and the protagonist was starting to look concerned. "Just fine. Everything's going to be fine." Oh wow, they couldn't stop saying it, couldn't stop gabbling it, couldn't breathe over it, choking on that word. Fine, fine, fine, always perfectly fine.

The villains lungs strained for air as the hero slammed them up against the wall, face inches away. Fear licked up their spine. "You're sorry?" The hero spat. "Sorry doesn't even begin to cover what you're going to be for what you've done. You don't get to cry over your guilt. You're not the one who got hurt."

In the heat of the moment, whether this is a fight, chase, or the characters are under gunfire; they escape and get to cover. However all is not well when Character A turns to see Character B leaning heavily against a wall, clutching at their side. Character B slowly looks up and shows a blood covered hand before saying, "so. Slight problem," before collapsing onto the floor.

"I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't trust your cooking. Stay out of my kitchen."

Person B dancing around their home, headphones in, eyes closed, singing as loudly as they please to their favourite song while Person A stands in the doorway watching their oblivious partner with a loving smile on their face.

Person A: "How can someone say Person B is evil? They're the most precious soft little soul." Person B: *Wiping blood off their face* "YEAH, I'M ADORABLE!"

Person A walked into the house, threw their bag on a chair, and laid down on the carpet with an air of defeat. Person B walked in a few hours later, saw Person A on the ground and set to work. They picked up a few blankets and pillows. Then Person B walked

over to Person A, laid everything out, then proceeded to lay down with Person A. Person A slowly curled up to Person B and fell into a restful sleep. Five hours later, they're still there. Just soaking in each other's presence.

Person A was sitting up in bed, headphones on and staring intensely at their Ipad screen, which flickered brightly in the dim room. Person B rolled over and slowly sat up, glancing at the clock and seeing it was well past 2 AM. Person B leaned up against Person A, with their eyes still closed and asked why Person A was still up. Person A popped out an earbud and quickly *states reason* and then turned their attention back to the screen. Person B yawned loudly, grabbed the device and tossed it off the bed. Right before Person A could protest, Person B curled an arm around them and forced Person A to lay down. Person A fell asleep within minutes, tucked securely in Person B's arms.

Imagine your OTP getting ready for bed and Person A is sitting on the bed. Person B tries to sneak up on them with a hug or a kiss, but Person A has quick reflexes and thinks they're being attacked. So they accidentally hit Person B in the face and they fall back onto the bed. Person A quickly realizes who it was then, and keeps saying sorry really fast and hugs them and kisses where it hurts.

Imagine Person A walking into the kitchen, only to find Person B in tears. Person A immediately rushes over to Person B's side, fretting over them, consoling and asking what happened. Surprised, Person B explains they were simply cutting onions.

Person A is baking cookies and has to split their attention between the timer and fighting off Person B, who keeps trying to steal cookie dough from the bowl.

Imagine your OTP making out on a couch, but then one of them accidentally rolls off and the other one is either frantically asking if they're okay, or laughing their head off.

Imagine your OTP ice skating and one of them falls so the other tries to help them up, but they lose their balance and fall on top of the other.

What if he held you tightly in his arms as you lay on his chest, drifting into sleep by the sound of his steady heartbeat. Feeling the slight vibration of his lungs as he hummed softly. His hands brushing lightly in your hair as his lips pressed against the top of your head, but stayed there for awhile. Then he let out a faint sigh, taking his lips away, seeming to be deep in thought.

You shift around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. No success. You hear your boyfriend stretching. "Can't sleep, my love?" He asks, letting out a sleepy sigh. "Come here," he whispers. You move over to him and he snakes an arm around your waist and wraps his leg around yours as you rest your head on his bare chest.

As you lay in bed alone, struggling with reaching sleep, you toss and turn before huffing out in annoyance at still being awake. A small fraction of light creeps into your room until the door closes and the edge of your bed dips down underneath his weight. He carefully climbs under the covers, reaching an arm out for you, pulling you closer to his body, your back to his front. "You can sleep now, love. I'm home. I love you." He gently whispers in your ear, lightly kissing your cheek and then laying his head on the pillow next to you, leading you to fall into a dream-filled sleep of your boy being back home.

#writing #writing prompts #writing prompt list #prompts #other writing prompts #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #star wars

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ceremonyanddevotion · 5 years

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Wait sorry I'm new to the fandom, but how the hell do you tell the ghouls apart enough to name them? Do you look at their dick size or smth???? lmao thanks btw you're one of my fav blogs ❤

ANON IM DYING and thank youuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!! ahhhh

this guide does not identify who are the people playing the ghouls

it is a fucking art form and took me forever to tell them apart.

There’s three sure fire ways to never forget (none of them involve looking at dicks but don’t let that stop you)

1. Stage position

2. Body Types & Personality

3. Instrument

for Stage positions, even though they do move around a lot, they have set places for them to normally stay in.

This is the floor plan for the shows. Rain does goes up and down the stairs.

For body types, it’s pretty simple

Aether is the bulkiest male ghoul, large arms and legs, broad shoulders, he also has a metal bracelet and rings on his hands. He jumps and plays around a bit.

Swiss is thin, but more built than Rain and Dewdrop, he is also a POC, so his skin is darker than the others, who are all European/White Westerners. Plays around in his space and with Aether/Dewdrop

Mountain is the tallest I believe, and a bit lanky, he also doesn’t wear shoes.

Rain is thin, but slightly larger than Dewdrop, broader shoulders, kinda shy? he plays around sometimes but not all the time.

Dewdrop is TINY and THIN. He also goes for it with the ghoul thing, he messes with the crowd he’s in front of and spits at them. STOMPS for attention because he demands people watch him do his solos.

Cumulus is the shorter, plumper female ghoul

Cirrus is the taller, curvy female ghoul

Pro tip for the ghoulettes: their names are types of clouds that fit to their body type, Cumulus clouds being plump and fluffy while Cirrus clouds being whispy long clouds.

For Instruments, it goes as follows:

Aether uses the black guitar and is the rhythm guitarist, He hangs is guitar low on his body (no doubt because of his music background)

Swiss is third guitar/ backing vocals, he also plays Papa Nihil during Miasma

Mountain is drums

Rain is the bassist

Dewdrop uses the white guitar and is the lead guitarist. His play style is pretty unique and is how he was identified by fans.

Cumulus is keys, backing vocals

Cirrus is keys, backing vocals and Keytar

I still can get Rain and Dewdrop mixed up, because they are the same height and similar build, and their guitars are both white, you can normally see who is who because rain has broader shoulders than dewdrop, but you can also tell by knowing the differences in their instruments (which I find easier to do in photos and grainy gifs)

Rain uses a fender jaguar bass, it has a light brown neck and a pale headstock, as well as it clearly only having 4 strings and silver tuners on one side of the head. The pointy side of the body faces UP

(I couldn’t find his model with the white finish but it’s this model)

Dewdrop uses a Hagstrom Fantoman, which is Ghost’s guitar they made with the company Hagstorm. It has a very dark down neck, a small black headstock with 6 sliver tuners, 3 on each side. The pointy side of the body faces DOWN but also has another lower point that faces UP

Holy shit i think i covered it all??????

for pre copia ghouls, I only really know Omega and Alpha, they both had their symbols on their guitars, Omega wore thick rings on his hands and Alpha had a broken heart tattoo on the sides of his hands. Omega also STOMPED on stage a lot.

If you want me to go into more detail with those two let me know.

Hope I helped and not made it worse hahahaha.

EDIT: go through my #beginners guide (that I forgot I had) tag on my blog and theres more guides to help you, and for past ghouls too!

#ask #beginners guide

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amyscascadingtabs · 6 years

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please don’t say I’m going alone

He hates the Universe because he has a single hour left of hugging a girlfriend who is now asleep by pure post-crying exhaustion, an hour left of trying to memorize every little detail about her. He hates the Universe because there's only a month left until their one year anniversary and now they won’t get to celebrate it together, because she just spent all too much time away from him undercover in prison in Texas and now they're being separated again, because her face is puffy and pink from crying and he thinks his might be as well.

Or, what went through Jake’s head before he said goodbye to Amy for Florida.

This was actually kind of a semi-prompt from @alwaysandbeyond who wondered aloud in the tags why Jake chose the selfie of Amy he has with him in Florida and prison and said that someone should write a fic about it. Truth be told I’ve always been curious about this so I… wrote the fic. Hope you like it and apologies in advance for the feels

read on ao3

Jake has two hours before the first of four cars that will take him and Holt to witness protection in Florida arrives. He spends them both at Amy’s apartment. There’s no use in packing if he’s not allowed to bring anything with him; no use in anything but hugging his girlfriend so tight he fears he is squeezing her small frame to pieces, all while telling her repeatedly he loves her and won’t forget about her. Not a great promise, considering he has the memory of a goldfish. But he remembers emotions. He remembers anything that caused a strong emotional response at the time or still does. So yes, he’ll remember the woman who has made him feel love in all its different kinds - from aching, unrequited infatuation to the effortless and tender-hearted commitment they’ve reached after almost a year. He’ll remember the fierce but quirky, competitive but lovable detective who just told him she loves him so much and wants to move in with him until he’s old and gray-haired and rotting away in a retirement home in Coral Palms. “They’ll get you out of Witsec”, Amy keeps on repeating for their first ten minutes of their two last hours together, while Jake can’t stop imagining the nightmare scenarios of never getting home again. “We’ll get you out. We’ll catch Figgis. You’ll come home. You have to come home.” He agrees with her. Both of them know nothing's for sure and maybe they really will never see each other again, but last hours are better spent pretending than accepting brutal realities. There will be plenty of time to do so in Florida, he assumes. Amy cries. Long, heaving sobs shake through her body and her tears dampen his t-shirt when she’s pressed tight against him, the two of them together on her bed for the last time in a long while. He tries not to think about how her bed would have been their bed someday soon if Figgis hadn’t called when he did. We should move in together. Haha, said the Universe. Very funny. Jake officially hates the Universe. He hates the Universe because he has a single hour left of hugging a girlfriend who is now asleep by pure post-crying exhaustion, an hour left of trying to memorize every little detail about her. He hates the Universe because there's only a month left until their one year anniversary and now they won’t get to celebrate it together, because she just spent all too much time away from him undercover in prison in Texas and now they're being separated again, because her face is puffy and pink from crying and he thinks his might be as well. He knows he won’t forget her, but he also knows he cannot possibly remember everything, because there's so much to notice about Amy Santiago he’s discovering new things every single day. Some days it’s the cutest constellation of moles at the small of her back, some days a brand new meal she can actually cook without burning the kitchen down or poisoning them both, and one day she even tells him the back-story about a tiny dot in white ink on the foot; a relic from one of the few times she got drunk at a college party and wanted to know what getting tattooed felt like. Other days he discovers how the shape of her eyebrows change marginally sometimes because she claims it’s impossible to fill them in exactly the same every day, or how the sparkling gleam in her eyes when he tells her he loves her is different from the one she gets when she’s really excited over a case, but not all too different from when she’s truly engaged in re-reading the Harry Potter novels for the umpteenth time. (Jake’s not yet sure if he should take it as an insult or a compliment to mean roughly as much to her as he’s discovered those seven books do. From the amount of Ravenclaw or Hogwarts-stamped paraphernalia he keeps finding in various places over her apartment, he’s hoping for the latter.) No photograph could capture the all-consuming focus in her expression when she watches Jeopardy or how melodious her laugh sounds when it's untamed and authentic. Her quick-witted comebacks or the adorable way she scrunches her nose when Hitchcock says something distasteful couldn’t ever be framed into a picture, no matter how skilled the photographer. He knows he’d find every single one perfect, but they still wouldn't capture enough. Maybe he should follow the orders someone gave him and abstain from bringing anything personal to Florida. On the other hand, maybe it could be helpful to have something physical there to ground him. Something to look at to know she’s real and exists somewhere out there, something to remind him she’s more than an intricate and hyper-realistic daydream, might help during all the months and maybe even years he’ll be stranded without her. It’ll have to be a photograph. A picture won’t capture any of her intelligence or humor, but there’s a chance it could capture a sliver of the ethereal beauty she is and right now a chance of a sliver is all he needs. The question is simply which one. He has a ton of pictures of her in uniform or with other members of the squad, all unusable. A picture of her at work would be too difficult to explain should someone see it. No cop pictures. There are even more dorky selfies of the two of them together, making funny faces or even trying to hold the camera up and kiss at the same time, but right now only seeing them so free and happily unknowing is an all too painful sting. And a picture of him with a girl would be even yet more suspicious if he got caught; there’d be no way for him to deny ever knowing the woman in the picture and he’d be screwed. No couple pictures. It doesn't leave him with much. For a moment he’s scared no picture on his phone lives up the necessary requirements, until he swipes far enough to reach a collection of shots he’s nearly forgotten. The pictures are from approximately two months into their relationship, back when everything was still new and a little intimidating. They’re taken in his apartment, and if he closes his eyes, he remembers the moment clear as day. ~ nine months earlier “There are so many Die Hard pictures in your camera roll. Honestly, Jake - aren’t some of these identical?” Amy’s on his couch, taking up most of the space with her head on one armrest and her feet in his lap. They’re looking through each other’s phones for some trivial reason mostly to do with boredom; it began with Jake needing help to spot spelling errors in a text, and now they’re having too much fun looking at pictures in the other person’s gallery to stop. “I don’t know that for sure and I’m not deleting any of them until I have proof!” He tickles her left foot with his free hand, the corners of his mouth twitching when it makes her giggle. “And you have way too many pictures of laminated documents to get to tease me about Die Hard.” “I’m confident I could prove some of these are the same. And lam' jobs are important! I have a blog!” “And I follow said blog! Because I’m an awesome supportive boyfriend!” “Then where are all the pictures on your phone of me, huh? The ones you show your college buddies when you’re having a beer together and bragging about the attractiveness of whatever girl you’re hooking up with?” He can tell she’s trying to fake seriousness, but she keeps interrupting herself with fits of laughter. “Isn’t that what all white heterosexual cis men do when they meet up?” “Amy Santiago, how dare you assume I’m straight?” He’s the one laughing now, his grin growing wider from the sight of hers. “And I have plenty of pictures of you. I think. I had to delete some because I was running out of space for Die Hard stills.” “Maybe I should solve the issue. I’m deleting all the Die Hard stills I know you have doubles of and replacing them with selfies.” “Real mature, Ames.” His eyes light up when an idea hits him. “Ooohh, wait - will there be selfies of you in just a bra? Without one?” “Yeah, I’m the immature one of us two right now”, she scoffs, but the smile on her lips lets him know she’s not really mad. “And no, there won't, because I’m classy. And afraid of you leaving your phone on your desk and Charles somehow finding them.” “You know he’d just be ecstatic I had them.” “That makes it worse. Now, I need to get to work.” She sits up straight and holds out the phone a little bit in front of her so it captures part of the wall behind her as well. “This is serious business.” Jake lets the camera click once, twice, before he dives forward and into the frame. The sudden impact of his weight against her makes Amy fall to the side, and the next few shots come out blurry as he attacks her with a little sloppy but mostly playful kisses. “You’re ruining the pictures”, she whines. “Nah, I’m making them better”, he claims then and puts the camera app on timer before pressing another kiss to her lips. “Now I can show my hypothetical college buddies pictures of me kissing you, so they’ll know you’re for real.” “That would be an issue?” “Oh yeah, they would never believe I was actually dating you. You’re way too pretty.” He swipes through the collection of pictures of them kissing they’ve taken now, showing her the few of them that turned out reasonably sharp. “You’re way too pretty!” “You’re prettier.” “No, you are - oh god, we really are that horrible lovey-dovey couple everyone hated in high school, aren’t we?” Amy hides her face in her hands. “What have we even become?” “Doesn’t matter, because these pictures are hella adorable. I won’t even delete them for more Die Hard stills.” ~ He desperately wants to take one of those cheesy pictures with him to Florida. Even in the less sharp ones, it’s evident to anyone with a functioning pair of eyes how happy they are, and it makes Jake curse silently when he remembers that happiness is being taken from them now, picked up and dumped right into a coursing river of destruction by Figgis. (He should’ve just become an accountant or something equally mind-numbing because at least then he would never have to leave her.) But a picture of the two of them together is too risky and too revealing of his past, so he options for the second best thing - one of the few selfies Amy captured before he joined her. She looks considerably more serious in this picture than in the next one, her lips more a shy smirk than the wide grin she has in the pictures with him, but she looks gorgeous enough for him to want to look at it forever. More importantly, it’s a reminder the next pictures exist. It’s a fragment of a memory of better times, and it’s all he’s brave enough to bring. There’s a buzz from the Bluetooth printer on the desk in Amy’s bedroom as the picture begins to print. Her head shifts a little from where it’s resting on his chest, startled by the sudden noise, and he very nearly starts crying again, because in fifty minutes he’ll be separated from her with nothing more to keep than the selfie he already knows he’ll be staring at until he’s memorized every inch. He’s not going to forget her.

#my writing #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #sorry for the feels guys

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nicholasrowan · 6 years

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Field Guide to NeoPagans (humor)

This has knocked around the net for decades. I did not write it. Posted here for locational purposes. Field Guide to Neo-Paganism Bright-Eyed Novice You just read this cool book about a religion where there’s a Goddess and a God, and they meet outside in nature, instead of some scary old building. They think sex is good not evil, and you want to know where to sign up. Distinguishing Signs: Mispronounces god/dess names, has to think a moment about which is deosil and which is widdershins. Has a shiny new athame (rhymes with “A-frame”.) Grand Old Wo/Man Actually remembers Woodstock (the first one.) Will tell you about the time they dropped acid with Kerry Wendell Thornley - or maybe it was Robert Anton Wilson. Anyway, it was somebody with three names. Or was it three people with one name? Distinguishing Signs: Luxuriant gray locks, listens very intently, knows dish about people you’ve only read about. Tree Hugging Nature Sprite Most prized possession: one of Judi Barry’s old tree spikes. Simultaneously believes in universal love for humanity and returning the planet to a pristine, uncorrupted state. Apt to remove clothes and fondle the shrubbery at a moment’s notice. Can discuss compost in great detail. Distinguishing Signs: No meat, no fragrance, no leather, no plastic, no smoke, no drugs, no eco-exploitive products, no animal tested cosmetics, no TV, no car, but very tolerant. Anal Retentive Ceremonial Book collection actually holds up the ceiling in places. Is studying Greek, Latin and Hebrew all at once. Does “workings” instead of “rituals”. All twenty volumes of their magical diaries are all in Enochian. Distinguishing Signs: Won’t go anywhere without a book. Is constantly aware of which direction is east. Dresses according to planetary conditions, or whatever was on sale at Wal-Mart. Womyncentric Gynocrat A man’s shadow crossed her altar once and she spent three weeks purifying it. She’ll have no wands in her chalice, thank you. No boys allowed in her full-moon club. Can hold forth for hours on the magical properties of menstrual blood. Distinguishing Signs: Tiny axes or curved knives, just right for amputating a penis, are a favored symbol and often hang conveniently from her body parts. When a man approaches she rolls her eyes and stops talking. Sexy Pagan Nymph Oh, they’re so nice! All that warm, round, sex-positive flesh—and you can actually carry on a conversation with them between orgasms... pant, drool... Distinguishing Signs: Cute. Horny. Displays prominent cleavage. Will recite love poetry to you under a full moon. Likes to do it outdoors. Often destitute. All too few of them. Corporate Closet Witch “Hey, boss—I’d like to take February 2nd as a personal day...” Has an entire chapter of their Book Of Shadows concerned with spells for purifying the workplace. Doesn’t mind working on Christmas, especially if there’s overtime involved. Quit being overtly Pagan at work since being canned by that born-again boss, but still refuses to say “Merry Christmas.” Distinguishing Signs: Can assume a properly smiley work persona at the drop of a hat. Constantly glances around the room anxiously looking for co-workers and their spies. Non-distinctive style of dress, no conspicuous tattoos. Childe Ov Kaos Can name seventeen industrial goth bands without pausing to think. Knows what a Prince Albert is. Personally feels that if no panicky headlines appear the day after you do a ritual, you screwed up.  Painted on their jacket, engraved in their flesh and/or boldly displayed as jewelry is an emblem which resembles a combination of corporate logo and arcane symbol. If you don’t know what it means, they’ll think you’re a dweeb. Distinguishing Signs: Easy to picture as an alternative musician or bike messenger, difficult to visualize as a school teacher or research assistant, impossible to imagine as a TV news anchor or bank officer. Always wears black leather, even when sleeping. Pagan Celebrity At conventions, stays on the hotel floor that requires a special key for elevator access. Lurks around knots of conversation eavesdropping in order to see if their name is being mentioned. Arrives in helicopter especially for rituals. Starts every sentence with “I”. If you ask them how it’s going, they hand you a press release. Distinguishing Signs: Always has plenty of books to autograph and will personally sell them to you at a slight discount from cover price. Never seen unaccompanied by beefy Amazonian bodyguards and doe-eyed hangers-on. Seems vaguely afraid of anyone they don’t already know. Scary Devil Worshipper Would never be caught dead skyclad. Rarely smiles, except in a snide, knowing way which insinuates you are an ignorant peasant worthy of conquest. Secretly enjoys Rush Limbaugh and read The Bell Curve with smug satisfaction. Fascinated with Nazis. Probably has never hurt a fly, but they want you to think they’re capable of vast destruction. Distinguishing Signs: Lots of black and red. Men like goatees, women favor heavy black eyeliner. At least one inverted pentagram somewhere on their person. If you see several of them getting tanked in a bar, it would be wise to stay far away. Crowley-In-A-Past-Life Every magical gathering has at least one of these, along with several variants along the lines of Gerald Gardner, Tituba, Morgan LeFey, or somebody who was Atlantean royalty. Many of them were abducted by aliens recently, and have disturbing dreams rich with arcane symbolism that they will tell you all about, in great detail. Distinguishing Signs: Look for the intense gleam in the eyes, the backpack rattling with various psychiatric medications, and the garments that were clearly designed and tailored on another planet. Ravin’ Pagan Young and psychedelic. Can dance non-stop all night. Refuses to do boring Eurocentric rituals and prefers deities from sunny climes with lots of interesting local plants. Can say “Ayahuasca” ten times real fast and deliver long quotes from Terrence McKenna. Distinguishing Signs: Dresses in color combinations that hurt the eyes unless you’ve taken ecstasy. Bloodshot eyes, blissful smile, never goes anywhere without ritual drum. Fairie Queen Is he a she? Is she a he? Are they a couple, or are those two a couple or are all four of them a quadruple? If getting answers to these questions could disturb you, best stay away. If, on the other hand, these kind of questions seem overly judgmental, you might have a real good time... Distinguishing Signs: When you look at this person, does every sex act you’ve ever experienced in your life seem hopelessly vanilla? If so, congratulations -- you’ve found a Fairie! High Episcopagan Do their rituals have a script, a choreographer, a stage manager, an orchestra with chorus and last at least three hours? It’s a High Episcopagan! They can memorize pages and pages of Olde Englishe, have more ritual garbs than most people have socks, and consider their main pagan influences to be Gerald Gardner, Judy Garland and Busby Berkeley. Distinguishing Signs: Book of Shadows exceeds five volumes. Knows every note of “Carmina Burana” Don’t ask them about that 18th century seed pearl trim on their ritual hat unless you’ve got an hour to spare. Fundamentapagan If it’s in a book, it must be true. If it’s in an old book, it must really be true. If it’s in an old book that was handed down from an oral tradition of people who couldn’t read, then it must really be way true. Gnashes their teeth if anyone shows up at a circle wearing a watch, glasses, or other mechanical assistance. Believes that anyone who lives in a city, eats meat or has a regular job dare not call themselves a pagan. Distinguishing Signs: Has hissy fits when somebody brings up the old “Crowley ghosted Gardner’s books” argument. Goes around correcting everyone’s Gaelic, Old Norse, Latin, and Babylonian. Dances With Bunny Rabbits Uses animal symbolism to express nearly all opinions and feelings. Charter member of PETA. Thinks meat eaters should be publicly executed. Has many, many, many pets. Has a spirit animal. Personally owns 927 models, pictures, and other depictions of their spirit animal. Distinguishing Signs: Not counting the Pagan his/herself, how many animals can you see when looking at them? If the count surpasses five (including critters found on tattoos, jewelry, garments and undies), you’ve found a worshipper of beasties. Priest/ess of Political Correctness Analyzes everything they read or hear for sexist-racist-homophobic- imperialist-Eurocentric content without paying attention to what is actually being said. Believes in personal liberty—everyone has the right to be overbearing, dogmatic and holier-than-thou, not just the Xtian Right. Incredibly boring yet annoyingly self-righteous all at the same time. Distinguishing Signs: Beady hyper-alert little eyes are constantly in motion, waiting for someone to do or say something bad. Has loud and attention-attracting hissy fits when confronted with everyday things such as advertising or corporate franchises. Rudimentary sense of humor is rarely activated. Our Lady Of Intense Suffering Is constantly persecuted. You’re probably persecuting her right now, you just don’t realize it. Became a Pagan because she decided it was that most persecuted religion of all. Can’t enjoy anything because it would be selfish to have any fun when so many are suffering. Distinguishing Signs: Tales of woe. Even less of a sense of humor than #17. Bristles when anyone says the words “masochist,” or “whining”. I Am Not Spock (at the moment) Knows at least three filks about Cthulhu and at least forty Star Trek jokes. Has found a clever way to create simple furniture from stacks of science fiction paperbacks. Can name ninety different kinds of spaceship. Distinguishing Signs: Two fisted drinking style. Probably still lives with parents. Many cryptic buttons, badges, patches and other insignia. Too smart for their own good. Het-Case Insist that they aren’t homophobic; they just believe that Paganism is about a Goddess and a God and they do it and what could be more obvious than that? It just doesn’t “work right” if you try any other way! Are secretly afraid that gays and/or lesbians are dying to jump their tender hetro bones. Distinguishing Signs: Living spaces abound with depiction’s of satyrs with enormous genitals and huge-breasted, doe-eyed goddesses. Long manicured nails and wreaths of flowers (on females only — men have big, bushy beards instead.) Norse Code Heroic and Vikingly, these pagans often get into trouble with festival organizers and park rangers due to their fondness for running around with a huge battleaxe in one hand and a full mead horn in the other. They throw the best parties, but if you’re a wimp, you’re expressly not invited. Distinguishing Signs: Look for the large, foreboding, biker-like persons wearing runes, with many pounds of amber dangling from their necks. Pentacles, Inc. Pagans have disposable income too, right? So how come they aren’t buying my hand forged Venus of Willendorf necklaces—they come in silver and gold, and each one has a genuine cubic zirconium belly button. Would you like a reading? Will that be Visa or MasterCard? Distinguishing Signs: Has business cards featuring little embossed pentagrams. You never seen so much Egyptian god/dess jewelry on a human being in your whole life. Lord Fang Glory-Wing "I may look like a normal person, but I’m really a dragon." Defines every action (or inaction) that they take on the basis of what kind of dragon they are. Gets mightily offended anytime someone points out that “don’t dragons usually have wings?” . . . Spends a lot of time off by them self pretending that they’re not trying to breath fire. Can go into great detail about the differences between the dragons found on Pern, Krynn, and Middle-Earth. Can recite to you every paragraph of every page pertaining to their "colour" out of the AD&D Monstrous Manual™. Has a high paying job but lives in virtual poverty because every time the Franklin Mint comes out with a new dragon sculpture they just have to write a check for $800. Distinguishing Signs: Small apartments filled with broken down, garage sale furniture, contrasted with expensive, glass-fronted, internally lit display cases containing their collection of dragon sculptures and toys. This collection can often reach numbers made up of three digits, and if you count in the paintings, posters, books, sheets, and pj’s, another digit can be added. Bad skin and a hair-do that can only be described as "slept on". Dragon Fetish Oooooooh!!!! It’s a DWAGON! How much is it? I’ll find a place for it on my bookshelf, bumper, altar, etc. Don’t you worry! Do you have it in more colors? Distinguishing Signs: Loves dragon anything. Will wax rhapsodic on dragons for hours (and hours and hours)... Most have real cheesy grins, which become very obvious when dragon anything is mentioned in their presence. Nice and weird but very friendly. Judeo-Christopagan Some consider these people to be a contradiction in terms. They believe in a God and a Goddess, but have been going to the local Church (or Synagogue) for so long that they can't give up on it entirely. They know there's "more", but they just can't decide which "more" is for them. Distinguishing Signs: On their altar they have: a Holy Bible, a Pentagram, a Star of David, a statue of Buddha, and even The Book of Mormon (You never know). This way they have all the "bases" covered. They can hold, at length, a conversation about ANY religion in the known world. They place the name of their "primary" religion in front of Witch, e.g., Southern Baptist Witch. I’m a Discord ... Oh, a Golden App .. Fnord! Prone to sudden changes of direction, attitude, emotion, and mentality. Over all the best at laughing at themselves, Discordians are that practical-joker uncle at any family gathering that all of the serious members dread, but whom the children love. Rarely at a loss for something to do or say, regardless of whether or not is appropriate or even has any bearing on the current situation. These followers of the goddess of chaos live what many strive for but will never achieve. Distinguishing Signs: They are usually impossible to quantify, but if you know someone who can never be counted on to do the same thing twice, or to do something different the next time, you may have found a follower of Eris. Owns at least one copy of the Principia Discordia, has it bookmarked on their computer, knows who wrote the forward to each addition, and knows what P.O.E.E. stands for. Discordian Neo-Anarchist Argumentative. Infuriating. Goes on philosophical tangents for hours, only to lead the discussion into obsurdities that make your brain hurt to think about them. Smiles too much. Laughs too much, especially at things that are *NOT* funny. Makes fun of everyone's sacred cows, especially yours. Is iconoclastic to the point of cliche'. Rants and raves about huge conspiracies and secret centuries-old organizations. Distinguishing Signs: Yin/yang pendant with a pentacle and big yellow apple inside. Carries around any books by Douglas Adams or Robert Anton Wilson. Refuses to take themselves - or anyone else - seriously. Monster Truck Pagan Can grow their own food, build their own house, sew their own clothes homeschool their children and brew their own organic hooch. Are looking forward to the bleak, post-apocalyptic world postulated by the environmentalists as they can't wait to run amok through the country, worshiping ancient gods, blowing up strip malls and rutting on the divider line of every interstate. You may be a monster-truck pagan if your anointing oil is 30 weight.You may be a monster truck pagan if cakes & wine means tailgate party.You may be a monster truck pagan if Autumn is the Burning Time. Distinguishing Signs: Resourceful, clever and very well versed in the U. S. Constitution. Eats meat with visible twitches of pleasure. Is aware that primitive religions have nothing to do with crystals, Atlantis or unicorns. Bubba Witch Can typically be found wandering the country roads, bare foot and in jean suspenders. When they pass a person in their town it is always their cousin. Their idea of a circle chant is hooting and hollering at barn yard hoedowns! If they ain't makin' a rukus in town, their off chasm' 'coons through the woods, making more noise than their 13 hunting hounds! "Yeah, maybe ah shuld ave 12 dawgs 'n me ta make a propa cercle, but ah unly gots 10 fingas! How ya 'spect me ta count ta 13? gonna let me borra' youz fingas?" [draws his trusty dagger, he and ol' yeller circling for the kill] Distinguishing Signs: Straw protruding from clothes and hair like additional appendages. We won't even ask what they were doing in the hay loft to get all messy like that! Their pickup truck gas caps are replaced with a nifty black cloth with a white pentacle on it, or is that a white hood with a black pentacle? In any case, they are never without baccy-blackened gums (the teeth fell out long ago) and always have at least one spit cup on their person. Ninja Witch These night-clad Pagans are amusing from a distance only. They sneak through the shadows of streets pretending they can't be seen by everyone and trying to ignore the car lights and strange looks everyone gives them. The looks are merely coincidental of course "I'm the mighty invisible ninja, noone can see me!" They ain't too funny when you do actively point them out, they're Hilarious. They usually react by making all kinds of funny squeeky sounds and trying to stick their foot in their mouth, or is it supposed to be your mouth? Distinguishing Signs: Always in a baggy ninja jump suit and carrying one of those dangerous plastic Katanas the kids buy at K-Mart for Halloween. Pentagram throwing stars and an adorable lil' red pentacle on their hood. Supposed to make 'em seem dangerous! ooohhh... scary. Otaku Pagan (sub-titled) Has an equal amount of Japanese Manga as books on Paganism, sometimes more. Often dresses up as their favorite anime character. Often cannot sit still for five minutes without frolicking. Their God is a warrior God named Hitokiri Battousai and their Goddess is Belldandy. Distinguishing Signs: Their ritual garb looks too much like a Shinto robe or a kimono. Their BoS is written in Japanese. They often put Japanese slang in to convey emotions. When they get confused they say "Oro?" Their ritual sword is a katana or another Japanese blade. They call raising energy raising your ki level. Otaku Pagan (dubbed) Has more Sailor Moon or Dragonball stuff than possibly imaginable. Cannot take a single thing seriously. Even more frolicky than a sub-titled Otaku. Probably wanted to get into Paganism because s/he wanted to be a "magical-girl." Doesn't know a thing about Japanese culture. Thinks all anime is like Sailor Moon (and gets really shocked when they rent "NinjaScroll...".) Distinguishing signs: Freaks out when "skyclad" is even mentioned (A sub-titled Otaku wouldn't even care). Often jokingly calls you a "meatball head" if you insult them. Their ritual wand is pink with a crescent moon on the end and during ritual they shout "moon healing, escalation!" Quotes Sailor Moon and Dragonball every chance they get. TechnoPagan Often found discussing the best method of removing hot wax from keyboards. Seems unaccustomed to sunlight. Have had coven-mates for years whom they have never seen face to face, much less know which continent they live on. Distinguishing Signs: Casts circle with #5 torx driver. Chalice contains Jolt. BoS is writtin in Perl. Refers to eclectic ritual as "cross-platforming." Thinks "naked in your rites" means a non-GUI environment

#pagan #humor

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cassandra-acton · 6 years

Text

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Cassandra Alice Acton.

Nickname: Cassie, Cass.

Birthday: November 8th, 1986.

Age: 31.

Gender: Female.

Place of Birth: Oxford, Oxfordshire, United Kingdom.

Places Lived Since: London, United Kingdom.

Current Residence: Tower Hamlets, London, United Kingdom.

Nationality: British.

Parents: Michael and Anita Acton (née Redgrave)

Grandparents: Edward Acton (grandfather, paternal, deceased) Renske van Ardenne (grandmother, paternal) Harold Redgrave (grandfather, maternal, deceased) Hélène de Broglie (grandmother, maternal, deceased)

Aunts & Uncles: Kathleen Acton-Fortescue (aunt, paternal) Charlotte, Georgina Redgrave (aunts, maternal) Lambert Redgrave (uncle, maternal)

Number of Siblings: One older sister, Elizabeth Acton.

Relationship With Family: To be honest, she doesn’t really have a relationship with anyone except Elizabeth, and her mother tainted it so much that even that one isn’t healthy. It’s a shame, really. As much as she knows she’s better off without them, she still misses her father, in particular. Cassie definitely envies people who are close to their parents.

Happiest Memory: When Harrison proposed to her, without a doubt. I’ll write about it someday. Getting her internship at Goldman is definitely second, though.

Childhood Trauma: I mean the parents definitely fucked her up for life, so there’s that.

PHYSICAL:

Height: 5'4”

Weight: 120lbs.

Build: Slim but very fit.

Hair Color: Blonde.

Usual Hair Style: Whilst working, she almost always wears her hair up in a ponytail, but she hates it. Much prefers to have it down. Keeps it just a little longer than shoulder length because of her dislike of short hair. Is too lazy to style it beyond neatness unless she’s going somewhere.

Eye Color: Blue.

Glasses? Contacts?: Neither.

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): For work: neat, formal, and inexpensive. Lots of form-fitting skirts, blazers and blouses in blacks and whites. Out of work: a fuck load of jeans. Baggy jumpers and quirky shirts. Picks up a lot of her stuff from charity shops because who has time for fucking shopping.

Typical Style of Shoes: Cassie is never without heels. Prefers bright colours and eye-catching designs to contrast with her typically monochrome/ greyscale outfits during work. About the only part of her outfits she ever spends a decent amount of money on.

Jewellery? Tattoos? Piercings?: The only piece of jewellery she constantly wears is her engagement ring, which she has on a chain around her neck. She has three tattoos. ‘Hip to be Square’ in tiny font on the inside of her right wrist, Harrison’s birthday on her left shoulder blade, and a matching tattoo she got with her friend, Jessica, back in school, on her right forearm. Each got a hand from The Creation of Adam. As for piercings, she has her left ear pierced twice, her right four times, as well as her bellybutton.

Scars: A thin scar that cuts through her right eyebrow; a result of a drunken night out in university during which one of her friends fell down the stairs, and dragged Cassie with her.

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: When she’s stressed, she has to play with her hair; pulling it, twisting it, whatever. It’s about the only good indicator she’s about to rip your face off because she will do that shit with a smile.

Athleticism: Very high. Cassandra naturally has a lot of energy, and so expends a lot of it keeping fit. Rowed competitively for LSE, and still competes regularly with many of the girls from her old crews, as well as having joined a new rowing club. She also plays a lot of rugby, though never competitively. Loves running and endurance, and almost always competes in the Tough Mudder when it’s nearby, as well as taking part in the London marathon annually. Also gets involved with a lot of charity races.

Health Problems/Illnesses: I think she seriously wavers into depression sometimes, though she’s far too proud to ever get it officially diagnosed. PCOS and all its friends, which is not a fun time. Does over attachment to her dog count? Definitely counts.

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: MSc in Economics and Management from LSE. Cassie finds studying relaxing, however, and often self-teaches about subjects of interest in her free time. Currently, she is working on a course in Arab Finance.

Languages Spoken: English natively, Dutch fluently. French and Mandarin intermediate. Is determined to take up learning Arabic at a later date.

Level of Self-Esteem: Very low. It’s why she aggressively overcompensates with an arrogant attitude. Partly to convince herself, but mostly to convince others.

Gifts/Talents: Surprisingly, she’s actually a pretty good violinist.

Mathematical?: Definitely. It’s sort of her thing. 100% could get a job on Countdown.

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: Usually, emotions, though she tends to berate herself afterward, because she knows—especially given the career she has now chosen to pursue—that she needs to learn to be more logical.

Life Philosophy: Someone else is happy with less than what you have.

Religious Stance: Was raised Anglican, but isn’t particularly religious.

Cautious or Daring?: Absolutely daring. Naturally, she’s a spontaneous person, and I don’t think being cautious really lends to that.

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: Being told she’s not good enough. Being criticised when it comes to her work. Being compared to her sister. People bringing up what happened to Harrison. Terrorism in general.

Optimist or Pessimist?: In between, leaning slightly toward the pessimistic side.

Extrovert or Introvert?: Extrovert.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: In a relationship with Adam Hassan, Shadow Health Secretary, and MP for Bethnal Green & Bow.

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.

Past Relationships: Before Adam, the only person she’d ever been in a real relationship with was Harrison. They on-off dated their whole young lives. They briefly broke up when he joined the army and she went to university because they were worried about ‘distance’ but wound up missing each other too much for it to be a permanent thing. Dated one guy briefly, Matt, a few years after his death, but it scared her so much it took her until Adam to try again.

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: None.

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Not having moved on.

Ever Cheated?: No.

Been Cheated On: Not really. Unless you count that one time, by Harrison, when they were little kids. He kissed another girl on the playground because Cassie had been off school for a week. She pouted and promised she’d never date a boy ever again after that.

Level of Sexual Experience: Cassie’s slept with five people in her life, so limited-ish. Harrison, a brief fling during her first year of university, Matt, Silas, and Adam.

Story of First Kiss: His name was Richard and she only kissed him because all of the other girls wanted to.

Story of Loss of Virginity: The first time she and Harrison tried, they’d attempted to make it a ‘romantic evening’ that wound up being so awkward, they couldn’t stop laughing. Eventually, it happened spontaneously at a school social after party.

A Social Person?: Absolutely. Even though she needs some time to herself every now and again to process all the shit that’s going on in her life, she couldn’t go any extended time without her friends. Cassie has to be in a pretty bad place to cut herself of from people.

Most Comfortable Around: Jessica, and her old work friends at Goldman—they’re the people she’s closest to, and are still like a family to her.

Oldest Friend: Jessica Mirzoyan, a friend she grew up with in Oxford that now also lives in London. She can’t remember a time in her life when Jessica wasn’t in it, they’ve known each other for so long. Basically a sister to her.

How Does She Think Others Perceive Her?: Cassie has an incredibly skewed view of what people think of her. She automatically assumes people think the worst. Look at her like she’s not good enough, just like her mother always did. I think that’s why she keeps most people at arm’s length, because she’s so scared of letting someone in only for them to wind up criticizing her.

How Do Others Actually Perceive Her?: Depends who you ask. Amongst the public she’s very popular for her honesty. Amongst her colleagues back at Goldman she’s respected as a professional cutthroat. As for her critics, they probably just see her as a stuck up bitch.

SECRETS:

Life Goals: To help as many people through her political and charitable work as possible. That’s really all she cares about. Personal goals seem fairly irrelevant to her right now.

Dreams: To be happy again would be rather nice.

Greatest Fears: Polystyrene and spiders. Why do either of those things exist?

Most Ashamed Of: How bitter losing Harrison has made her. How she still hasn’t been able to get over the anger and the hurt it left her with.

Secret Hobbies: Cassie kind of loves to knit? It’s a good stress reliever when she’s too tired to go running. Not that she’d admit to it, mind you. She’s also not very good. All she can make are the really simple scarves.

Crimes Committed (Was she caught? Charged?): None.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Night owl. Begrudges being alive in the mornings.

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Heavy sleeper.

Favorite Animal: Hedgehog.

Favorite Foods: Steak. Cheese and crackers. Orange jelly.

Least Favorite Food: Avocado.

Favorite Book: American Psycho – Bret Easton Ellis.

Least Favorite Book: The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Favorite Movie: Burn After Reading. Gladiator. Mars Attacks!

Least Favorite Movie: Shitty horrors in general.

Favorite Song: Mr. Roboto – Styx. If you play that to her, she doesn’t just sing along, she fucking performs it, okay. (Honourable mentions for The Boys Are Back In Town – Thin Lizzy, and What Is Love – Haddaway.)

Favorite Sport: Rugby. Cassie can get pretty shouty about rugby and is a very dedicated Saracens fan.

Coffee or Tea?: Tea.

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Neither, thank you. That stuff is nasty.

Type of Car She Drives: A dark green Mini Cooper.

Lefty or Righty?: Lefty.

Favorite Color: Pink.

Cusser?: Pretty badly, although she does well to hold her tongue in public most of the time. Has had a few slip-ups that made the headlines. Luckily the general opinion was that it made her seem more normal, and it went down pretty well with voters, if not her critics.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: Never used drugs. Occasionally smokes if she’s incredibly stressed and has been drinking. Drinks fairly regularly.

Biggest Regret: Letting her parents fuck her up so badly. Cassie wishes that she hadn’t taken it so much to heart, now that she knows better.

Pets: The love of her life, Brody the Corgi.

#archive

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vrenaewrites · 4 years

Text

AFTER by Anna Todd thoughts: Prologue - Ch 50

Full video here.

Originally wattpad fanfic about Harry Styles??????

PROLOGUE:

“I didn't know college would be more than academics”

Confused by (her roommate’s friends) inattention to structure: How fucking lame are you

“And that’s when he crept into my heart” Is he italicized in the books i bet it is

Dude’s name is hardin? More like hard-on amirite

CH 1:

It starts with an alarm going off?!?!?!? Rule number one!!!!!

She spends the prologue telling us she’s been prepping for college all her life and then spends a good half a page telling us that again

“Whatever else teenagers else do, that wasn’t me” We got a mary sue here guys

Razor from the knees down - ok virgin - why was this a detail?

Oh shiiii she got a boyfriend? And his name is NOT hardin guys

She told us multiple times that she prepped for this day forever but also keeps saying she has no idea what to expect...does this take place before the internet? Like...google it??

CH 2:

She just said she saw the school online, like you can find pics of the school but you couldn’t find a single youtube video about “what college is really like” foh

So the mom sits in on orientation but is expected to leave before seeing the dorm room how tf that girl supposed to get all her shit up to the dorm?!?!?! Parents usually help you move in??

So the car was packed FULL of her stuff but then she says she only brought clothes and books and her bf doesn’t have much to carry...so what is the truth?

Oh shit her roommate has tattoos

“Where the dorms are tiny and the parties are huge” and this information is fucking earth shattering to tessa and her mom and not-hardin

CH 3:

Two closets in this tiny dorm room…

“College is not what i expected” you said MULTIPLE TIMES you didn’t know what to expect so what is the truth?!!?!?!?

“Both genders” yikes on bikes

CH 4:

HE HAS A THICK ENGLISH ACCENT goodBYE

“Hardin scott is not my boyfriend” okay, so many things. No one fucking talks like that unless they wanna introduce the full name of the love interest in the clunkiest way

Also HS are his initials goodBYEEEEE

CH 5:

“Destroyed his body with holes and tattoos” omg

CH 6:

Hardin is fucking neg that calls her Teresa when she asks to go by Tessa and as someone who constantly gets called Vicki when I ask to go by Viktoria, I am on her side in this instance and this instance only

CH 7:

She is so upset that someone called her prissy but then she can’t even bring herself to think of what those people are doing in the frat house bedrooms

CH 9:

The word bottom. As in, steph pushed her bottom against a guy as she danced with him...BOTTOM

She’s in a bedroom with her drunk roommate and a really great collection of books and I GUARANTEE this is Hardin’s room

Wuthering heights ffs

KNEW IT

CH 10:

And she’s crying

CH 13:

She introduces herself by her full name and landon does the same whyyyyyy who does this?

He’s a nice kid unlike you - i’m shocked at my harsh words

Am i just a bitch or is she the weakest

So they’re just walking and he screams, “Stop staring at me” out of nowhere and walks away...sounds stable

CH 14:

“Noah is my boyfriend and I would never do anything to hurt him” This is what we call foreshadowing my friends

“A man who is rude an intolerable being made into a romantic hero? It’s ridiculous” hardin

Foreshadowing…

She literally just said her boyfriend is like a little brother…ew

“I’m aware that my hips and breasts are larger than most women my age”...women are fully developed at 18...i don’t understand…

Mary sue shit

CH 15:

“She’s intimidated by you because you’re not like other girls” is that a real thing…

“You look...different” - hardin PUKE

“Are you a virgin?” i puked again

No one seems surprised - bitch you dress like a nun

CH 16:

These chapter breaks make no gd sense

“Hormonal college rock n roll misfits”

Immediately takes a shot of vodka

Hardin looks disappointed that she took a shot because she’s not like other girls…

Slut shaming.com / tessa re: molly

CH 17:

“Sorry if i don’t dress like a slut” no you just wear pleated skirts and khakis like a mormon mother

Hardin doesn’t drink OF COURSE they are sober lil bookworms together

I want to be an author. Of course because she is the mary sue of our generation move over bella swan

She’s drinking again after almost puking

CH 18:

“We don’t need to have sex, we have fun by going to the movies...and going on walks” ON WALKS.

OH SHIIIIIIIII THEY KISSIN

CH 19:

This girl has never been horny before and she cannot cope with the feeling

Am i bad a person for feeling like “Well she already cheated by kissing him, might as well keep kissing him?” like i know that’s wrong but…

CH 20:

Oh my god she’s not telling her boyfriend that she kissed someone else??!?!?

Oh shiii hardin’s in her dorm

HER MOM IS AT THE DOOR

WITH NOAH?!?!?!?!?!

When i say weakass you say bitch

CH 21:

The fork at breakfast reminds her of hardin’s lip ring….

She just called Hardin Mr. Rude. “Mr. struggle” lol anyone else watch Cody Ko??

Noah won’t kiss her in public and she does NOT get horny with him

CH 22:

Pride and prejudice is not a magical book tessa

Landon’s mom and hardin’s dad?! Oh shiiiii

“Are you ocd or something” christ

Literally he’s throwing her notes all over the floor like what a four year old

“Eyes burning into mine” AGAIN

They kissin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh shit they doin MORE than kissing

“You’re so sexy tess” I PUKED

Steph’s eyes are clapping with glee?????

“You could learn a lot from Hardin, like, sexually” - steph

okay………

CH 23:

They’re talking about the use of foreshadowing in pride and prejudice about if you could tell that darcy and elizabeth would end up together…

What kinda hamfisted shit…

And then she and hardin get in a screaming match about their situation but it’s coded in darcy and elizabeth language like come onnnnnnn

So much twilight vibes: “your mood swings give me a headache” “i should stay away from him, i know he’s dangerous” dangerous how? Because he has tattoos?

FIRST FULL BODY CRINGE: “You’re thinking about me and you have that feeling, down there, don’t you, teresa?”

Twilight: “i don’t wanna stay away from you”

CH 24:

“He really is bipolar” dude

She likes bon iver and the fray...of course she does

CH 25:

SHE FOLLOWED THIS STRANGER INTO THE WOODS

No murderino instinct at all

“He must be cold in the warm ass water because he can’t be getting flushed seeing me, a girl he’s made out with multiple times and is obviously attracted to, in nothing but his t-shirt” bitch COME ON

“I’m having real fun, not watching a movie fun”

This is such a dig at noah who she says doesn’t need to fuck her because they watch movies together

SECOND FULL BODY CRINGE: “These lips, the things you could do with them”

THIRD: “Oh Hardin,” I moan and squeeze him with my legs. “I want to make you moan my name over and over again” - hardin

My hormones are out of control - who is thinking about their hormones at this point

FOURTH: She goes to cover up and he’s like don’t ever cover yourself from me, i’ve been with so many girls but none like you

And they’re not gonna do it but “there are many other things he wants to do to her first” and at this point my body is contorted like a jumbo shrimp

FIFTH: The whole fingering scene honestly. Just all of it. He made her towel off with his shirt...am I missing something? She had already put her pants on...what’s the point of that???

SIXTH: “You haven’t said a word to me since” - “since i gave you your first orgasm?”

CH 26:

Wtf is this dude’s problem? She ignores her boyfriend’s call to keep making out with him and he’s like “don’t break up with him on my account, there’s no us going on” like dude y’all just went on a date...so you can keep saying you don’t date...but you just did…

CH 27:

She’s so selfish!!!! Calling Noah because she got rejected by Hardin!!!!!!!! Noah deserves better 2k20

And then she mentions it in front of Hardin to make him jealous WTF

Hardin petty ass Scott says, “noah, that’s a nice cardigan you’re wearing”

Thanks I got it from the gap!!!!!!!11

CH 28:

SEVEN: Tessa wants noah to get her horny so she keeps trying to kiss him and when he won’t let anything happen she stops and he says, “that was nice, tessa”

Tessa takes noah’s car to go help hardin and leaves noah in her dorm room alone when he drove 3 hours to see her!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CH 29:

Hardin toxic asshole Scott threw a hissy fit and tessa comes to save the day

He dresses her little glass cut after telling her she’s pathetic...woof

CH 30:

Holy manipulation station nation

Then he forces himself on her and her dumb bitch ass KISSES HIM!!!!!

BECAUSE HE SAID HE NEEDED HER, THAT’S ALL IT TOOK

Cringe throughout: that she describes his lips as pink. It’s weird as fuck.

EIGHT: “You know who i think you are when you’re with me?” “Who?” “yourself”

CH 31:

NINE: He’s telling her if she says the word he’ll leave her alone: “Tell me teresa,” he coos, and i whimper. “Hardin,” i whisper. WHY?

SHE IS GONNA STAY WITH HARDIN WHILE NOAH IS WAITING FOR HER?!?!?!?!!??!

CH 32:

“I don’t know if it’s his smile or the fact that he’s only in boxers, but I’m in a much better mood than before” you skank ass hoe

TEN: He says her clothes hide how sexy and curvy her body really is. Sexy and curvy. Both.

CH 33:

ELEVEN: “I know this happiness isn’t going to last” - the happiness being her straddling this guy that isn’t her boyfriend - “and i feel like cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight”

“I can behave any way i want with hardin tonight, because in the morning i’m going to tell him to leave me alone forever” HUH

TWELVE: I am just as intoxicated by hardin, as hardin is by the bottle of scotch he drank

THIRTEEN: Who is this girl straddling this punk boy and asking to touch him...down there?

CH 34:

FOURTEEN: He says he wants to taste her and this dumb bitch licks her lips like “yeah we been kissing wtf” and he says “no, down there” EW

CH 35:

Noah standing up for himself!!!!!

FIFTEEN: Then he calls them those gothic people...gothic? Not goth. Gothic.

HARDIN DONE BARGED IN!!!!!!

CH 36:

Hardin and Noah about to get into it!

Hardin making tessa be honest with noah OMG THE DRAMA

SIXTEEN: I am a moth to hardin’s flame and he never hesitates to burn me

CH 39:

Tessa gets a makeover to go out with steph and i KNOW she’s gonna see hardin and they’re gonna be inappropriate in public

And hardin is here OF COURSE

Oooh and he’s with molly! Tea

She is a slut - TESSA NO

Chapter 37: hardin will ruin tess if she ever comes around again chapter 39: he’s driving her home and making sure her burger doesn’t have ketchup

CH 40:

Noah will get back with tessa if she promises nothing with happen with hardin and we are only halfway through this book BITCH

CH 41:

Oh he drunk and at tessa’s dorm

This BITCH. JUST. GOT. BACK.TOGETHER. WITH. NOAH. AND. IS. GETTING. IN. BED. WITH. HARDIN. TO. WATCH. A. MOVIE.

CH 42:

He picks her up and forces her to sleep in the bed with him despite her saying no

CH 44:

She admits to herself that sleeping beside hardin is worth losing noah and then is trying to talk herself into believing that noah is hotter than hardin????

“You don’t need makeup” “well i like it” “well you’re bad at it” negging ass

This man at the store says, “hardin?” in an english accent and she’s like “i knew it was his dad” well how many fucking english dudes are in this small washington town my friend

This bitch agrees to go to dinner with hardin’s dad knowing damn well he and his dad are NOT on good terms...she’d be walking home…

CH 45:

And then because he doesn’t wanna go to dinner with his abandoning father, she says she’s gonna go to his dad’s house for dinner with ANOTHER DUDE?!?!?!?!?!?

She ignores noah’s call

It is stressing me tf out that she isn’t calling noah back and is instead getting ready for a date with hardin’s family...this poor cardigan wearing man

CH 46:

I LITERALLY DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE FAMILY!!!!!!!! GET BACK TO THE CRINGE NEGGING AND ALMOST-BONING

CH 47:

“He rubs the back of his neck like he always does” - this is the first time he’s done this??

CH 48:

SEVENTEEN: “Oh tessa the things you do to me”

Fingers her without asking?!?!?!?!?!?! She literally says “Without my permission”

CH 49:

She is staying at hardin’s family’s house for the night, asks for her own room because she has a boyfriend - YOU JUST GOT EATEN OUT BY ANOTHER DUDE FIVE MINUTES AGO

~~~~

#reading #fiction #after #anna todd #hardin scott #tessa young #harry styles #fanfic #cringe #cringe books #cringe review #negative review #book review

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journeysintowebcomics · 7 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #46

UPDATE 46: Nothing Good Ever Happens to Him

Last time Flechette had gone to her first patrolling since she arrived to Brockton Bay to be a temporary member of the Wards. She had intended to bond with Shadow Stalker, wanting to have a friend of her same age and gender. You can guess how that went, given Shadow Stalker’s vigilantism tendencies. At least she managed to connect with Parian, so it’s not all bad. Let’s continue with the next chapter!

“Welcome to Parahumans 103: Theories and Patterns. I see we have a packed auditorium, and according to the enrollment list, we have no less than three hundred students taking the TV course. A bump up from the last two trimesters, so I must be doing something right.”

Oh, nice. Looks like this chapter may have some explanations regarding parahumans. That’s always nice. Given that most Wards and some PRT members are here, I suppose there’s some credibility regarding the accuracy of this course, unless they all came here to watch if this guy knows what he’s talking about – unlikely. You don’t need all Wards to be here for that.

Although...some of the Wards aren’t paying attention. Hm. Maybe being here is something they can’t avoid, maybe it’s mandatory?

Only thirteen people present, altogether.

...well! This must be a hella tiny auditorium! They’re lucky three hundred students are taking the TV course, although I’d bet only around 75% are taking it with some seriousness. This is a college class, it seems.

“For this class, I want you to think. Parahumans. People with powers. They’ve been around for nearly thirty years. Where did they come from? Why are they here? It’s common knowledge that parahumans are ordinary individuals who gained abilities. It is too easy, however, to assume that this is the sum total of our knowledge. I want you to think further on the subject. For example, why does virtually every parahuman ability have some application in confrontation and combat? Is this the nature of humans, to turn any progress to violent ends, be it science or superpower? Or is it by design, an individual’s hand at work?

Huh. Well, I’m not completely sure every single parahuman ability is meant to be used in confrontation and combat, but yeah, everyone knows a trait humans have is that we can get really creative when we want to be. It’d be no problem for a parahuman to think of a way to use their ability during a strife. The amount of parahumans who don’t want to use them for any kind of confrontation seems to be rather low, at least I judge that by the number of known rogues so far, compared to the amount of heroes and villains there are.

I suppose there’s a possibility it is by design, that something in the parahumans’ brains change at the moment they obtain their abilities, something that makes them be predisposed to fighting and combat. It’s already known trigger events and gaining skills can affect a person’s brain and behavior. It’s possible it happens to everyone and nobody has realized it yet.

Miss Militia’s...vision from when she gained her own skill is a bit puzzling, though, now that this guy mentions it could be an individual’s hand at work. Wasn’t the colossal being breaking down, wasn’t it dying? Hard for it to be controlling anything when it’s dead. I can’t rule out the possibility parahumans are influenced in some way, though. That is, if such vision wasn’t something kind of metaphorical. It could have been Miss Militia’s mind coping with the newly gained power.

With the destructive potential of these abilities, why do so very few individuals perish in the chaotic and unpredictable emergence of their talents?

Instinctual knowledge on how to use the powers, perhaps? Studying what went wrong in those few individuals who died at their awakening may be a good idea.

Wow, it seems this chapter will be filled with a lot of worldbuilding. A good time as any to learn and try to see if my understanding of the powers here is accurate enough.

Throughout the course, we’re going to be looking at correlations and patterns, both in relation to trigger events and other things. For example, how does the nature of the trigger event shape the power? A study by Garth and Rogers suggests that psychological stress leads to a higher prevalence of mentally driven powers. Tinkers, thinkers, masters, shakers. The more physical violence that is involved, the higher the bias towards physically driven powers.

It’s true that trigger events seem to be related in some way to the powers, but in some cases not directly – not that I can say much about this stuff, I only know a total of two awakenings: Taylor’s and Brian’s. Taylor’s was filled with a lot of anguish and desperation, she felt the insects not in the locker but in a considerable ratio. I’m not sure how what happened to her is related to the bugs, but...yeah, it could be said there was a link between her awakening and her power, even if it is a very tenuous link. Brian’s awakening doesn’t seem to have much in relation to his power, but I should point I don’t know the exact circumstances of the moment he triggered. Maybe it was dark. Maybe he had wanted to blend with the shadows to stay out of that man’s sight and attack stealthily. All I know about Brian’s awakening is the broad details. Maybe if I ever see another trigger event described here in Worm, I can have a better idea of the correlation, or maybe it’ll be answered here in this chapter, anyway.

Yeah, it seems families have an easier time awakening to powers, most likely without the need for triggers. There’s something rather curious about the fact powers can be passed to future generations or siblings, it suggests some sort of genetic predisposition, which is...unlikely, I think.

Turns out none of the Wards are interested in this in the slightest. As I thought, they’re not here because they want to be! This is Piggot wanting to give them an education. Does she think knowing the details about how their power works will help them? Maybe it will, but...yeah, given the current state of the city, it’s unlikely they’ll have much use for this stuff. I sympathize with Clockblocker here.

Hell, it was on videotape, a recording of last year’s lectures. Why couldn’t they watch it in their off hours? It was just a fucked up set of priorities enforced on them from the people in charge.

Oh, it wasn’t a live class? I suppose that explains why the teacher’s words didn’t fit the, you know, the fact there were only thirteen people here. I’m pretty sure most Wards wouldn’t watch this, not even in their off hours.

More women than men have powers, for example, and there are more powers in undeveloped countries than there are in industrialized ones

Hm. More chances for powers to awaken in those undeveloped countries, I suppose. A harder life gives you tougher situations to battle, and when you’re losing, you get that boost through a power. It’s not like parahumans are rare, though. Don’t get me wrong, I know that in a city like Brockton Bay, which surely has dozens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of people (or even more than that), the number of parahumans isn’t going to go over a hundred or two hundred. Parahumans are rare. But these few parahumans are very known, the effects of their presence is felt by everybody. Undeveloped countries must be quite...difficult to live in, if more awakenings than usual happen in those places.

Witch burnings in Uganda, most likely because people feared parahumans and their weird abilities. Oh joy.

“Another pattern we will be exploring is the apparent effect of multiple trigger events occurring in the same time and place. There is a very strong correlation between coinciding trigger events and individuals displaying three or more powers rather than one or two predominant ones.”

It took me a few times to understand this paragraph. So…those capes that have several powers…it may be because more than one cape awakened at the same time than them. I wonder…if that happens, then all capes that awaken at the same time in the same area would all have more than one power? It’s unlikely they’d have the same ability, but would they both have lots of powers?

Unlike the other teachings so far, this does have some immediate practical use, Kid Win asks Flechette if she knows about other parahumans awakening at the same time than hers. There was a villain…but it’s not confirmed if that has anything to do with Flechette. Still, it’s worth thinking. Weld has no patience for people talking during class, and tells them to shut up and pay attention – in kinder yet blunter terms than these. Yeah, Weld’s not endearing himself to the rest yet. It’s a shame, I know he has good intentions, but it’s going to be hard to lead the team if nobody likes him.

Scion is a deviation to the norm – I’d think so, being the first parahuman ever. The Endbringers are deviation to the norm – I’d think so too, I mean, they weren’t ever human, according to Tattletale. Nilbog may or may not be a deviation to the norm – who the heck is Nilbog? The last deviation mentioned are the Case 53, the one with the tattoos. Weld is one of them and Clockblocker knows it. I wonder if anyone in the Wards will ask him about how he got powers? It could give us readers some information about this clearly abnormal situation.

Weeks five and six, assuming we’re on schedule, we’ll pull all earlier material together and discuss the beginnings of the parahuman phenomenon. Not for the individual, as with trigger events, but as a whole. Where do capes come from? There is the patient zero theory, typically working under the assumption that Scion is the source of these abilities. This, however, raises questions about where Scion came from. The theory is corroborated by the case of Andrew Hawke, who came into contact with Scion on the very first sighting of the hero, only to manifest powers of his own… but there are others who manifested powers without ever coming into contact with Scion or entering a location where Scion had visited.”

“There’s the viral theory, supposing some advanced virus, though it is flimsy at best in justifications, with no identified culprits, method of transmission or explanation as to how it provides the actual powers. The genetics theory is popular, but has been thoroughly debunked.

Okay, this is a lot of information. Let’s see what theory I think it more likely…genetics is off the table. While it’s true families have powers and those powers are similar to each other, this wouldn’t explain how people awaken to powers. The theory about Scion being the source of these abilities…unless he was floating around Taylor’s school when she had her trigger event, that sounds unlikely. Viral theory…that may be it. If I remember biology correctly, viruses modify the host’s DNA in the cells it invades, and multiplies to continue invading the body. I think there’d be some logic in that theory. The problem I see is that they’d have to determine where the virus came from, and that’s going to be hella tough. Then again, nothing is easy when it’s about doing science.

The Parahuman Theory Power Hour is interrupted when Clockblocker receives an urgent message. He should go see his father in the hospital. Dang…did his father get injured recently, during the Leviathan incident or during the riots happening right now? This isn’t going to help Clockblocker feel any better about having to sit around listening to year-old classes.

At some point, Clockblocker’s father got sick with an infection, and he’s now dying. He won’t last long. That’s why Clockblocker has to go to the hospital right now. I suppose it’s not impossible the infection happened because of the attack or because what’s going on now. He doesn’t leave immediately, first he asks Glory Girl to have a word with him outside.

“New Wave may be disbanding. My mom suggested that if I wanted to keep being a hero, I should consider joining the Wards. So I’m here, checking things out. Your leader and director okayed it.”

Oh. Dang, the two deaths this family suffered really hit them hard…is Panacea going to join the Wards too? Maybe. I don’t think Lady Photon will stop being a hero, maybe Laserdream will…hm. I never thought someone would stop being a hero after the attack. Glory Girl isn’t sure if she’ll join or if she’ll be like a vigilante. The portraits in the lobby don’t help leave behind the pain and sorrow, that’s for sure. It’d be tough to walk through there, with Gallant’s portrait watching you.

The reason why Clockblocker wanted to talk with her is because he wants to ask Glory Girl if Panacea could heal his father. He has leukemia, he has an infection because he got injured during the Leviathan attack…I feel bad for him and Clockblocker, that’s really awful. I hope Panacea does heal this guy’s father. Glory Girl won’t promise anything, but…maybe it’ll happen!

Weld and Vista exit the room to let Clockblocker know they paused the video for when they return – a tacit ‘permission granted’ for Clockblocker to leave. He doesn’t want to tell the rest about what’s going on with his father, he doesn’t want to make anyone else worry.

“I’ll trust you have reason for this,” Weld smiled slightly, showing a row of white metal teeth, “But don’t take too long. You’re on patrol at two this afternoon, and that doesn’t allow us much leeway for delays if we want to finish watching.”

Oh my god. I know Weld has the best intentions, and I know he’s not aware of what’s happening with Clockblocker’s father, but he really has an uncanny skill to say the wrong stuff at the wrong time. Are we sure that’s not his secondary power or something? I’m amazed Clockblocker managed to not say anything besides ‘alright’ until Weld returned inside.

At least Vista is willing to give him a chance, and defends him when Clockblocker comments what it’s he doesn’t like about Weld – that Weld is asking them to work as hard as he’s working, which is no mean feat. Something about this all makes Clockblocker snidely ask Vista if she’s channeling Gallant—oh my goodness, this whole team is falling apart. Brockton Bay may be falling into pieces right now, and so are the Wards! There goes Vista, running away, and this didn’t earn any brownie points with Glory Girl, either. At least she kind of forgives him.

“But you’d better go after that girl and apologize. Because the way I heard it from Kid Win, you were the one who told everyone else to be extra nice to her, because she was taking it hard. You convinced Shadow Stalker to play nice, and from what Kid Win said before class started, that was a pretty big deal. Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know your team like you do, but I’d guess that if you don’t fix this, your team won’t forgive you for a long time.”

Well, yeah, they hardly will forgive him, even with the stuff about his father. ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ is not a good leadership style – even if Clockblocker is not the leader. Spurred by Glory Girl, he hurries down the hall to look for Vista.

No wonder Vista was hit so hard by Gallant’s death. She had a crush on him. Even though she knew she had no chances with him, she still liked being with him. That’s rough…it seems it wasn’t a secret, and Gallant never had anything bad to say about Vista. He never had anything bad to say about anyone. Well, no, he had bad things to say like any normal teenager when he was forced to do stuff that was a huge hassle.

But what Clockblocker wants to make Vista see, is that Gallant enjoyed spending time with him and with her, using as an example how he smiled or replied ‘great’ when he was assigned to patrolling with Clockblocker or her. Ah, that’s a rather nice detail. Good show-don’t-tell, even if it was a secondhand account from another character.

Clockblocker has so much frustration inside it’s a wonder he hasn’t tried to punch Weld.

I was, am, angry. At the pointlessness of what happened, what’s still happening out there. I get frustrated and angry when I’m here, because I feel like I should be out on the streets. I get pissed off when I’m out on patrol because I feel like I should be with my family… but when I’m with my family, I feel frustrated and helpless because I can’t do anything there…

There are very few emotions worse than knowing there’s nothing you can’t do about something you’d like to change. Asking Panacea for help must have been his very last resort option, and it’s not guaranteed she’ll do anything. Heck, he hasn’t even talked to her face to face.

At least this sincere heart-to-heart is helping Vista cheer up a little, so I’d say he is forgiven. The team’s weakened bonds will last for a while longer. With some luck they’ll all get a break, the civilians will stop rioting, and everyone will be able to mourn properly.

…

…it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it? Since the first chapter, everything in Brockton Bay keeps escalating. It’s hard to imagine something more brutal or deadly than an Endbringer attack, and there are like twenty arcs left. What else do you have in your box of frightening surprises, Mr. Wildbow?

“…I was taking it out on the new guy, when he probably doesn’t deserve it.”

In all fairness, the new guy isn’t getting A+ in sensitivity.

“I miss the old Dennis. The guy who picked a sorta rude codename and announced himself in front of the news so Piggy and the other people in charge couldn’t really make him change it. Because it was funny. Because he liked pushing the limits and because he saw this all as something fun. The new Dennis is so angry. Now I guess I get why.”

“Aren’t you? Angry? At everything that’s going on? At the unfairness of what happened?”

She shook her head, which amounted to rubbing her head against his shoulder. “Yeah. But you can’t let it consume you. If you really don’t like Weld, you don’t have to force yourself to get along with him. But don’t stay like this. Don’t stay angry.”

Wow…are we sure Vista is just thirteen years old? She’s being rather mature right now, and generally I’d say she has good control over her emotions. This is a very mature kid. I’m starting to be fond of her.

I know she’s a secondary character and therefore I don’t think she’s going to make lots of appearances in the main story, but here I do this, as a token of appreciation. What a good kid. Chances are she’s the only Ward that’ll have a meter.

Say, since I gave her one, I better give Armsmaster one too. I meant to do it before but I forgot.

Sure, I despise him, but as a character I’m rather interested in what he’s doing and where it’ll go. I wonder how his “retirement” is going? In the Birdcage? Is he really there? Anyway, yeah, I’m interested in him.

The poignant emotional moments are over when they go to return to the classroom. There’s trouble. Wards away!

Alright, this goes beyond ‘trouble’. I’ll spare you the description. All you have to know, is that it’s not a pretty scene. It’s rather brutal, three mutilated bodies in three different ways. That kind of hints to three different attackers, doesn’t it? Because the MOs are so different. It’s also said there are another two crime scenes like this one. As if the riots and the destruction of the city hadn’t been enough trouble. I knew things were going to get worse! Knowing this story is full of people with powers, I suppose there are three superpowered murderers on the loose.

The Travelers are here. It’s unlikely they’re the ones who did all this, but since they’re, you know, villains and therefore are untrustworthy, Weld tries to get them to come, because they’re suspects anyway.

“Let us go. Whatever happened here, it deserves your full attention. You should be trying to find and capture the real criminals. This guy here was still alive when we arrived.” Trickster pointed at the man with the chain limbs.

I wonder if he said anything. Well, even if he did, it’s unlikely the Travelers will be cooperative, what with Weld’s request of turning themselves in. Not wanting to be imprisoned, a fight ensues.

Until now I had only seen Tricker’s power as a way to help, I hadn’t seen it during a fight. While Ballistic keeps Weld on the defensive through continuous assaults with thrown objects – some of which may get stuck on Weld, if he throws something metallic – and Genesis is the close combat fighter of the team, Trickster gives support by swapping people around and causing confusion. Clockblocker is taken away before he can freeze anyone, Kid Win’s shot is countered by swapping him with Trickster himself…it’s going to be difficult to get a good grip on this guy, with all these teleportation hijinks.

Sundancer’s sun is also rather effective at keeping people away, nobody wants to be close to a superheated orb, and it can also set nearby wood on fire.

To try to counter Trickster, several of the Wards charge at once towards him, so if Clockblocker is swapped with anyone he won’t be taken too far away. Vista’s space-warping skill also helps get there faster. Hm. Shadow Stalker is still away, isn’t she? Clockblocker could be swapped with her, or Trickster could swap himself with one of the Wards. Catching him is going to be rather difficult.

Weld ducked one of Ballistic’s attacks, then charged for the orb, striking it out of the air with one fist. The blow dispersed it enough that Sundancer couldn’t draw it back together, and a wave of hot air washed over everyone present.

Weld, for his part, staggered back, his hand glowing white-hot. He flexed his glowing hand, and it moved slowly, stiffly. Even as far down as his elbow, the metal of his arm was an orange-red.

How fortunate it wasn’t hot enough to melt! Still, that’s going to stay hot for a while. Good thinking, Weld, if a tad risky. Sundancer is much easier to deal with than Trickster, he keeps getting Clockblocker in situations where he could freeze one of his teammates. My mind is blank regarding ideas about how to capture him.

There’s not much progress, soon the Wards are in the center and the Travelers are to the sides. Easy enough position to attack, if they wanted. Escaping, though, that’s going to be difficult, at least for two of the Travelers. Guess the fight won’t be over yet.

Genesis exhales lots of a vapor that seems to be created specifically to make them have a hard time breathing. Even a trace of it makes Clockblocker cough.

So, that’s what a changer nine brings to the table. Different forms, each with their own powers.

You got that wrong, pal. If I remember correctly, this here is a projection, the real Genesis is not present here during the fight. She’s somewhere else, most likely nearby. In that case, can she be defined as a changer nine? Maybe, yeah, but it’s possible another classification is needed. Then again, it’s possible the Wards and the Protectorate aren’t aware of how Genesis’ power works!

At least it seems that one way for Clockblocker and Weld to get along is to fight villains. Thank goodness! You know what they say, fire-forged friendships are forever. Who knows if they’ll reach such level.

He realized what it was, this calm. Whatever else it was, this fight was a refuge from that feeling that had plagued him since the fight with Leviathan ended. The feeling that he was always in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, in the face of a city in crisis and a dying father. This, right here, was where he was needed.

This is what I’m here for.

Hm. I’d chalk it up to the adrenaline, but if Clockblocker is feeling better and can take his mind off the lots of problems his life has, then it’s good. Good luck, guys.

So first it was Weld, then it was Flechette, then it was Clockblocker...I suppose Vista, Shadow Stalker and Kid Win are still yet to come. I wonder which one will be the next? Guess that’ll be for next time!

Next update: in six updates

#worm #worm liveblog #story liveblog #liveblog #book liveblog

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loveyboyslovin · 6 years

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I have a soulmate au I haven't seen done yet I'm just gonna throw it at you and see if it inspires you ; Everyone is born with their soulmates favorite word tattooed on their body. One half of your ship spends their whole life wondering why their own name is written on their shoulder. (bc aleks complains that james calls him aleksandr an absurd amount)

Ok.. Wow, I love this idea!!

Obviously this would be incredible with any ship, but seeing as you used the Aleksandr example, let’s make it NovaHD, shall we? :p

Aleks was thoroughly confused, and just a little pissed off, when he grew up with the word ‘Aleksandr’ printed on his wrist in a simple, yet elegant, cursive script.

It was a bad situation for him because a name instead of a word was almost unheard of when it came to soulmate tattoos. Furthermore, having it be his own damn name seemed like some sort of sick practical joke. To make matters worse, the smug little mark was written in English, which stood out like a sore thumb from all the Russian on everyone who surrounded him.

He was a target for bullies at school, and he got beaten up for no other reason than they could see something different about him and took the opportunity to pounce on it. He grew to hate the tiny name bound to his skin, this innocent little word that made him the target of so much ridicule.

Deep down, though, he knew there must be a reason behind it, a reason that his soul mark had manifested in this way. He clung to that hope, pushed himself to get up every day and search for the meaning he’d been craving for such a long time.

His search eventually took him to America.

It made sense, in a way; the language of the writing on his wrist making it pretty clear that his soulmate wasn’t Russian. And somewhere, deep down, the United States just felt right to Aleks.

He knew him as soon as he saw him.

Their eyes locked as he was letting Mishka off her leash for a run at the dog park, and across the way, the guy froze as well, not even flinching as the corgi next to him raced after Mishka on her stubby little legs, yapping and barking all the while.

It was more awkward than Aleks had expected it to be, especially seeing as this guy was the one he was destined to bond with on an almost spiritual level.

They met in the middle, neither saying a word, and Aleks just took a second to take it all in.

The guy was beautiful, ok? His hair was long and dark, pulled up into a tight bun, but Aleks could see the little wispy curls that escaped at the nape of his neck, and something about that had his stomach twisting in knots. His skin had a moderate tan to it, though Aleks couldn’t quite place the origin. The contrast between Aleks’ own pale skin and that of his...his soulmate, was nevertheless something that Aleks took comfort in for some unknown reason.

And God, he could safely say that this man had the most beautiful eyes to ever exist. They were a deep, chocolate brown, maybe a few shades darker than Aleks’ own, but somehow swimming with so many emotions that Aleks was having a hard time keeping up.

“So…” Aleks started, having to force his gaze away from his soulmate’s perfect lips and back to his equally perfect eyes, “uh, hi?”

“Hey…” the guy eventually replied, and Aleks could already feel himself getting addicted to that voice and the rest of the man it belonged to.

“Look, dude, I-” Aleks tried again, but it just petered out into another heavy silence. Neither of them seemed to know what to say after all this time, and the irony of that had Aleks chuckling just a little. “It’s not supposed to be this awkward, is it?”

That at least got his soulmate to crack a smile, earned him a small huff of laughter that instantly lightened the mood between them.

“Probably not,” the guy chuckled, scratching the back of his own neck, so close to those little curls that Aleks had been dying to touch. “With my luck, though, I wouldn’t put it past the universe to make both of us socially anxious fucks.”

Aleks couldn’t help but laugh, despite the fact he was a little distracted by how white and straight the man's teeth were as he beamed.

He looked radiant, like the Sun had been bottled up into a single person, and that light just shined from his every pore, brightening the world around him.

Aleks had never fallen in love so fast.

“I’m Aleks.” he said, holding out his hand, just a little overwhelmed.

His soulmates’ eyes immediately lit up as he sighed out “Aleksandr” dreamily, almost like it was an afterthought.

Aleks immediately froze, wide-eyed, and he watched as the guy regarded him curiously.

“How did you…” he tried to keep his breathing calm, even though the thumping of his heartbeat suddenly felt deafening.

“What can I say, man?” he shrugged, “I’ve just loved that name for as long as I can remember. I had a feeling it was probably my soulmate’s, but there was no way to test the theory until now.”

All Aleks could do was nod, but his mind was racing with the same thought, over and over.

He loves my name.

“You have a lot of fucking explaining to do, uh, damn, what’s your name again, dude?”

“James.”

Somehow, that sounded perfect, even though Aleks had only heard the name a few times in his life.

“You know how much I got bullied because my soul mark was my own name? And not even the short or Russian version!” Aleks whined, and James doubled over with the strength of his laughter, wheezing like a goddamn kettle, and Aleks really didn’t know why it could be that adorable.

“Don’t laugh, asshole!” Aleks pouted, crossing his arms as James slowly straightened up and wiped the tears from his eyes as his giggles died down.

That smile, though? It didn’t move an inch.

“Oh, you’re one to talk! I had to deal with everyone wondering why my soulmate loved ‘Dude’ so much.” James grimaced, holding out his forearm where the word “Dude” was in fact printed—clear and proud—in stark black ink. “At least in my case it was super romantic and shit! You know how romantic that crap is? That’s like, straight out of The Notebook or something, man.”

Aleks felt his eyes rolling for the heavens, but he couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest. It felt so great to finally let it out, like releasing a caged bird that had been trapped for far too long.

He felt like he was light as air, like he was bursting with so much happiness that he’d simply float away if James didn’t grab him round the middle and ground him.

For the first time in his entire life, in this country that he’d only just gotten used to, standing in the middle of a fucking dog park with his soulmate, Aleks finally felt like he was home.

NSFW Bonus

Aleks goes slow.

They really need to slow down with something like this. It’s something you simply can’t rush, and honestly, Aleks just wants to savour every single detail of this moment in time.

He gets to watch James’ eyes as he carefully presses into him, gets to see them go all soft and wet as he gets used to the stretch, a hand gripping at Aleks’ wrist.

He’s making the most beautiful noises Aleks has ever heard, little gasps and whimpers that are forced from him as the two of them slowly rock together, fitting like two puzzle pieces becoming a whole.

He knows when he first hits James’ prostate, because his soulmate arches, grips tighter to him as a moan slips past his lips.

“Alek- sandr… Fuck…”

Maybe this ‘name as a soul mark’ thing wasn’t so bad after all.

#i used the wrist instead of the shoulder #sorry anon #i just thought it was harder to hide there #also i love this au and i love you!!#and i'm just completely honoured that you thought of coming to me with this??#crying in the club ;-;#<3 <3 <3

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thesirenserenity · 7 years

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Miraculous Medley Chapter 5: Something New

Marinette, a Vocal Performance and Composition Music Major at a local community college, is secretly Ladybug, the lead singer and songwriter for Paris’ most famous band, The AKs. Adrien, a Cello Performance Major at the most elite Music Conservatory, joins them under the guise of Chat Noir to play Bass. Adrien grew up believing that music was all about following exactly what the composer wanted, but Marinette teaches him that there is so much that can be communicated through music - everyone has someting to say through this universal language. Marinette is closed off to the world after being burned from a recent breakup, and Adrien helps her break down the walls she built up arround her. Based off of gittana’s Musicans AU

Rating: T - swearing and some adult content

Also on: AO3 | Fanfiction

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Thank you guys for your patience! I got married on New Year’s Eve, so I’ve been a brief hiatus. I had an amazing wedding and adored every minute of it!! My husband is so amazing.

That being said, this was a hard chapter to write because it is a lot of exposition. The next few chapters will be bonding between the two and the actual plot will kick in ;) Love you all!

Open your eyes and make your entrance, your first step into this world Take my hand I will embrace you, know you'll never be alone Open your eyes and see the splendor of all the beauty all around Step by step you'll reach the summit, and I will help you on your road

- “Something New” - Noctilucent (Click for song)

Marinette nursed a cup of hot tea between her hands, perched on a stool in the kitchen as commotion swirled around her. Normally she would be bustling around with the rest of her band, but Nino had planted her in a seat, Alya had given her said of black tea, and they had scolded her to stay put.

I guess that’s what I get after composing a song in one night.

She shrugged to herself. Sure, she didn’t get a lot of sleep, okay, any sleep, but she did that all the time during the school session. Marinette rolled her eyes at their fussing, because they both pulled all-nighters before, and it wasn’t like she had to work that evening. She just currently felt groggy and like crap, but that would be remedied with sleep after their impromptu practice.

Normally, the AKs didn’t have a rehearsal the day after their concert, but it was around one in the afternoon; everyone had slept enough. She had composed late into the night, inspired by Adrien’s words and the melodies flowing around in her head, and then had taken time to put it all on paper for the instruments. A phone call had woken Nino up at 8:00 AM, asking him to get his butt outta Alya’s bed and come help her with the fine details. Nino had taken one look at the full song she had laid out, as well as the pieces of two more, and promptly called a rehearsal to work out the fine details of the songs.

“You have another song already?” A voice startled her out of her half-asleep daze.

She turned to face Adrien, who had sat on the stool next to her, a grin on his face and his green eyes sparkling at her.

Her tired smile followed, as she pulled her tea closer to her face. “Yeah, after you left last night, I just couldn’t stop until it was done. Nino called the practice shortly after that.”

Adrien looked at her in amazement, “You didn’t sleep to write a song in one night?”

Marinette shrugged, “I was inspired and wanted to get all the details hammered out before they left my mind. It’s not like I had anything to do today, so it wasn’t a huge deal.”

“You played a concert last night, which is a ton of energy, and then pulled an all-nighter. I’d say it’s a big deal.” He eyed her cup, “Coffee?”

Marinette shook her head, “No, that was consumed at six this morning. I can’t drink coffee before I sing because I like a lot of cream. It’s just black tea, containing caffeine, which is still super bad for singing, but a lot better than coffee with milk products.”

Adrien blinked in surprise, “I didn’t realize that singing was intensive that you couldn’t have milk or caffeine before.”

She laughed a little bit, “It’s my instrument. It would be like if you tried to play without tuning your strings – it just wouldn’t sound good.”

“Fair enough.”

They sat for a moment in amiable silence as the group bustled around them, pastries hanging from mouths and music clutched in hands. Everyone was greeting each other, jokes were flying.

“You know, I met some of the group, but not as the AKs. Would you point everyone out to me, Marinette?” Adrien asked.

She turned, smiling at him. “I think that can be arranged. I’ll point them out as they walk by.”

Spinning around on her seat, she pointed toward Nino, who was hauling a mixing table and his laptop to the rehearsal room. His red cap was perched on his head, and trusty headphones around his neck. “You already know Nino, who is known as the famous DJ The Bubbler. He only plays under that name for the AKs, and does remixes of our stuff. Otherwise, he uses his name, like at the club. He grew up playing piano and learned to mix music before coming to Paris Community College. What I love about him, is that a lot of his performances are mixed on the spot. He doesn’t like to pre-record sounds unless it’s needed.”

Adrien butted in, “He’s a music major, like you, yes?”

Marinette nodded, “Yea, composition major! He is killer at Music Theory and the best piano player at school. He and I are the original members of the AKs. We started recording and posting online, and got pretty popular.”

She pointed as Alya as she rushed by after Nino, a stack of music in her hands. “Alya started the Ladyblog before she knew. She was pretty infatuated with the music, not knowing that her best friend was Ladybug.”

“How did she find out?”

Marinette sighed, “It’s hard to hide secrets from your best friend, especially when you are hanging out more and more with the cute guy in your music classes. She got snoopy and wanted to see if I was dating Nino without her knowing. She followed us to our recording studio and recognized the music. Then she demanded to join.”

Adrien laughed, “That sounds like her. It’s cool that she sings too!”

“She is really good at everything she tries. Picked up a minor in music when she decided to join the band, but she is a journalism major. She sings and plays Saxophone, as I’m sure you saw at the Jazz concert.”

“Lady Wifi, yes? Does she run both blogs?”

Marinette winked at him, “Why do you think the Ladyblog has all the tips on the AKs?”

Adrien laughed, “I’m surprised that no one has figured it out yet.”

Marinette waved her hand at him. “She would have been figuring out all of that anyways. She is just that good!”

Juleka brushed by, carrying two drums for her drum set, with a pair of drum sticks balanced on top. One fell off, to be swooped up by the tiny blonde girl following her.

Marinette pointed her out, “You remember Rose, right? She is Juleka’s girlfriend and one of the dancers for the group. Juleka is actually majoring in business at PCC, but is going to cosmetology school as well.”

Adrien blinked in surprise, “She said she works at a tattoo parlor too? How does she fit all that in?”

Marinette grinned, “She is one of the most hard-working people I know, just never brags about it. Juleka never flaunts her talent or her schedule.”

Adrien watched the two girls, as Rose pressed a kiss to Juleka’s cheek as she set the drum stick back with the other pair. “Opposites attract, I guess. How long have they been dating? They are super cute together.”

Marinette’s sweet smile agreed with him. “They have only been together for a couple months, but it feels like forever. They have been really good friends for a long time. Juleka finally got the nerve to ask Rose out, and Rose said that she thought they were already dating.”

Adrien’s laugh rang through the kitchen. “She is a little spitfire for being so cute.”

“Yea, she is super sassy; I love it. She’s in a professional dance troupe and is a musical theater major. Rose wants to go to New York and perform or choreograph for Broadway.”

“That sounds perfect for her,” Adrien grinned.

Marinette pointed into the main hallway, where Ivan was talking with Mylene. “Those two are also dating, and have been since high school. Ivan is majoring in Psychology, and Mylene is studying business and theater. She wants to open her own theater company and follow in the footsteps of her father, who is a famous mime here.”

Adrien nodded, “They are really cute together. Ivan plays rhythm guitar, yes?”

“Yes, so he plays all the background chords and Lila plays lead. She is amazing at hearing a melody once and playing it by ear. Also, anything she makes up on the spot is really good.”

Adrien looked at her sideways with a small smirk. “I heard that you two don’t get along very well.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “Alya likes to spread rumors. Granted, it’s a true rumor. Lila and I but heads a lot. She is a little egotistical and challenges me a lot as the composer and leader of the band.”

“Is she a music major too?”

Marinette nodded, “Yes, a jazz guitar major. Which causes some issues, because she likes to throw that in my face.”

Adrien smiled at her, “That sounds frusturating, but I’m sure you handle it well.”

“I just don’t like people like that,” Marinette muttered, almost too soft for Adrien to hear. “Is that everyone in the group? What about the other dancers?” Adrien asked.

“Well, there is Alix, who does a lot of the special effects and crazy dances. She’s a Kinesiology major, along with Kim, who is the other dancer and special effect coordinator. Kim also helps us by acting as a sort of body guard when we have shows and don’t want people to swarm the back stage. We met both of them through Max, who is our tech specialist. He is a computer science major, who does all of our research and helps Alya keep the blog going. He is usually the connecting point between us and our venues. Alya introduced us to him right after she got on board!”

“Who does all the art for your group?” Adrien asked. “After every concert, there is always this cool graffiti or presentation of your band name.”

Marinette grinned, “I’m really glad you noticed that. Nathanael is our resident artist, who hangs out with us. He kinda stumbled upon me by accident and offered to help us out. He uses all mediums for art, but loves graffiti and sketching. He is kind of quiet.”

Alya brushed by on her way to grab a water bottle from the fridge. “Quiet, as in he doesn’t talk to anyone but Marinette.” She cracked the water open and took a sip while she raised her eyebrows.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “He does not have a crush on me, Al, no matter how much you insist.”

Alya looked pointedly at Adrien, who put his hands up in surrender.

Marinette glared at her, “Al! Cut it out! He does not.”

Alya smirked and shrugged her shoulders innocently. “I’m just saying! He has said all of two words to me, but has had conversations with you. It’s the same way with everyone.” She sauntered toward the rehearsal room and brushed past Adrien, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “You have some competition, cat-boy,” punctuating it with a wink.

Adrien’s cheeks turned pink and she continued her walk. Marinette gave them a weird look.

“You two better join us soon, or people are going to think you’re making out in here!” Alya threw over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Alya!!” Marinette squeaked, her cheeks joining Adrien’s in a blush.

Xxxx

The group came pouring off the stage in the dark, an electric feel passing between them. They packed the stuff and piled into the van as quickly as possible, Max and Kim staying behind to grab the rest of the groups’ stuff.

Marinette jumped in, followed by Adrien who had just loaded his bass and amp into the back of the van. Alya jumped into the front seat, shouting at Nino to drive! The whole group was in giggles.

Adrien looked over at Marinette, who’s makeup mask was slightly melting off her face and her fingers were tugging up her thigh-high socks. Her hair was frizzy from the heat of the stage, but she had never looked more radiant. It had been one thing for him to watch Ladybug on the screen of his computer, or from the audience of the AK’s show, but to watch her as he played next to her on the stage! It had been absolutely breathtaking. Her energy fed the entire band, fed him. He had played better than any rehearsal, trying to support the energy she was producing. She really blossomed on stage.

The music had been breathtaking, ending with the song he had inspired lyrics for. She had also written a song with him, to feature the bass part a little more and introduce him, ‘Chat Noir,’ to the audience. The reception to having a bassist was astounding.

Alya was already reading them all the tweets, saying that their fans were amazed and super excited about the newest addition to the group. They had put out a teaser the night they had established Adrien’s persona, which gained quite a bit of interest, but the responses were so much larger after the concert.

Nino pulled into the girls’ house shortly after, the group piling out after checking to make sure that it was safe. The house was a flurry of unpacking and removing makeup and changing into different clothes. Everyone was a bundle of energy, compliments flying about each other’s performance.

Marinette came barreling down the stairs, her costume exchanged for leggings and a red and black checkered flannel shirt, her hair still in pigtails and red smudges on her face. In her hurry, she missed the last step and tripped right into Adrien’s chest. She looked up at him, grinning with a blushing ‘thank you.’

Adrien smiled down at her, his arm wrapped around her waist automatically. Even though they had known each other for a little while, he felt an immense connection to her. He wanted to support her and help her succeed as a musician as a person. She was so passionate about music and extremely talented in the area. In less than a year, she was able to found Paris’ most popular band and compose many amazing songs, all under the guise of someone else.

He was inspired by her.

Adrien pulled back, ruffling the top of her hair and grinning down at her blush.

She had already taught him so much about music and what it means to be a musician.

Step by step, she would reach any summit she tried to conquer.

And he would be with her every step of the way.

#miraculous medley #muse's musings #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #adrienette #LadyNoir

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asheespiquantpeculiarities · 7 years

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Assault on Various Fronts Pt3

I kept my composure.

I kept silent and calm and did not make a fuss. I stood there through the entire cheering-part of it.

They were cheering for it.

Cheering that I was supposed to be married to this bloody invader! Home destroyer! Murderer!

What the HELL!

As soon as we were inside, I zoned in on my father: “NO. Father, I have been a loyal daughter all my life, but I will not marry this murderer!,” I pointed at him.

And my father shrunk slightly, apparently aware I would not back down on this. But he shook his head: “It is out of my hands, daughter of mine”

“Nonsense, father! You are the one that led the negotiations, you are the one that traded me off, when I wasn't even there! How could you!,” I was fuming. And he didn't even look me in the eye, “Your own flesh and blood, your only daughter! How could you!,” without even telling me, without even asking!

And he just stood there an-

Something had taken my hand, I pulled it away and lashed out.

The slap hung a little in the air. There was a bit of tension.

I should not have slapped said murderer. It's a bad idea to slap murderers. Especially if he has others with him that have their hands on their weapons.

Then he retook my hand – slower this time -, keeping eye contact, and then bared his neck and pressed his lips to the back of my hand.

Against my will, a bit of colour did raise to my cheeks. As horrible as he was, it was not every day that a man declared his love for me.

He then stood back up and took a step back. And I pulled my hand back. Frowning, grumbling.

And he... looked like he meant it when he said: “... I am sorry, lady Gabrielle. It was – apart from being politically ideal – a very selfish decision. I... could not wish for a better partner. You are brave. And knowledgable. It was a joy to walk, talk and work with you in the few instances I had the opportunity to – I regret your sudden retraction from the table. I would have enjoyed your input. You obviously know how to act a true ruler... do what is best for the people,” he gestured to the balcony, “They need all reason to celebrate something right now. And a true sign of lasting peace. You didn't take it from them. Even if you had all right to do so,” he looked truly sorry.

I made a cutting off gesture: “Hah. Simply because I do not want to upset them with a scandal right up front does not mean I am going to go through with it, this marriage is a farce! I hate you, you invaded my home! I will never marry you!,” I almost stormed off when he – the bloody stupid victor of this battle – got down on one knee and looked up with a somewhat sad smile.

“You... are right to say that, to feel that way. But I still think you will do it. Because you were raised your father's daughter. And you put your people first. And this marriage – as much as you might hate it – will form a bond with the Southern Isles. Your nation will be safe from invasions, since we control the neighbouring countries, the much needed sea forces will be added to your disposal, more – and better – trade routes will be usable. It is an inseparable bond. This will bring safety and wealth and this guarantees the promises will be kept. And you can not let your people live in fear. The same as I can not. Of course you are free to decline. I will not force a bond. But this – especially since you are the only daughter of the house – will be an iron clad contract, with a bond between us”

I hated him a bit more.

Then I grabbed the hem of my dress and took a breath: “I will think about it,” and with that, I squared my shoulders and left the room, leaving him on his knees.

…

Three days later, I was with our tailors, getting the dress fitted. Still furious, still hating it, but... he was right. I could not rob my people of their freedom. And not their hope for peace.

Things that were very much in jeopardy if I affronted this blackmailer by refusing his proposal. Bastard. As if I had a choice.

Ugh.

The tailors fitted my top right now. I'd usually delighted in this. It was very fine lace, great details and floral patterns woven into it. Over one shoulder was thrown a long, flow-y cloth, clinging to my skin and accentuating my figure while still spreading itself all around. It felt heavenly on the skin.

I would really enjoy this a lot more, especially with Michelle looking like this.

She was the only thing keeping me halfway sane these days. Those last few days before I had to leave. Leave.

I hadn't told her yet, that she couldn't come with me. But Sir Israfil was an asset to the council. And kept father level-headed when emotions welled up. I knew how that is and... he wouldn't do well without someone like this. And Sir Israfil would follow his sister everywhere, if it was too dangerous. And this... was too dangerous for his tastes. I knew.

It would be one of the worst good-byes.

Because she was one of the only people that saw that they were not all good, but- but...

…

I still looked at Michelle and I could swear there were tears in her eyes. She just sat there, on the bench, hands clenched on the seat and had the most stupid, wobbly smile on her face. Like she wanted to be angry, but she somehow... couldn't.

… since I knew her almost better than myself, I knew this to be true.

“What is it, Chelle?,” I twitched a bit, the tailor apparently enjoyed spiking me with needles. Well, they were under pressure...

“You're... you're just so beautiful,” I was not sure if I was even capable of putting this amount of adoration into a sentence. And... I mean... I knew she appreciated me and my body, but this was... a little excessive. I mean... she forgot to be fierce. That... didn't happen.

But it was... my wedding dress. And they got the paint and hair done as well – had toupéd it up and there were tiny curls falling down and framing my face.

… it was the day I was supposed to look perfect.

They put a belt around my middle, to better hold the accessories. And Michelle was just somewhat losing it, staring at me and somewhat... vibrating. I couldn't even be mad right there and then.

I let it happen and enjoy being adored by this fierce, impossible woman.

I mean... she had stared down my groom-to be when he had tried to talk to me during the preparations. Then lectured him about decency. She was not too great at talking to royalty when it had anything to do with my own comfort or safety.

She would be a great bridesmaid, no matter what other's said. And no matter how much I had to badger her into a dress. She agreed, in the end.

So, in another four days, she was whom I followed into the hall, filled with people, lead by my father to the altar. She was still looking fierce in her dress, ready to defend me at a moment's notice (only not if she looked at me, that still ended with a forlorn smile).

And then... the groom entered. And what in the goddesses name was he wearing.

Just... what.

He had matched colours with me, using navy blue and white, but otherwise... it... was nothing I had ever seen before, full of ornaments and that is... fit.

It was an asymmetrical... thing. A cape falling down on the opposite shoulder. And otherwise it... fit. I mean, I had seen him in his war outfit and the diplomatic clothes, but they never had... accentuated a figure. That was muscular. And...

… he really did have wide shoulders. And perfect hair.

He was wearing breeches, for all that was holy! There were sequins stitched to his uniform, too, and horizontal threads of navy blue and the reflected slightly and... I... he...

I looked away. Staring at form-fitting clothing was not appropriate. It was not.

And this was not part of our culture! He just... tried to make it fit in! And didn't take what he gave him, but made an effort to incorporate our colours to compromise and-

… just because it was clever didn't mean this was any less of a farce!

No matter how much this clung to perfectly formed calves.

… this day was just too full of people. I looked toward the priest again. She... would read the sermon. Would make us read our vows, would make us swear to be loyal, to be true. Would make us swear to stay at each other's side.

Because politics. What else.

And we read our vows. And I swore to serve the people – his and mine – and to be only the best for them and as his wife and he... swore to protect his people, to never let harm come to them again and to love me. To be there for me and honour me for the rest of my life. Because I was more than worth it.

And he looked bloody sincere.

We each accepted the tattoos on our wrists – a stylised hippocampus, crest animal of my family - drawn by the best artists in the land. And bowed before one another.

And the crowd cheered. And thus. We were pronounced husband and wife.

My first marriage – the one in my home was done. The second would follow when we reached the Southern Isles. At least I was spared until then.

Tomorrow... we would start the travels. And I would need to say good bye.

#1713 words #SamilnGabe #assaultsonvariousfronts

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beatnikwerewolf · 7 years

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Chapter 1

Epigraph My mind has changed my body’s frame, but God I like it. -TV On the Radio Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. -Allen Ginsberg I’ve played the Red River Valley. Sat in the kitchen and cried… We was friends, me and this old man. -Guy Clark Chapter 1 Joanie-17, Tommy-22, Maxie-Dead On this day people excused Joanie’s rudeness, her father had just died. She was rude every day, but today there were extenuating circumstances. No one she was rude to on that day knew that Maxie Lore wasn’t really her father. Or her grandfather. Or any sort of blood relation. He was her guardian, though not a legal one. He was her sire, but that implied the events that led up to Joanie ending up in his care had been intentional. They hadn’t been. Well, not entirely. This complicated relationship was probably one of the causes of Joanie’s persistent rudeness. The other cause was the fact that Joanie had been raised by wolves both literal and figurative. Figurative because Joanie had been raised by Maxie Lore and his foster son Tommy Amaryllis. They lived in a cabin in the woods and saw no reason to change their bachelor ways once they found a girl in their midst. Literal wolves because Maxie and Tommy were both werewolves, as was Joanie. The funeral director didn’t know the gory details of Joanie’s home life, but he did know people tended to fall into set categories when grieving. One group became incredibly polite and reserved. They held a strong belief that as long as they spoke softly and didn’t dicker over the casket price then their dearly departed would look upon them with a smile. Another group wanted to get the departed in the ground as quickly as possible. Belligerence and frequent trips to the hallway to hide tears ruled the day. Because of this the funeral director did not take it personally when a 17 year old girl missing a finger on her right hand and wearing a large men’s tweed blazer lit a hand rolled cigarette in his casket showroom. “Sorry miss, no smoking in here,” the funeral director said, his voice kind but implacable, trick of the trade. The girl nodded, she lifted her foot and stubbed out the cigarette on the sole of her shoe, gently so as to save it for later. She tucked it behind her ear. The shoes also looked like they belonged to a man. Clunky, leather, brogue boots. The funeral director was glad that she hadn’t argued. It marked the first time she hadn’t argued all afternoon. Joanie eyed a simple pine box stained grey to resemble barnwood. “This one,” She said. “How much?” “That one is one thousand dollars,” the funeral director said. “Though I’d be willing to come down on that,” He added hastily when he saw her face darken. He had the feeling if he pushed her too hard she’d just plant the old man in the woods. “How about nine hundred fifty and I’ll include a dirt dispenser and the deluxe program and guest book package?” “How about eight hundred and you keep your dirt dispenser and deluxe package,” Joanie said. “Very well. Eight twenty-five and we’ll call it jake.” The funeral director said. Joanie stuck her hand out and they shook. She nearly crushed his hand, but the funeral director didn’t think it was on purpose. She just didn’t know her own strength. She smiled. The funeral director was pleased. Among the groups of grievers there were those who felt better the more they spent on a funeral. Others felt better if they’d won. He’d finally found the group Joanie belonged to. With the funeral all planned, Joanie climbed into the silver 1987 Dodge pickup that had been Maxie’s and was now hers. She had to slam the door three times before it finally stayed closed. Maxie had told her it had been that way ever since the original door got torn off and had to be replaced. It was still light out, but she’d cut it a bit close. Full moon tonight. She had to be ready. *** Joanie-9, Tommy-14, Maxie-62 It was four o’clock. He figured he’d have enough time to buy some rolling papers and go harass the kid at the record store before he had to head back to his house. He hadn’t eaten since 9am two days before. When he was working he only ate hungry man meals they sold at Martin’s food center. He didn’t know what the kid ate, but he never missed an opportunity to rank Maxie out so he must not be starving. His mouth tasted like cigarettes. The knuckles on his left hand screamed. Too much scribbling and not a single decent page to show for it. He was hungover. Max stopped at the store for provisions. He bought the kid a Dr. Pepper in a glass bottle, he knew it was the kid’s favorite. After the food center he walked across the street to the record store. It was the only source of entertainment in the tiny town of Lorraine. It was empty. Which is why it was the only source of entertainment in Lorraine. The town could barely support the one they had. Roller rinks, revival movie theaters, video game stores, and billiard halls had all fallen in the face of the town’s apathy, indifference, and hereditary alcoholism. There were three bars though and every weekend the hills were alive with the sound of gunfire as the denizens hunted coyotes, deer, and mountain lions, paying little attention to seasons or endangered species lists. “You can’t smoke in here, Max.” The kid behind the counter said as he stacked CD’s on a wire shelf. The kid’s name was Blake. Not the type of kid you took home to mother from the looks of him. Dressed all in black, tattoos, stupid ring in his lip, but perhaps he was the type you should take home. A big teddy bear once you got past all the spikes. “Music and smokes go hand in hand, Blake,” Max said. “I know Belkin makes the rules. And it’s really darling of you to try and enforce them, but the fact remains that-” He cut himself off when he saw the kid’s hangdog expression. That Blake was able to pull off hangdog while wearing eyeliner was quite an accomplishment and Max decided to reward him for it. He put the cigarette out on an anonymous boy band CD, blackening the face of the dead-eyed youngest one. “Come on man!” Blake said. “Just saving someone from a life of mediocrity, kid.” Max said. “Old man’s prerogative.” Max turned to a milk crate full of vinyl. He rifled through it. “You know,” he said. “Maybe you should spend a little less money on that garbage and use it to buy more than two jazz albums. Blake sighed. He’s heard this lecture more than a few times. Their exchange was a well worn groove in his mind, he knew where to chime in even when he wasn’t paying attention. “No one buys jazz, Max.” “I do.” “No, you just come in, look at the same records, complain, and leave,” Blake said. “I already have these.” Max said. “We can put in an order for you. I can grab the catalogue.” “Takes the joy out of the find.” Max slid an LP from its sleeve and examined it. “B-side is scratched.” “Three bucks.” Blake already had his hand out for what came next. “Play it for me?” Blake took the record and soon “All The Things You Are” filled the store. Max smiled and Blake. Blake smiled back. “Gonna buy it Max?” Blake said. “Not today, Max said. “Can’t spare the scratch. But that Charlie Parker is one gone guy don’t you think?” “The gonest,” Blake agreed. Max had shut his eyes to better hear the warbling sax. Now, they shot open. “Say, what time ya got?” Max said. “‘Bout 5:30,” Blake said. “Fuck,” Max muttered. He grabbed his shopping bag, containing the essentials of life i.e. smokes, gin, and hungry man meals, off the floor. He ran out of Belkin’s Records without another word, save for a few low “fucks” as darted to his ancient pickup. He slammed the door three times before he got it to catch. The replacement door just didn’t quite fit. Max’s rusted out silver dodge with one mismatched blue door on the driver’s side burned rubber as he turned onto the tree lined highway. Max eyed the setting sun through the bug studded windshield. Too close, he thought. Way, way too close. He could already feel the change clawing at his guts. He drove down the winding forest road that led out of the town of Lorraine and meandered into the thickly forested outskirts. One side of the road followed the path of the Chusi river, and the other was populated by evergreens. In this area vision was always obscured either by fog in the spring and winter or smoke from distant forest fires in the summer and fall. Max tried to squint through the former. The river roiled and bucked, sending up sprays of icy grey. A sharp cramp wracked his arm and he swerved, nearly clipping a tree. He righted the pickup and continued toward his home deep in the woods. The speedometer edged from a relatively reasonable 70 to upwards of 90. It still wasn’t going to be fast enough. The change was happening now. The change was going to happen at 95 miles per hour down a dirt road if he didn’t pull over quickly. Maxie saw a small path barely wide enough to drive his truck onto. Once he was satisfied his truck couldn’t be seen from the road he locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and killed the ignition along with the headlights. He hadn’t engaged the locks to keep anyone out, they were to keep himself in when the change was complete. Maxie gripped the steering wheel of the Silver Bullet as he called his rig. His grip was so strong that his fingernails managed to leave small crescent holes in the rubber of the steering wheel. A shudder ripped through his body and with something akin to relief he stopped resisting. After letting go the change began immediately. His bones slid out of joint and began to meld into different configurations. Small popping noises accompanied the change. The sounds of bare feet walking through broken glass, when the glass breaks but bloody feet muffle the sharp crack and you’re left with a low painful pop. Max wished he’d remembered to leave the radio on so he wouldn’t have to listen to that terrible sound. Though with his luck he’d end up listening to Freebird for the duration so perhaps it was just as well. In any case his hands were now too malformed to work the ignition or the dial. His fingers curled back on themselves and the skin between his knuckles melted and fused together so he appeared to have five stumps on either hand, like a fleshy paw. The skin on his palms coarsened and blackened until it was the pad of a paw. His nose fused to his upper lip and elongated. His teeth grew into fangs. Color’s grew less saturate as his eyes turned from brown to yellow. His ears drifted to the top of his head and grew pointy. Once his nose had turned into a snout he could pick up the smell of diesel and the subtler scents of butted out cigarettes in the ashtray and the frozen meat from one of the hungry man meals he had purchased not an hour previous. The joints of his knees and elbows dissolved and solidified inverted. His chest pushed forward as his neck receded. He could no longer sit properly in the driver’s seat. He slumped over on his side, his paws dangled off the edge of the bench seat. He felt goosebumps cropping up over his entire body as he grew black fur with a silvery tint. The transformation wasn’t exactly painful, only resisting the change truly hurt. It was more a feeling of quesiness paired with the feeling of cracking his neck too far. The momentary panic. The flash that this time he had broken his own neck. This feeling but all over. All scored by the sinuous popping and cracking. It was dark and the change was complete. Maxie Lore was no more. In his place was a large black and silver wolf trapped in a piece of shit pickup truck. He paced in the cab of the rig. Crawling from the back seat to the front and back again. After he grew bored of that he nosed through his shopping bags. He ripped open a hungry man meal. He tore the cardboard into tiny pieces. His fangs punctured the cellophane. He gingerly licked the frozen salisbury steak. Disgusting. He devoured it. He then worked his way through the beef tips, meat loaf, “fried” chicken, and the Mexican Style Fiesta! Maxie licked some thawed beef gravy off his paw and settled down for a quick snooze. Something rattled a branch outside on the driver’s side. Maxie barked. A racoon bombed out of the tree and skittered away. Maxie lunged at it and smacked into the glass. He snarled. He stood with his paws on the door to get a better look at the fleeing racoon. One of his paws slipped. When he repositioned it, he placed his paw directly on the lock/unlock button. All the locks disengaged. Maxie’s ear twitched at the unexpected sound. Then the driver’s side door creaked open and he jumped out of the truck. The smell of fresh blood overpowered the scent of the racoon. He ran in the direction of the dank coppery smell. *** She sometimes went into the woods when her mommy was being sleepy and weird. The house smelled like nasty smoke and she didn’t like her mommy’s friends. They talked fast and laughed too loud the later it got. She wanted to go to bed but their music thumped and kept her awake. So she would wander into the woods that butted up against their little house with the rusty cars and broken trailers in the yard. There was a creek she liked to sit next to. She’d throw rocks into it. She had a friend, a little boy as hungry and angry as she was. He sometimes came with her to the creek, but he wasn’t around that night. His father sometimes came and worked on cars in her yard and brought him, but not today. Not when it was so cold. She had a little atlas that she’d stolen from the local drugstore. It had an american flag on the cover and pretty pictures amongst the maps. There was a picture of a waterfall that was her favorite. She’d sit by the creek and imagine the water gushing over rocks into a dip below was a sixty foot waterfall instead of a six inch one. She’d look at the maps, not really understanding what they meant, but loving them just the same. It was too dark to look at the maps tonight and her flashlight had run out of batteries. A nice lady who said she was her caseworker had given it to her. Now it was dead. Her mother had said they were going to the movies tonight to make it up to her after what happened, but her mother often said things she didn’t mean. Just because this happened often didn’t make it hurt any less. The creek was close enough to her house that she could still see the fender of an old car that she knew rested up on blocks. Once her mother had found her crawling under it and had smacked her. More scared than angry. Her mother told her it could have fallen on her and squashed her like roadkill. She always kept her distance after that. She didn’t want to see that car today. Not when disappointment made her chest ache and tears hovered near the surface. Not when her mother had told her she’d make it up to her, she’d make it up to her, please don’t tell anyone she’d make it up to her. Not when the burn on the back of her hand was still stinging red. She wandered deeper into the woods. She heard heavy breathing, coming out in great snuffing snorts. She walked toward the sound, her head cocked to the side to listen but staring at her feet. She always stared at her feet when she walked. She’d stepped on still burning cigarettes that people had tossed out into the yard from the porch more times than she cared to remember, so she always watched her feet. She came close to the sound. She looked up. In a tiny clearing was a deer. It laid on its side. A hot trail of blood thawed the snow leading to the deer. There were claw marks on its hindquarters. There was a bite on its neck. She approached the deer. It tossed its antlers at her but didn’t move. She crouched down and kept moving toward it. Hand outstretched. The whites of the deer’s eyes rolled into view as it watched her. She got within touching distance. She stroked its fur with the very tips of her fingers. Its muscles seized. She froze, scared it would jump up and trample her, but not so scared that she ran away. She petted the deer again. This time using her whole hand. She sat like that for several minutes. Then she heard a low growl behind her. She turned and saw yellow eyes. Then she saw black fur tinged silver. Then she saw nothing at all. *** Animals aren’t know for their long memories. They make associations but don’t form actual memories. They only know if they like water or hate the vacuum cleaner and if a certain scent means friend or foe. Humans are better at forming episodic memories. The ones that allow someone to remember the last time they heard a Jerry-Jeff Walker song or road on a four-wheeler with their dad. Tommy was never sure if having a human memory was a good thing or a bad thing. He’d had it both ways, so it left him uniquely qualified to judge, but he never could make up his mind. Tommy’s first memory was from when he was four years old. He was crawling around on the cracked yellow linoleum of the kitchen at his old house. His mom was browning hamburger for chili. Their old cowdog Cap ate from a gigantic pitted aluminum bowl in the back corner of the kitchen. He cracked gigantic kernels of stale meat scented food between his teeth. Tommy stumbled over and sat next to Cap. He played with Cap’s ears. Cap had been there to raise Tommy’s older sister so he was used to this type of good-natured abuse and endured it with a long-suffering resignation. But then, Tommy blew in Cap’s face. He’d done it a thousand times before. Cap had always blinked in consternation then returned to his doggy business. However, Tommy had never done it while Cap was eating. Tommy had the terrible knowledge that when a dog bites your eye you can see down its throat for one moment. Tommy shrieked. His mother clocked Cap in the side of the head with the still sizzling frying pan. Cap yelped and huddled in the corner. He unconsciously licked blood off his chops. His mother turned back to Tommy and screamed. His eyeball laid on his cheek, dangling by the optic nerve. She stuffed Tommy into the front seat of her car, not bothering with the car seat. Tommy held his eye up near the socket with a paper towel. When they got to the emergency room the doctor popped his eye back in like it was nothing. He said they were lucky the dog hadn’t bitten down. He gave Tommy an eyepatch and told him he was a pirate for six weeks. The family gave Cap to a guy Tommy’s dad had used to ride saddle-broncs with. None of them blamed Cap for what happened, not even Tommy eventually, but Tommy was so scared of the dog after that he couldn’t sleep. He kept dreaming about Cap sneaking into his room and eating both his eyes. So they got rid of Cap. Tommy was always scared of dogs after that. He had no problem believing they were descended from wolves. This fear turned out to be a good instinct, but did nothing to save him. When Tommy was ten, four years before Max bit Joanie, he also met Maxie Lore in the woods. Joanie found the family she never would have had. Tommy lost his. The morning Max brought Joan home, Tommy woke up in his cage in Maxie’s shed behind his shake shingle house. The scratches on his face weren’t as bad as they had been in years past. Tommy took this as a small victory. All his victories were small in those dark days. He glanced over and saw Max’s cage was empty. The old man had never made it home. He’d been running free during the change. Tommy’s stomach curdled. Tommy stretched his arm through the bars of the cage and grabbed the key to the fat padlock that held the cage closed. He popped the lock open and stepped out of the cage. For a few minutes he paced the shed, waiting for Maxie to come back, praying nothing terrible had happened. When Max didn’t return Tommy pulled on jeans over his basketball shorts and put on his duck boots. He’d left his shirt in the house, but his carhartt jacket laid on the floor. He pulled it on and stepped out into winter morning air. He blew vapor into the air and eyed the sunlight filtering through the trees. He thought it was eight or nine in the morning. He entered the house and stepped into the mint green bathroom to see to his scratches. The scratches were numerous but they weren’t deep. He dabbed them with a twisted tube of neosporin. No stitches or butterflies needed. They would be healed up in a week. He examined where a new scratch crossed a scar from three years previous. Maxie told him he was lucky he didn’t lose the eye. Tommy told him he didn’t know shit about losing eyes. Maxie also told him he’d eventually stop hurting himself during the change. He’d gone through a similar period in the early 50’s, but it got better. Usually cooking relaxed Tommy, but Max still wasn’t back and the sound of crackling bacon wasn’t taking any of the tension out of his shoulders. He made a deal with himself, if Max wasn’t back by the time he finished eating, he’d track him down. This deal lasted about thirty seconds. Tommy’s capacity for self-delusion was incredibly low and he was certain Maxie had fucked something up and he couldn’t waste any more time. He turned off the burner and pulled on his coat. The doorknob turned just as he was about to grab it. Tommy stepped back. Max opened the door. He had a little girl in his arms. She was unconscious, her head lolled on Max’s shoulder. She was covered in blood, there was a bite mark on her shoulder. Expletives and accusations flew through Tommy’s mind. They all sounded like cliches. Maxie dismissed cliche. When Tommy spoke he didn’t want to be dismissed. Max carried the little girl past Tommy into the living room and laid her gently on the couch. He brushed a piece of hair out of her mouth. Tommy watched from the kitchen. Maxie turned and looked at him. Tommy’s face curled into a mask of hatred. Max suspected that this face was how Tommy felt at all times and his generally neutral demeanor was the true mask. Today he had not bothered to put on his mask. Tommy spoke low and slow, as to ensure his pubescent voice didn’t crack and betray the gravity of the situation. It quavered a bit anyway. “God. Damn. You.” Tommy walked to the bathroom and got his first-aid kit. He’d foolishly thought he wouldn’t need it today. He knelt beside the girl. Her coat wasn’t thick enough for the cold outside. Her purple snow boots had holes in the soles. He moved her shoulder to get a better look at the bite mark. Something creaked and cracked, bones ground together. “You broke her collarbone.” Tommy said. Max wetted a dishrag under the faucet and handed it to Tommy. Tommy wiped blood off her face and neck, revealing rended flesh underneath. “These claw marks will scar.” Tommy examined her little hands. “I think she’ll lose this finger and…” He trailed off. He’d wiped more blood from her arms and saw little circular scars. Cigarette burns. Some old, some waxy and new. Tommy swabbed the girl’s wounds with hydrogen peroxide. He sucked air through his teeth with sympathetic pain as it fizzed. He was thankful she was unconscious so she wouldn’t feel the sting. “Take her to the hospital,” Tommy said. “Then call DHS.” Maxie knelt beside Tommy. He touched one of the girl’s scars. “Tell them you found her in the woods. She’d been attacked by an animal.” “The Oregon system is terrible,” Maxie said. “They’ll send her back to them.” “Not right away,” Tommy said. “She needs a hospital.” “When she changes it will heal,” Maxie said. “But it won’t heal right,” Tommy said, his voice going fierce. Maxie ignored the scars on Tommy’s face and his own fingers, crooked from years of breaks, “It never heals right,” Tommy said.

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