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#i just think no matter how removed the direct contact is - any semblance of asking actors directly about cockles is just. not. it.
littlewetbeast · 3 years
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#okay i totally understand that the tinhatty post that went around was generally not taken by those in my circles to be like#ooohh misha is gonna send us secret messages#and more along the lines of 'misha perceives people here and loves to troll'#although i personally am doubtful it was on purpose#i understand people just want to have fun#and at the heart of it op was genuinely just trying to be well-meaning#it was one of those instances where i felt i needed to step back and reassess how i talk about jenmish here#i adore all of my cockles mutuals and i understand those who reblogged it did it all in good fun and more as an 'wtf misha'#i just think no matter how removed the direct contact is - any semblance of asking actors directly about cockles is just. not. it.#so yes i do count texting about cockles to that number as similar to tagging the actors on twitter#if you don't then - we just disagree there i guess.#and it's a slippery slope from there#anyway my take is if you reblogged that this is not an attack on you#but for me it veered far too close to conspiratorial and breaking of the One Sacred Rule of rps#and. i gotta be honest. it didn't vibe with me at all and i felt a bit estranged from this community for a moment#one of the reasons i feel comfortable here in the first place is that people here don't veer into conspiracies#keep each other accountable with strict boundaries#and most of all keep a cool head and stay rational about how much we supposedly 'know' in relation to these people#once again: this is not an attack on people who reblogged that because it WAS meant to be well-meaning and i KNOW it was just#taken as classic misha trolling#but all those things considered it was still a shock to my system#and made me want to step back from all of this from a bit
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moonbaby26 · 3 years
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Title: Aftermath
Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader
Summary: Continuation of previous chapter. Set after the battle with Apocalypse, you and the others are finally picked up from Cairo by allied forces and transported to a nearby aircraft carrier for temporary shelter/debriefing while you try to arrange travel back into the U.S. The reader helps Peter work through the continued emotional fallout from realizations of all that his father Magneto has done.
Warnings: Some cursing. More emotional baggage being unloaded. But also fluff/comfort, and eventual brief makeout session to help with the stress relief.
Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp , @wintwrsoldiwr , @tommy-braccoli , @amourtentiaa , @cringingmemeries , @bi-panicatthe-disco
Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist
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Like Magneto had warned, it’d still been a long time before anyone had come to help. Trying to put back together some semblance of working communication equipment from the remnants of the jet, and whatever they could scavenge from the damaged homes and buildings all around had taken Hank and Moira long enough.
But even when Moira could finally establish renewed contact with the outside world to put out a distress call, finding a U.S. ally willing and even capable to fly into ground zero to pluck all of you out was another matter.
Unfortunately, you had eventually realized that the destruction here in Cairo hadn’t been all there was. Most population centers through the world had been impacted, many of the larger air and naval bases among them. It was hard to say how much had been Apocalypse, and how many had fallen solely because of Magneto though. From the little bit Moira did relay back to you all, the more metal any structure had had in it, the more likely it had ended up decimated.
It was only helicopters that finally came, no runway area available in all the rubble for any larger plane. When the soldiers exited them, you picked up that they were all speaking Greek.
“We’ll all be going to the island of Crete.” Xavier had confirmed, meeting with you all before boarding. “There is an allied naval base there, where U.S. officials will be awaiting to debrief us.”
It was no surprise that he could sense the unease in the majority of you, after all that had occurred the last time you’d been forced into helicopters with men dressed in military fatigues like this.
He had changed then to communicating telepathically with each of you individually, to give the soldiers no chance to overhear. Though the message was the same for everyone. “We will all be split onto only two helicopters. I will be in one, and Jean in the other. If they should even think of anything unsavory, we will, let’s say alter their plans to otherwise. But everyone stay at least paired please as precaution. Together, you are all your own best protection.”
It’d been no question that you would board with Peter. On one helicopter it would end up being the Professor, Moira, Peter, yourself, and the white haired girl you now knew as Ororo Munroe. On the other, Hank, Raven, Jean, Scott, and Kurt.
Ororo had actually been rather nice to talk to, once she was no longer trying to blast you out of the sky anyway. You’d learned she’d been living on the streets of Cairo for quite some time, just stealing to survive before she’d run into Apocalypse by chance when he was first trying to recruit powerful mutants.
When she’d spoken about having no living family, and thereby no desire to stick around in Egypt any longer, Kurt had been the one to excitedly tell her all about the school. Which the Professor had already vowed to rebuild thankfully, inviting Ororo immediately should she wish to join you all.
Gladly, she accepted, and by the time the soldiers were sliding the helicopter doors closed, the sun was finally setting. The interior lighting was already dim, as you glanced over to Peter in the growing darkness, seated together on bench like seats along the inner hull. He’d been waiting until the very last moment you thought to see if Erik would come back, but he never did. Though you couldn’t imagine Magneto ever would have agreed to travel like this. Or that the Greek airmen would have even allowed it, still knowing he was wanted worldwide.
You did believe Xavier though. When the dust finally settled, you thought Erik would be back. He’d find his own way home. And to contact Peter again, he’d only have to reach out to the Professor. Which of course Erik would no doubt, as those two old friends always crossed paths again eventually from all the stories you had heard. They never gave up on each other in the end, despite all their differences in beliefs.
You didn’t fight it when you finally began to nod off. Even over the pulsing of the helicopter and the radio chatter coming from the soldiers’ headsets, it was all just white noise eventually. Peter had his arm around your waist, his head leaned back against the hull and yours on his shoulder as you’d both fallen asleep somewhere over the now moonlit Mediterranean Sea.
——————————
Waking up had been much harder. As stiff as you were from the helicopter ride, you still had been in no hurry to move as you’d heard your name called. Xavier was trying to round you all up before the soldiers got impatient.
They’d at least provided him a wheelchair you noticed as you all groggily reconvened on what was actually the flight deck of a large U.S. aircraft carrier now docked in the bay alongside the Greek naval base.
All of you certainly looked worse for wear, Peter especially had his glasses skewed almost comically now, hair mussed in about every direction as he yawned big, standing on one leg with an arm thrown over your shoulders for support.
Once you were all accounted for on deck, the Professor spoke quickly. “Given the state of things, there will not be any transatlantic flights available currently. We will be staying here in the short term. For all of you, you will be given medical treatment as needed in this ship’s sick bay. We have also been provided sleeping arrangements separate of the crew. I am asking all of you to please rest up as best you can tonight. Moira and I will speak to these gentlemen as to the events that have transpired today.”
The “gentlemen” Xavier referred to looked about as pleased to be here as you all had been to wake up in Stryker’s base. You knew little of actual military rankings, but from the amount of bars on the fronts of their uniforms, you’d guess they were pretty high up there in authority.
But the Professor only continued in your heads for good measure. “Please understand that non-mutants especially are on edge right now. There were fatalities and very extensive damages to some cities today. I implore you all to be patient with any persons you may encounter on this ship. I believe they’ve moved the majority of the crew to the mainland already to better quarantine us here and limit tensions. But please remember, that by your demeanor and your choices, you represent us all. I will reach out to you all as soon as I know anything more on our options for returning home.”
He’d bid you all good night then, leaving with Moira and the most senior looking of the men while the rest of you had followed some nervous looking officers to the lower decks. You got the sense that Hank and Raven now felt obligated to chaperone and protect the group, as the oldest of you now, only second to the Professor.
Raven had assumed her blonde, human appearance before the helicopters had arrived, but without his medicine Hank could only remain in his Beast form. You could tell how uncomfortable both he and Kurt now made the soldiers as Hank had requested to accompany you and Peter to the sick bay, while Raven went with the others to whatever living quarters you were being given.
You’d be lying to say that their obvious judgment on Hank and Kurt’s physical appearances didn’t bother you. But you tried to remind yourself that they also didn’t know any better. They didn’t know how ridiculously smart, and even a bit nerdy and loyal Hank could be. Or how kind, forgiving, and genuine Kurt was.
When you did get to the sick bay, the doctor on call also looked like he’d just been dragged in there against his better judgement. But he did greet you all, saying he’d been made aware that there was a broken leg he needed to set and make a cast for.
His reaction to the metal splint Peter already had though was almost something funny. You knew Peter wanted to joke so badly about his “dad making it for him”, but you’d all agreed before the helicopters had arrived to downplay Erik’s role in all of this if he didn’t show himself.
Xavier had promised to make clear to the U.S. officials that Erik had been on your side in the end though. Yes, Magneto had blood on his hands from past and present, but having the world pursue him any further would only lead to more violence. It wouldn’t undo anything that had already been done.
Beast had been strong enough to unbend the metal with his bare hands, carefully removing the splint. He’d also helped Peter get out of the flight suit and dirtied clothing to wash up. Though they’d just cut his clothing away from his broken leg with surgical shears, not to injure it any further.
They’d put a screen up for some privacy while they worked on him. You knew Hank would protect Peter, so you were okay focusing on yourself a bit as you also got undressed and a nurse checked you for broken bones. With your clothes off, you finally got to see how badly bruised you were everywhere. But they’d agreed that your only actually damaged bones were cracked ribs, which there was no real treatment for save going easy to give them proper time to heal.
After the examination, you were allowed to take a shower. Which was honestly more amazing than you expected, not realizing just how much dirt, sweat, and blood had accumulated through all of this. Afterward, you’d gotten dressed with some clothes they’d left you. A plain white t-shirt with a small U.S. Navy insignia, and dark blue sweatpants essentially.
They’d offered to escort you to where the others were bunked. But you declined, choosing to wait for Hank and Peter instead.
And it had been a while, but eventually they cane back out. You could see they’d gotten the same treatment as you while here. Both had showered, though Peter made a point to laugh at how poor Hank had had to help him essentially get a trash bag tied over his leg cast first so he wouldn’t get it wet.
They had on the same white t-shirts as you as well now. Though even in the largest size, Hank’s looked uncomfortably small. Hank also got the same blue pants as you, but for Peter it was only blue shorts to accommodate his cast. You all looked like you were late for P.E. class honestly, albeit maybe at a U.S. Naval academy somewhere. You’d gotten a good deal of amusement from that.
They’d given Peter crutches too, which he was clearly playing with as he tried to see how quick he could move on them. Hank reprimanded him more than once when Peter had almost fallen flat on his face a few times on your way to the bunks.
The soldiers hadn’t separated you into guys and girls for the sleeping arrangements. Probably because to them the separation was more mutant/non-mutant only in all reality. But it didn’t bother you any. Really you felt safer knowing everyone else was close. By the time you had gotten to the bunks though, it was already lights out and Raven was the only one still awake waiting for you three.
“Sleep where you want,” She said, motioning to all the still empty beds. It looked like this block was meant to house a lot more than just your small number, but had evidently been cleared out for your arrival. Still being on a ship though where space was at a premium and the beds were double stacked and inset into the walls, it would be sleeping like books on a shelf.
You’d walked down a ways past your sleeping friends to find some open ones. Naturally you started to climb into the top bunk, knowing Peter would need the bottom with his cast in the way.
But you didn’t even have both legs pulled in before he startled you by grabbing your ankle. “What?” You breathed in a whisper, not wishing to wake the others as you tried to look down at him in the dark. With the main lights off, there was only the faintest glow from small emergency type lights sparsely spaced along the walls.
Mostly you could just see the white of his teeth, knowing he was grinning back at you. In this moment it reminded you only of the Cheshire cat, mischievous and a little disconcerting.
“There’s room down here, goofball,” He whispered back.
“Peter,” You answered, the tone saying far more than the short response. You weren’t alone here, and it, well it just didn’t seem proper. With the immediate threat of death now finally passed (hopefully), it really felt more like being back at school for the moment. There were standards of behavior and-
“If one of Hank can fit in these, then two of us definitely will.” He was clearly unfazed by your sudden reservations, though seemed to realize the cause pretty quickly. “Raven doesn’t care. Where do you think Scott and Jean ended up? You didn’t even notice did you?”
You could hear the bit of amusement in his voice. But no, you didn’t count heads as you were walking by. Why would you? If Scott and Jean had made it into the same bunk already, it wasn’t your business.
Which, yes, admittedly if you felt that way, would the others be as okay with it for you and Peter? He’d rightly guessed that it was more the fear of being judged that made you hesitate, than actually being uncomfortable sleeping beside him. You’d already slept side by side in the helicopter on the way here after all, but that wasn’t quite the same as being in the same bed.
“Still waiting,” He reminded, squeezing your ankle lightly.
You knew if you actually said no, he would drop it. It was only your indecision that he was waiting for you to resolve. But, how often would you have this chance again? Thinking of it in those terms, you relented at last, climbing back down.
You could still see his smile in the dark, no doubt excited over the small victory as he scooted back as much as he could to allow you in.
Trying to get into a comfortable position was a little awkward at first, especially with his cast. But you eventually ended up both laying on your sides, your back against his chest as he wrapped an arm around you under your shared blanket.
You were quickly learning how much he seemed to be comforted by physical contact. It wasn’t long at all before his breathing steadied out and you realized he was fast asleep, his head nuzzled into the back of your neck.
The feeling was warm and pleasant though. Yourself following suit not long after, sleeping deeply at last for a long deserved rest.
——————————
When morning finally came, there was no real way to know it. There were no windows to let in the daylight. By the time you’d woken to hear the others’ voices and the fluorescent lighting buzzing back on when one of them hit the switch, you’d learned it was actually almost noon local time.
Which none of you were complaining about. But you were hungry now. Sleep had been the primary physical need beforehand, and with that now met, you needed some more calories to burn.
Peter especially. You could actually hear his stomach growling as you’d all gotten up and headed into the common bathroom to brush teeth, brush hair and the like with the standard toiletries they’d left in there for everyone.
“Yeah, I’m like a hummingbird basically,” He’d explained nonchalantly on your walk to the mess hall afterward. “I just haven’t fallen out yet here because I haven’t gotten to run since dickhead busted my leg. But normally yeah, high octane all the time to keep things going. My blood sugar tanks if I don’t keep snacking at least. Twinkies are a personal fave in the old survival kit.”
“Those are good,” Kurt agreed. “I like the little pies too,” He gestured a circle shape with his hands, “With the little...the dried purple fruit, what are those in English?”
“Raisins, my bro.” Peter responded. “Old raisin creme pie. I swap back and forth on those. Oatmeal pies are alright too, but you know where it’s really at is zebra cakes, man.”
“Zebra...cake?” Clearly Kurt was trying to envision in his head how a zebra would have anything to do with the naming of a cake.
“It’s got white icing with brown stripes,” You answered. You weren’t super into junk food, but you did grow up in the U.S., so a lot of this knowledge was entirely unavoidable.
“But zebras have black stripes?” Kurt replied with some bit of bemusement.
“I don’t think Little Debbie or Hostess are too concerned with accurate representations of wildlife.” Raven chimed in, halfway amused at the randomness of the topics you all came up with, but still looking quite unimpressed.
“They do have brown stripes when they’re juveniles, before they get their adult coat.” Hank corrected though, glancing down at her.
“So they should be called baby zebra cakes. Got it.” Scott finally piped up, though also clearly thinking this ridiculous.
Raven and Jean just exchanged a look of their own as Ororo glanced to you. “Is it always like this?”
“Pretty much,” You answered with a slight smile. It was good to see Peter meshing in so well with the others though, even if he was a little bit older. You hoped that whenever the school was rebuilt that he’d consider staying. Xavier always seemed to be able to make room for any young mutant willing to learn and also work as a mentor to the even younger kids.
You were all still chatting lightly as your group walked through the mess hall doors. But after being just the few of you for so many hours, it was a bit of a shock to see several tables worth of sailors look up at your sudden intrusion.
It was clear by the amount of still empty tables though, that this wasn’t near the normal occupancy rate. You remembered the Professor commenting that he thought a lot of the men had been forced to disembark to the mainland, just to make a larger bubble for you all.
And by all the expressions on the faces of those that were left, it seemed that most disagreed whole heartedly with that decision.
Your group quieted immediately, everyone picking up on those stares and the bit of whispering as you got in line together. The mess hall was set up cafeteria style, so you had to grab trays and slide them along, picking what you wanted as the kitchen staff would spoon out or serve whatever it was you’d chosen onto your tray.
“Maybe we should just take the food back to the barracks?” Kurt asked quietly, looking down with an evident bit of anxiety building.
“It’s okay,” Raven answered, “Just keep your head up. We won’t be long.”
You were conflicted though. You shouldn’t have to eat, segregated out of everyone else’s sight like some sort of criminals, just because your presence might offend someone. But then again, what purpose did it serve in the larger scheme of things if you antagonized these sailors into an avoidable confrontation right now?
As the Professor had said, tensions were already high. Throwing any spark into that powder keg couldn’t possibly end well.
Hank had volunteered to carry Peter’s tray for him, as Peter needed both hands to work his crutches. You were glad for that at least as you could only envision yourself dropping it all in spectacular fashion. Especially when Peter insisted on a triple portion of some kind of strawberry cake desert they’d had.
“I think we should go back to the bunks,” Jean spoke up though when you were all about to walk away from the line with your trays and drinks. “There’s one of them, he’s about to go off.”
You all paused, looking to Raven and Hank simultaneously, seemingly all deciding without speaking that they’d become the de facto leadership in the Professor’s absence.
“Fine,” Raven relented, obviously not wanting to roll over in this situation, but also remembering all you’d already been through recently. Just getting to eat in peace should be a reasonable thing to want.
But even turning the other cheek, didn’t seem to be enough.
“Hey!” One of the sailors called out before you could get close enough to the door.
“Keep walking.” Raven just directed.
“Do you even know what the rest of the world looks like right now!?” He kept on, standing up as his voice only grew louder. “My Mom and my little brother were in San Francisco. Their goddamn apartment building collapsed!”
Peter was the first one to stop, looking back then.
You could hear the tone in the man’s voice change though, and in that moment you knew he was not going to attack anyone. But it almost made it worse that he didn’t as his voice broke, nearly pleading to you all. “I don’t even know if they’re alive, if they made it out or not. The phones won’t work...no one can get through.”
“We didn’t do that,” Raven spoke up as calmly as she could, looking back to him as well then. “I’m sorry.”
“But you know who did, don’t you!?” He countered. “It was him. Wasn’t it? The one from Washington D.C. that could move metal. And he got away. You let him get away!”
The men next to the sailor were trying to pull him back down to sitting now, trying to remind him something about orders, making you realize they must have been given a similar talk as you all had. Don’t cause trouble, don’t antagonize, keep the peace because you’d been told to.
Even with two food trays in hand, Hank was now trying to usher you all through the mess hall doors just as intently as the man’s friends were trying to make him stop as well.
But Peter just twisted right out of Hank’s reach in a blur, calling back suddenly then. “It was Magneto. I’m sure it was. But he’s gone, man. He ran.” Peter looked pained, but shook his head. “His family was killed...but that doesn’t mean he had any right to take it out on the world. I hope you find your family. I really do, and I’m sorry.”
With that Peter shoved through the doors, going on ahead of you all and not looking back. His frustration was palpable as the crutches limited him. If his leg hadn’t been broken you doubted any of you would have seen him leave at all. Like he too wanted to run away now, instead of having to face the painful reality that this was.
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Nothing was said about the incident for quite some time as you’d all eaten quietly in the barracks. The food was plain, the simple kinds of things that could be made in bulk to feed a large crew on a ship like this. Macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, rice, and the like.
You were sitting on the floor eating while Peter was sitting on his bottom bunk, now just picking at the strawberry cake he’d most wanted with a fork. “This was definitely some pre-made frozen crap they just defrosted and put whip cream on.” He commented in dry disappointment.
“Yeah, I guess it’d be hard to keep fresh strawberries for long on a boat,” You replied, sipping one of the soft drinks you’d brought back. At least these were canned to still be carbonated well, but it wasn’t all that cold anymore.
He smirked. “I’d go crazy living on this thing out at sea. Not too many steps up from a prison cell really.”
Though you could imagine submarine life would be even worse, you didn’t think he was far off base. “It takes a special kind of person to enlist that’s for sure.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, going back to silence for a while as he dissected the cake idly.
You’d about finished all your food before he spoke to you again.
“What do you really think of him, (Y/N)?” Peter asked you in a somber tone then. “I mean, am I an idiot for trying to get to know him? My whole life I thought about what it would have been like if we’d had a real dad. If it wasn’t just Mom stressed the hell out all the time trying to keep us from getting evicted, or me from getting arrested honestly, or her worrying about Wanda being depressed so much. It’s like we were always broken. I had this idea if we’d just had that missing piece of a father, that everything would have been fixed. But then I finally meet him, finally find out who he really is, and he’s just as fucked up as anyone.”
You moved your tray to the side, considering your words carefully as you got up to go sit beside Peter on the edge of the bed. “You’re not an idiot.” That was the easiest point to make first. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know who your parents are.” But the rest, that was muddled and complicated.
“I mean, that was the first time I’ve actually ever met him in person. So I only know the stories really.” You continued. “I know the Professor thinks highly of him. They’ve always been close.”
“Xavier punched my dad right in the damn face the first time I saw them together.” Peter responded, turning his head to look at you directly. “Knocked him on his ass actually.”
You blinked. “Um, well...I have heard their relationship has had its rough patches too. They disagree on a lot of things as well. But they always seem to care about each other in the end, when it’s all said and done.”
Peter laid the last of the cake back down on the floor, before laying back down behind you in the bunk. “So you’re saying that’s what I have to look forward to? Alternating between wanting to kick his ass, and wanting him to stick around and have a relationship together?”
You could only be honest. “Not really what I was going for, but, I mean, that’s kind of Erik right?”
“But he’s killed people hasn’t he? How do I get past that?”
That was really the hardest question of all, wasn’t it? And now the one probably weighing on Peter’s mind the most after the interaction with that upset sailor in the mess hall.
“His sins aren’t your sins, Peter.” Was what you finally said, sighing and looking at your hands now in your lap. “Erik has lost so much too. His parents, your grandparents, I know they died at Auschwitz. The Professor told us that. And they experimented on Erik, tortured him to try and use his powers as a weapon. Erik ended up killing the man most responsible for that. But Xavier had tried to stop him anyway and ended up paralyzed for it. It was an accident though.”
You could feel Peter shift behind you, sitting up slightly in the bunk. It was most likely that he’d never heard any of this. You hated that it had to come secondhand from you. That you, this random mutant would know more about his own father’s history than himself.
But you continued. “And then what he told us in Egypt, about his wife and daughter....I mean, my God. Like you said, it doesn’t mean he can just go around hurting everyone else just because of what’s been done to him. But what would anyone else really do? How can we say where our own breaking points would be?” You weren’t trying to absolve him by any means, but how could you sit here and judge him either?
“Yeah,” Peter answered, sounding distant. “I mean, I tried not to think about it too much, everything was already so messed up. But I’ve got to tell Wanda all of this too at some point. And I don’t know how. We had a little sister, and she’s already gone. How do you...how do you even process that when you didn’t even get to meet them? How do you get closure?”
You heard him moving around like he was wiping at his face with his hands. You didn’t think he was crying, but maybe his eyes were trying to build up something that he wasn’t willing to allow yet.
“Can we just lay here for a bit?” He asked you after another moment.
“Sure,” You answered, laying back down in the bunk with him. This time you didn’t care if the others would pay any mind or not. He needed someone right now.
You were just laying the same way you’d slept last night with your back to his chest. But after a while you felt him tug at your side.
“Turn around,” He asked.
You did hesitate momentarily, knowing how much more personal that would be in the confines of the small bunk. But you allowed it, rolling over so that now you were nearly face to face, torsos touching as he wrapped his good leg over you before pulling up the blanket.
“Hey,” He smirked, seeming to cheer up at your awkward look. Your stomach flipped as you thought he was going in for a kiss, but he just ended up kissing your forehead once before pulling back.
Whatever expression you made then got a real laugh out of him.
“I was just going to tell you thank you.” He said teasingly, before leaning back in to whisper in your ear, “But you look kind of disappointed...did you want a little more?”
There was no question you were fully flustered now as you felt that heat rising in your face yet again. You’d have to make a mental note to apologize to Jean later if she was getting any of this broadcast to her. But then again, she did live in a house full of teenagers doing God knows what at any given time. Maybe she was already used to it. But you didn’t even want to think about Xavier possibly picking up on your current emotional panic either, that would be mortifying.
Sensing your spiraling distraction, Peter lightly touched one fingertip to the end of your nose. “Boop. Earth to (Y/N), have we lost signal? Overheated the engines already?”
You blinked. “That’s not funny.”
“Oh, it’s hilarious. And still waiting, dear. Always waiting...”
To be honest, when you finally kissed him, it was more just to wipe that smug look off his face. But on second thought, maybe that had been his plan all along. To taunt you into action. But it worked. It worked extremely well, as you’d both closed your eyes. His hand pressed into your back, making sure you stayed tight against him as you’d let it happen again and again. One kiss after another.
It’d been different too. The first ones back in Cairo had been so desperate more than anything, just a burst of emotion like a dying wish when neither of you had really expected to make it out of that desert.
While this now was far slower, much more thought behind each. It did make you forget everything else for those moments except the taste and feel of him.
But as much as you liked the sensations, you also knew you had to be the one to steer you both back out of it. When you felt his hand starting to move under your shirt, sliding up greedily across your bare skin, you realized he was already wanting more. And this wasn’t the place, not the time. Not yet at least. You weren’t immune to those feelings either, but it’d be much better if you waited. As much as you knew he hated waiting...
You’d pulled your lips away, but he then only moved to kissing your neck instead as you had to speak his name to try and call him back out of it. “Peter.”
“Mmm?” He responded after a moment, at least pausing, even though his lips were still touching against your throat.
You tugged his hair a little to try and get him to look back up at you.
He resisted slightly, not a lot, but you knew he was stalling as best he could before he finally relented. “Stop sign comes out huh?” He breathed, though not upset, just clearly having trouble coming out of the mood as his hand slid back out of your shirt to rest only on top of your clothes.
“Not exactly enough privacy here,” you responded quietly. Which was of course a huge understatement as the others were probably just out of earshot right now. If you were lucky anyway.
“It’s a big ship, babe. I’m sure we can find a place,” He joked, but only partially you were sure. As you really thought if you said the word right now, he’d make it his mission to find such a place immediately.
You toyed with his hair a little more, moving the messy silver strands out away from his eyes. “I think it’s getting to be pretty inevitable if you really want to know the truth.”
He leaned into the touch, just kissing your hand once more as your palm neared too close to his mouth. “You make it really tough either way, I’ll say that.”
You knew better than to lecture this one on the virtue of patience. But this was already the most physical you’d ever been with anyone as it was, and all so soon. Yet you knew it was only a matter of time. These new feelings were only growing. None of this would be fading any time soon.
You just laid your head back on his shoulder after a while, speaking to him, “Hey, after we’ve cooled down a bit more here, you want to see if anyone will allow us on the flight deck? It’d be nice to see the ocean at least before the sun goes back down. Get some fresh air.”
“Romantic stroll in the ocean breeze you say? Well maybe more a romantic hobble for me.” He chuckled dryly. “I’m game.”
——————————
(Continued in next chapter here)
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feeling-weirdy · 3 years
Note
Prompt: So timeline would be between aou and cw. Wanda and vision are training with the other avengers and they get lost in each other for a moment. A "get a room" moment for the other avengers.
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"Perhaps it's time for you to come take a break," Vision suggested, strolling into the large room with a smile on his face.  Wanda had situated herself in the air, scarlet magic dancing around her fingers as she fired multiple energy balls towards the practice dummy on the other side of the room.
"I don't have full control of my powers and I'm not going to get there if I don't train,” she grunted, firing one more shot before turning to face him.
"It'll take much more than one day to reach that goal, I'm afraid.”  Vision closed the space between them, eyes fixated on the dummy she had been firing on.  She had spent a great amount of time stuck in this room, inside team practice and out.  Vision found himself constantly coming to fetch her and remind her to take care of herself.  While control was important, nothing scaled above self-care.
“Yeah well...no one seems brave enough to let me practice on them.  Maybe if they would, this would go a little easier.”  Wanda folded her arms, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as she stretched her arms out over her head.  Beads of sweat glistened across her forehead giving away just how much time this particular session had lasted.  The others had long abandoned her and here she was, desperate to get ahold of her power.  Even he could see how little she improved despite her attempts.
Vision smiled at her, shrugging slightly.  “You’re more than welcome to practice on me.”
“Vis, I’m not gonna do that to you,” Wanda chuckled, shaking her head as she focused back towards the training dummy.  She wiggled her fingers, summoning magic into her hand.  
“The probability of you actually harming me is minuscule.”  
She scoffed, turning back to face him.  “You think I won’t hurt you?”
The corner of his lip curled.  “I doubt that very little.”
“Alright...”  Wanda sighed softly, her face beaming with newfound excitement.  She squared herself, keeping a steady flow of magic surrounding her hands allowing them to dance in front of her face.  “So, what if I do?”
“Pardon?”  His head fell to the side, confusion crossing his features.
“What do I get if I hit you?” 
Vision mulled over the idea, unprepared to offer her a prize for her abilities.  “You have been interested in going out about town.  You always stare at that seafood establishment whenever we pass by...Perhaps I’ll let you go where you please, let you eat all you’d like at this restaurant.  Mr. Stark would be providing payment, of course.”
“Then it’s not really a slight on you, now is it?”  She shot a ball of energy in his direction and he easily phased, allowing the energy to pass through his body as he stood before her.
“Clearly, I’d have to deal with the knowledge that you beat me.  A strike to the pride isn’t enough?”  Vision flew upwards, easily dodging three more attacks aimed towards him.  Flying from one side to the other, Vision had little to no difficulty avoiding her attacks. 
“Not really sure that counts, but I’ll take you up on that.”  Using her magic, Wanda flew up after him. 
“Very well.”  The two spent several minutes in a complex dance of avoidance, only causing Wanda to grow more impatient with every swing.  Clearly she had expected this to go in a different direction, but he felt he was hardly putting in any effort as it was.  The goal was target practice, nothing more.
“You not going to tell me what you’ll win?”  Wanda finally asked, another ball flying from her fingers.  The sudden question caused hesitation, the energy moving quickly right above Vision’s ear.
“Confidence is key.”  Vision grinned at her, moving closer to her with every shot.  He flew in easily discernible patterns, a pattern that could simply be noticed that she seemed to begin to pick up on.  Once discovered, he would change it up, slowly moving toward her and behind her once he could manage it.
“That’s a little one-sided, don’t ya think?”  Wanda retorted, flying higher to try to get some advantage over him.  They continued to twirl around each other, desperation evident on her face as she pushed herself.  Vision couldn’t help but feel some semblance of pride at how hard she was working.  She really had been hoping to get these powers under control.
“Are you that uncertain in your abilities?”  Vision chuckled.
“Oh, bite me.”
Wanda closed in on him, a teasing grin spreading across her features as he pulled himself out of the way continuing their unending dance.  She continued to fire more energy in his direction and while some of them would get close, Vision had no issues dodging them. 
Wanda rolled her eyes, hovering for a moment before continuing her assault.  "What, you're not gonna fight back?"
"Against you?  I wouldn’t dream of it.  This is simply sparring practice."
“It kind of ruins the point of having winners and losers, doesn’t it?”  She asked, moving around him and quickly shooting more in his direction.  When her regular attacks didn’t seem to work, he could see her searching their surroundings for something in the environment.  A good tactic especially with how little effect he was allowing her to have over him.  With their abilities connected in some way, he expected she could overpower him were she to really lash out.  Hardly something they should test out, especially in practice, but a curious notion nonetheless.
“There are no winners and losers in practice,” Vision added.  “You insisted there be stakes to win and I obliged.”
“Sounds like a chicken to me,” Wanda teased, wiggling her fingers yet again, this time grabbing a piece of equipment sitting and throwing it in his direction.  The big, mostly empty room only echoed as the Vision chuckled, her teasing words filling his mind. 
“I only have hope that your abilities will continue to improve.  That is my only goal.  Who wins doesn’t matter so long as you learn...you will always win.”
“Uh-huh...sure.”  Wanda’s hands shook, pushing them towards each other as she concentrated on creating an even greater mass of energy.  A smile flickered across her face, shoving it in a quick shot that nearly hit him.  The color drained from her face, the amount of magic she had thrown into that one shot had taken more out of her than she had intended. 
“You were exponentially close that time.”  Vision attempted to soothe her frustrations, though by the expression on her face he failed at that.
“Now I know you’re just messing with me.”  Wanda’s breathing staggered, slowly landing to try and catch her breath.  Vision followed after her, landing gently in front of her.  
“Perhaps.  Are you alright?”  He placed a hand on her shoulder, lowering his head slightly to get a better scan of her face.  With one deep breath, Wanda regained control over it and her eyes flashed a deep crimson red.
“You shouldn’t let your guard down.” One more small blast of energy shot out of her, directly hitting Vision in the chest.  With a grunt he keeled over, steadying himself against her shoulder for a moment before he opened his mouth.
“Outstanding...if not a little cheap.”  He peered over at her with a small grin, pushing himself off of her but keeping their close distance.  Vision lost himself in her eyes, taking note of how her breath still faltered slightly.  She reached over to his chest, placing a small hand along the area that she hit.  His chest tightened at the contact, her eyes settling on any damage that she could find.  “You did well.”
“Sorry.  I couldn’t resist,” she laughed, her gaze shifting back up to him.  “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“I’ll be-”
“Alright, you two.  Knock it off,” Tony spoke up from the corner of the room, clapping in two sudden movements.  Wanda quickly removed her hand, distance finally pushing them apart from each other.  “No one needs to see all that in here.  Practice is over.” 
“Pretty sure you owe me that night out though,” Wanda giggled, nudging him slightly as she followed out the door Tony disappeared through.
Vision sucked in his teeth, grimacing slightly.  “That certainly seems to be the case.”
Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!
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prideful-sins · 4 years
Text
Beel x Fem! MC; Foodplay; Smut
Notes: I was commissioned by a close friend for this piece, that’s why it’s a fem reader and not Gender Neutral like usual
Tags: Foodplay, Creampie, Standing Fuck, Female MC, NSFW//, SMUT, Oral
Word Count: 4.1K
Masterlist | Buy me a Coffee
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“Wait… are we supposed to add that much flavouring?” You looked down at the recipe and raised a brow, your boyfriend made a curious noise before wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, his chin nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
“Does flavouring really matter?” Beelzebub’s tone was whiny, he had asked you to make some cookies for him a little while ago but you had both only just gotten around to actually mixing the ingredients together.
You gave him a giggle before nudging your head playfully against his hair, “of course it does, if we don’t add flavouring then it wont taste nice enough, not that you care either way” your remark made him sigh and you turned your head to place a playful kiss on his cheek, his arms tightening around you as a blush creeped along his cheeks, dusting the tips of his ears and nose a light pink.
“I do care, but it all goes the same way so… so what if it doesn't taste all that good?”
“I want it to taste good because we’re making them together” you placed the recipe card down and turned yourself within his arms, his head leaving your shoulder and lingering close to your face, “okay?” Beelzebub gave a resigned smile and pressed a light kiss on the tip of your nose causing you to giggle and return it. “The cookies should be finished baking soon, they smell amaaaaazing” you sighed dramatically and swooned within Beel’s arms, he laughed and ‘caught’ you before pulling you up and turning you around.
“What are we putting on them?” He asked as you chuckled and grabbed some chocolate.
“I was thinking mint flavoured chocolate?” You snapped off a piece and held it to his lips, Beel spent no time wasted devouring it and swallowing, giving a hearty, affirmative, hum. With a smile you cupped his cheek and rubbed your thumb softly along his cheekbone, as you both stared into eachothers eyes you lost yourself in the moment, the kitchen melting away in your mind and leaving you and Beelzebub alone together. A loud DING snapped you out of your thoughts and Beel’s eyes began sparkling with anticipation.
“Done!” His arms left you and your boyfriend spun around to grab the oven mitts, you simply laughed and turned to the stove, the simmering water boiling underneath the glass bowl, ready for the chocolate to be added.
“You get the cookies and I’ll melt the chocolate, okay?” Beel wasn’t listening, all you could hear was his excited gasps, his smile almost brightening the entire room as you broke pieces of chocolate into the bowl. “Don’t eat any Beelzebub, I mean it.” You heard him groan and the tray hit the cooling rack.
“Please?” He came back to the position he was in before, with his hands resting on your hips, and his nose nuzzled even further into your neck in a desperate plea to change your mind. You merely shook your head and stirred the bowl of melting chocolate.
“No.” He groaned once more and you dipped your finger into the liquid chocolate and Beels eyes widened, you brought your finger up and his head instinctively moved forward to lick it off, but you merely moved to your tongue and licked it yourself. Your tongue moving slowly up your finger and placing it in your mouth, your lips wrapping around and sucking the excess chocolate off.
Beel groaned, but it wasn't his usual whine. You glanced over and saw him looking away from you, desperate not to make eye contact as he leaned his hips out and away from you, a deeper blush than before covering his cheeks. “Beel? Babe? Are you okay?” You looked concerned but he didn’t meet your eyes, his voice was softly mumbled into your shoulder.
“Can you- can you do that again?” He leaned his head up and looked you in the eye, embarrassment shining within his purple eyes as his eyebrows furrowed upwards. You nodded and dipped your finger into the, fully melted, chocolate, your other hand came to the stove controls and turned the pan off, there was a deep heat in your abdomen telling you that this chocolate may be used for something else soon.
As you brought the base of your finger up to your lips you took time showing him your tongue, licking up the digit slowly and letting the chocolate drip down onto your lips and down your chin. Beel’s eyes never left you, he was mesmerized, his hands gripping your hips for dear life as his fingers dug into the fabric of your trousers. His eyes darted to the chocolate dripping down your chin, his tongue licking at his lips before he parted them, a slight gasp of air escaping him as he stared at you.
You looked over and leaned in close to him, the chocolate a hair's breadth away from his lips and before you knew it it had darted out and licked up your chin and to your lips. Quickly you wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, tongues already dancing around, bodies aching to know each other more and more. You dug your knee between his legs and forced him to stand up straighter than before, his hands moving from your hips, one resting at the crook of your back, the other holding your lifted leg in place, fingertips digging into the flesh of your outer thigh.
You both gasped for air, lips parting from your heated debate, your hands running up and entwining within his hair desperate to pull him in for another kiss. Your lips crashed together and Beel lifted you to the counter top, your ass barely on the edge, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.
As his groin hit yours you could feel his erection, that’s what he was embarrassed about, you turned him on with the licking, you giggled slightly and ran your hands down his chest, his grunts spurring you to continue touching him. Your hands slithered under his shirt and your fingertips graced the toned definition of his abs. A shudder echoing through your thighs and to your back, a wetness pooling between your legs as your mind ran rampant with what you could do with him.
Beels arms left you and he shrugged off his hoodie, and lifted his shirt off. A desperate whine from the loss of your lips upon his as he came back to you, but instead you directed him to your neck, which he was only happy to kiss. You looked up and wrapped your hands behind his back, nails dragging along his skin and gasps echoing off of the walls, you bit down onto your bottom lip in a vain attempt to stifle your noises. Beel’s hands came to your shirt and he began to undress you, almost tearing the fabric to reveal your bra. He cupped your padded breast and began to squeeze it in a futile attempt to massage but it did no good, his hands came to your back and unclasped the holdings, releasing your confined chest and pulling the fabric down, you worked with him and removed it from your being, throwing it down on the floor without a second thought.
“Beel” you gasped, his attention diverted to the sound of his name staring at you with hungry eyes, “lick me, please I’m begging you”. He smirked and immediately dived to your right nipple, lips sucking along the bud as his tongue worked in small circles around the sensitive skin, his other hand massaging your left breast and working the bud between the bases of two of his fingers. Your left hand clutched a fistful of his orange hair, the other gripping onto the edge of the countertop, your fingers becoming white from the tension within them.
You moaned at the contact, your hips moving of their own accord, feverishly trying to roll into Beel as much as they could, you wanted his dick against your pussy, you wanted him to feel how wet he had made you through your trousers. You continued to moan, your vision hazy with the pleasure, in your frazzled state of mind you looked over to the melted chocolate and got an idea, before quickly grabbing the spoon and swirling it within the liquid before tapping Beel’s head with your other hand and grabbing his attention, he looked at curiously and you drizzled the chocolate over your chest. The lukewarm liquid hitting your skin with a strange sensation, Beelzebub’s eyes merely widened a growl echoed through his throat. He wasted no time in licking it up, spreading it around your chest and grunting happily.
You tugged at Beel’s hair and pulled his face up to meet yours, chocolate spread around his lips and chin. Without hesitation you leaned down and licked it from his chin, moving upwards to his lips before kissing him deeply, he moaned happily and moved his hands to the waistband of your trousers, undoing any buttons and sliding the fabric down, along with your underwear. The cool air hit the wetness of your crotch and you gasped in surprise, sucking the air from Beel’s mouth directly into your own. He smirked and disposed of your clothes, thrown into a heap onto the floor. Beel took the spoon from you and dipped it back into the chocolate, his other hand pushing you down, your back softly hitting the slab of counter behind you, the cool stone causing a shiver to run through your spine.
He hovered the spoon above your stomach and began drizzling the chocolate around your abdomen, your stomach twitching at the sudden contact, and your pussy dripping wet from the anticipation of his touch.
“Please” you whispered, soft and desperate as Beel threw the spoon back into the bowl and kissed the space below your chest. Upon hearing your plea he smiled softly and placed his fingers just above your labia, the tips dancing around the skin, any semblance of a touch reverberating into your clit and sending a shock through your entire lower half. Beel’s tongue came to just above your belly button and he licked up, tasting your pre-sex salt along with the sweet chocolate, as his tongue moved around your body two of Beel’s fingers grazed along the slits of your cunt. Your thighs twitched and your hands shot to the back of Beel’s head, gripping at fistfuls of his hair as you moaned out his name through heaving breaths. 
Your entire body reacted to his fingers, the slick wetness of your puzzy guiding him to finger your clit more and more, his tongue dancing around and licking all over your skin, eager to taste the chocolate he had drizzled all over your abdomen.
“Hah- hah- hah-” your eyes became half lidded, hips rolling around with the rhythm of his fingers. As he finished the chocolate he moved back up to your breast, taking the bud within his mouth once again and softly biting down on the skin. You threw your head back and moaned out once again, desperate for the fire in your stomach to burn brighter with his touch, his smirk was felt between the fangs, mirrored onto your skin as he inserted a finger within you, curling it around and massaging your inner walls. 
All breath left your being, a delighted gasp as Beel inserted another finger, thrusting them within you, slowly opening you up for him later on. Your hips continued to roll, and thighs spasmed as your orgasm climbed within you, the pleasure caused your entire body to want to move with him. A delectable dance that you couldn’t help but join, body moving of its own accord and his lips heavenly sucking against your bud.
Ecstasy. That’s all you could feel in this moment, your eyes half lidded and staring at the far away heavens as God’s name demanded to be on the tip of your tongue in this blessed meeting. Beel’s fingers continued to thrust within you and your mind began going blank, your orgasm creeping up on you and making itself more and more known.
“I’m gonna- hah- I’m” Beelzebub’s lips left your nipple and he leaned up bringing himself close to your face, his lips kissing your jawline as he whispered.
“Cum for me, please, cum for me” You nodded fervently and cupped both of his cheeks, your hips bobbing up and down as his fingers thrust within you. With a last few moans and pants you gasped out his name, back arching and your body convulsing with pleasure, walls clenching around his fingers and gushing out even more wetness upon Beel’s hand. 
As your body slowly calmed down, your breathing heavy but steady, Beel smiled and removed his fingers from you before bringing them up to his lips and licking your juices clean from his digits, eyes sparkling at the taste of you.
“Mm- this is one of the tastes I can never get enough of” he flashed you a toothy grin, and bit the tip of his tongue teasingly as you gave him a breathy chuckle.
“Well, thankfully, this taste will never run out” you leaned up and pressed a kiss on his collarbone, your hands coming to his hips, thumbs hooking within the waistband of his pants. Your heart was still beating erratically within your chest but all of your senses wanted to pleasure him right now, your orgasm satiated you and began leading you to his dick, mouth salivating at the thought of having your lips wrapped around it.
You could hear Beel’s anxious breaths, his cock twitching within his trousers in anticipation of your guiding hands, lungs burning as your hands unbuckled his belt before eagerly shifting the fabric down, your lips came to the base of his neck and you bit at the skin, a light moan coming from the demon as he reacted to the sudden contact, you began sucking it as his hands moved to help you unclothe him. You hopped off the counter top and turned both of you around, pressing him onto the warm spot you had just vacated. Both of you now fully unclothed and pressing his ass against the counter top, Beelzebub took the hint and shifted himself onto the flat surface. His cock bounced against his skin and softly hit you against your upper stomach, a reminder as to just how big a girthy his dick was, as if you could ever truly forget. Your hand roamed around his chest and lips left his collarbone, leaving a few distinct red marks against his skin, fingers playing around his nipples as you explored his abdomen. The muscles driving your body crazy, a fire once again lit within you to test them to their full extent.
One of your hands reached for the spoon, the last dregs of chocolate scooped up and hovered over Beelzebub’s lower stomach, he lay back, leaning his weight on his elbows, and watched you curiously. You returned his gaze and poured the chocolate onto him, the drips moulding around his muscles and heading towards the base of his dick. You placed the spoon back into the bowl and proceeded to grip the base of his dick lightly, your fingers barely touching each other. With a sly grin you winked at him before dipping down and licking off the chocolate, the sweat mixed with the sweetness was strangely addicting, your hand moving of its own accord, slowly beginning to pump him. 
Beel gasped lightly at your touches, his head rolling back as his chest began to rise and fall quicker, light breathy chuckles escaped his throat as he lost himself to your touches. The way your thumb pressed down just a little harder over the veins, your tongue dancing around his muscles, desperately trying to lick him clean to get to his dick. As you polished off the chocolate on his stomach you moved down to what you had desired from the start, the base covered in melted chocolate, your eyes hungrily taking in the sight before you pressed his cock down and licked around, a sharp inhale from Beel as you took him by surprise. 
“Hah!” his gasp was of surprise as you lifted his dick up and cleaned the excess chocolate off of his skin before placing your tongue flat on his balls and licking, very very slowly, all the way up to the tip of his dick. Beads of pre-cum congealed on the end licked clean off as you rolled yourself along his slit, the warm red head beckoning you to suck. You wrapped your lips around the tip, the end of your tongue rolling and massaging his flesh, breathy moans coming from your lover as he let his weight fall off of his elbows and resting his body upon the counter. 
You smiled as much as possible before taking him into your mouth, fitting as much of his length into you as you could, your tongue working to provide extra wetness as you began to bob your head up and down his cock. The tip hit the back of your throat as Beel uncontrollably bucked his hips into you, feet hitting the side of the cupboard with a loud thud, and a slight gag escaping your throat before continuing on your mission to pleasure him. Beel sighed in delight and rested his arm over his flushed face, you looked up at him and could see the sweat beading upon his brow, teeth biting down hard against his bottom lip, the undeniable roll of his hips telling you that he was on the way to his orgasm.
You pulled your lips from him and continued to pump his shaft, licking the excess saliva from your lips and running your free hand up his stomach, taking his attention from his arm to you. “Fuck me, please Beel, I need you right now” 
The ache in your thighs became undeniable, unmanegable, all you wanted was him, you needed him within you, filling you up and fucking you until you couldn’t speak. Beel smiled and sat up immediately, his hands on your waist and lifting you, turning you both around once more and placing you on the edge of the counter. His dick hovering over your entrance, the previous juices of your orgasm already making you ripe for the taking. You wrapped your legs around his torso and locked your feet together behind him, the tip of his dick barely entering you as he resisted, Beel’s hands rested upon your hips and his lips came inch away from yours, the feeling of his breath hot upon your sweaty skin. He hesitated as he took in your scent, a deep breath of you filling his nostrils before kis pressed his lips against yours.
The kiss tasted of chocolate and passion, your eyes closing and letting yourself fall to his seduction as he pushed his dick into you slowly. Your breath hitched in your throat as the pleasure washed over you, the way his dick stretched out your walls, filling every space within you. A light groan came from you, an overstimulated moan as your body twitched with heavenly ecstasy as Beel continued to sheathe himself within you. He pulled away from your lips and pressed his forehead against yours, one of his hands coming to the side of your neck as he gasped for your breath, dick fully within you.
With a swift movement you kissed his jawline and tensed your thighs, impatient for him to move within you. Beel took the hint and pulled out, the sound of your juices slick against his flesh and your breathy moans spurring him to move faster and faster, your hips were restlessly rolling around, eager for his dick to touch more of you. Light moans of Beel’s name built his ego up, his confidence soaring as he slammed his hips into yours, the sudden feeling of ecstasy causing your vision to go white and your head to be thrown back with reckless abandon as you gasped. Beel continued to thrust within you, electricity shooting up your back and out of your chest as you squealed like a pig, unable to contain just how good he was making you feel right now.
His hand moved from your neck and both of them hooked underneath your ass, gripping firmly onto your cheeks, Beelzebub pulled you off the counter and you sunk even further onto his cock, his hands supporting you as if you weighed nothing, his hips thrusting you into the air and gravity pulling you back down, the light slapping of your skin and the breathless moans of each others names only fueling your desire to be fucked. Your breasts bounced along with your body, nipples perked from the arousal of your lover and the coolness of the room, your arms were locked around his neck and you pulled yourself in for another kiss before reaching down with one hand to begin massaging your clit.
Your entire body was trembling as you were thrown onto Beelzebub’s dick, the sheer force of him being slammed into you and hitting your g-spot everytime made your entire being quiver, your vision became blurry, the view of stars blinding you as you prepared to orgasm again. Beel began to shudder and stepped forward to lean you down and thrust his hips into you, his lips kissing along your collarbone and neck, drooling on your skin as his brows knitted together with ecstasy.
“Hah I-” you broke off his sentence with a nod, agreeing that you were on the cusp of an orgasm too. Your hand was almost numb from massaging your clit, your entire lower half, once again, on fire with pleasure. Beelzebubs name repeated like a sinful prayer as you were engulfed in rapture, the slapping of your skin together like a harmonious hymn; your moans the desirable chorus to shout out your confessions.
You came before Beel, your legs shaking from the overstimulation of him fucking you relentlessly accompanied with your fingers massaging your clit. Your walls clenched around him, his face screwing up even harder as you became tighter around his cock, head thrown back in pleasure and deities almost shouted upon in this hour of your fall from grace. Hot and sweaty were the only words that could describe you, hand numb from massaging your clit, heavily breathing through the burning in your chest as Beel thrusted into you the last few times.
He had been quiet for most of this but as soon as he came he was noisy, muttering your name loudly making sure it echoed off the walls so the house could almost hear you, his semen shooting into you as his hands gripped onto your ass, fingernails deep into your flesh and leaving little red marks that were sure to bruise later. You couldn’t feel any pain through the adrenaline, his cock still sheathed within you and twitching as it continued to pump out his load. You leaned forward, hands resting on his pecs, and placed your forehead on the middle of his chest. Both of you panting as you came down from your highs, sweat dripping down your bodies, silence filling the room in the most loving way.
Beel gave you a breathy chuckle and proceeded to nuzzle his nose into your hair, his hands coming up your back. “That was one of the best workouts I’ve ever done” you laughed in response and looked up at him.
“Me too, we should work out like this alot more” you kissed him and Beel pulled himself out of you, his load dripping out of your pussy and down onto the floor in a satisfying little pool. Both of you were still out of breath and shaking, your fingers roaming each other’s bodies and kisses dotten upon salty skin, little giggles here and there as you tickled parts of eachother.
A few minutes had gone by and you had calmed down enough to try and stand, and stand you did not. As soon as any weight was placed upon your knees they gave way and Beel helped to keep you standing. “Woah careful!” you laughed and stood up straight, knees wobbling a little, like a newborn foal.
“I got this” you kissed his cheek and bent down to grab your clothes from the floor, “I have to go and clean this up and there better be cookies when I get back”
Beel smiled and nodded fervently, jokingly saluting you “Yes ma’am”
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marveloushiddleston · 3 years
Text
The Monster Within
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Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2
Plot: After the last fight against Thanos, the task of the remaining Avengers was done. And a new team of Avengers must now protect the Earth from a new unknown force. Together with SWORD, Wanda, Vision, Doctor Strange, Carol, Bucky, Sam and Loki, who must first prove himself on Midgard as a team and face unknown enemies.
Chapter 2
Loki unexpectedly appears behind the Black Order and seems cheerful, "If I could interject ... if you are going to Earth, you may need a guide. I have a little experience in that terrain."
"If you mean mistake experience.", Thanos explains unimpressed.
"I consider experience to be experience. Almighty Thanos, I ... Loki ... Prince of Asgard ...", Loki looks meaningfully at Thor, "Odinson ... the rightful King of Jotunheim ... God of Mischief ... do hereby swear my undying fidelity."
Thor blinks in confusion and notices a dagger appear in Loki's hand. Loki readies himself, thrusts upward with lightning speed, and attempts to stab Thanos, but is frozen by the power of the Space Stone before the dagger could strike Thanos.
"Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.", Thanos twists the dagger out of Loki's hand with his right hand, then grabs Loki's neck with his glove and lifts him to eye level. Loki struggles and kicks as his throat is compressed. Thanos makes eye contact with Thor before increasing his force on Loki's neck.
Finally Loki gives up the fight against Thanos, "You will ... never ... be a god." Thanos broke Loki's neck and killing him.
"NO!" screams Thor in a muffled voice.
Thanos walks over to Thor and drops Loki's lifeless body in front of Thor.
"No resurrection this time.", Thanos raises his glove, sends purple force fire through the remains of the spaceship and uses the space stone to teleport away with the Black Order.
"No ... Loki ...", Thor is released from his bonds. He crawls to Loki's body and rests his head on Loki's chest, shedding tears for all he has lost. The ship explodes along with Loki and Thor....
Loki wakes up startled and sits up in bed in one swift movement. The haze of sleep is still heavy on him. He rubbed the sleep from his face. The sky was turning yellow-gold, slowly chasing away the dark night as Loki looked to his window. He realized it was still very early in the morning. After returning from the dead, like so many millions in the universe, nightmares had become commonplace for Loki. He wondered if the people who had shared his fate of returning from the dead shared the same torment. But perhaps it was just his punishment, the price only he had to pay to be alive. After a while Loki managed to push aside the tormenting thoughts that occupied him and pulled aside the velvet green bedspread. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the cold black floor, and if he weren't an ice giant, the cold would bother him. Loki let his gaze wander around his room. It may be that this room did not remotely resemble his chambers in Asgard, but even Loki had to admit that living in Avengers Tower was not as bad as he had first feared. Loki turned his gaze down to his left hand and closed his eyes for a moment. As he let the semblance of his appearance, imposed on him by Odin as a newborn, fade, he took a deep breath. Loki, after a moment's hesitation, opened his eyes and studied his blue hand closely, markings running along his hand. He got up from his bed and walked across the room to the dark wooden mirror that stood in the right corner in his room next to the door. His eye color was ruby red instead of the usual green of his eyes and blue markings ran along his face. Markings that showed his origin. The blue markings on his blue skin ran across his neck, his arms, and all over his chest. Loki cautiously walked closer to the mirror. He raised his hand up to the mirror and pressed his flat palm against it. The mirror began to freeze in a few seconds and when it was completely covered with ice, he removed his hand from the mirror surface. Loki waited until the mirror was completely thawed before hiding his ice giant form, his true appearance, again. With a quick flick of his wrist, he made a dark green short-sleeved T-shirt appear over his muscular torso. Loki knew that he would probably not find any kind of peaceful sleep after the nightmare. Training would not hurt him and perhaps will help him against the thoughts that occupied his mind. He remembered that during the tour of the Tower with Thor, he had noticed an internal gym.
Loki snaps his fingers as he enters the studio, thereby turning on the lights with his seidr. He looks around the studio at the various sports equipment. Loki spots a punching bag hanging in the corner and walked across the studio to it. He punched the punching bag, first one punch, then harder, faster, and more often, as if he were repressing memories by doing so. Loki's punches get harder. With one powerful punch, he hits the punching bag and flings it from its moorings across the gym floor.
"How do you feel about fighting with something alive.", Loki turns around and saw Bucky standing behind him in the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
"Why are you up so early?", Loki asks as he tries to catch his breath.
"I think the reason that keeps us both from sleeping is one and the same."
"Are you sure you can keep up with me?" asks Loki, smiling.
"With you? All the time."
🐍
Bucky struck unexpectedly as Loki caught Bucky's clenched fist. Bucky and Loki continue to fight. Loki grabs Bucky's right arm and tucks it behind him.
"Who's winning?" asks Sam as he sits down next to Stephan on the bench. Wanda offered him some of the popcorn from the bowl. Sam ate some of the popcorn and watched the fight intently.
"I'll bet on Bucky," Stephan says.
Loki pushes Bucky back. The two continue to fight. Loki punches Bucky in the face, causing him to fall backward. Bucky jumped up before sweeping his leg under Loki's legs, causing Loki to lose his balance. Bucky tried to kick Loki, who was on the ground, but he rolled out from under him and got up behind Bucky in a quick leap. Loki punched him in the back, sending him stumbling forward.
"I'm Team Loki." said Wanda, continuing to eat popcorn.
"Alright, I'm on Loki's team too.", Sam explains, leaning back as he watches the fight.
"Vis?" asks Wanda, the hitherto silent Vision.
"Although I don't really participate in this sort of thing, I have to disagree with you, Wanda. Bucky clearly seems to have the advantage," Vision states matter-of-factly. Bucky lands a kick to Loki's side. Punches went back and forth between the two.
"What does the losing team have to do?" asks Stephen, crossing his arms in front of his chest."
"Take over the cleaning schedule for two weeks," Wanda says without taking her eyes off the fight.
"Sounds fair to me. Deal.", Stephan agrees. Bucky's foot connects with Loki's face, nearly dropping him to the floor. Loki's hands twisted Barnes' wrists and arms, keeping him from moving for a moment. With a kick to the back, Bucky gets Loki to loosen his grip and is able to break free.
"Since when they do that?" asked Carol, confused, as she joined them in the gym. Sam looked at his watch.
"About an hour and a half now."
"And neither of you are intervening? ", Danvers asked.
"Nope." said Sam, Wanda and Stephen in unison, only Vision doesn't answer as he continues to watch the fight intently. Bucky tries to hit Loki's head with his metal arm, but Loki ducks and kicks Barnes in the right side, this made him stagger back a little. Unexpectedly, an orange protonblast hit the two during their fight, knocking them off their feet and sending Loki and Bucky backwards across the studio onto their backs. Loki strained to lift his head to see what happened and looked in the direction from where the protonblast was shot. Carol smiled triumphantly at the two as her fists returned to normal.
"Now if you're done with your...little comparison. We have a mission.", Danvers explained. She took some of popcorn from Wanda before walking out of the room.
"So no team is the winner." declared Sam, disappointed. He stood up and walked behind Carol.
"According to my calculations, we'll have plenty of that to watch," Vision explained matter-of-factly. As Vision left the room with Wanda and Stephan. Loki and Bucky, meanwhile, still didn't get up from the floor.
A/N: My tag list is open, post in the comments if you want in it. And please also write me in the comments what you think of the chapter!
Tag-List: @silvers-hero-vault
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nike-shawn · 3 years
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Vampire Shawn Prt 2
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Here’s part two! It kind of fills in a lot of gaps, but be prepared for a ton of fluff and protective Shawn next part! Send in any ideas you have for this series!! I’ll try and have it done by Halloween 👻 🎃
You’ve been sitting on your couch across from Shawn who’s perched at the end of your coffee table, his long, gangly legs awkwardly bent in front of him. You can tell that time is passing by the waning daylight outside, but you can’t quite become conscious enough to do anything about those long stretches of minutes sprinting by you.
You keep grazing your fingers over the bite mark.
Shawn is definitely not okay, either. He looks sad and guilty, like a puppy that just peed on the carpet. Right now, his hands are cupped over his cheeks and his elbows are resting on his knees. You absentmindedly glance up at him.
“So,” you ask, your voice raspy from disuse, “what does this mean? Am I a vampire now?”
Shawn lets out something like a laugh, snorting through his nose. “No. The whole world would be vampires if that was the case.”
“Okay,” you say with a hint of annoyance, “then why am I different? Why are you freaking out? Have you never done this before?”
Shawn removes his head from his hands and wearily meets her gaze. “I’ve been... like this,” he gestures at himself, “for ten years. Was turned by some dying vampire in the woods behind my house. When we start to feel ourselves growing weak, there’s something biologically that forces us to create another one of us. To preserve the population, I guess.”
“So you can die? I thought you lived forever.”
“We can die if another vampire kills us. Like, they have to stab you through the heart and do this stupid little encantation and...” he trails off. “It’s not common. There aren’t a ton of reasons why anyone would wanna kill another vampire, but I guess the guy who turned me got himself in a bit of trouble. I was just there at the wrong time.”
You hum your understanding. Shawn searches your eyes for something, and he must’ve found it because he continues on with a bit more zeal than before. He says, “I’m very young by vampire standards. Ten years is a drop in the bucket for us. Most of the time, we find someone to spend the rest of our days with around one hundred years old or so, which is still pretty young. But I guess I just got lucky because... um.” He gets embarrassed here, refusing to meet your eyes. “Because when I bit you, there was this feeling of contentment and happiness and like... security? I guess. And usually, that coupled with bite marks that scar instead of instantly disappear means you’re my person.”
You start to feel chills creep up your spine. “I’m your person? What does that mean?”
Shawn stands and starts to pace. He looks incredibly out of place in your minuscule apartment, looking just too tall and too handsome for the shabby furniture and peeling wallpaper that surrounds him. He’s nervous. So, so nervous, in fact, that you start to feel sick yourself, that anxiety that you only feel before a test or performance creeping into your chest and refusing to budge. Shawn, still pacing, answers you with visible reluctance. “Since we live so long, any semblance of a relationship with any human just ends in heartbreak and depression. So, evolutionarily, we developed these soulmates. People who our hearts kind of match with. And I guess you’re.... you’re mine.”
You try not to get too caught up in the basics, instead pushing him further into the specific, important implications this has on your life. “So I live forever then? Because then you won’t have to lose me.”
“Right.”
“And I’m just expected to stay with you for the rest of my life?”
“Rest of our lives,” he specifies. “But yes.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Shawn laughs for real this time. You scrunch up your face in disgust at his suddenly cocky attitude. He recovers and says that “you won’t be able to be with anyone else. For some reason, when you were born, our hearts aligned. Anyone else just won’t do it for you. It’s painful to be away from me.”
“God, you’re so full of yourself,” you scoff.
“No, I’m not. I’m telling you the facts. If you try to move on without me, you will actually be in physical pain.”
As he says that, you feel a slight pull towards his body. Your mind starts to consider forcing yourself away from Shawn, to show him just how much of a jackass he’s being, but even the thought makes this electricity thrum through your veins and take over your every thought, saying get closer, don’t leave.
It’s then that you start to feel scared. “You can’t just make me do this,” you say, your heart beating out of your chest. “I don’t want to live forever. I don’t want to watch all of my family members and friends die.” You start to tear up. “I wanted to get married and have kids and...” you trail off, letting the tears run off of your face.
Shawn watches you sadly. You feel trapped. The walls around you seem to be closing in, forcing you into a life you didn’t want to live with a boy you barely knew existed. The limited knowledge you have about his lifestyle is enough to force you out of complete denial and into some kind of mourning, a loss of an innocence you didn’t know you had, a complete disregard for everything you supernatural. And now you must reckon with what you brushed off as fairytale in the most personal, most direct way.
And the only person who knows any possible way to get you out of this overwhelming pit is the one who threw you in it.
You look up at him. He’s no longer nervously pacing, but just looking at you with so much sadness that you feel almost worse than before. He obviously feels terrible for putting you in this position. He didn’t mean to do this to you— he was just trying to eat. And now you two are bonded for the rest of your lives... however long that may be.
“Do you want me to help you out?” Shawn asks tentatively. He creeps forward one step at a time, careful not to invade your space. “I think there’s this thing you can do to your soulmate, like a kind of energy transfer? I know you’re in a tough... a tough spot, right now, so I can give you some of my positive thoughts?” At your silence, he dejectedly looks to the floor. “Or I can just help you sleep. Maybe you just need some rest.”
You nod and accept that offer, happy to have a solution that pushes everything to the future. You can deal with this when you wake up.
Shawn softly smiles at you and asks, “where’s your bedroom?” You lead him down the hall and push open the door to the bedroom you thankfully just cleaned (not that you should be worrying about that— guess he’ll eventually see your less than satisfactory cleaning habits if he is supposed to spend the rest of his days in your presence). You sit on the side of your bed with your legs hanging over the side, waiting for him to say something, do something to make you drift off.
But he just stands there.
“Are you gonna help me fall asleep?” You ask impatiently.
“I... uh. I have to be touching you.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I could probably just hold your hand but it may take a bit that way. I don’t know, um, but if you’re comfortable with it—”
“It’s fine, Shawn,” you say tiredly, crawling across the mattress and burrowing under the blankets. “Just help me forget about his, okay?”
He nods and looks grateful for your permission as he kicks off his shoes and finds himself laying beside you. He puts a careful hand on your hip, as if to ease into it, before gently easing you onto your side and molding his front to your back. Immediately you feel warm and comforted and like you just came home after a long day, like you’ve had all this tension building and building and you can finally let it go. Your eyes start to droop and Shawn loses the stiffness in his position. You can feel his breathing start to even out.
And you drift off to sleep with the smell of his cologne tickling your nose.
🖤🖤🖤🖤
It’s morning when you wake up again.
The sunlight is weak and new, so you guess it’s around seven in the morning. The rays of light drift over your bedroom in a way that makes it look magical, and you’ve never seen it quite like this. You wonder if it’s maybe because you’ve become attune to the other types of magic in this world and, suddenly, you’ve started to see it everywhere.
Shawn’s still in his position behind you, his hand having migrated underneath your shirt and laying flat against your stomach. Normally you’d feel self conscious or repulsed by the intimacy of it, but there’s a security in knowing that no matter what you do, your soulmate is attached to you for life. No need to feel self conscious when the handsome boy spooning you physically has no choice but to love you.
Love you. What an odd concept. Will you love Shawn? Will he love you? Unavoidable conciliation and love are extremely different things. Do the two eventually coincide with time? Is it possible for you not to love him with this magical little romance bond you have?
You sit up to force your brain to stop overthinking, trying to give it something else to focus on. Your eyes narrow in on the phone screen that just lit up on the floor. It isn’t yours— the screen reads “Nathaniel” with no last name and no contact picture.
You shake Shawn’s shoulder. He wakes up quickly, almost like he was never fully asleep. “Hm?” He murmurs.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
He looks over to where you’re staring and makes his way over to it, his knees cracking with the movement. He squints at the screen for a moment before sliding his finger across and walking out of the room. Before he closes the door you hear him greet the caller with a quiet “hey, man.”
So you start to go about your morning as usual, as if you hadn’t been made immortal and given a super hot vampire boyfriend to have and to hold for the rest of your lives. Routine is essential. As you brush your teeth and put on the music you always do in the morning, you slowly start to feel back to your old self, back to the girl who assumed she’d retire at 65 and die by 90. The girl who thought she’d get married by 30 and have kids not long after. The girl who didn’t know about stupid, handsome vampires.
Time moves by quickly and soon you’re debating whether to go to class or not. Is it all pointless, now? Do you still need a degree if you’re gonna stay 21 forever? What happens when you’ve worked somewhere for 15 years and haven’t aged at all?
Your pondering all these questions when Shawn opens the door and smiles at you before slipping his phone in his sweatpants pocket. “Hey, good morning,” he says politely. “Sorry about that.”
“Who was it?” you ask, pretending not to be too interested.
“Nathaniel. You’ll meet him soon. He’s one of my friends, lives at the house.”
“The house? Is that a code for something?”
“No, no. It’s just a place for new vampires to go, to get started. They give you a place to live, a couple pointers, and then you’re sent back out into the world. But they keep tabs on us for the rest of our lives, I think. I don’t know. Maybe there’s some kind of cut-off age.” Shawn shrugs. “Either way, you’ve gotta head over there within the next hour. You’re not technically a vampire, but he wants us to meet with him, clear a few things up.”
You lick your lips and decide that you’re definitely skipping class. You tell him, “if you’re going I’ll go.”
That seems to make him happy. He squeezes your hip as he passes by you, picking up his flannel off of your floor. “Okay then, that was easy enough,” he says with a lift in his voice you hadn’t otherwise heard before.
The two of you start to walk from your apartment to the place where Shawn parked just a block or so away. It’s a nice fall morning and there’s only a slight chill in the air.
You’re in comfortable silence when you see the spot where Shawn stopped the first time you met him, saying he heard an animal who was hurt. The image of him doing that, of him standing in the leaves and dirt with his head peeking into the woods, seems so foreign and far away from the boy you have right beside you. That Shawn was kind, sure, but mysterious and with a hint of darkness lurking beneath his skin. This one is glowing and so beautiful and genuinely happy to be with you. Whether it’s the new soulmate status or just your blossoming realization of his charming personality, you walk a bit closer to him, bumping your shoulder to his bicep every once in a while.
You and Shawn reach his car and he comes around to open your side. You blush. “Thank you,” you say.
“It’s no problem,” he replies casually. He makes his way to the drivers seat and blasts the heat for you. The leather of his seats are cold and worn but you’re slightly distracted by the way his hand reaches out and briefly touches your thigh. It’s almost like he forgot that you had only just met, because as soon as he meets the fabric of your jeans, he jolts away like it was hot.
But you can’t really ignore the way the smallest of touches sent butterflies through your whole body.
Shawn explains to you that when you enter the house, there will be young, inexperienced vampires crowding you, hungry for anything they see. You tense. He seems to recognize your apprehension and hurries to explain, “they won’t actually bite you though. They can’t. That’s why your bite marks will never go away— vampires will know that you’re mine.” At the phrase, you see him blush. “And they can’t fuck with you then. It’s illegal to bite someone else’s mate.”
“What does it mean if it’s illegal? Is there some like,” you wave your hands around to illustrate a grand building, “higher court of vampires, or something? Is there vampire jail?”
Shawn doesn’t take your questions as lightly as you intended. “No, Y/N. If you fuck up, they just kill you.”
You wish you would melt away right there. “Oh.”
“There’s an overpopulation of vampires as it is. We don’t have any real predators and we live forever. Even accidents like car crashes or freak situations can’t kill us— we heal insanely fast. So, if it’s decided that you ignored the rules and endangered a rule-abiding vampire, you’re done. Cut.”
“Wow. That’s harsh.”
Shawn’s signature easy-going nature returns as he laughs a bit. “Yeah, really harsh. But it makes it safer for you, so. I don’t really mind.”
His sudden protectiveness makes a ball of warmth spread from your chest outwards to all parts of your chilly body.
Maybe being stuck with him forever wouldn’t be so bad after all.
What did you think? I really love any and all feedback from you guys!!
There should only be one or two parts after this, but send in any of your ideas for vamp Shawn. also send in any requests for blurbs or longer fics like this one!
Part Three
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mewmewmemint · 4 years
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NejiTen Month 2020 - Belated Day 3 (Part II)
Legends/Myths
I decided to divide this prompt up because it was just too much for one post. You can find part one through the #The Fated Swords of the King below. So here is part two of Chapter 1:
The Fated Sword of the King
Rated T for Violence
Chapter One - Part II
She awoke to the same darkness surrounding her. Was it the same day or the next night? She didn’t know. 
Tenten pushed through her aches and rolled to her side. Lee slept close beside her, his face stained with tears and dirt. She felt a chill settle through her body for the first time. The frost on the ground reminded her they couldn't stop here. She shook her companion gently. Her body too weary to put much force into it. After a few seconds, dark lashes fluttered open. Tenten fought a sob back. Her eyes too dry to release any more tears. 
“Lee,” She whispered. His eyes looked around in a panic. He sat up fast. Tenten’s hands steadied his shoulders until his eyes met her. His dark ones were wide. She could only offer him a light squeeze to the shoulder, all other reassurance void from her body.  But his eyes soon drooped low. His body slumped into a nearby tree. 
“Lee,” She repeated. She pulled him back up. “We can’t stay here. I don’t know how long we were asleep. We need to keep going, or they will find us.”
Lee’s face scrunched up in sorrow. Yet he still nodded in agreement. 
“Right,” He croaked out finally.
Tenten forced her legs up, and she pushed passed the pain. Lee soon joined her. 
Slowly the pair began walking. Tenten rubbed her hands together. Hoping she could find some kind of warmth still left in them. At her movements, Lee stopped beside her. 
“Lee?” She questioned. But his only answer was to crouch down again to the ground. The bag from their home placed on the ground. He opened it, careful not to drop her coin purse out. He dug to the bottom and pulled out two thick cloaks. 
“That’s all I could grab, along with your money and some blankets,” Lee said apologetically. One cloak held out in an outstretched hand towards her. 
But that was more than enough to warm a little part of her heart. 
Her cold fingers held Lee’s and the cloak tight. She paused to catch his eyes. 
“Thank you, Lee,” She said. Her thanks for more than just the cloak. 
After the moment, Tenten was quick to wrap her body up in the cloak. The fur lining felt divine over her bare arms and neck. The wool trapped the growing heat from her body. She basked in the warmth. 
“We should keep going,” Lee reminded. And she set their pace once again. 
They headed the only direction they could, straight away from their home. 
After a few hours of walking, the sky began to lighten. The pairs’ steps continued steadily through the frosted leaves and brush. Both listen intently to their surroundings. They searched for any sign of anything that wasn’t a bird or small creatures. 
Then Tenten heard it. A sound that stuck out. 
She stopped and silently grabbed her friend’s arm. She pointed to the direction of the sound. 
The sound of fast horse feet clopping through leaves met the pair. Tenten searched around for a place to hide. She knew they couldn’t outrun a horse. 
Nearby she spotted a low hanging spruce. Its branches weight down to the ground by the crystallized frost along its needles. Tenten pulled Lee underneath. She was thankful for the late coming snow this winter. They laid on their stomachs close to the ground. Both hoped their brown cloaks would provide them with some semblance of camouflage. 
The horse grew louder as they waited. Tenten’s heart sped up to match the pace of its hooves. Her breath quickened. She knew she shouldn’t, but Tenten found herself squeezing her eyes shut tight. She prayed to her deities for protection. 
Lee’s hand reached for hers. His anxiety shown through his firm grip. 
There was only one horse and, most likely, only one rider. The sound of the horse closed in on them. Tenten forced herself to hold her breath. 
And then the horse whinnied as its rider halted his gallop into a stop. Tenten tightened her lips tight. She refused to make a single sound. Then those damned boots hit the ground. The rider dismounted his horse. 
Tenten opened her eyes. She looked up to see a shadow through the evergreen. Her grip on Lee’s hand hurt. Her face reddenee with effort. The pressure breathe building.
The shadow walked past their tree. He paused. His shadowed body twisted back and forth, searching. Then the shadow made its way back to his horse. Another pause, This one was longer than the last. Tenten head began to feel light headed.
Tenten was first to sit up. 
The sound of the rider remounting a saddle met their ears. The horse entered a slow trot before going into a full gallop. The sound of the horse’s clomps disappeared with its rider.
Tenten released a loud gush of hair from her mouth. But pair laid there motionless. Too afraid to move too soon. Too fearful of somehow drawing back the horse and its rider. Their hands relaxed, leaving behind a sore ached and clammy sweat. 
“Lee-” Her words were interrupted by a quick hand from behind. A scream tried to escape as she was pulled back into a hard chest. Lee’s eyes widened at her sudden capture, but he sat up frozen. She squirmed against the firm grip. A second arm wrapped quickly around her struggling arms and torso. 
“Be quiet,” A whispered command entered her ear. The breath hot on her. She began to kick violently. But Lee was quick to stop her legs from thrashing much to her horror. But as she stilled with shock, she heard several more horses pounding close. At her stillness, the man’s grip loosed, but he kept his grip firm over her mouth. 
The set of horses thankfully didn’t stop. They charged ahead, passing their hiding spot under the tree. The trio let another moment pass. The hand on her mouth grew hot with its prolonged contact.
“Ow!” The man hissed when she sunk her teeth hard into his fingers. His surprise gave her the chance to escape her capture’s grasp. She raced out from under the tree, followed by Lee. The second man came a moment after nursing his hand. “Shit! What the hell are you? Some kind of rabid dog!”
“Stay away from us!” Tenten shouted. She was quick to grab a shape broken branch. The sharp point potentially created but one of the many passing horses. She held it up towards the man. Her body placed between him and her friend. She was backing them up to create some distance and the armed man.
“Tenten, wait-” Lee began from behind her. But his words were interrupted by the other male figure. 
He was quick to draw his blade. 
“Are you threatening me?” The man asked. Pale lavender eyes glared at her. The man was handsome behind his glare. His jaw was a strong square with dark hair framing his pale features. The lines in his scowl accentuated by the shadows his hair created along the sides of his face. He lifted his swords towards her and her stick. 
“Tenten, wait!” Lee called. His dark eyes ignored the newcomer for her brown ones. “I don’t think this man is a threat. He saved us.” 
Tenten swallowed hard. She readied herself. The tip of his sword met the point of her stick. Within an short moment, he was able to knock the tip of her stick to the ground. The sharp point cut off by steel. On instinct alone, Tenten raised his stick again. This time readied to strike.
But before she could land a blow with the awkwardly shaped branch in her grasp, the man blocked and parried her next attack. She found herself trying to steady herself with a wide stance. She prepared for another strike, only for her stick to be stopped once again. But this time by a firm hand. Lee stood in between the pair. Her stick in his one hand and his arm raised to catch the sword's strike. The stranger halted his sword a few inches from Lee’s raised forearm. 
“Lee, move!” Tenten yelled. But he shook his head no. 
“Tenten, stop. Look at him. He is not one of those soldiers.” Lee said. 
“Who are you?” She asked. She eyed his sword still held in a taut position. 
Tenten’s eyes narrowed to the stranger. His cloak was different from the soldier’s red ones draped over armor. His was a dark rich purple. His clothes beneath were pale and void of armor.
She met the stranger’s eyes. The grip on her make-shift weapon loosened. Lee took the opportunity to pull it out of her hands. She ignored the warm blood that, for the second time that night, coated her hands. 
“My name doesn’t matter.” He answered much to Tenten’s frustration. 
Lee sighed at the pairs’ stubbornness. He turned, fully facing the other man. He ignored the sword’s point at front of his chest. 
“I would like to apologize on behalf of my friend’s behavior. It was rude of us to question another man running away through the woods.” Lee proclaimed. Tenten removed her glare from the stranger and moved it to her friend. 
The sword slowly lowered, and the man returned it to its sheath.
“I would also like to thank you for your help,” Lee said into a bow. His head stayed low, “If you hadn’t stopped us from leaving our cover, we would have been caught for sure.”
“You’re tracks are too obvious. I was able to follow them all the way from Konoha town.” The man criticized. 
Tenten shared a concerned look with Lee. She looked back towards the direction they had come from. Several piles of leaves trailed their path.
“The only reason you’ve made it this far was probably because of the dark. But if you continue on this way during daylight hours, you are sure to get caught.” He continued. 
Tenten looked to her feet. Her laced boots half-buried in dried leaves, and her long skirt trailed to the ground. A movement caught her attention when the man reached under the tree. He pulled out an unfamiliar sac, most likely his own. He turned away from them. He made his path west; his feet light on the leaves. With each step, he lifted his feet high enough to avoid dragging the leaves into along the way. 
“Wait!”
Tenten didn’t expect it. The word left her lips before she could stop them. The man half-turned to her. Only one pale eye visible on the side of his head. 
“Please, let us go with you,” she said hesitantly. The softness in her voice angered herself. She rushed on to elaborate. “I mean just for a little while. Just until we can learn to cover our path like you.”
While she waited for an answer, she counted his breath. Each one evenly spaced. With the fourth exhale, he slowly closed his eyes. The stranger turned away and continued walking. 
Tenten stared dumbfounded. 
“Well, he didn’t refuse,” Lee said, giving her a shrug and small smile. He was the first to follow. Lee adjusted his gait and mimicked the other man's movements. And soon after, Tenten followed suit. 
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in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
Sappy 3x22 reunion feels for @supercalime, who prompted “malec after the reunion in Edom and before the golden sheet scene” 
read on ao3 [Explicit]
There’s a brief moment, when it’s all over, when Magnus’ portal has closed in a shower of blue sparks, when the scorching heat of Edom is replaced by the familiar slightly-too-cool of the Institute, that they all just stand there. None of them make a sound, save for the occasional gasp and rustle of fabric as their chests still heave from exertion, unwilling to break the silence in case this all turns out to be a cruel dream.
If it is a dream, Alec decides, he’s more than content to never wake up.
He can’t take his eyes off Magnus. It starts out as relief, surging through him in waves as he drinks in the sight of his fiancé (his fiancé!) standing only a few feet away, potent enough that the small part of him that’s been whispering defeatedly in the back of his mind the past few days is finally, blissfully silent. But underneath there’s a something else stirring, something warm that’s been burning from the moment he’d held Magnus in his arms down in Edom. Since he’d got to touch him, even if only for a few moments before reality came crashing ever so inconveniently back in.
And after that… well. Magnus, standing proud against the mother of all demons with more power wrapped in the palm of his hands than Alec has ever seen in his life: that’s an image that is seared right into Alec’s retinas. Lit by Edom’s ever-present fiery glow Magnus had looked striking and dangerous and every bit the king he was born to be. Alec’s pretty sure he’s never going to catch his breath again.
It had sent the flames simmering deep in his gut into a full-blown inferno. Standing here now, close enough to see the tongues of residual magic licking at Magnus’ fingers but too far to touch, is almost unbearable.
His thoughts drift, and he wonders if there’s a way he and Magnus can make a subtle exit in the next few minutes. Then, he catches the way Jace is sneaking looks at Clary and the covert eye contact between Izzy and Simon. It’d be enough to make him laugh, the way all their minds have predictably wandered in the same direction, if he wasn’t incapable of thinking about anything beyond how much he wants. Given the amused expressions on both Lorenzo and Meliorn’s faces none of them are doing a very good job of concealing it – Alec knows he isn’t, with the way he’s abandoned all pretence of not staring at Magnus – but it’s not like anyone can really blame them given the near-death experiences of the past few hours. It’s only a matter of who snaps first.
The distinctive whoosh of a new portal opening shatters the quiet and makes Alec jump.
“As much as I’m enjoying standing silently in the middle of the Institute – and really I am,” Magnus’ voice rings through the space between them, sardonic and leaving no doubt about exactly how far that is from the truth, “I’ve just been reunited with my fiancé and, quite frankly, I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing.”
The smile Magnus sends the group is lofty and dismissive. But as his eyes land on Alec there’s a flash of near-imperceptible tightness, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it shadow gone so quickly that Alec’s not completely sure it’s not just a trick of the light. Instinct tells him to close the distance between them, regardless of their company. To cradle Magnus’ face in his hands so he can scrutinise every expression there and remind him that he doesn’t have to hide anything around Alec.
“So you’ll have to forgive me if we… make ourselves scarce.”
Whatever Alec was planning on doing, Magnus’ words – which take on a frankly indecent tone for all that they’re relatively innocent – successfully scatter it along with any other semblance of coherent thought. Without permission his eyes drop to Magnus’ lips, drawn there by the smirk that overtakes Magnus’ face as he turns his attention fully to Alec. A flush creeps up Alec’s neck that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
“Shall we?” Magnus asks, offering his elbow expectantly and closing that frustrating distance between them while Alec’s brain is still coming back online.
It’s an over the top gesture, quaint in its old-fashionedness, and Alec snorts as he intertwines their arms. He feels so light, giddy with it. With the relief sitting bright inside him, with the fact that he can finally afford to laugh, so easily, when he hasn’t so much as cracked a smile the entire time Magnus has been gone.
Alec has only a moment to catch sight of the suggestive eyebrow wiggle from Izzy – which is hardly fair, considering the blatant bedroom eyes she was giving Simon seconds ago – before he’s being practically dragged through the portal.
“I believe we have some lost time to make up for, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs over the rush of magic as they tumble through, and Alec shivers at the promise evident in the way Magnus’ voice drops to a purr.
Barely making it out of the portal, Alec sees just enough of their surroundings to realise Magnus has deposited them directly into their bedroom in the loft before Magnus is seizing the collar of his jacket and crowding him backwards. His back hits the wall. Alec is about to tease Magnus for being so eager he can’t even make it to the bed, but Magnus is already claiming his lips in a searing kiss. They’re pressed together from chest to toe, so when Magnus slots a knee between Alec’s legs to bring them even closer Alec can’t hold back the whine that’s torn from his throat and quickly muffled by Magnus’ lips. Knees buckling slightly at the onslaught of sensation, Alec grips Magnus’ arms – an action that only serves to make him even more unsteady as Magnus’ muscles shift under his fingers.
Back in the real world, outside the sanctuary of the loft, the world is still spinning. Izzy still needs a full health check in the aftermath of the heavenly fire, Alec still needs to ask Magnus what actually happened with Asmodeus to make Magnus so certain he’s a non-issue, and Jonathan is still out there doing Raziel-knows-what (wreaking havoc most likely). The chaos that is their lives hasn’t conveniently decided to take a breather just because he and Magnus have been reunited.
But right now? Alec can’t bring himself to care. The world could be crumbling and he wouldn’t spare it a thought. Right now, all he can think about is Magnus, consuming his senses with fierce kisses and fervent touches until Alec’s world is reduced to nothing but the two of them.
Admittedly, there is something to be said about the role reversal evident in Magnus being the impatient one. Normally it’s Alec rushing headfirst into everything and Magnus drawing things out with maddening self-restraint – although Alec’s getting increasingly good at wearing him down.
It makes Alec chuckle lowly as Magnus fights to remove Alec’s shirt, breaking their kiss long enough to wrench it up Alec’s torso and practically growling as it catches on the way over his shoulders. Any other day, Magnus would snap his fingers and the offending material would be instantly gone. But Alec can relate all too well to the bone-deep need to touch, to confirm in every possible way that this isn’t just a grief-driven fantasy.
Finally managing to wrestle Alec’s shirt into submission, Magnus tears it over Alec’s head and tosses it somewhere to the side. The motion sparks hint of concern in Alec’s subconscious, triggered by the way that Magnus seems to be teetering on the edge between passion and something else. Something frantic and desperate. It’s gone before Alec can fully process it though, scattered once more by the burning pressure of Magnus’ hands on his bare skin, gliding over the planes of Alec’s chest. Magnus circles his thumb around a nipple, brushing over the hard nub and pressing down. Alec shudders and he can feel Magnus grinning triumphantly into his mouth.
Then Magnus pulls back, reaching between them to join Alec in undoing his shirt, and he’s shaking.
Magnus’ hands tremble, fumbling over the buttons uncontrollably, and it’s something Alec has never seen before. Not from Magnus, who’s always so carefully in control, so composed. Until he’s not.
Alec halts his own efforts and brings a hand to cup Magnus’ cheek.
“Hey,” he whispers, tilting Magnus’ face to coax his gaze upwards, “Look at me.”
He’s not sure how he could have missed the tension when it’s now so obvious in every line of Magnus’ body as his eyes snap up. And there’s that undercurrent of restlessness, something wild in the warlock’s expression just underneath the blazing desire.
It’s fear, Alec realises abruptly, a lingering terror that hasn’t quite had time to be tempered by the relief of the past few hours. Terror that if he stops to breathe this will all be ripped out from beneath him. Terror borne of complete disbelief that it can possibly be over.
It’s the same expression that Alec caught a glimpse of earlier in the Institute, the same fear that’s bleeding into Magnus’ uncharacteristic forwardness. But now it’s stripped bare and Magnus isn’t even trying to hide it. Or – more likely – he is, but is losing the battle against his rapidly-crumbling façade.
It occurs to Alec that a significant part of Magnus, with his penchant for underestimating how much he is loved and how much he is a vital part of the lives of those who love him, might not have believed that anyone was coming for him.
Alec’s heart breaks a little with the raw unguarded desperation in Magnus eyes where they’re locked with his. It’s like Magnus is hanging on by a thread, the agony of the past few days catching up with him and Alec can see him on the precipice of losing what pretence of composure he has left.
“I’m here, Magnus,” he says, aiming for reassuring but missing the mark and ending up closer to pleading (and alright, maybe he isn’t as ok as he’s been trying to pretend), “We’re here.”  
“I know,” Magnus breathes back, but there’s still something frayed in his tone. He sounds exhausted. Defeated. And it might be Alec’s borderline unhealthy need to fix everything talking, but that’s not something he can just let go.
“No, Magnus, listen to me. There is nothing – not in this world, not in Edom, not in any of the countless other dimensions out there – that could keep me away from you.”
“We always find our way back to each other?” Magnus queries, voice light but expression intense as he repeats Alec’s words from so long ago back to him.
Alec pauses for a second, fingers caressing Magnus’ jaw as he makes sure he has his fiancé’s full attention before he speaks, trying to force all the intensity and adoration and fierce certainty swirling inside him into a single word.
“Always.”
He must get at least some of it across. Something deep inside Alec aches at the awe that flits across Magnus’ face, the shock in the subtle parting of Magnus’ lips that – incomprehensibly – surfaces every time Magnus is faced with how much Alec loves him. As though somehow he doesn’t know that a trip to hell doesn’t even scratch the surface of the lengths Alec would go to for him.
Turning his face in Alec’s hand, Magnus presses a kiss to his palm. His eyes slip closed as the tension visibly bleeds from him, and he sags a little where he’s pressed against Alec. The ache intensifies, Alec’s heart clenching at the complete trust Magnus is showing him in allowing himself to be vulnerable like this.
When Magnus’ eyes open again Alec is met with brilliant gold. He leans in and brushes his lips gently against Magnus’, the frantic edge from before mostly dissipated. Their hands touch as they both work on Magnus’ shirt buttons once more and, this time, they’re steady.
The last button slips free and Alec slides his hands up to Magnus’ shoulders to push the shirt down his arms onto the floor. He keeps pushing, gently urging Magnus backwards.
“C’mon,” he pulls back just enough to whisper breathlessly against Magnus mouth, “Bed.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Magnus murmurs, distracted, gaze dropping back to Alec’s lips.
Rolling his eyes, there’s nothing Alec can do but kiss him again properly, swallowing Magnus’ bright laugh, tasting the tentative joy sweet on his lips.
Magnus’ knees hit the foot of the bed and they both tumble onto the golden sheets, trading playful kisses. Magnus looks from their still-clothed lower halves back to Alec, the question obvious. Before he can even fully process, Alec’s nodding. There’s a time for carefully undressing each other, for revelling in the fumble of battling with uncooperative belts and too tight jeans (mainly on Magnus’ part), but Alec’s pretty sure he’ll die if he has to pull away from Magnus for even a second.
Magnus wastes no time obliging, the crackle of electricity and faint scent of ozone intoxicating where it lingers in the air between them – by the angel, Alec hadn’t fully realised how much he’s missed the tell-tale prickle of Magnus’ magic against his skin and that specific shade of blue – and then they’re pressed against each other skin to skin. Alec is struck momentarily dumb, taking in the sight of Magnus splayed across the shimmering bedsheets. The impish gleam in Magnus’ eyes is all the warning he gets before Magnus takes advantage of his brief distraction, flipping them so that he’s straddling Alec.
If Magnus is expecting him to put up a fight he’ll be sorely disappointed, Alec thinks dazedly. Magnus above him, pressing him into the bed, never fails to make Alec practically melt. He’s always craved physical contact from Magnus – a gentle touch to his waist as they manoeuvre around each other in the kitchen, a kiss the second he comes home, a hand carding through his hair when they curl up on the couch – and if he stopped to contemplate it that probably has something to do with the way he so completely denied himself affection of any kind before they met. But this he adores on a whole new level. With Magnus’ weight on him he feels grounded. Safe.
Magnus leans back where he’s perched on top of Alec and raises his hand. In truly predictable form, he waits until the combination of the abrupt lack contact and deliberate motion draw Alec’s focus to exactly where he wants it for maximum impact, and only then does he move to vanish his rings. It’s a familiar, practiced gesture, full of intent that has Alec shivering. Magnus is well aware of that, far too smug in the knowledge of what seeing him use magic in any context (but especially this one) does to Alec and shamelessly taking advantage of that knowledge whenever the opportunity arises. So it visibly catches Magnus by surprise when Alec stops him with a gentle hand before he can complete the movement, propping himself on an elbow to shift so he’s sitting up.
The change of position sends Magnus grinding down into his lap and they both groan.
It derails from there, Alec completely distracted from his original purpose as Magnus surges forwards again to kiss him. Alec bucks up into the tantalising friction as Magnus trails his lips down Alec’s neck, unerringly finding the deflect rune there. He nips lightly at it before soothing the sting with his tongue.
Helpless under Magnus’ ministrations, Alec bares his neck in unselfconscious invitation. An invitation that Magnus is all too happy to take, worrying at the skin until there’s no doubt that Alec will find a mark there later. The careful attention his fiancé is paying to the junction between skin and rune, where dormant electricity lies tightly coiled under the surface, leaves Alec unable to contain the breathy noises escaping him. Magnus hums in response, smug but clearly breathless too, and the vibration makes Alec’s already bruising grip on Magnus’ hips tighten.
It’s not until one of Magnus’ hands – the one not still intertwined with Alec’s – comes up to cup Alec’s neck, the press of rings cool against his feverish skin, that Alec abruptly refocuses.
Reluctantly urging Magnus to sit back, laughing at the warlock’s protesting whine and immediately missing the contact, Alec draws Magnus’ right hand towards him. His fingers find one of the signet rings there, running over the grooves of the engraved B as he considers.
He can feel Magnus gather power, blue sparks dancing over their joined hands as he once again prepares to banish the rings. Alec shakes his head before Magnus gets a chance, and Magnus sends him a quizzical look.
“Let me,” Alec murmurs, voice coming out low and husky.
Alec hears Magnus’ breath catch, briefly mesmerised by the bob of Magnus’ throat as he swallows thickly and nods. His normally slitted pupils are dilated, black swallowing the irises until there’s barely a thin ring of gold peeking out at the edges.
Slipping the ring off Magnus’ finger, Alec places it on the bed next to them and narrows his eyes as it immediately vanishes. Shaking his head as he looks up at Magnus, a picture of innocence, Alec moves on to the next ring – engraved with a swirling M to match the previous one – and removes it too. When he reaches for Magnus’ other hand, he finds Magnus already extending it towards him in offering. Evidently Alec’s not the only one affected by this. An undoubtedly sappy grin overtakes his face and Alec takes the proffered hand as he places the ring on the golden sheets next to him. He huffs a laugh as it too disappears.
If he were to look in Magnus’ jewellery box, Alec suspects that he’d find both rings nestled in their rightful places. With that in mind this should feel ridiculous, a pointless gesture. But it’s intimate in a way that Alec hadn’t quite anticipated, in a way that’s making it difficult to properly draw breath.  
He hesitates, brushing a thumb reverently over the last remaining ring – the only ring on Magnus’ left hand. It’s far less opulent than the others, a simple silver band glinting in the low light. Taking in the way it sits innocuously on Magnus’ finger simultaneously makes a lump form in his throat and happiness rush liquid through his veins. He’s hyperaware of the ring’s twin where its comforting weight rests on his own hand.
The awareness brings forth memories of thousands of wings against unnaturally dark skies, the crash of falling demon towers, the chilling realisation of fighting a losing battle, and – in the midst of all that – Magnus pulling him aside to steal a moment of pure joy. Memories of the weight of a ring on his finger and a promise in his heart, and the feeling of completeness. Completeness that contrasted so wholly with the cold emptiness as Magnus disappeared through the portal moments later, as above the deafening sounds of battle Alec could hear something inside himself shatter beyond repair.
In the days that followed – terrifying, seemingly-endless days filled with nothing but uncertainty and longing – the ring became his anchor. Other than the few minutes spent trying to track Magnus in Edom, Alec hasn’t taken it off for a second since Magnus slid it onto his finger in Alicante. Sometimes it’s been the only thing stopping him from screaming or collapsing out of pure exhaustion. Or both.
But more than that it’s been a tangible reminder while Magnus was gone, a promise not just of love and commitment but that he would get Magnus back, no matter the way everyone else appeared distressingly resigned. A promise that Alec would do quite literally anything if it meant he could hold Magnus in his arms again.
And now he can. He is. And Alec never wants to let him go.
After a moment of consideration, he raises Magnus hand to his lips and gently places a kiss on the cool metal. Gazing up through his lashes (he’s learnt to play coy from the best, after all), the way Magnus softens – eyes crinkling and lips turning up as he watches Alec with utter adoration – makes warmth seep into Alec’s skin and heat him to the core.
The moment lingers, hanging in the air between them as Alec reverently lowers Magnus’ hand from his lips. He leaves the engagement ring where it is; Magnus is predominantly right handed and, even if he wasn’t, the ring wouldn’t really get in the way there.
Confusion touches Magnus’ face for a second before he realises Alec’s intentions, fondness and hunger warring blatantly in his eyes.
Hunger apparently wins, because then Magnus is pouncing and pressing Alec back against the sheets. A startled laugh is punched out of Alec at the eagerness of Magnus’ hands on him, skimming down his ribs. It gets choked off into a groan though, as Magnus trails his fingers over the inside of his thighs before pressing one against his rim, already slick (though whether by magic or just while Alec was otherwise distracted he can’t say for sure). For a few moments Magnus just rubs the tip of his finger there, almost teasing but not quite. Savouring.
It’s only when Alec reaches back to brace a hand on the headboard so he can push back against Magnus’ hand that Magnus finally presses in, one finger then another, never wavering from that unbearably languid pace. Then on the next inward thrust, Magnus presses feather-light against the spot that has Alec crying out.
Scratch that. Magnus is definitely teasing.
Twisting his fingers, Magnus alternates between deliberately avoiding Alec’s prostate and just brushing it, the anticipation and unpredictability of it as much as the sparks of pleasure making Alec jolt and gasp until he’s rocking on Magnus’ fingers with open desperation.
A stifled noise from Magnus prompts Alec to lift his head so he can see his fiancé properly. Magnus meets his gaze, the thin ring of gold still visible around his dilated pupils glinting a smouldering amber. His lips are red, like he’s been biting down hard as he tends to do when he wants to hear Alec but can’t contain his own sounds of pleasure. He looks awestruck. As if he can’t bring himself to look away – as if he can barely believe what’s in front of him.`
“You’re beautiful, my Alexander,” he murmurs, punctuating his words with a curl of his fingers that makes Alec’s vision blur at the edges, “Gorgeous. Stunning. A work of art –”
He breaks off with a low groan, free hand shifting, and Alec realises that Magnus is touching himself, the heel of his palm pressing reflexively against his cock.
It’s too much. Alec’s already wound far too tight without Magnus looking at him like that, getting off just at the sight of Alec spread out in front of him. Alec’s head drops back against the pillows, eyes falling closed and breath stuttering.
Magnus stills his fingers then, a playful admonishment. Alec’s eyes flutter back open, hips thrusting back harder as he looks at Magnus plaintively. Magnus only follows the movement, drawing his fingers out in a torturous slide and smiling wickedly at the whine it pulls from Alec. The effect is dampened somewhat by how thoroughly wrecked Magnus looks, eyes hooded and the tension in his muscles belying the self-control it’s taking for him to hold back.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, repeating Alec’s words from earlier back at him, and Alec is powerless to do anything but obey, gaze locked with Magnus’ as the head of his cock presses against him.
“If that’s all you’ve – ah – got, I may as well get myself off,” Alec snarks when Magnus doesn’t immediately move, instead remaining pressed against his sensitive rim until the urge to flip them both over and just take his pleasure is near-impossible for Alec to resist.
Magnus’ eyes flash with delight. “We have all night, Alexander. Forgive me for wanting to savour the moment.”
Then he’s pushing in, and any further retorts die on Alec’s lips.
He can feel every inch of Magnus inside him, every shift as he slides in magnified by the rush of overwhelming elation. Alec arches, choking on a moan as Magnus slides forwards until he’s fully seated. He flexes his arm where he’s clutching the headboard, partially an uncontrollable response to the exquisite stretch but also because he knows all too well the effect it will have on Magnus. Sure enough, Magnus’ grip on Alec’s thigh goes momentarily slack, eyes glazing over where they trace the line of Alec’s bicep.
Then Magnus seems to gather himself, fingers tightening enough that Alec can feel the bite of Magnus’ ring where it presses into his skin. The sensation sends a thrill of anticipation through him. Deliberately, Magnus pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in one smooth slide, wrenching a groan from deep in his own throat to answer Alec’s sharp gasp at the friction it creates, pace building as Alec rocks back to meet him.
Adjusting his grip, Magnus hikes Alec’s legs up where they’re wrapped around his waist. The movement tilts Alec’s hips, changing the angle just enough that on his next thrust Magnus hits his prostate dead on. Alec tosses his head back in a silent shout as sudden white-hot pleasure steals the breath from his lungs, feeling Magnus’ rhythm falter as Alec clenches around him. Desperate for an anchor, his hands come up to scrabble against Magnus’ back, drawing him close.
“Magnus, there – oh, right there, fuck,” he manages, voice so raw he barely recognises it as his own.
Legs tightening, he digs his heels insistently into Magnus’ lower back, rocking up to chase the feeling and keep Magnus pressed flush against him. Magnus obliges with a breathless moan as Alec’s movements force him deeper, slowing their pace until they’re grinding together, not willing to even separate enough to thrust properly. The constant pressure against Alec’s prostate lights up every nerve in his body until all he can do is clutch at Magnus’ shoulders and let the pleasure overtake him.
He leans up, the distance between them still far too much. Magnus responds by bringing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss and the movement, combined with their slow rocking, traps Alec’s cock against Magnus’ abs. It only takes a few thrusts like that, the perfect angle combined with that friction and the taste of Magnus on his tongue, to bring Alec off with a cry that breaks into a sob as Magnus’ slides a hand between them to stroke him through it.
Balancing on the exquisite edge of overstimulation, Alec murmurs praise as he grinds up to encourage Magnus’ increasingly erratic movements and trembles as each shift only intensifies the aftershocks. By now Magnus is more gasping against Alec’s lips than actually kissing him and if he could go again so quickly Alec would be hard just from the noises Magnus is making. As it is, his cock twitches at the dull pulse of pleasure that shoots through him when Magnus tucks his face into Alec’s neck and tips over the edge with a choked-off moan of Alec’s name. Blue sparks spill from Magnus’ fingers as he comes deep inside Alec, turning the feeling sharp, skittering over his skin and overloading him with the ecstasy of Magnus’ release until he’s writhing against the sheets.  
Running his hands fervently over Magnus’ back and shoulders as they both come down, Alec can feel Magnus shudder just before his arms give out. He all but collapses over Alec with an exaggerated huff that has Alec dissolving into muffled giggles, high on endorphins and the familiar weight of Magnus’ body on his. Magnus glares half-heartedly for a moment, trying and thoroughly failing to contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and then they’re both laughing breathlessly while Magnus musters the energy to shift off Alec so they can manoeuvre themselves into a more comfortable position.
They lie there, an offhanded spell from Magnus cleaning them enough for now, tangled together and catching their breath. Gazing up at Magnus, once he’s regained the presence of mind and coordination to do so, Alec drinks in the way the light reflects off the golden sheets and illuminates Magnus’ face in a soft glow.
His head is resting on Magnus’ chest, jostled by the slight up and down of Magnus’ ragged breathing. Magnus’ heart beats against his cheek, strong and – Alec notes with a hint of smugness – more than a little erratic, but evening out with every passing second. It’s far more comforting than it has any right to be.
Magnus’ arm tightens around him as their eyes meet, and Alec notices that Magnus’ hand has gravitated to rest over his heart. Fingers splayed and hand pressing gently down, it’s like Magnus is subconsciously trying to feel Alec’s heartbeat too, as reassuring to him as his is to Alec. He snuggles further into Magnus’ embrace, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ chest just to feel the brief flutter against his lips.
“I missed you,” he whispers against Magnus’ skin, “More than words can say. You were only gone a few days but every second was agony.”
Alec’s voice breaks a little on ‘gone’ but he pushes past it. Even though he’s said as much earlier, even though bringing it up again risks rupturing the blissful bubble they’ve found themselves in, with his defences completely down he can’t fight the need to make sure Magnus knows in no uncertain terms that Alec would have sooner died than stopped searching for a way to get him back.
Magnus, thankfully, just hums pensively in response, remaining lax next to him.
“I missed you too. There I was stuck in Edom for the foreseeable future, Lilith on my doorstep, but all I could think about was you.”
He chuckles self-deprecatingly but it does nothing to offset the vulnerability in his tone. His free hand shifts, searching.
Alec meets him halfway, intertwining their fingers.  
“The world could have been falling out from underneath us and finding you would have still been my first priority. You know that, right?”
It’s only because he’s pressed as close as he is that he’s privy to Magnus’ sharp intake of breath – feeling more than hearing it in the abrupt rise of Magnus’ chest beneath him. But Magnus’ speechlessness is obvious anyway in the resounding silence that follows. Alec toys with Magnus’ fingers, twisting his ring absentmindedly.
“I love you so much, Alexander,” Magnus finally breathes, voice rough, and Alec squeezes his hand.
“Love you more.”
The quip startles a splutter of laughter from Magnus.
“Not possible,” he shoots back, teasing and heartfelt all at once. Alec buries his grin in Magnus’ chest.
Basking in each other’s presence, they lapse into contented silence and before long Alec catches himself dozing. Wrapped in Magnus’ arms, finally home, he lets himself be lulled by the rhythm of Magnus’ gradually-deepening breaths until he drifts off. And, for the first time in days, he sleeps peacefully, his fiancé’s heartbeat steady in his ear.
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The World Is On Fire (and So Am I)
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There are times in your life where you experience things that you know will become a memory that lasts a lifetime. Several of those moments have been pleasant in my experience. A shared moment with a friend where you realized you both inched your bond towards something more. Various parties thrown where you watched the weeks worth of thought, time, and effort payoff in a night that will be talked about for ages. A concert where the band’s connection with the crowd transcends the usual “musician/ audience” role play, and a melding of minds makes the show something unforgettable. This year has been one most won’t soon forget, but for all of the wrong reasons. 
“FUCK 2020!!” A sentiment uttered by many, and one I’ve said more than my share. The reality... 2020 isn’t the problem. The issues that have arisen have occurred due to years of neglect. The change of a calendar isn’t going to bring back the lives of hundreds of people of color who have died at the hands of those pledged to “protect and serve”. The turn of a year won’t suddenly erase a pandemic that has killed a half a million people worldwide, and shows no sign of slowing it’s destruction on any semblance of normalcy we’re yearning for. And, on a personal level, 2021 brings no promise that my body will stop feeling as though it’s trying to burn from the inside-out. Instead of leaning hard into this notion that the turn of the next 365 will somehow cure our sorrows, why don’t we take some responsibility for the moment and do our part today to ensure tomorrow is aimed in a direction of correction and healing?
I’m going to start by reflecting inward. The last time I touched this blog was nearly a year ago. I wrote about the horrible pain I’m experiencing on a daily basis. My asshole feels like Satan decided to relocate Hell inside of it. I truly feel as though like I’m on fire from the inside out. Today marks the 2 year anniversary of this pain that has completely upended up my life. Earlier this week, I had my 4th procedure in hopes of finding some reprieve from this pain and, for 2 days, I thought maybe I was healed to a level I could cope with. The pain had largely subsided... and then yesterday happened. I didn’t really see any fireworks on the 4th, but I felt them. My body ignited from beyond my balloon knot and the pain has lingered to this very moment. I spent a good portion of the day on my couch, partially in hopes of reprieve, but mostly in wallowing over another disappointment. I peeled myself off of the couch and decided to splatter a few more words in hopes that I could inspire those who give the blog a gander, but also to help myself out of a seemingly hopeless situation. 
8 minutes and 46 seconds. My 2 years of asshole-aflame don’t hold a candle to the suffering the neglect, hurt, and tyranny 5 dickheads wearing a badge made to an entire race in our country. In those near-9 minutes, we all witnessed a man completely prone and in constraints, cry out for his mother as he suffocated in cold murder. Immediate responses from cop-defenders shot out with “All Lives Matter”, “Blue Lives Matter”, and “not all cops are bad people”... Here’s the problem with all of those statements, this isn’t a one-off occurrence. This isn’t a singular police officer who went rogue. In this very instance, 4 other cops watched, with hands in pocket, as this man, George Floyd, had his life taken from him. The uprising that came in the wake of this atrocity was a natural response to the oppression of a culture long held down by those in authority. Peaceful protests over the mistreatment of African Americans have existed for years, each met with hostility in the way of thinly veiled racism and clearly falling upon deaf ears, all while more instances of death at the hands of oppressors pile up. Breonna Taylor, a 26 year old black woman, was shot in her sleep when three police officers, in plain clothes mind you, broke into her home with a no-knock warrant... erroneously... AS THEY WERE IN THE WRONG HOUSE. In both of these instances (two of hundreds, I must add), the police were not arrested until met with the pressure of the public in the form of protesting. Sure, some protests have been met with opportunists. Buildings have been burned. Statues brought down by force (and I stand that these statues dedicated to slave-owning southern leaders should have never been erected in the first place), but PEOPLE ARE DYING AT THE HANDS OF THOSE IN AUTHORITY. And yet, I hear more about these buildings and statues from our “leader” on down to people I come in contact with, than the human lives taken. White privilege at its finest, folks. I’d love to hear an “All Lives Matter”-crier, shout “All Cancer Matters” at a breast cancer awareness event to experience the absolute ignorance of that statement. Everyone matters, you dumb fucks, but there are times that call attention to a specific group... this isn’t your time. “Blue Lives Matter!!”.. you aren’t born blue.. you choose that life. You don’t choose to be a person of color. Let’s take a fucking second to recognize that there is a disparity in this world in how we are treated and figure out how we can correct our ways. 
So that brings us to the last bit of “2020″, the year is “cursed and doomed”. COVID-19, aka coronavirus. A pandemic that was written off as nothing more to be worried about than a flu by our “genius” leader. Trump compared this pandemic to the number of lives that are taken yearly by the common flu and thus created the great divide in America. Half of our country decided that everything was cool.. our president said “we’re good”. The other half, listening to the CDC, and other health experts, whose literal job is to track and control the spread and containment of disease, followed advice from those who have dedicated their life to the education of well-being. Trump slowly had to cater to those health experts when it became very clear this was something far more serious than a “flu”, and we were ordered to stay indoors. People went into bat-shit-crazy-survival mode. Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and canned goods became the new gold as the masses flocked to stores in droves to ensure their asses were wiped, hands were.. sanitized.. and goods had a shelf life of several months. Hospital ICUs were strained as the number of people needing to be treated met new highs. We were asked to wear masks in public and keep 6 feet away from those we don’t live with. And the response from a wide number of Trump’s supporters.. “THIS IS CRAZY.. YOU’RE INFRINGING ON MY FREEDOMS.. THE ECONOMY!!!!”. As stated earlier in this blog.. human lives > businesses and the economy. Due to this outcry, backed by the moron-in-chief and his plethora of tweets (seriously.. what job have you ever had where you can sit around and call people names through social media all day long??.. certainly not mine..), the shelter-in-place orders were lifted, just as we were starting to see a leveling out in the number of cases our country was dealing with. And Americans, being as stubborn as they’ve proven to be over the years, went out en masse. With this, the number of cases has risen to absurd levels. The president, always one to find a way to suck his own cock, daily gives praise to this being accredited to the great testing he has imposed. Even taking it so far as to say we might be testing “too well” and that if we just test less.. the numbers will go down.... I’ll take a minute to let the absurdity of that statement, which he has doubled down on, sink in. I work in health care. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a farce. This isn’t the flu. This isn’t a conspiracy. 533,000+ deaths isn’t a joke. Wear a fucking mask. Stop going out for the sake of killing boredom. Start thinking and do your part. Your parents, grandparents, and neighbors count on it.
So there you have it. 2020 hasn’t been kind but, as I’ve stated, this isn’t the problem of a singular year. This is years of neglect and a current state of ignorance. January 1st will come and go. It changes nothing. The only thing that will cure the issues we’re facing is recognizing there is indeed an issue and taking action to improve our current state. Nothing is solved if we don’t accept reality and inflect on how we can do our part to make a change. Stating “Make America Great Again” is a stupid way of saying we’ll revert to a past laced in hatred. Instead of looking over our shoulder the days that we’ve progressed from, let’s focus on a future that provides equality for all. Instead of crying about our freedoms being removed over having to stay indoors or wear a mask, let’s think about those we might be saving by stopping the spread of disease. As for my butthole.. I got off the couch to write this, all while in a fair amount of pain. I can reflect on a time I didn’t feel this, or I can accept what this is and do my part to seek improvemnt. I opt for the latter.
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Winter and Weiss in concern to Whitley.
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Over the last few days there has been a surge in Winter Schnee appreciation posts with regard to her sister, Weiss, and obv on the back of that there has been many negative comments about the Schneesters in regard to their younger sibling, Whitley. 
First, I wish to state.
In no way is Whitley a ‘bad guy’, but rather a young boy being a bit of a brat due to the rhetoric drummed into his head by their Father at their place in the world and Jacques Schnee’s world view in general. Coupling this with the neglect of his Mother. Of course the young man is going to be sour. 
And he is no different from the Weiss we first met back in Vol 1, who was also a bit of a brat. 
Whitley has so much potential to change and grow due to his tender age.
However, laying the blame at Winter’s and Weiss feet is hardly fair. 
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I would like to direct you to @rwby-analysis​ “People forget..” post. and I would suggest reading it as they make very good points that I would just end up repeating here.
With concern to the perceived abandonment of Whitley by his older siblings, many factors have to be kept in mind.
1) AGE!
Winter is 23 at the start of Vol 1, recently graduated from Atlas as graduation is at 21/21.
Weiss is 17 at the start of vol 1, only recently left the safety of the Schnee mansion and all of its trappings, ie luxury and awful parents, and the comfort of Klein.
Whitley (and this is a huge guess) could be anywhere from 12 to as old as 14 by the time we finally meet him. Inclined to believe 14 due to his height compared to Weiss in heels. 
That puts nearly a decade between Winter and Whitley, and this is important.
Winter, leaving to attend Atlas at 17, meaning Whitley was 8. She was raised in a country and a household that prized themselves on active suppression of and not showing emotion, whilst suffering years of emotional abuse and neglect.
Winter more than likely began attendance at Atlas with a very limited skillset, ie fighting skill, figuring out the hereditary semblance and summoning by herself. 
 And that limited skill set is hardly something she could pass down to a 8 year old who had shown no skill or aptitude, however, it is something that she could pass down to a 12 year old sister who HAD shown aptitude. Passing that knowledge onto Whitley when he got older or showed aptitude for it would fall on both sisters, but mainly Weiss who was there whilst Winter was at boarding school. 
However, you cant teach someone something if they simply cannot do it. 
Which is alluded to when Weiss asks Whitley, 
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As Winter progressed and learned more at Atlas, and thereby improving herself, she evidently passed down that knowledge and began challenging Weiss in ways that she had never been. Preparing her and giving Weiss the tools she would need to begin carving out her own path from out under their Father’s iron grip.
Other things that Winter would go on to learn would be of a strict military nature, hardly fitting for an 8 year old boy. 
2) OPPORTUNITY.
Winter then went into the Military, more than likely signed up before graduation without consulting her father, signing an ironclad contract even he couldnt fight against.  This is what more than likely caused Winter to lose her Heiress title, as a punishment or to strong arm her back to the fold. 
There is a good chance that Jacques told Winter she was no longer part of the family, limiting her contact with her siblings. 
As Klein alludes to Weiss when she absconds in the middle of the night.
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 “After tonight, Winter will be your only family.”
We can guess that Winter had access to Weiss from 12 - 17,  up until she was written out. And only continued training and guiding her sister when she had the chance and in the best way she knew how.
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We have no point of reference as to the exact reason why Whitley dislikes his siblings, only that he does and we can speculate till the cows come home whether it is by personal choice or brain washing by his Father.
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  It stands to reason that if Whitley doesnt like his siblings that he would not find either of them inspiring and have no wish to spend time with them, no matter if they sought him out or listen to them if they tried to give him advice. 
3) AFFECTION
This is painstakingly covered in @rwby-analysis Winter post. However, i would like to add.
We know whilst growing up, Winter did her best to stand up for her sibling’s in lieu of their Mother’s absence.
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We also know that Weiss cares for Whitley by how hurt she was at his perceived betrayal and wanting Weiss to lose her heiress status so he could take her place.
4)OTHER DECIDING FACTORS (and modern parallels )
A) More than likely at 17, Winter did not know how to move in the real world outside her gilded cage, ie. Taking care of her own clothes, something as simple as cooking and all the everyday skills that poor folks learn by living an ordinary life.
She was in a military boarding school, no place for a child and in no position to take custody of said child. At 17 how could she provide for herself and her sibling with no money, no knowledge of how the real world works and no way to gain employment.
Weiss is also facing similar issues.
Still at 23 and 18, neither sister is in a position to take on custody of a teenager.
B) Fighting JACQUES SCHNEE for custody. 
Neither Winter or Weiss has the resources to go up against the deep coffers of the SDC or the caliber of lawyers on retainer to the conglomerate. Never mind the PR and undermining of the pair in the media by Jacques. 
A person fully prepared to gaslight the world as to the mental health of Weiss. 
Again, in order to gain custody, Winter and Weiss would need to prove that they can take care of the health and well being of a teenager. 
If Winter stayed in the military to provide money for all three, she would still have long stints away on deployment, leaving Whitley in the legal care of Weiss. 
(and this all boils down to if Whitley wants to live with his sisters.)
C) Yes, whilst it is possible that both Weiss and Winter could have take it upon themselves to teach Whitley in combat to the point where he could have excelled enough without the hereditary semblance of glyphs and summoning, solely relying on dust usage which is at their disposal on a huge scale, as we have seen with the likes of Roman and Mercury, 
The difference is that Roman and Mercury started from a young age and learned as a necessity to survive. 
Both Schnee sisters rely heavily upon their semblance to succeed, (look how easy it has been to take down Weiss up until recently). I would suggest that neither sister has the skill to train somebody to that caliber, who has no semblance. And not being on hand 24/7 to oversee such tutelage. 
But this avenue is also relying on the proviso that Whitley showed any interest at all about learning combat, and by his comments to Weiss about 
“Huntsmen being uncivilized and why bother when you have an Army, cause that is what armies are for.”
Would lead the viewer to summarize either he tried and failed miserably, fueling his jealousy of his siblings OR he genuinely has no interest. 
D) The on coming danger and threat to mankind. 
Weiss knows exactly what they are up against. That the fate of the world rests in her and her friends hands.
She has witnessed the Fall of Beacon and lost friends that were more than capable of taking care of themselves.
Winter knows that things are getting worse, being General Ironwood’s Second in Command, she may not be fully in the know like her sister, but she is aware that there is a threat unlike any other and the world is on the brink of war. 
Where would be the safest place for a younger sibling with no way to protect himself?
Is it not care that you know exactly where they are? 
Would it not be neglectful on the Schneester’s part to remove Whitley from what is probably the safest place on the planet, surrounded by security, infinite resources , to traipse around the world, constantly under threat and not knowing where the next safe haven will present itself? 
That bringing Whitley along would open him up to far more dangerous situations. 
In this case I would say, that Winter and Weiss are both thinking..
“Better the Devil you know.”
shout out of thanks to @winterschnee-frozenelegance for providing images with screen caps
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theuprisingbakery · 4 years
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Less Restrictive, More Unique: A Personified Short Story of Cookie Ingredients
The cookies sat at their desks, watching the clock tick down to the end of the class period. Thirty more minutes, and they would be free to enjoy their Spring Break. A simple half hour of Biology was all that stood between five friends and Spring Break plans. Ms. Chip’s back was to the students as she wrote on the board ‘INTRODUCTION TO HEREDITY AND INGREDIENTS’ and turned around to face her students. 
“Alright! Before we break for break,” she paused and chuckled at her own joke, “I want to introduce you to our new unit of study.” 
The cookies groaned. Sandy Pecan in the back row rolled his eyes, Oreo Nabisco had already slept through most of class, but Gluten FreeMont in the front of the room looked up from a doodle she was creating on her notes sheet, interest peaked. Although she was interested, she was thoroughly irritated at having yet another thing take time away from her holiday freedom.  
Ms. Chip looked at the class of chocolate chip cookies and smiled. 
“We are all products that have similar ingredients. Commonalities that make us chocolate chip cookies,  but we are also so different. Your genetic ingredients, what makes your essence so uniquely you, can be traced back through your family members. Your heredity! Let’s look briefly at the genetic ingredients map on page 54 of your textbook.” 
There was a quick rustle of pages as students flipped through their books. 
In the middle of the page was a chart that pictured different ingredients: 1 teaspoon of baking soda, 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract, and ½ teaspoon of salt, followed by different variations of flours, butter, eggs, sugars, and most importantly: chocolate chips. 
“Our recipes are unique, we learned this when we discussed DNA earlier in the semester,” Ms. Chip went on. “But,” she continued, “our ingredients make up the traits that classify us in different diets, our ingredients give us a foundation of who we are, and what we are made of. Everything about us can be traced through our ingredients: nutrition, macros, enzymes, and calories!” 
The class nodded, assured she was correct but many had faces that expressed utter confusion, as any new lesson might leave a student. Keto Atkins nudged the back of Gluten FreeMont with her pencil. 
“What is she talking about?” Keto whispered to Gluten. Gluten swatted away Keto’s pencil proddings. “Shhh!” she turned around slightly to reply in an irritated fashion, then faced back to the teacher, her eyes set on Ms. Chip’s instructions. Gluten cringed slightly at the sudden movement of turning around. She’d experienced continuous abdominal pain for the last week or two, and it always seemed to happen right after lunch. She brushed off the pain not wanting to complain and gritted her teeth, knowing she didn’t have time to deal with stomach cramps and Keto’s unfortunate inability to pay attention at the same time. 
Keto looked to her left after being silenced by her friend, where another girl was sitting. Vegan Planters was drawing a family portrait on the front cover of her Biology book; her focus had shifted attention to an art class project assigned for the break from earlier that day. Keto leaned over and whispered to Vegan, “why else was there a sudden emphasis on ingredients and heredity in Biology with less than twenty minutes left in class?” Vegan looked to Keto and shrugged, and went back to her drawing. 
Keto slumped in her seat, but suddenly made eye contact with Hazelnut Cashew. Known as “Hazel” to her friends, she was sitting in the far left corner of the class, her twin sister Nutella, or “Ella” sat directly to Hazel’s right. Both of them were passing notes back and forth. They are the worst twins in the world, thought Keto. Most twins seemed to have ESP, but Hazel and Ella had nothing in common it seemed like. Keto looked at her four friends, all in some sort of different stage of paying (or not paying) attention to the lesson. Gluten was the only one seemingly writing anything down, and Keto figured Gluten would give the rest of them a briefing on whatever Ms. Chip was explaining. 
“You are going to research your ingredients over the break!” Ms. Chip clapped enthusiastically. “I remember when I learned of my great-great-grandmother’s rare Allulose condition. Her genetic make-up used Allulose instead of granulated sugars. It was so fascinating! That’s why her chocolate chips were a bit more shiny in appearance compared to other chocolate chips.” Ms. Chip sighed, her thoughts somewhere else. “Because of her, my own chips are still shiny...  not because of Allulose, but from my own mother’s Stevia ingredients she passed on to me!” A hand went up from the back of the classroom, it was Oreo Nabisco. 
“So,” he asked, “You want us to research our families and our ingredients to see how we are made?”
“Yes, Oreo, that’s exactly it! Glad to see you are able to have some semblance of attention today, I thought maybe you were getting a little stale back there!” Ms. Chip passed out a packet of instructions and directions to the students, aware that there were only a few moments left before the students would rush out of the room to enjoy the sun and freedom that only comes with an extended holiday away from school. 
“You can present your findings any way that you wish,” Ms. Chip said to the young cookies, “but remember that you are researching your ingredients through family members only- interviews, photos, and resources will all help you compile your findings into a story to share with the class when we return! Really think- what exactly makes you so you!” With precision that only comes with teaching for years, her sentence was punctuated with the Beep-Beep-Beep bell that signaled the end of another school day. 
. . . 
Gluten and Keto had been next door neighbors since elementary school, and as the sleeve of cookie-cutter houses in their neighborhood grew in size, Hazel and Ella, followed by Vegan, all moved into houses near each other while the girls were still in middle school. By high school, they were inseparable, and were able to walk to school and home together each day. As Keto and Vegan talked about an assignment for art, Gluten started to fall behind the others on the way home. Her stomach pains were getting worse. She thought eating something small, like a piece of bread as a snack, would help but it only made her feel worse. Ella noticed Gluten walking a little slower, holding her side. 
“Gluten are you okay?” Ella asked her quietly. Ella could see that Gluten didn’t want to bring any attention to something being wrong. 
“I’m fine!” Gluten snapped at Ella, which made her immediately feel even worse. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m just so irritated today. It’s probably because we were given so much homework the day before break.” 
“I understand,” Ella smiled, and hugged her friend. They were at Gluten’s house at this point in the walk, and the girls waved goodbye to her. They would meet up later in the week to work on the Biology project together. Gluten turned around and smiled at her friends, gritting her teeth through the pain in her abdomen. 
. . . 
Ella and Hazel were in the middle of a typical dinner feud. As twins, they were almost identical in genetic makeup, except for one small particular: Hazel was allergic to tree nuts. 
“I just don’t understand,” Hazel said to her mother across the dinner table, “why you had to name me Hazelnut. It’s just so cruel, mom.” 
Her mother smiled at the girls and shook her head.
“You’re named after your grandmother, Hazelnut. Gammie Hazelnut Toffee was so kind to me when I married your dad.” Hazel rolled her eyes at her mother. Everyone in their family had remnants of nuts in their DNA except her. It was the first thing she discovered while researching her family’s ingredients.
“I just don’t understand how that’s possible,” Hazel said to her mom when she discovered this small discrepancy in ingredients. Ella immediately started the “You’re Adopted, Hazel” campaign just to irritate her twin sister, but Hazel knew better. 
“It just happens sometimes, Hazel. It’s a quirk, nothing more. You can be around nuts of course, clearly, you just can’t ingest them. You don’t remember this, but you had all your walnuts removed as a baby.” 
“Ew mom, please don’t talk about removing my walnuts ever again,” Hazel said, while Ella snorted into her glass of chocolate milk. 
Ella and Hazel had created a family diagram of a tree for their presentation. It was a tree of traits that dated back five generations of chocolate chip cookies. The girls had listed out family members across the top each with their own branch. 1 egg, ½  c. granulated sugar, 2 ¼ c. oat flour, ¾ c. light brown sugar were scrawled across the top
“Did you know,” their father chimed in, “that you have an ancestor that was part of Ruth Wakefield’s first batch of chocolate chip cookies? Ingredients were so simple at that time that Ruth chopped up barks of chocolate instead of using morsales in the cookies. The chocolate in our family was chunky and square until about three generations ago.” The girls added the story to their project. 
The girls had a list of their ingredients; some listed as the same crucial elements from their biology textbook, others were unique to their family. 
“The brown sugar,” Ella said, “is different. Most people don’t include that in their ingredients- why is that dad?” 
“Brown sugar adds to the chewiness of our family,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Most people assume that two types of sugar would make a cookie sweeter, but in reality, the breakdown of brown sugar turns into a glaze… hence chewy!” He laughed looking down at the family pet. Their dog, Chewy, pawed at his side begging for scraps. 
“Hazel,” their mother said, “Don’t worry about your allergy, you just have to be careful who you hang out with. Luckily all your friends are nut-free… well, except your sister of course!” She smiled at the twins, and started clearing the plates from the table. 
. . . 
Keto was putting the final touches on her project, noting the last piece of information from an interview she had with an aunt. Coconut flour uses ¼ the amount compared to other flours, her paper stated, and doubles the egg and liquid quantity due to high liquid absorbent properties. She knew her genetic makeup was thinner than others and often runny, but didn’t realize the extent of how different ingredients were to others. This must be why I’m so good at cross country, Keto thought to herself, because I’m made with double the liquid amount as other cookies. Her thoughts were cut short as her mother called her name from the living room. “Ketosis! Come here a minute I need to talk to you!”  Keto looked at the clock, it was so late she was surprised her mother was even awake. Normally at this hour her mom and dad were usually half-baked. Keto walked into the living room, where she realized her mother had been crying.
. . .
Vegan was in the middle of her report, typing out ‘½ c. coconut oil, melted, ⅓ non-dairy milk, 1 ½ c. chickpea flour, Vegan chocola’-- when the phone suddenly rang in her bedroom. Vegan looked at the clock. 10:15 pm. It was a little late for a phone call, but she answered it regardless. 
“Vegan!” The sound of Keto’s voice rang through from the other end in a panic. “It’s Gluten. She’s in the hospital.”
. . . 
The next morning of Spring Break started in a gloomy fashion for the four friends. The night had been punctured by the sudden news that Gluten was very, very sick and in the hospital. Mrs. FreeMont called Keto’s mother the night before, and all the girls wanted to go to the hospital immediately to see Gluten. Begrudgingly, and after hours of begging, Mrs. FreeMont agreed. 
“Girls,” Mrs. FreeMont insisted, “Before you go in to see her, you need to know that Gluten is very tired. She was poked and prodded for days, and had an endoscopy done last night. The doctors think she has...” There was a pause as Mrs. FreeMont held back tears, “Celiac Disease.” 
The girls looked at each other, confused. Normally Gluten was the science nerd who knew all the answers to anything remotely medical, but from Mrs. FreeMont’s statement, it was more serious than anyone knew. Keto spoke up first.
“Mrs. FreeMont,” she asked, “What is Celiac Disease, and how could Gluten not know she had it?” 
Hazel, Ella, and Vegan all nodded in agreement with her. 
“It’s an auto-immune disease,” she whispered, as if this cleared up any confusion. “Gluten can’t.. Well she can’t have gluten in her system. It’s been building up more and more over the last year. Even more in the last few weeks. It’s slowly damaging her intestines, so she’ll have to have part of her small intestines removed later week. She also must have an immediate flour transplant. Our whole family’s genetic flour is all-purpose. Completely,” Mrs. FreeMont held back tears, “full of gluten enzymes.” 
The girl’s mouths slacked open, horror-struck. This meant that none of Gluten’s family members would be able to donate flour to the young cookie for the necessary flour transplant. Suddenly, Vegan realized an important fact at the same time as Keto, Ella, and Hazel. 
“Mrs. FreeMont!” Vegan piped up, “Can we help? I mean…” she paused, “can we donate flour to Gluten?” Mrs. FreeMont looked at the girls collectively. 
“My sweets,” she said with a small smile, “I doubt any of you can help, so many chocolate chip cookies are make with all-purpose flour now-a-days, it’s going to take time to find the right donors that Gluten needs--” her words were cut off by Keto suddenly.
“No, Mrs. FreeMont! Listen!” Keto said. The girls all started to talk at once.
“My genetic ingredients include chickpea flour!” Vegan almost yelled excitedly, thankful she decided to study her mother’s side of the family that included other vegan and gluten-free flour alternatives. 
“And ours includes oat flour!” Hazel and Ella chimed in together.
“And mine,” Keto included, “is from coconut flour!” 
“You see, Mrs. FreeMont,” Vegan said as she looked around at her three other friends, “we’re all made from gluten-free flour alternatives. It’s in our ingredients. We can help her.” 
Mrs. FreeMont looked at the group of girls, bewildered, unbelieving at the chances that her youngest cookie would have made friends with a group of unique cookies who all held different active ingredients that her daughter needed most to survive. 
“I just can’t believe it,” she said to herself, “what are the chances…” As the girls called their parents and met at the hospital to prepare for the flour transfusion, they quietly went into Gluten’s room to tell her what they were going to do to help their friend. 
“Gluten, who would have thought we’d actually learn something helpful from an assignment Ms. Chip gave us to do!” Hazel said with a snort. The chocolate chips all laughed and filled Gluten in on what ingredients they were going to donate to help her out. 
“Does this mean,” Gluten said with a smile, “that my heredity project gets to include you all as family now too?” 
“Probably,” Keto said to her friend. The others nodded in agreement
“We’re all so similar,” Vegan quoted their teacher from the last day before break, “that we were just meant to be friends after all. This will definitely be a story to tell the class, don’t you think?”
The last thing Gluten remembered before drifting off to sleep was knowing that it felt good to have people in her life that understood her new restrictive diet, and that being made from alternative ingredients didn’t make her a bad cookie. Her new diet and new ingredients made her even more unique, just like her friends.
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notsugarandspice · 6 years
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Crash and Burn (Chapter 22)
such a sad chapter, I’m sorryyyyyy
Read it on AO3.
Warnings: Angst and goodbyes; Sonia
                                                August, 1995
Eddie knows it’s coming before it actually happens but it doesn’t make the arrival any less painful. The day he’s leaving for college. It’s supposed to be a happy occasion, right? Eddie’s packed all of his most precious belongings: his favorite CDs, a couple of shirts that still fit him since middle school, some trinkets that remind him of the Losers. But there’s something, and if he was honest with himself, someone, he can’t seem to stuff in any of the bags he owns, no matter how large.
Richie is sitting on the hood of Sonia’s car, smoking and looking out at the vast expanse of the street Eddie lives on, green and empty at the same time. The rest of the Losers are supposed to pull in sometime in the next hour. For some inexplicable reason, Sonia decided that it’s best that they start driving at night. That way the hardest part of the trip is going to be in daylight. Whatever you say, ma. I’m willing to put up with any bullshit, as long as it’s the last summer I see you. Thank fucking God for scholarships. Eddie couldn’t have possibly paid for his school any other way. Not with a mother like his. But those worries seem far away now. The more pressing matter is in front of him, scraped and skinny and beautiful. Eddie’s chest constricts painfully as he hops down the porch steps to step in front of his friend. Or boyfriend. Whatever they are. Or were.
Eddie places himself in the space between Richie’s legs where they’re propped up on the ledge of the car. Skinny bare knees are pointed towards the road, and Eddie finds himself comfortable in that little world between them. Richie takes the last inhale and tosses the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, exhaling the grey smoke towards the sky, away from Eddie’s face. Richie lowers his head to lock red, swollen eyes with the other, and Eddie doesn’t need to ask why. It’s mirrored in the dark circles under his own eyes, in the scratch marks on his back that Richie left when he sprinted towards the Tozier residence in the middle of the night, his chest so fucking heavy it felt like it didn’t belong on his body. They kissed so hard and messy, their faces wet with tears and skin raw from how close they were trying to get, without actually getting anywhere.
And now they stand in front of each other, no fire, just glowing embers, devoid of movement and desire to speak. Eddie does anyway. “Are you staying? You’re really staying?” He knows the answer. There’s just a very twisted part of him that still hopes Richie will hop in the back of the car, his suitcase already shipped to New York or something. Lunatic.
“Yeah. But you already know that.” Richie looks tired. His hair is greasy and overgrown, tied in some semblance of a bun on the nape of his neck. His skin looks grey and sickly as if he’s been trying to fight a cold without medicine.
Eddie’s head drops and his chin almost touches the collarbones - a childish act that somehow seems sensible at the moment. “I know.”
Richie squeezes his finger under Eddie’s chin, and the distinct scent of cigarettes invades the small boy’s senses. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose as their eyes connect again. “You gotta stop this.”
Richie raises his eyebrow and removes a finger. “What? Touching you?”
What the fuck? “No, dipshit. Smoking.”
Richie snorts sardonically. “You know I can’t promise that, Eddie.”
Eddie. “You should try. If you hope to be alive next time I see you.” Eddie knows how desperate that sounds, but he doesn’t care. There’s not enough time. Never enough.
“Hey, no offense, but death can fuck itself. Not even that would stop me from seeing you.”
Now Eddie is on the verge of hysteria, he can feel the pitch of the scream creeping up his throat. “Richie-“
“Ay, don’t, Eds. Please.” Richie basically pushes the last word out. The whole sentence before is pure pain, and Eddie can hear it, can feel it like something digging into the deepest crevices of his heart to take out everything he loves.
Richie pushes his glasses up and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes forcefully, leaving them there for several seconds. Eddie can’t hell if he wants to be left alone. There’s no time.
“Anyway, what are you gonna do once you get there?” Long arms fall to rest on naked thighs, and Eddie has to fight the temptation to drag Richie upstairs and do something he wanted to do all summer. There’s just something about the shift of Richie’s long thumb against the small black curls on top of his pale skin that has Eddie silently whining with longing.
“What do you mean? Unpack, of course. And try to kick ma out. Don’t know how long she plans on staying.”
Richie cocks an eyebrow, and Eddie’s stomach flips helplessly in a very practiced fashion. “What, she’s really gonna get a hotel or something, just to bug you?”
“You know her.” Eddie looks in the direction of his house, the red and yellow, and dark brown, all familiar but so fucking alien at the same time. He can’t wait to get out of here.
“I just can’t believe that she even speaks to you after that outburst. You think I should go inside and offer her some comfort? You know, in the shape of my-“
Eddie clasps a hand to Richie’s mouth but can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. “Don’t even finish that sentence. I can’t stand you sometimes.”
Richie lowers his head, and the glasses fall back on his nose, his expression all yeah, right. Eddie is getting slowly annoyed by his smugness. Richie’s voice is muffled against Eddie’s newly wet palm. “Sure, sure, Eddie-bear.”
“Ugh, Richie, no!” Eddie pushes off his friend and circles around the car, small stones flying off where his blue sneakers inadvertently kick them. Moving is the only way he can ensure he doesn’t need to face the weight of this situation, or this day, or the rest of their lives, really.
Richie circles from the other side, and they end up leaning their backs on the slanted trunk. Eddie can feel Richie’s eyes on him and the corner of his mouth twitches. Thankfully, it’s the distant corner.
“Eds, are you gonna write to me?” Eddie would expect that question to cause him pain or even disappointment. Like, who is he to think I wouldn’t write to him? Instead, he just feels empty. As if he’s been gone every year like this and saw Richie during summer. As if they haven’t known each other since kindergarten.
“You’re shittin’ me, right? Please tell me that’s not a serious fucking question.” Eddie is still staring ahead, mostly because Richie’s head is framed by the afternoon sun that would inevitably hurt his irises. Your precious eyes, Eddie-bear.
“Damn, you got a mouth on you, babycakes.”
Eddie groans loudly, entirely aware that no amount of serious conversation would ever make Richie mature. Maybe it’s not a bad thing. Maybe things are meant to stay the same, even if people change. “You know I hate these nicknames. Do you hate my name or what?”
Richie does the whole exaggerated double back movement, and his eyes bug out comically behind thick lenses that painfully remind Eddie of the time they played in the water, and the number of times he had to find them on the bottom of whatever place they explored that day. You can’t really drown, they all float there, and you’ll float t-
“Seriously? Your name is the only one I use to scream out in pure ecstasy. If you don’t count your mom’s name or the last name which also works, but I really don’t-“
“Rich, cut it.” Eddie finally realized with a feeling so heavy it almost brought him down to his knees that Richie has been acting a lot more like the middle school version of himself lately. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s his way of leaving a mark on the small boy’s memory or what, but it was definitely making him reminiscent of all the time they spent together. And not just the two of them: all the Losers used to be so much closer. Before the heavy burden of education, social acceptance and adult responsibilities swept them up and thrashed them violently in a hurricane that led straight to hell. College. Which should be a lot more exciting than it currently is.
Eddie doesn’t mean to be ungrateful. He knows how lucky he is to live in New York with minimum loans and plenty of scholarships to last him to grad school. But the feeling of familiarity can’t be replaced. It can’t be ignored no matter how much he wanted. That’s the moment Eddie decides to keep his distance from people who aren’t Losers. He doesn’t think he can ever trust anyone like that again.
“What’s on your mind, sugar?” speaks Richie with a southern drawl that makes Eddie’s skin crawl and tingle at the same time. It’s always such a whirlwind of emotion to be around Richie. It’s been like that from the start when Eddie threw a little car in the buck-toothed boy’s face and made him cry loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Eddie has never been more scared in his life. In his defense, Richie wouldn’t stop touching him, and Eddie hates unnecessary physical contact. And when he had enough of it, he dealt with it in short spurts of uncontrollable anger, hence the little dent between his best friend’s eyebrows. Eddie finally looks at him and lowers the glasses with his index finger, his lip trapped under the top row of teeth.
Richie gets unbelievably quiet and still, but Eddie knows it’s not for long - he’s going to start tapping his foot or wrecking his cuticles, or clashing his teeth - anything to keep his body occupied while his mind ran enthusiastically. “Do you remember getting this?”
Brown irises travel up as if they’re somehow responsible for capturing the barely visible dent that’s obviously inaccessible to Richie’s eyes. Eddie snorts at the effort and points the spot on his own face. “Does a blue toy truck ring any bells?”
“Oh, yeaaaaah. You totally had a crush on me from day one, Spaghetti.”
Eddie takes a step back and crosses the arms under his chest. “Did not!”
“Dude, that’s the whole pigtails agenda. You were always mean to me because I gave you a chub. Just admit it.”
“Richie, that’s gross. And the whole pigtails agenda is bullshit, and you know that. You should’ve been mean to me in return. I was such a shithead.”
Richie’s eyes get gooey soft, and Eddie knows where this is going before it actually happens. “You were always the cutest shithead. I never really took your threats seriously because your cheeks would blush this pretty pink color and I just couldn’t take my eyes off them.”
Eddie’s heart is thrashing against his rib cage, ready to leap out and hop all the way to Canada. Richie steps away from the car and extends his arms, bony hands landing on Eddie’s waist. Eddie immediately grabs onto the pointed elbows, and he’s almost annoyed by how practiced that movement is. “Don’t charm me.”
“What? I’m not doing anything, my love.” Richie winks and kisses the tip of Eddie’s nose. “Aaaaand there’s that blush.”
Eddie pushes his lips to the corner of his mouth, trying to force a smile to disappear along with the redness of his cheeks. “It’s kind of sad.”
Richie’s confuzzled expressions will never cease to amaze and entertain Eddie. “What?”
Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes even though he knows that the sentence had disappointing implications. It’s not his fault Richie can’t read his mind by now. “It’s kind of sad that you never really had to try so hard. You flirt as if your life depends on it but…”
“But what?” asks Richie, his voice low and heart-throbbingly soft.
...but I fell for you when you were playing a goddamn video game, and your hair was greasy, and there were chips all over your stupid lap. You were sitting in your goddamn underwear because you spilled some beer you sneaked out of your house and your glasses were cracked everywhere. You probably haven’t showered for days and I didn’t even want to think of the last time you brushed your teeth, but I couldn’t stop looking at you. At the furrow of your perfect brows that sat exactly behind the top of the thick frame. The way your eyes danced around the screen, big and excited. The way your tongue jumped out of your mouth as if it had an extra controller that could help you pass the level you’ve been stuck on. I still remember how it knocked the wind out of me to think of you that way. To want to exist in the space between your lips and touch the small curl that rested on the nape of your neck. I still remember you throwing the controller and burying your face in my lap, dramatically crying about the prejudiced fate of the universe and I never felt more confused in my life. I let myself stroke your hair and the look you gave me almost made my chest explode. I don’t know if you could tell, but I gave my heart away that day. It was all yours. Forever.
Eddie moves closer and connects the lips, soft and slow.
For the second time that day Eddie wants to sit down on the ground and cry. Three-year-old style. Everyone’s embrace seems to leave a mark on his back, and when they disconnect, Eddie feels like their hands take away a part of him he will never recover. Richie stands at a distance, puffing on a cigarette and Eddie is getting legitimately concerned over how much the other smokes a day. He might also be a little pissed that Richie didn’t throw a fit and threw him over that bony shoulder, refusing to let go. But maybe that’s the sign of how mature he actually is.
“-and I promise to visit soon.” Eddie should probably feel guilty for ogling his friend from above Bev’s shoulder, but he can’t part with the image of contemplative Richie just yet. Just a little more. Please, I just…I want this to stretch forever and ever and ever.
“Right. Hopefully, I’ll be here for the holidays.” A lie. And they know it’s a lie. Bev nods in understanding, looking over to Sonia’s voluptuous form on the porch, standing by the door like a guard dog, making sure that her precious Eddie-bear doesn’t get carried off by his queer friends and their dirty hands.
Ben is next, and nobody misses the gentle way he puts his hand on Bev’s shoulder as she walks away and they blush in unison, the unspoken love almost painfully adorable. Eddie feels a pang of jealousy, and he instantly feels ashamed. It’s just unfair that people who can be together don’t even take advantage of it. It’s almost like the universe has two perfect middle fingers in front of him at all times.
“Hey, shortie.” Ben hugs him right under the armpits and Eddie lifts off the ground. Not too far up because Ben isn’t actually that tall, but Eddie feels weightless under the firmness of Haystack’s shoulders. God, even Richie’s nicknames rubbed off on me.
“Don’t,” Eddie grunts out the words when his throat feels a little blocked off from the sudden ascent, “call me shortie. It’s not my fault I haven’t gained length since I met all of you.” He’s back on the ground, and he catches the wide grin on Richie’s face before his eyes find the green of Ben’s again.
“I didn’t mean to offend, you know that. Just going to miss you.” Ben has always been like that. A little humorous and very very honest. Painfully so. Eddie hugs him tighter than he thought he was capable of and it’s a different kind of comfort because Ben is a big football guy, and it’s certainly a pleasant change after trashmouth ribs that poked into the small boy’s stomach when they embraced some minutes ago. Before the rest of the gang got here.
Ben leans in to whisper something quickly, and the words will echo through Eddie’s mind in the weeks to come. “He’s going through a lot. Don’t forget about him.”
He’s going through a lot? With what? Why does everyone seem to know things I don’t? Is it their way of ensuring I don’t end up staying here? Eddie’s body goes limp, and his arms fall. He gives Ben a strained smile and a nod. He doesn’t really know what else to say.
Bill is next and he seems to carry heavy melancholy around him wherever he goes, the emerald in his eyes dull as if someone put out the light. It started with Georgie but only got worse over the years. It seems like Mr. Denbrough’s death finally did it to him. Eddie noticed that Stan has been falling into a similar headspace as well. Maybe that’s why the two of them spent so much time together.
Bill places both hands on Eddie’s shoulder, towering over him with silent authority, one that Kaspbrak quietly accepted over the years but also failed to understand the older he got. It was unspoken that Bill was the leader of the group, but it has been more clear lately that Bill lacks the stability that Mike has, for example. Eddie’s heart constricts at the realization that he hasn’t been that close to Bill in the past year and it wasn’t just Richie’s fault that the group hasn’t been spending too much time together. Age just got the best of them, same as the distance that hung like a looming shadow over their lucky seven, quietly waiting to make them all part and suffer.
“I’m guh-guh-gonna miss you, Eh-Eddie,” says Bill with confidence and that specific Denbrough sadness that was reflected in his mom anytime Eddie saw her.
“I’ll miss you too, Billy.” Eddie instantly goes for the hug, slightly embarrassed by the nickname. He hasn’t called him this way since that summer, as if the last bits of innocence has been stripped away from him. From all of them. And it just seemed redundant to try to force it back.
Bill kisses the top of his head and squeezes it tight to his chest. Eddie recognizes the undeniable scent of pine and glue that’s always been engraved in his friend’s clothing. He knows he’ll quickly forget it, but it will come back to him next time they see each other. Whenever that’s going to happen.
Bill steps back and his head turns to Stan who’s standing right next to them, wringing his hands in agitation. Eddie can see some tears in his friend’s eyes, and he leaps forward, holding Stanley tight as if he has the power to put him back together. Stan sobs into his shoulder and he has to hunch lower almost as much as Richie usually does, and Eddie feels tears running down his own cheeks, hot and sticky. They sob for several seconds, but the ugly sounds soon turn into laughter: embarrassed and playful laughter that seems a little out of place, all things considered. But they lean their foreheads against each other and Eddie tries not to think how their sweat is now combined, and how ticklish Stanley’s golden curls are on the side of the small boy’s face.
“You take care of yourself, okay, Eddie?”
Eddie ruffles Stan’s hair and the other irritatedly swats the small hand away, smiling. “You too, Stan. Really.” Stan’s face contorts in understanding, and he steps back to let sprinting Mike swoop Eddie off his feet.
He just got here from the farm, probably drove a bike all the way from his farm judging by the wetness of his shoulders, the dampness of his wife beater that’s pressing into Eddie’s thighs. He can’t help but giggle, an overwhelming amount of affection overcoming him and he feels so fucking happy to have known these people. Something in him breaks a little when they all run up and grab different parts of him, and suddenly he’s parallel to the ground, held by all his friends. Eddie feels weightless and powerful. For the first time since he applied to a school out of state, he feels like he can take over the world. And he will. Small-scale but it’s going to happen nonetheless.
“Time to go, Eddie!” screams Sonia and all the laughter dies down to quiet murmurs of irritation.
Eddie’s body slides against Richie’s, and they embrace awkwardly, half-hugging as the small boy takes control over his slightly numb limbs. Everyone step away in silent understanding, giving the two of them some space to say goodbye. Eddie isn’t even remotely ready to see thick tears sliding down Richie’s pale cheeks, dark eyes blurry behind foggy lenses.
“Richie, don’t cry, please,” says Eddie wiping teardrops off with his thumbs, cradling the tall boy’s jaw, his voice so strained that he thinks he might lose it by the time they reach New York.
“I- I don’t know how…how to do this without you.” Richie’s voice is so raw and thin, it sends needles into the middle of Eddie’s chest. He’d prefer to be stabbed to this interaction.
“Rich, you’re so strong. And I’m always here for you, whatever you need, yeah?” Eddie tilts the other’s face to face him and smiles reassuringly. He doesn't understand why he’s not crying. Almost angry at it. He wants to stomp his foot and scream FEEL, DAMN IT!
“Eds, I-“
“I know.” Eddie turns his head to the side and listens to Richie’s rapid heartbeat, trying to memorize its steady rhythm, one he hopes he’s going to fall asleep to for ages. Richie’s fingers are in his hair, petting and brushing it. Eddie wants the scent of cigarettes to stay on his clothes forever, just so he can remember Richie anytime, anywhere. They stand pressed together until Eddie disconnects, unwilling to let his mother be the reason he can’t hold Richie anymore. He looks into dark brown eyes one last time wishing he had an excuse to just drown in them on this dirty sidewalk, surrounded by six people he loves.
Eddie reluctantly steps away, his arms cold in the absence of Richie’s overheated body, his head empty and heavy. There’s no panic and no pain. He feels so detached from everything, so different already and it terrifies him that the next time they all see each other, they’ll be different people. Eddie stops by his front door, his mom already inside grabbing the last of their provisions and he spares a look at the six young people on the driveway, all unique and perfect, their skin tinted orange in the sunset light. His family. Eddie gives them a small wave, a small smile, and steps back into the house, knowing that the next time he opens it, they’ll be gone as if they’ve never been there at all.
Three hours into the drive he cries in his sleep, dreaming of black curls, smiles that stretch wide, and pretty freckles framing a sharp face.
Perma Tag: @happytozier @studpuffin @j0ys @its-stranger-than-you-think @tinyarmedtrex @d-nbroughs @aizeninlefox (I removed some people who’ve been inactive because I’m not about forcing my work on anyone. Let me know if you want to be added/removed <3)
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therandomfics · 6 years
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Coffee’s For Closers: 3
“Wait a second, hold on. You’re telling me that my roommate is using photos of me - well, photo shopping pictures of me, and putting them online.” You drew in a ragged, frustrated breath and exhaled. Detective Tutuola turned his monitor towards you to show you what they had discovered. There you were, or rather there was your face, but it wasn’t your body that was nearly naked and in a suggestive pose. “What exactly is the purpose of her doing this?” 
He leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on their appointed rests. “Carisi found some interesting stuff when he was at your apartment. I could be wrong, but it looks like she was taking your pictures and making them more alluring, then using them to meet up with different men. I’m not sure how she could have done it though, because you two don’t look anything alike. Your picture is all over a Sugar Baby website.” 
“We’re still trying to put it all together, Y/N, but I thought it was important that you knew as soon as possible. I don’t want you to confront her, though. No matter what she’s done she’s still a victim and she could be emotionally unstable,” Carisi added, placing his hand on your shoulder. He removed it a second later when Tutuola looked at him with an arched brow. 
“I guess that’s how she’s paying for the apartment,” you muttered and rolled your eyes. “So my roommate is insane and her former lover is a rapist. I think I need to find a new place to live.” 
“I don’t think you’re in any danger,” Tutuola consoled, leaning forward and exiting out of the pictures that were on his computer. 
Carisi shook his head. “Can’t we put her up somewhere, just in case? Kenny was there yesterday and he’s clearly a dangerous bastard.” 
“I’m fine, thank you,” you interrupted and stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Is there anything else? I think I’d like to go home.” 
“One second, Y/N,” Carisi pleaded and pulled the other detective aside. Though their backs were to you and there was enough noise in the squad room to seemingly cover their voices, you were able to catch clips and phrases from the two men. We can’t just go around putting every girl you like in a safe house. What would we do if something happened and we put her back in that situation? Take her home.... go home.... stop being... Mother Theresa of SVU.
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride home?” Carisi asked once he returned, leaving Tutuola standing by the office of the Lieutenant. 
“I’m okay, thank you though, really. You’re sweet,” you replied and offered him a small smile. In that moment, he was your saving grace. Even though you’d seen him five days away for a total of three minutes at a time, you thought it was possible you might like him - beyond his tempting grin and his glimmering blue orbs. Or, maybe you liked him because he was in a position of power. Now wasn’t the time for your own personal therapy session, though. 
He smiled in return and hesitated, before grabbing your hand and squeezing it for a second. To your surprise, you felt yourself blush and turned your face away, closing your eyes for a brief moment. Pull it together, Y/N. “If you need anything, call me, please,” he insisted, standing so close you could have seen the stubble growing on his face had you the courage to look. “I mean it, Y/N. Anything.” Was he coming onto you? You didn’t have time to decide. 
“Hey Carisi, Janelle just called. She said your cell’s off, something about how you’re late for dinner!” One of the uniformed officers called out. Sonny’s face went white and then immediately blood red. 
You snapped your head in Sonny’s direction and pulled your hand away. The previous moment’s hopes and dreams retreated back into the locked box from which they should have never ventured. “Enjoy your date,” you said through clenched teeth, taking your leave to head home. 
At home, Emma was awake and was plating the sauce you’d made with pasta that she’d found in the cabinet. 
“Where’d you go?” she asked, making an extra plate for you and setting it on the bar. 
“Thanks. I forgot I had a book due back at the library and I’m sick of paying their late fees. I’m pretty sure I owe them like $60 that I have to pay or I can’t graduate,” you lied, but it felt natural. If Emma was really doing what the detectives suspected, she didn’t deserve your truth. 
“Kenny keeps calling me.” Her random admission was hard to read. Was she upset, fearful, annoyed? You found that you didn’t want to trust anything she did anymore. 
You frowned, trying to find some semblance of compassion. “Want me to talk to him?” you offered. “Or you could just block his number entirely. Get a restraining order, or a no-contact order. I’m sure one of the Detectives can help you with that.” 
She sighed heavily and leaned over the bar, stabbing at the cavatappi on her plate. “This is too much to deal with Y/N. I really just want to forget it all. I don’t want to press charges,” she admitted, although again, you had no idea how to handle her confession. 
“Emma, if that son of a bitch raped you, you have to make sure he pays for it. You can’t let him get away with it. You never know what he’s capable of now.” You pushed your plate away, finding that given your present company your appetite had fled. 
“I just want to talk to him, to see what was going through his mind when he did it,” she mumbled, her bottom lip protruding in a pout that you chose to ignore. 
“Please don’t, Emma. That’s a bad idea.” You stood up and put your plate in the fridge before stalking to your room and locking your door. 
You heard the door to the apartment open and close a while later, signaling that Emma had left. Where she went or who she was with, you didn’t know, and frankly you were too angry with her to care. 
When you left the next morning for work, you nearly stepped on a receipt that was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. Emma’s door was shut and music was playing, a usual sign that she was asleep. When you unfolded it, things started to click more than they had ever before. The receipt was from The Dungeon, a bar tab from one of New York City’s BDSM clubs. You slipped it into your pocket and left for work, making a mental note to stop by SVU when you finished your shift. 
When you arrived at work you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t terribly busy. It was probably the snow on the ground, and the fact that it was already 8AM. You clocked in and started working hoping that your day would go by as quickly as possible so that you could try to shed some light on the situation going on at your apartment. 
“Hi, welcome to Sacred Grounds, I’ll be right with you,” you called over your shoulder as you finished up a frappe - why? It was so cold - and handed it to the waiting customer. You turned back around to the register and saw Sonny. “What can I get for you?” 
He stared at you blankly and then frowned. “Large coffee, black,” he replied, opening his wallet. 
“Have a good date last night?” You asked, taking his money and then giving him his change. 
“It’s not like that,” he argued and shoved a few dollars in the tip jar before moving around the counter to wait for his cup. 
“It’s not? Oh that’s good. What’s it like then, Detective?” you asked as you poured his coffee into the cup and snapped the lid on. 
“She’s my girlfriend but we’re having problems.” He took the cup and opened it back up promptly, doctoring it up himself. 
You laughed, much louder than you’d intended and shook your head. “I’ve heard that one before, Sonny. In high school, in undergrad, in grad school when TA wanted some T&A. Have a good day.” You waved at him briefly before turning back to the register and helping the next guest. 
The card that Tutuola had given you was burning a hole in your pocket. When you clocked out for the day, you immediately called him on your walk home. 
“Hi, Detective Tutuola? This is Y/N Kennedy, I’m Emma Paulson’s roommate.” 
“What’s up, Y/N?” 
“Well I don’t know if it means anything but I found a receipt from The Dungeon this morning in the apartment, and maybe that’s where this happened? I don’t know anything about it,” you admitted and ducked into a shop to finish your conversation. 
“Can you bring that receipt to me? I think that might be helpful.” 
“I can, yes. I can be there in about twenty minutes. I’m just leaving work.” 
“See you in a few then,” he concluded and hung up, leaving you to backtrack and head to SVU. 
When you arrived a while later, you were frozen but anxious to see what your new evidence might reveal in the case. You were still confused at to what had really happened, and the information you’d received the night before did very little in terms of instilling confidence in Emma. 
“Miss Kennedy,” Tutuola called out, beckoning you over. 
“Oh, please call me Y/N,” you insisted and pulled the folded paper from your pocket, handing it to him. “I hope this is of some help.” 
He nodded and looked it over for a long moment, before setting it on his desk. “You must be frozen. Do you want some coffee?” 
“I.. actually hate coffee,” you confessed with a laugh. “But I’m find thank you, really. If it’s fine I’d like to get back home, though. Tomorrow I’ve got a presentation to the board to see if I’m on the right track for my degree.”
Carisi turned the corner a moment later and stopped in his tracks when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you and stood idly by his desk. “Do you need a ride home?” 
“Yeah, but I’d rather walk. Thank you, Detective Tutuola. See you later.” 
Back at home, Emma was waiting for you in the living room. When you walked in, she jumped up cheerfully and greeted you by holding out a bag from a boutique you were too poor to even think about. 
“I’m taking you out tonight to say thank you for all that you’ve done for me the past few days,” Emma declared, and shook the bag for you to take it. “Go try it on. You’re gonna look great.” 
“Emma, I don’t know, should you be going out? I mean.. that was pretty serious what happened,” you cautioned, but she ignored you and pushed you towards your room. 
The outfit that Emma chose was nothing short of notyourtype. In the bag was a black and gold bandage dress, one that hugged every part of your body you preferred to keep a secret. The shoes were worse, a stagger heel that made you feel like you were more likely to end up twirling around a pole as opposed to grabbing dinner with your roommate. She had even insisted on coordinating your make up, having bought you the classic red Chanel. Clearly, she was going something on the side. Even if you saved up two weeks of pay from the cafe you couldn’t afford the dress, let alone the shoes and make up. 
You walked out from your room and stood hesitantly in the doorway, trying to cover yourself with no luck. 
“This is.. very different than how I usually dress, Emma.” 
She was wearing something similar, if not a little more risque. “You look great. There’s a place I really think you’re going to like. I’m just gonna make a few calls and then we can go, okay? Go put on some eyeliner and mascara.” 
For someone who had so recently been assaulted, it didn’t seem like she was too upset anymore. It wasn’t you place to judge her or her actions following the trauma she had experienced, but you imagined you’d still be holed up in your room and terrified of the world if that had happened to you. But no two people are alike, so they say, and you did your best to apply an even eyeliner and full volume mascara. 
The restaurant that Emma took you was trendy enough, but it was in Tribeca and you felt completely out of your zone. It was nearly 8PM when you arrived, which seemed late for dinner, but New York never slept and people were constantly eating dinner at nearly midnight so you’d heard. 
“I love this place,” she gushed. She was on her second glass of wine and you were still nursing your sangria. 
“I’m glad to see you happy.” 
“You’re gonna love it too, just wait.” 
“Wait for what?” you inquired, glancing down at your phone. Anxiety danced through your stomach: it was nearing 9pm, you had to work the next morning AND you had a presentation following work. 
A man’s voice came over a loud speaker, silencing the entire group in the restaurant. You looked around and realized very suddenly that everyone was young, dressed to the nines and there was an electricity in the air that made you feel like running for the door. “Ladies, if you’ll look on the table you’re at, you’re each given a number. Memorize your number. Put it in the bowl. One lucky gentleman will pick your number. Consider him your date for the next hour, or until you’re ready to move on.” 
You looked at Emma and scowled. “Is this speed dating? I thought that was over in 2005.” 
“Not speed dating,” she replied with an unusually devilish smirk. “More like speed fucking. You’re lucky number 13! Good for you!” 
“What the fuck, Emma?!” you hissed and tried to grab your tiled number back from her, but it was too late. She tossed it in the fish bowl as it went around and kicked you under the table. 
“Relax. I was nervous my first time, too, but you’re gonna love it. You’d be surprised at how much these guys are willing to do for you once you get them going. And, Y/N, don’t run. The doors are locked until 10. Everyone gets an hour uninterrupted. Plus I always figured you were a sub. I’m a slave.” 
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a-confused-turtle · 6 years
Text
The Little Avenger - 2
Fandom: Marvel’s Avengers
Original Request by @sireennotsiren​ “ hi!! I have a request for you! Can I have a fic where the reader is a 14/15 year old kid and shes an avenger? And shes super op like shes invincible and strong and can teleport etc. overall badass but she still this teenage kid? And shes on caps team in cacw and her n bucky just gat along really well? Nothing weird, just good happy friends? And she gets him to open up and stuff? Ik its a lot no pressure, i just wanted to see it! Thanks bb <3″
Summary: Part 2. Bucky is thinking about when he first met Y/N. She’s still an enigma to him, but maybe she gets it after all. Italics are the memory!
Pairing/Characters:  None (except BigBrother/Platonic!BuckyxReader), Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Sam, Peter Parker, mentions of others/collective avengers family
Word Count: 2,600+ (oops)
Warning: A couple curses maybe. Some angst.
Author’s Note: So, pretend that after Civil War everything somehow was resolved and everyone it back and together sort of thing. I needed big, happy Avengers family before Infinity War and I wanted to go back to the original request with the civil war stuff. I hope you guys don’t hate it.
Part 1
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“There’s somebody else I know…” Clint muttered reluctantly on the other end of the line.
Steve knew well enough the meaning behind those words and he wasn’t going to have any of it. To Bucky’s confusion, as he only heard Steve’s side of the conversation, Steve immediately spoke back,“No, Clint. She’s staying out of this. We’re not going to-“
And he didn’t have the chance to finish. Even more reluctantly, Clint almost winced, “She already called me, told me to let her know when you made contact.”
“Don’t call her back.” Steve asserted in that severe, protective voice - the one more frightening than his commanding leadership tone.
“She’s already here. She knew I wouldn’t call.”
Steve closed his eyes, frowning. Bucky grimaced at the expression, whatever was happening didn’t bode well. “Let me talk to her.”
You’d snatched the phone from Clint’s hand so enthusiastically he should’ve lost a finger. “I’m not some stray; I’m a capable member of this team! No matter what you say I’m not sitting on the sidelines like every other time-”
Your pitch grew so shrill and fiesty that Steve physically removed the phone from his ear while you pressed on with an eloquent argument. Bucky even managed to catch a few snippets, it had bells ringing in his head about a little, scrawny boy always getting himself into trouble.
“Y/N, I don’t want you to get hurt. Can’t you understand that?”
“You’re getting Wanda. Come on, you know I’ve been training with her.”
“This is a real fight, not a stealth mission. You’d be a fugitive.” Part of him wanted to remind you of Tony, how he would feel and how you’d be fighting your family - the real ones that had been there for you when no one else had - not hydra agents, but the words never made it to his mouth. They died abruptly in his throat.
“I think I can handle it. And I’m coming regardless of how this conversation ends.”
Steve sighed exasperatedly, which you took as him relenting.
“Tell Bucky I can’t wait to finally meet him! Love ya, Steve!”
Click. The line fell quiet, dead even. Without your energy, your warmth, even over such an impersonal device and frustrating situation, Steve felt the difference. He shook his head, tucking the phone away.
“Everything set?” Bucky finally asked, voice rough though curious. Sam perked up at the question, looking for the answer too.
“Yeah, and I’ve got somebody who can’t wait to meet you, Buck.”
~
Bucky heard your screeching before you plowed into the living room, disappearing for a second and then snapping back into existence midair, just above the couch. For a moment his pulse quickened and he readied himself for an attack, but the instant you dissolved into giggles, he relaxed. The super soldier even smiled a little to himself. Not far behind you followed Natasha, a mess of red hair and a sly grin. While even she fought to conceal it, everyone knew you were her little angel and the only one that could bring out that soft side of hers.
She swiftly crossed the room, taking no notice of Bucky, and surprised you with an onslaught of tickling.
“No! Please!” You cried between the laughs and short breaths, “I yield!”
“That’s what I thought,” she grinned and poked you in the stomach a couple more times before continuing into the kitchen.
Were you just able to bring out the best in people?
~
Before Clint even shifted the van into park, you had flung open the passenger side door and naturally teleported yourself the rest of the way to Steve. Wanda followed out the same door with less hustle.
You flung your arms around the man, stretching onto the very tips of your toes. Unable to stop himself, even in such dire circumstances, Steve lifted you off your feet and bear-hugged you like always.
Bucky was still catching up during the process of that hug. Had a small girl just teleported? His eyes must have been playing tricks… wouldn’t have been the first time.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve muttered at you as he set you down.
“It’s lovely to see you too,” you replied, smiling, “Sam, sup.”
“Hey kid,” Sam returned and bumped his fist against yours before ruffling your hair gently. You swatted at him playfully, fixing your hair as Steve directed the remaining introduction.
“Buck, this is Y/N. Y/N, there you go, you’ve met him,” he said quickly with some semblance of humor in his words.
Bucky nodded at you, and you grinned ear to ear at Steve and then at Bucky. “It’s lovely to meet you. Heard so much about you!”
The task of responding to that left Bucky clueless, but luckily he didn’t have to do more than muster a small smile back because Clint and Steve got down to business.
What the hell was a kid doing there? Bucky couldn’t remember your face from any of the footage he’d seen, none of the news reports. Not even the stuff from Sokovia. Regardless, anyone so young and full of hope had no business fighting such a fight, especially not against your ‘family’ if such a comparison were true.
As the men spoke, Wanda gravitated toward you, softly placing a hand on your shoulder, which you welcomed before taking it in your own.
When they brought Scott Lang out of the van you smiled even brighter than before, either because of Scott’s hilarity or, as Bucky suspected, the thought of a new friend and family member. That grin of yours even infected the others in the slightest way. Clint’s unwavering flat line of a mouth rippled into something of its own grin, same with Steve’s.
Both quickly returned to grimaces soon enough though.
“Suit up.”
~
Even in the worst of times…
“Bucky, helllllooooo?”
Suddenly, Bucky snapped back to the present where you still lay haphazardly across the couch, but were now calling his name. “What?”
“I asked how you are, but you looked like you were thinking real hard about something,” you explained lightly as you cocked your head his direction.
Instinctively, Bucky’s brow scrunched slightly. Only you and Steve asked him how he was doing, and every time either of you asked it never felt right to explain the truth, his truth. “Good. Although, nothing’s going to top that whipped cream pranking this morning,” he finally replied.
Why was it so automatic to say good even when you weren’t good? Did that happen to everyone?
“I know what you mean. It’s hard when you start a day off like that. How can you top that?”
Bucky nodded, not really thinking of anything to say in return, which luckily, he didn’t have to. You continued right on, “Especially when all I’ve done today since then is chores and homework. What have you been up to?”
Nothing. A big fat nothing, because he never felt like he had the right to do anything he wanted. He found himself each day on a never ending cycle of regret, guilt, and pain. “Oh, not much. Some training,” he muttered, trailing off intentionally.
“Would you like to do something fun?”
Another question he couldn’t say he’d been asked often, especially around such a severe group of ‘super-heroes.’
“I was thinking of some board games. Or maybe card games, those are just as fun. I haven’t played in a while…”
~
You took off ahead of the boys, knowing fully well one of your friends would be along to face off against the three of you momentarily. Who was it going to be?
Without glancing back you ran for one of the motionless escalators, but teleported the rest of the way down, if only to get a better look at your surroundings or the incoming opponent. The crashes and rumbles outside struck a cord, not to mention the radio use. This was real. You really were fighting your family, the only people you’d dared to love that much.
That terrified you, terrified every miniscule part of your young existence, and yet you didn’t let that fear claim your heart. You fought it back with cool, calm breaths and a focused eye. Finally, after so much training, you had the chance to do something you believed in. While not pleasant, you knew it was best, that it was the only thing you could do - fight for the truth, for what was right.
“Sam?” You yelled in question. They’d hit the escalator and had almost reached the landing.
“Keep going!”
Once again you set off, eyes now stuck on the fight outside - a large Antman and various explosions. Only then did your eye catch sight of an unfamiliar figure… “Incoming!” You screeched.
While the warning helped avoid some damage, the swinging figure still smashed right through the terminal’s window and into both Sam and Bucky. Your body responded instinctively with the muscle memory of a drill you’d run a thousand times. You had the person on the ground by the time the boys made it back to their feet.
And the person, dressed completely in red, was shooting something at you before you knew it. Your hands caught in some sort of sticky, weby substance. His voice suddenly squeaked in that familiar teenage way, apologizing, before Sam flew in, immediately taking the unknown foe off with him.
Bucky swiftly yanked the material away, freeing your hands, before heading in the direction Sam had. For a split second his stern eyes caught yours and you couldn’t help but recognizing something in them. Something you knew all too well: a darkness beneath the surface, shit bottled up. You shook the thought away and finally registered the fight happening in the rafters of the terminal, just as Bucky launched something right at the red, spider-like figure.
That person kept talking, in that cheerful voice even as he flung the same object right back at Bucky, who, thank god, managed to dodge in time.
“Hey,” you called loudly, to both catch attention and stall, “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Peter! Oh, um, I mean… I’m Spiderman,” the boy-ish voice fumbled out, “Who are you?” All the while he continued his assault on Sam. But, by the time he asked the question, he’d turned his focus on you, having incapacitated the Falcon with one of his weby things.
“Oh nobody, just Y/N,” you replied, your eyes intent on his hands as he swung closer to you. He raised one of them, and held onto the pillar he’d perched on with the other, and just as he shot the web at you, you teleported a few feet to the right of your previous location. “That’s a neat trick you got there.”
Apparently, that distraction had given Bucky enough time to take cover and locate another projectile. Sam was still struggling in those webs. And you kept working on your feet. The boy - Peter - wasted no time and in one movement swung closer to you and shot two fresh webs at you new spot.
You dodged again, appearing behind him and then to his right, as he worked the problem that was you. Maybe he’d only encountered opponents he could catch?
Out of nowhere, something, maybe a chair, whizzed through the air right into Peter’s side. He stumbled, but didn’t fall all the way to the ground. No, he caught himself and quickly aimed for Bucky and then you again.
Bucky managed to get out of the way, as did you, and the fight went on from there.
“Sam! We could really use Red Wing here!” You yelled with such ferocity it distracted Peter as you’d hoped. Your powers allowed you to dodge his flying webs better than Bucky could, not to mention his height and giant metal arm made him a bigger target.
“I’m working on it!”
In the heat of everything, your mind somehow drifted back to the events surely occuring outside. Your heart clenched and you hesitated. Where were the others? Steve? Tony? WandaD Natasha?
One of Peter’s webs caught your leg then, hinging it to the ground.
He let out what was probably supposed to be a quiet, “Yes!” but actually ended up as a yell in triumph.
You ripped it from the floor in one smooth motion, before running toward the boy. You teleported closer, so he hadn’t the time to direct another web your way, and used your momentum to finally shove him off his new light fixture perch.
Clearly you hadn’t thought that one through, you realized, as you teleported to the ground, landing in a heap. Super strength had its perks, but falling on your ass still hurt like hell no matter what.
Just as you were about to spring back into action, another crash sounded through the terminal. Peter screamed, caught by Red Wing’s attachment, and was towed right out another window.
“Couldn’t have done that sooner?” Buckey groaned from somewhere further down the terminal, to your left.
“Shut up,” Sam shot back from your right.
You laughed at the exchange. Really the whole fight itself. That boy was more talkative than you, and he sure loved Bucky’s metal arm. You kept laughing until the two men were back on their feet, standing over you.
It really shouldn’t have been funny, not at all. But, something about it all told you everything would be okay, eventually. Why exactly did your brain register that as a legitimate message? Who the hell knew. Maybe you just had to believe in something when the people you believed in, your family and role models, got a little grey.
“Y/N, are you good?” Sam asked, surprisingly quietly.
You finally caught your breath. “Just dandy. Living the dream, really.”
Without another word, Bucky pulled you up to your feet and they both gave you a more thorough survey. “Thank you, Bucky! Really guys, I’m fine. How are you doing? You guys got hit pretty bad with that web stuff.”
“Well, we can’t all be invincible like you,” Sam replied with a hint of humor, before quickly turning back to business. “Let’s go.”
Sam took off. You, oddly enough, brushed some rubble off Bucky’s arm, flashed him a smile, and set off running too.
~
“Is there something on your mind, Bucky?”
One instant Bucky was reliving that fateful day and the next he was back, right there with you. How had he even gotten there? What did he do to deserve this ‘family’ around him?
“Um, yeah. There is…”
You cocked your head to the side as your expression turned more investigative. While he could tell you were dying to know what it was, as if all you’d finally reached Friendship Level 10, you kept quiet.
“I don’t understand why you keep talking to me. I don’t deserve your kindness or your friendship.”
Your face fell and your innocent, doe eyes fogged over in sadness, or alarm almost. You managed to sit up fully too, muscles clearly tensed and rigid. “What? Because you’re… You’re Steve’s Bucky, you’re nice and kind, and you don’t deserve what’s happened to you! You should feel like you’re a part of this family too!”
Bucky’s brow furrowed at your response, but it was his turn to hold his tongue.
“I suppose, I understand why you’d say that… but nothing that happened, or that you did, make anything I said any less true.”
“Thank-thank you, Y/N.”
You visibly relaxed as soon as the words fell from Bucky’s lips. He even felt a bit lighter, better too. “Of course, happy to knock some sense into you any time.”
He chuckled a little. “You’re just like Steve. I thought that about you when first met you too, you know.”
You beamed, clearly taking it as a compliment. “It’s the stubbornness, isn’t it? Although, I am pretty short and scrawny…”
That had you both laughing a bit immediately.
“So what do you say to some board games, huh?”
“I’d love to, kiddo.”
Tags:  @enniaram  @inlovewithnovels
204 notes · View notes
reverse-winx · 6 years
Text
Stella’s Ring
Hello everyone, sorry it’s been so long since the last chapter went up.  I can’t make any promises about when the next one will go up, but I’ll do my best for you.
Obligatory disclaimer: I don’t work for Rainbow and I don’t make money off this.
Last time:
Bloom enrolled at Cloud Tower School for Witches with Stella as her sponsor.  She met three other girls in her suite, Flora, Tecna, and Musa, as well as three powerful fairies, Icy, Darcy, and Stormy.  Bloom and her new friends discovered that all is not as it seems when it comes to Magix’s three most famous fairies, and they may have made some enemies...
The next morning, Bloom headed down for breakfast with her suitemates. “I never got a chance to thank you all for last night,” she said as they descended the many staircases. “How did you figure out where I was?”
“Well, you said you had just wanted a quick call, so I gave you change for a ten-minute-max call. But then ten minutes passed and you didn’t come back,” said Stella.
Tecna continued. “I looked up the location of the nearest phone booth, which wasn’t very far.”
Flora said, “We investigated, and you weren’t there. Musa heard a commotion, though, so we followed her ears to where you were.”
“What I can’t believe is that they were associating in the open with an ogre,” Stella said. “Ogres are creatures of dark magic. The Trio hasn’t gotten where they are by being careless.”
“It would have had to be something really important,” Musa said, thinking.
“They said they really want Stella’s scepter,” Bloom said. Turning to her friend, she asked, “Do you have any idea why?”
Stella shook her head. “It’s an heirloom that’s been in my family for millennia,” she answered. “Other than its ability to channel and amplify magic, there’s nothing too special about it.”
The newly-named Winx girls let the subject drop over breakfast before they headed to their first class, Mayhem, taught by Professor Zarathustra. The tall woman stalked purposefully before the lecture hall, looking them over critically. “Witches thrive off the energy of chaos,” she said as she walked back and forth. “In this world where people constantly seek some semblance of order, we witches must know how to draw on the chaotic nature of the universe and harness it. We can feed off the emotional turmoil of other beings just as well as we can use the energy of a thundering waterfall. With this knowledge alone as your tool, we will commence our first exercise in magic. Draw on some source of chaos, either from within yourself or from your surroundings, and focus it between your hands. Begin.”
“That’s not a lot of instruction,” Bloom whispered to Stella.
Stella shrugged and held out her hands. A ball of silvery light appeared above them. “It’s not too bad,” she said. “But then again, I’ve been doing this for years.”
Musa also easily focused a ball of fuchsia light in her hands. “I can hear the soundwaves bouncing all over this room, and they’re in no way orderly,” she explained to Bloom.
“You’re making a rather good source of inner turmoil,” Tecna commented as an electric green glow appeared in her hands.
“Glad to be of assistance,” Bloom said as she held out her hands and focused. “This was so much easier when I was being attacked by an ogre.”
“That’s because you were scared,” Stella said as she juggled several silver balls of light around idly. “Fear and battle are great for mayhem.”
Bloom peeked over at Flora and saw that her eyes were closed, and that she was whispering to herself. “The wind whistles freely outside – there is both order and chaos in nature. Let me embrace the beautiful chaos.” A weak, golden glow bubbled over Flora’s hands, leaving Bloom feeling rather inadequate.
“Most of you seem to be making progress,” Professor Zarathustra said as she peered over their group. She turned her attention to Bloom. “Hm. You’re the last-minute enrolment. An uncharted dimension, if I recall. No exposure to magic. You’re going to have a lot of catching up to do.”
Bloom chewed her lip as the professor walked away. “I’m doomed,” she groaned. “Come on, work!” Something faint and orange flickered between her fingertips and died.
“It’s a step in the right direction,” Flora said encouragingly. “We can work on it together later if you’d like.”
Later found Bloom in Flora’s room, practicing the exercise. “I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” Bloom said with a sigh. “How am I supposed to focus chaos between my hands?”
“It’s difficult,” Flora said as she practiced alongside Bloom. “I’m more of a potion’s person myself. I like working with controlled, predictable chaos, which sounds rather contradictory, I know, but it’s different.”
“No, I get it,” Bloom said. “It’s like chemistry, but with magic. Stuff doesn’t obey the laws of physics, but it does it consistently.”
Flora nodded. “This whole energy thing is just a little difficult to grasp.”
“Tecna and Musa were able to get it right away,” Bloom said with a sigh. “Stella doesn’t count since she’s been learning magic since she was little. Maybe we could go ask those two for help?”
So, they did. Musa lazed on her bed as she described her process. “Soundwaves are all around us, and I just happen to be able to detect them,” she said. “They bounce all over the place, and my power allows me to tap into it. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“It’s similar for me,” Tecna said. “I’m the Witch of Technology, and so, naturally, I’m in tune with all sorts of waves and electric signals that most other beings aren’t. Some of them are orderly, but many aren’t. I’m also more observant that most people, so I can easily identify sources of chaos.”
“Theoretically, it all makes sense,” Flora said as she continued trying. “Nature is all around me. It’s just a matter of focusing properly.”
“At least you know what to look for,” Bloom said glumly.
“You still practicing?” Stella asked, poking her head into room 14J. “You worry too much.”
“If I can’t get at least decent fast, I risk being kicked out,” Bloom said.
Stella strode over to her side and squeezed her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not fairies. We don’t get a new transformation and suddenly have all this magic available to us. We earn our powers through hard work.”
“Their way must be nice,” Bloom muttered.
“Come on, what happened to the girl who was so confidently talking about taking a stand for witches?” Stella asked. “You’ve held off an ogre with a stick! You can do this!”
“Yeah,” said Flora. “We’ll be all the stronger because of all the work we give.”
“All this talk about work is gonna make me sick,” Musa complained.
“Why is that?” asked Tecna. “You’re in a school environment, where such talk is generally unavoidable. Also, it’s just words. They shouldn’t have any impact on your physical wellbeing or the pathogens that make their way into your body.”
“She does have a point,” Stella said. “It’s just the first day. Sometimes the simpler things are harder anyway. You just need to relax a little.”
“The suggestion to remove the chaotic energy from your person does not sound unreasonable,” Tecna remarked. “Perhaps being surrounded by external yet tangible chaotic energy will be more basic for a complete novice.”
“You speak so pretentiously,” Musa remarked.
“And you complain too much,” Stella said, voicing what Bloom had been thinking.
“About the ‘surrounding ourselves with tangible chaotic energy’,” Flora said hesitantly, “how should we do that?”
“Simple exposure to multiple living beings would suffice,” Tecna said.
Musa rolled over onto her side. “I know some spots in Magix,” she offered. “Sure, they’re not where the most upstanding members of society hang out, but they’re bustling with energy all the same.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Stella said. “I just happen to know that there’s a party in Alfea this weekend. It’s some formality between Alfea and Red Fountain, and naturally, Cloud Tower isn’t invited.”
“How do you know about it, then?” Bloom asked.
“Oh, I’ve got contacts,” Stella said flippantly. “Anyhow, the energy there will be alive with magic, which could be the perfect place for you and Flora to get a sense for lively chaos.”
“And Magix City doesn’t have enough?” Musa asked. “Look, a party is cool, but I’m not about to go within thirty measures of a bunch of preppy girls who would love an excuse to put me away. Plus, there are clubs out in the city that serve some pretty sweet drinks.”
“There’s no drinking age in Magix?” Bloom asked.
“Not in Magix, no,” said Stella. “People around here realize that making a big deal over restricting something is a surefire way to make sure people use back roads to get it. But, anyway, I still say we should head to Alfea’s party.”
Flora looked uncertain. “I don’t know. I think Musa has a point.”
“But Stella’s right about the energy,” said Tecna. “The power of uncontrolled, teenage magic is far greater than the rage of a slightly-intoxicated club.”
“We’ll stand out immediately,” Musa argued. “Everyone knows you, Stella, and the rest of us can’t exactly pass for fairies.”
“That’s where the glamor comes in!” Stella said excitedly. “At Alfea, one of the first things they teach is metamorphosis. Last year, all the girls used it to hide their blemishes, make-up their faces, and fix up their clothes.”
“Metamorphosis is a fairy power,” Tecna said. “It’s constructive and builds up an illusion. It’s totally incompatible with witch power, which, you should know, is destructive.”
“That’s why I said ‘glamor’,” Stella explained. “I’m the Witch of the Sun, Moon, and Stars. My power comes from light! I can just change what’s reflected off us, and no one will know the difference.”
“That sounds both complicated and exhausting,” Flora said.
“Yeah,” Bloom agreed. “There’s got to be a better option.”
“Yeah, like going to a club,” Musa pointed out.
Stella pursed her lips. “Flora!”
“Yes?” The girl looked up at her with surprised, innocent eyes.
“Do you know any morphing potions?” Stella asked.
“Well, yes, but…” the girl trailed off.
“But what?” Stella asked.
“Morphing potions require something off which to base their model,” Flora said.
“Meaning?” Bloom asked.
“I’d need some biological artifact from a person we want to emulate,” she answered.
“Even if we’re just going for body type?” Stella asked.
“The best thing that I can brew in time for the weekend would be an imitation potion,” Flora explained. “More specific ones, like for body type, would take longer, and could possibly have some adverse effects. An imitation, however, will fade after a few hours or so.”
“We’re really going to this fairy party?” Musa complained.
“Hey, if we don’t start breaking down barriers, no one will,” Bloom said.
“Barriers?” Musa scoffed.
“They discriminate against us,” Bloom said. “You know it’s wrong. And we have to do something about it.”
“By trying to fit right in with them?” asked Musa.
“To be fair, the Trio did get a pretty clear look at our faces yesterday,” Stella said.
“Bloom is right,” Tecna said decisively. “All these other dimensions are so behind the times. On Zenith, anti-discrimination laws have been in place for hundreds of years. It’s about time that someone decided to push things along.”
“Once again, by trying to look like them and go to their parties?” Musa asked. “Sorry, but that’s not for me.”
“We’re not trying to play their game here,” said Bloom, feeling herself getting more confident. “We’re trying to learn how they play their game so that we can get familiar with it and then tear it apart before the public.”
“That’s optimistic,” said Musa. “But it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to convince you guys otherwise, huh?”
“You’re in, then?” Stella asked.
“If we witches can’t stick together, who else do we have?” Musa reluctantly pointed out. “Plus, there may be a day when I want you guys to have my back. Something for something, you know?”
“That’s the spirit!” Stella exclaimed.
“You haven’t said anything, Flora,” Bloom noted. “This whole thing relies heavily on your potion-making. Are you okay with this?”
Flora shrugged. “I’ve done worse things than sneak into a fairy party.”
“Really? Like what?” asked Musa. “Squish a bug?”
“Well, that too,” Flora admitted. “My little sister is slightly allergic to hornets, so there was no question in my mind. Anyhow, like I said, I’ll need biological material of someone whose form we want to emulate.”
“I’d offer mine, but I don’t know if the potion takes into account my physical maintenance,” Stella said.
“Oh, it should,” said Flora.
“Then here.” Stella plucked a long, blonde strand and handed it to the smaller girl.
“So, we’ll all end up looking like you,” Tecna stated.
“That’s right,” said Flora.
“We’ll remedy that by using makeup, hair dye, contacts, and different shoes,” Stella said. “It’ll be the mother of all makeovers – making one person look five unique types of different!”
“Shoes?” asked Tecna.
“To throw off the heights,” said Stella. “We’ll all be the same, and it’s unlikely for five friends to be that way, even if we’ve all got the same body type.”
“I’ll get started right away,” Flora said.
“Tell me your style preferences, and I’ll whip something sweet up for all of us!” Stella exclaimed.
*~*~*
The weekend came more quickly than Bloom realized, though she supposed it was understandable, with all the extra work she was putting in alongside the required homework. She had finally started getting a feel for the chaos energy that Stella, Musa, and Tecna could feel so easily, but was still nowhere near consistent when it came to being able to do the simple energy concentration that Professor Zarathustra had assigned on the first day.
It was Friday afternoon after classes had ended when Stella called them all into her and Bloom’s room. “I’ve taken all of your requests into account, and this is what I’ve got. Come see the drawings!”
Stella was a talented artist, Bloom discovered, and she knew fashion inside and out. She admired the simple, royal blue dress that her roommate had designed for her before noticing the alternative hair color on the model. “Auburn?” she asked Stella.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Stella said as she inspected her large and well-organized box of makeup. “We’re all going to start off as clones, and we can’t just go in there looking like- like- what’s the name for six kids all at once? Six-tuplets or something like that?”
“Sextuplets,” Tecna said. “You think that my hair should be white?”
“Silver,” Stella corrected. “You said you wanted to keep a strong Zenith style, and, according to my research, silver hair is very in right now. Combine that with a slightly metallic lavender and a dash of white and dark gray, and you’ll be the model of Zenith fairy fashion.”
“On Zenith, we don’t make that distinction,” Tecna commented.
Stella waved her off. “You know what I mean.”
“Blonde?” Musa asked as she looked at Stella’s designs for her. “Blonde is overrated.”
“Darker or lighter?” Stella asked as she waltzed over.
“Edgier,” Musa said. “If I’m changing my look, I wanna go hard.”
“The outfit is okay, though?” Stella asked as she looked it over.
“Definitely,” Musa said. “The knee-high boots are perfect.”
“The skirt isn’t too short?” Tecna asked, peering over. “My analysis of your style says that you’re very practical and prefer pants.”
“We’re trying to blend in with a bunch of impractical fairies,” Musa said. “Say, how about colored highlights? Is that fairy-fashion-acceptable?”
Stella thought a moment. “As long as they aren’t black,” she answered. “Pastels are most common, but I think light metallic may be what you’re looking for.”
“Are these makeup notes?” Flora asked.
“Yup,” Stella confirmed. “I’ve gotta find a way to make sure our faces don’t all look the same since I’ve got pretty big, recognizable eyes, you know? Oh, and while I’m thinking about it, does anyone want to add a little color to their skin or go super pale?”
A good portion of the rest of the day was spent finalizing details. By the time evening came, Bloom was fashioned out. Tecna knocked on the door after dinner and dropped off Bloom’s newly-updated cell phone, so she decided to call her parents before getting some much-needed rest.
“Bloom? Bloom!” her father’s voice came through as if he was sitting next to her. “Wow, your reception is great over there. I’ve never been able to hear so clearly through this thing!”
“Yeah, one of my suite mates is a tech genius,” Bloom said. “She fixed up my phone for me.”
“Sounds like you’re meeting some pretty cool people,” her father said, and Bloom could hear the relief in his voice. “So, how’s the magic?”
“It’s…” Bloom tried to think of a good analogy. “It’s like trying to learn a sport,” she said finally. “It’s not formulaic, like learning history or science. The only way I can get better is by practicing. It’s like when you were trying to teach me to kick a soccer ball into the net. You could explain to me all the physical mechanics, but when it came to me actually doing it, I tripped over my own feet.”
“It’s harder than you thought,” he summarized.
“Yeah, kind of,” Bloom admitted.
“You know, you can always come back home,” he said. “Your mom and I miss you.”
Bloom laughed. “I can’t just give up,” she said. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m learning magic. It doesn’t matter how good or bad I am at it; that I’m able to do it at all is amazing in itself.”
“That’s my passionate little girl,” her father said, and Bloom could hear his smile.
“How’s Mom?” she asked.
“Oh, busy, busy,” he said. “She’s out getting flower food right now, or something like that. She’ll be sad she missed you.”
“It’s okay, I’ll call you guys tomorrow- wait, not tomorrow. I’m going out. I’ll probably call you guys the day after tomorrow or something like that,” Bloom said.
“You’re going out?” her father asked. “There better not be any boys involved.”
“Oh, come on, Dad,” Bloom said. “I’m sixteen! I’m going out with my suite mates to a party near the city, and there will be boys, but they’re not the main object of the night.”
“Be careful all the same,” her father advised. “I don’t care if they’re aliens from other dimensions; they’re still teenage boys who are probably full of hormones and bad judgement.”
“Okay, I promise,” Bloom said. “I’ll watch my friends’ backs, and they’ll watch mine.”
The two of them talked for a little while longer before Bloom very noticeably could not stop yawning. After she hung up, she rolled over in her bed and was asleep in what felt like seconds. When she woke, she saw Stella sweeping around their spacious room, surrounded by beautiful clothes.
“Good morning, sleepy!” Stella sang. “Somewhere, the sun’s shining bright, I can feel it!”
“Good morning,” Bloom said blearily. “Are these tonight’s outfits?”
“Of course!” Stella chirped. “Here, this one’s yours.” She snapped her finger, and in her place stood the auburn-haired, very naturally made-up version of herself that Bloom would be that night. “It really is a great color, hm? And are you still alright with your hair in a braid? If you do, I think a ribbon added in could be a great contrast.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Bloom said. “I’m not great at the whole fashion thing.”
“Then a ribbon it is,” Stella said as she changed back into herself. “You’re gonna look sweet tonight!”
“How are we getting there?” Bloom asked as she sat up.
“Oh, you know those boys I called before when we were fighting the ogre?” Stella asked. “Well, they’re going to the party, and I’m going to have them let us in.”
“Can they do that?” Bloom asked.
“Of course,” Stella said. “Prince Sky is, well, a prince. He can do almost anything and it’ll be fine.”
The day passed slowly. Bloom did her written homework before meeting Musa and Tecna in their room to work on flying, a skill that was basically essential for life in a tower-filled school. “No Flora?” Musa asked.
“She’ll be working on the potion,” Tecna said.
“Right. Well, let’s get back to work. Can you still float?” Musa asked.
It was another grueling practice, and Bloom ended up with more than a few small bruises from managing to get herself briefly a little off the floor before tumbling down. “My analysis says that your focus has certainly improved,” Tecna remarked as Bloom rubbed her sore bottom. “You’re able to hover for nearly ten seconds uninterrupted.”
“How did you guys learn?” Bloom asked as she lay back on the floor, tired.
“Yeah,” said Musa, looking at Tecna. “How in the worlds did you learn? You’re one of the most unfocused people I’ve ever met. I swear, you declare you’re bored every other second.”
Tecna shrugged. “I got bored and realized that I could float. That was exciting, so I figured out how to do it at will.”
“Aw man, I can see it before my very eyes!” Musa exclaimed. “Baby Tecna, bored out of her mind, so she stares at the ground, trying to make something happen, and then boom! She’s floating!”
“How did you do it?” Bloom asked, looking at Musa.
“Eh, I was running away,” Musa said. “I was just learning to pick pockets, and I messed up. I took a wrong turn and was at a dead end. I really needed to get out, and force of will helped me out.”
“How did you replicate it?” Tecna asked.
“Tenacity,” Musa answered. “It wasn’t hard to realize that flying is really useful and had the potential to help me out of many a sticky situation, so I forced myself to figure it out. Once, I ran into a known witch and I begged her for help, and she gave me a few pointers. She told me what I’ve been telling you, Bloom. In the beginning, you can’t think of anything other than the flight – not your position in the air, not the excitement of your new position. You’ve gotta build up the magical memory before you can even think about multitasking.”
“But getting to the multitasking point is rewarding,” Tecna said. “Now I can fly and think about my projects simultaneously. My next goal is to be able to use other magic while flying.”
Flora’s voice suddenly drifted through the air. “Potion’s done! Come and get it!”
The four other girls rushed into room 14K. Bloom was first surprised by how much light there was, and then by how many plants filled space. She thought she could even hear running water.
“How did you smuggle all of this into the school?” Musa asked, impressed.
“I didn’t,” Flora answered. “I got full permission to set up a potion garden in here, so long as I contributed to the school’s supply. I’m a certified brewer, you see.”
Stella peered into the happily bubbling cauldron. “How long did you say this will last?” she asked.
“Four hours,” Flora answered. “There’s enough so that we each can have two doses, if needed. Anything cosmetics or spells applied while under the potion will disappear when it wears off. According to the instructions, this includes, but is not limited to, tanning oil, hair dye, nail polish, and glamor.”
“Alright, then,” Stella said. “Let’s all take a picture now so we can do a before and after comparison, and I can show it to the boys so they know who we are.”
“The boys?” Musa asked suspiciously.
“I know some guys from Red Fountain,” Stella said. “They’ll escort us in. If you want, I can even arrange for us to have dinner with them!”
“Why?” asked Tecna.
“Oh, to be friendly. I haven’t chatted with the guys in a while, and while I can’t monopolize them anymore, I’m more than happy to share,” Stella said.
Musa scowled. “Years of living like I did taught me to be slow to trust boys.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry too much about these guys,” Stella said. “They’re real sweethearts.”
“Even that Riven guy?” Bloom challenged playfully.
Stella hesitated. “He does need a little work,” she admitted. “But even if he’s got a bad attitude, he’s definitely hot.”
“That adjective does not compute,” Tecna said, confused.
“It means that his body is attractive,” Musa explained.
Tecna looked blank. “I cannot claim to be an expert in that area.”
“Don’t worry,” Bloom told her as they lined up and Stella floated her phone an appropriate distance away. “Looks aren’t the defining aspect in a guy. Personality is much more important.”
“Alright, everybody, cheers!” Stella said, raising the small cup of steaming potion that Flora had just poured for her. “Here’s to a fun night of dancing and friendship!”
“Cheesy, but let’s roll with it,” said Musa.
They drank their potions in a gulp, hardly tasting it. As soon as Bloom put down her cup, a tingling feeling began in her stomach and quickly spread out through her body. She felt like she was stretching slightly, and her very blood bubbled. A rush flew up through her scalp and her eyes itched. “Is anyone else feeling really weird?” she asked in a voice that was not quite her own.
“Yeah, my entire body’s cramping,” a voice that was not really Musa’s said.
“This must be what it feels like to be toothpaste being squeezed out of a tube,” Tecna commented.
“I did just watch you grow six inches, Musa,” Stella said. “Of course you’re cramping! Now, who’s up first for makeovers?”
It took hours, of course. First, Stella cut Tecna, Musa, and Bloom’s hair, and then everyone had their hair dyed. After the initial cut and color, Flora and Tecna applied a magical tan to darken Stella’s bronze skin while Musa and Bloom went for skin lightening. Only then did Stella start on the styling and makeup.
“How does one put these flimsy pieces of plastic in their eyes?” Tecna asked, suspiciously examining the pink contact lenses before her.
“I can help you,” Flora said as she slipped her own brown lenses in.
“Stop fidgeting, Bloom, or I’m gonna mess up your eye makeup!” Stella exclaimed as she held her still.
“Sorry, I’m just not too used to this sort of thing,” Bloom said as she forced herself to freeze. “I’m sure you can see that I’m not a makeup type of girl.”
“Good thing I am, then!” Stella chirped as she did something fancy with one of her brushes.
“It’s strange being four inches taller,” Flora commented as she pulled on the gloves that went with her dress.
“Try being six inches tall plus four-inch heels,” Musa said. “It’s great!”
Bloom twirled around in her dress, feeling like she was five as she watched the skirt flare out. “I love this!” she exclaimed. “It’s so simple and classy and- and beautiful!”
“I told you to trust me,” Stella said cheerfully sprayed hairspray over her own do. “Tecna, how’s yours?”
“Quite appropriate,” Tecna said as she inspected herself in the mirror.
When everyone was finally finished, Stella lined them all up for a picture. “Say cheese!” she said as she snapped her fingers, setting off her phone’s flash. “Now, the boys say they can’t do dinner since they’ve got to deliver some things to Alfea before the party, but we’re to meet them downtown, where they’ll pick us up after we’ve eaten.”
No one had time to argue, as Stella swept them away with her ring’s teleportation powers, insisting on treating everyone to an expensive restaurant as compensation for coercing them into going to the fairy party. When they had eaten their fill and left the restaurant, they found a bright red ship waiting for them. “That’ll be our ride,” Stella said with a grin. “Hello, boys, it’s us!”
“Ah, Princess Stella!” Bloom recognized Prince Sky stepping out of the ship to greet them. “Well met, your highness.” He gave a dramatic bow, and his brown bangs fluffed with his exaggerated movement. She stifled a giggle.
“You’re so dramatic, your highness,” blonde-haired Brandon said as he knocked his prince lightly on the back. “Hello, ladies.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Timmy said from the pilot’s seat. “Princess Stella’s got the headband, Flora’s got the curls, Musa has the ponytail, Bloom’s got the braid, and Tecna’s got the short cut?”
“You’ve got it,” Stella said. “Now, you’ve all met Bloom before, but these are my other suitemates, Flora, Tecna, and Musa. Girls, these are some friends of mine from last year. They’re from Red Fountain. The gentleman is Prince Sky, the blonde is Brandon, the pilot is Timmy, and the grouchy one is Riven.”
“Nice to meet you,” Flora said with a polite bob of her head, and Tecna mimicked her. Musa gave a curt nod as well, but said nothing.
“Well, off we go to the party,” Timmy said. “Take a seat, everyone!”
“So, princess,” Sky said as they took off, “How do you want this whole escort to work? You mentioned in your message that you wanted to keep this discreet.”
“Yes, well, it wouldn’t do if the Alfeans discovered that my friends and I crashed their party,” Stella said. “So, if you all could pretend to have brought outside companions, that’d be excellent.”
“Now, you ladies have one on us,” Brandon said. “How do you want that to work?”
“I’ve made myself up to mimic Prince Sky here,” Stella said, flipping her long, brown hair. “I’ll pretend to be a relative who insisted on coming, so he can escort another girl.”
“So how are we splitting off?” Bloom asked.
Stella shrugged. Brandon said, “Prince gets first call?”
“And I’m guessing no one really gets a say at all?” Riven asked crossly from the copilot’s seat.
Musa looked at him sharply. “Where’re you from?” she asked.
“Magix,” Riven answered. “You?”
“Originally from Melody,” she answered. “But I know your accent. South side?”
“How’s a Mel like you distinguish the South side accent?” Riven asked, sounding less aggressive than usual.
“Lived there since I was twelve,” Musa said.
Riven was quiet for a moment. Finally, sounding less crass than Bloom had ever heard him, he said, “We should talk some time.”
“Perfect, then you two are a pair,” Sky said. “Now, I’m already responsible for Princess Stella, but which other lady should I take under my wing?”
“Tecna,” Stella said immediately. “She’s unfamiliar with party culture and could use my expertise.”
“Your proposition has merit,” Tecna agreed.
Bloom realized that left her and Flora. She would have loved to spend the night with Mr. Swedish-Model-Brandon to see if there was a personality behind those good looks, but she had a sneaking suspicion that shy Flora and slightly nervous-looking Timmy might not make the most natural pair. “I’ll go with Timmy,” she said.
Brandon nodded. “Then I’ll escort Miss Flora.”
The ride was short and sweet. Timmy let them all off at the door before taking off to park the ship. Bloom walked with Stella, admiring the openness of Alfea College. Tall, slender girls, well made-up and dressed to the nines, mingled with young men in the military unitards of Red Fountain. Her patron had not been joking – the stones of Alfea really were pink. “I’m not quite sure what I was expecting,” she whispered to Stella, “but I don’t think it was this.”
“It is quite different from our current accommodations,” Stella agreed. “But let’s avoid talking about that for now, hm?”
Bloom nodded. “Got it.”
“Now, tell me,” Stella said as she glided elegantly through the throngs of people, “why did you choose Timmy? I know you had your eye on Brandon from the moment you met him.”
“It was for Flora’s sake,” Bloom said. “I have a feeling that Brandon will take very good care of her.”
“I see you’re point,” Stella said. “Now, you just enjoy the party and feel the energy, okay? It’ll be a good time!”
It was, at best, a decent time. Bloom was a book person, not a party person, and Timmy shared her sentiment. After Timmy presented her with a golden egg that melted into a flurry of butterflies, she attempted to make small talk with the boy who had managed to put an electric collar on a troll, but it seemed that social interaction was all together a different type of monster to him. Finally, Bloom gave up and was content to sit at a table with Timmy while his fiddled with his high-tech, probably magical phone-like device. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the energy of chaos around her. To her surprise, she could hear the air buzzing with warmth, like a happy, crackling fire, dancing about with the chaos that accompanied excitement. It really was different than practicing in a room with a cynic, a shy potioneer, and a genius.
As Bloom felt her senses stretching out across the party venue, she became aware of the burning presence of her friends, to which she had become attuned during her days with them in the suite, that stood out in the bubbly yet muted magic of the fairies. There was Musa’s sharp, crackling fire, Flora’s warm, smoldering coals, and Tecna’s flickering candle-like flame that danced with her attention. Stella’s open flow was also there, but it felt strange and dull. Bloom knew that Stella had been accustomed to hiding herself among fairies, but to feel that she had gone so far as to alter her magical presence blew her mind. What stood out, however, was the ring on her patron’s finger, the Solarian heirloom that the ogre had been trying to steal when they had first met. It pulsed with energy and light, and even a novice like herself could sense its power.
Then Bloom became aware of three other distinctive presences. They were strong, as strong as her friends’, if not stronger. One felt clean and cold, like a glistening glacier, one felt soothing and hypnotic, like a lullaby, and one felt strong and lively, like a happy dance. Somehow, Bloom instinctively knew that they were fairy presences, and she knew just whose they were. It was no surprise that the Three Fairies would be here, on their home turf.
Suddenly, the calm energy that must have been Darcy’s spiked, and Bloom’s eyes snapped open. She saw the beautiful Fairy of Night scanning the crowds, her hazel eyes narrowed. Bloom felt a chill in her stomach. Could she see through her and her friends’ disguises?
When Bloom stood up, Timmy noticed. “Uh, you can just sit,” he offered awkwardly. “I can get you whatever you want.”
Bloom smiled. As bad as he was at holding a conversation, he was definitely a sweet and considerate guy. Maybe he and Flora would not have been as bad off as she had thought. “Don’t worry about it, Timmy,” she said gently. “I just want to stretch my legs and show off this fabulous dress. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
Timmy nodded and turned back to his phone, and Bloom slipped into the crowd. She was not sure if she was fleeing or investigating, but so far, her instincts had yet to lead her wrong in the magical world. She found herself drawn near but out of the eyeshot of the Trio. From her spot, she could hear the three older girls clearly.
“Are you sure it’s the ring?” Stormy was asking. “Everyone’s wearing their finest jewelry and magic items tonight.”
“I’m positive,” Darcy whispered. “It’s distinctly Solarian. Plus, as hard as Stella tries to hide her witchy presence, I can sense it. Her new, witchy friends are also here in disguise. They’re not bothering to hide themselves at all. I’m surprised you can’t tell, they’re so loud.”
“We’re not all natural sensors in our civilian forms,” Stormy said.
“Peace, sister,” Icy said. “Darcy is rarely wrong, and we do know that the Solarian princess can’t resist a party. I’m not surprised at all that she’s here.”
“Are we gonna do anything about it?” Stormy asked. “She knows too much.”
“We’ll need to take it outside,” Icy murmured. “Once we’re there, cover is no issue, yes, Darcy?”
“Of course not,” Darcy said. “But there are more subtle ways to deal with this.”
Bloom watched the fairy look in Stella’s direction, and she followed her gaze. Something on Stella’s hand flickered, and her ring slipped off and floated away. Yet when Bloom looked again, the ring was still there. Stella, who appeared to be deep in conversation with Brandon, spared her hand a glance, as if someone had brushed it with their clothes, but noticed nothing. Meanwhile, the ring wove its way through the party, toward Darcy.
Now, Bloom disliked thievery. Maybe she had read too many stories with codes of chivalry, or maybe she was just a decent human being who respected others’ belongings. She also disliked people who stood by, watching something that they knew was wrong occur. So, naturally, Bloom had to take a stand against the Trio’s blatant theft. She slipped between partiers, following the ring as best she could, trying to catch up. She reached out, trying to snag it before it could fall into the fairies’ hands. Was it the best idea she had ever had? Absolutely not, but what else could she do as a witch on fairy territory who did not know magic?
A warm hand closed around her wrist. “Let’s take a walk,” the deceptively sweet voice of Darcy murmured in her ear. Bloom tensed up as she realized that she could not run. Darcy led her through the crowd and out the door to where Icy and Stormy stood waiting.
Something shiny glinted in Icy’s hand, and Bloom realized that she had Stella’s ring. Against her better judgement, she muttered, “Thieves.”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think you’re in any position to be saying such nasty things,” Stormy said, crossing her arms. “A witch shouldn’t harbor such a powerful magical object in the first place. This is hardly stealing; it’s keeping Magix City safe.”
Bloom’s blood boiled. She suddenly personally understood the fire that had fueled the Civil Right’s movement in her country, and why so many oppressed peoples had been ready to resort to violence. If they had been exposed to this kind of hatefulness for hundreds of years, it was no wonder that peaceful talking had not seemed like enough. And to think, she had only been living in the Magical Dimensions for less than a week!
“This is the second time this week that you’ve stuck your nose into our business, little girl,” Icy said coldly. “You got away last time because of your little coven, but you’re all alone this time.”
“I speak for myself when I say it’s nothing personal,” Darcy said with a shrug as she released Bloom, nudging her in the center of the triangle that the three of them had formed. “It’s just, you’re too curious and have seen a little too much. That’s all. You’re new here and haven’t formed strong bonds yet. No one will miss you for long, if that makes you feel better.”
Icy stepped forward. “I have to say, it would give me great personal satisfaction to be the one to eliminate this slippery little thing.”
“Be my guest, sister,” Stormy said. “I’ll be happy with a good show.”
“I’ll cover,” Darcy said. “Are you ready, sisters?”
Together, the three chanted, “By the power invested in me, by the sign of three, give me the power of a fairy!”
Bloom watched in awe as the three were engulfed by colored light. She felt the energy around them surge, and realized that the powerful presences that she could feel when they were in civilian form were a mere fraction of their power transformed. She gulped. This was not going to end well. “Don’t panic, don’t panic,” she whispered frantically to herself. “They have aerial advantage, they’ve got firepower advantage, they’ve got home turf advantage…”
Bloom quickly realized that her pep talk was having the opposite of the intended effect. “Okay, Bloom, think,” she thought to herself. “You can’t fight them, so you have to flee. If they feel threatened, they’ll expose everyone, so you need to escape the premises. But how?” Shaking herself from the splendid light which drew her attention, she turned on her heel and darted back into the party.
Inside, Timmy was looking for her. “Oh, hey there,” he said, waving awkwardly. “I was starting to get worried when I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry, Timmy, but I’ve gotta go,” Bloom said. “Do you know where my friends are?”
“Yeah.” Timmy pointed to Musa and Tecna, who both looked to be on high alert.
“Thanks, Timmy, catch you later,” Bloom called as she rushed over to them.
Musa heard her coming and headed toward her. “What was that out there?” she hissed. “I heard everything. Are you crazy?”
“They stole Stella’s ring!” Bloom whispered back.
“So what?” Musa asked. “It’s just an heirloom, and we’re in the middle of enemy territory! We need to get out of here. Where’s Flora?”
“Got her,” Stella said as she swept up to them, looking alert. “I told Sky to tell the others not to worry about us. We need to leave!”
“All the exits are monitored,” Tecna observed. “Teleporting will be flashy.”
“The ground is hollow beneath our feet,” Flora said.
“Because of the basement?” Tecna asked.
Musa pulled them toward an exit. “No, it’s deeper than that,” she said. “There’s something else. I can feel the echoes.”
“Echoes?” Stella asked. “Whatever, let’s get out of here!”
“What about your ring?” Bloom asked.
“What about it?” Stella asked.
“Darcy stole it,” Bloom answered.
“She thinks she did,” Stella corrected. “I wouldn’t bring my distinctive scepter into this place. Faragonda and Griselda would sense it immediately.”
“But she said…” Bloom was confused.
“A trick,” Tecna said. “To what end?”
“They’re after my scepter, and I wanted to know how desperately,” Stella said with a shrug. “I knew we’d never make it by Darcy’s sensor abilities.”
Musa looked sharply at her as she led them down some stairs. “What?”
“Don’t be mad,” Stella said. “Chaos is what we wanted, right? Well, chaos is what we’re going to get!”
“You’re insane,” Musa muttered. “They’ll wipe us out.”
“The earth is strange here,” Flora said as they descended. “It’s saturated with magic.”
Tecna touched the walls as they hurried along. “It’s ancient,” she said. “An old defense mechanism?”
“Great,” Stella said.
“This was your idea,” Musa reminded her.
“No, this is good,” Bloom said. “Our magic might be masked by this power, making it hard for them to find us.”
“Something’s not right,” Flora warned. “We’ve got to be careful. Tecna, do you have something we can use to look ahead?”
Tecna pulled out her phone. “Yes,” she said. “Scanning… Hm, it seems as if there’s a sort of tunnel system down her.”
Bloom felt a chill tickle her spine. “An ancient, magical tunnel system? This sounds dangerous.”
“I’m fairly certain it’s a labyrinth,” Tecna reported. “Meaning it’ll be easy to lose the fairies, but also easy to lose ourselves.”
“Well, it’s fight the fairies on their turf, or risk the labyrinth,” Bloom said.
“I’ll take a labyrinth any day,” Musa said. “I’ve got some echolocation skills that we can pair with Tecna’s scanner.”
“We’re in my element now,” Flora said. “The earth is my friend, so I can help us navigate as well.”
“We’re definitely out of my element, but I can light the way all the same,” Stella offered.
“I- I think I’m a sort of sensor,” Bloom said. “I could feel the three fairies up there, just like I feel all of you around me. I don’t know if that’s useful, but it’s all I’ve got for you now.”
Musa looked behind them. “They’ve entered the labyrinth,” she said. “Let’s move.”
Tecna typed on her phone as they hurried along.  “I’m connected to my computer in my dorm,” she reported.  “We have a solid location to keep us oriented.”
Flora gestured.  “I think can feel the forest thinning this way,” she said.
“Lead on,” Stella said, and they followed her.
As they crept through the labyrinth, Stella’s dull glow lighting their way, Bloom could feel the presence of the three fairies mixing into the magic of the maze.  Occasionally, a flare of frustration would burst up into her awareness, but it quickly faded.  With Tecna acting as a sort of anchor to their goal, and Flora and Musa as their immediate navigators, Bloom steadily grew more and more confident that they would come out alright.
“There,” Tecna declared, pointing at an empty spot in the wall.  “That’s our way out.”
Stella frowned.  “There’s nothing there,” she said.
“As if Cloud Tower wouldn’t have defenses against intruders,” Musa said.  “No, she’s right.  There’s an empty space behind this spot that’s not like the rest of this place.”
Bloom hesitantly felt around the wall with her hands.  “What are you doing?” asked Tecna.
“I’m looking for a secret handle of some sort,” she said.  “I imagine this place is immune to magic, so maybe there’s a physical trigger.”
“Here,” Flora said as the wall opened.
The other side was a hall in Cloud Tower.  Tecna marked the location on her map of the castle.  “You never know when something like this might come in handy,” was her rationale.
The potion which changed their appearances had been cancelled in the labyrinth, so the girls stumbled along to their tower in their now ill-fitting dresses. “It’s too bad the night was cut off short,” Stella said when they were safely upstairs.
“I think I’ve had my fair share of chaos for at least a week,” Bloom groaned as she kicked off her shoes.
“But hey, at least we got to hang with the boys,” Stella said cheerfully. “We should do it again sometime!”
To Bloom’s surprise, it was Musa who agreed.  “Yeah,” she said.  “That Riven guy, I wouldn’t mind talking with him again.”
“Then it’s a date!” Stella chirped.  “Good night, ladies!”
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youtuberswithalex · 6 years
Text
PRVL Vol. 1, Ch. 10: Take Off The Muzzle
Summary: Ever since Virgil learned about Nere’s significance in how his life turned out, he’s become more discriminatory than ever. Patton won’t let that stand.
Word Count: 4,876
Warnings: Lots of faunus discrimination, mentions of emotional abuse, mentions of the death of a sibling, fighting
Tag List: @vigilantvirgil @what-even-is-thiss @lovelylogans @nose-to-meet-you @faithfulcat111 @haikyuupaladin @virge-of-death @storytellerofuntoldlegends (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!)
(Author’s Note: I’m... honestly really proud of how this chapter turned out. I hope you folks enjoy!!)
Behind the Scenes Table of Contents: Desktop/Mobile
First - Previous - Next
The doors to the sparring gym opened with a bang, voices echoing into the silence.
“Patton, please, just one fight!” Roman begged. “You’re not going to get any better at controlling your semblance if you don’t practice!”
“But… what if I hurt you?” Patton replied.
“That’s unrealistic, considering both of the facts that Roman has plenty of aura and is much more experienced than you are,” Logan pointed out. “The chances of you actually injuring him are pretty small.”
Virgil scoffed. “Not that it’d be a bad thing if you did…”
“I’m ignoring you,” Roman growled. He then turned to Patton, stopping them all before they stepped onto the field and clasping his hands together. “Please, Patton. We don’t even have to use weapons! Just a little hand to hand combat?”
Chewing on his lip, Patton grasped the edge of his cloak and looked away. “I… I don’t know…”
“Come on, you’ve been getting so much better at keeping it under control outside of battle! Don’t you want to see how much you’ve improved in fighting with it?”
“I must admit, I have to agree with Roman. I am very intrigued to see how much progress you’ve made since we arrived at the beginning of the semester,” Logan added.
Patton let out a low whine, looking between his three teammates; Roman was giving him the best puppy dog eyes he could muster, Logan was staring at him quietly as he awaited an answer, and Virgil was glaring at the floor with his mind elsewhere. Patton frowned and let his shoulders drop.
“Oh… okay.”
Roman squealed and punched the air before flying onto the field, yelling, “Come on, Pat! Let’s fight!”
“Can’t wait to watch him kick your butt,” Virgil called as he headed for the bleachers.
Adjusting his glasses, Logan cleared his throat. “I believe it would be wise for me to stay down here and give suggestions on how to better use your tactics. Do I have consent to do so?”
“You certainly have mine, Doctor Smarts!”
“Sure, Lo.”
Roman looked to Virgil. “Hey, since you’re gonna be on your scroll anyway, watch our auras, will you?”
“I’m not taking orders from a faunus,” he snapped.
Patton pouted and turned to him. “Please, kiddo?” he asked.
Blinking, Virgil nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
“What- why did you take his order and not mine?!”
“Gee, maybe it’s ‘cause Patton’s not an animal!”
The other three glanced at each other with furrowed brows; Logan raised an eyebrow at Virgil and crossed his arms.
“Virgil, what are you-?”
“Let’s just start the fight,” Roman interrupted. “I don’t need to hear anything else from… From Jerky McJerk Face over there.”
“Wow, that was a good one,” Virgil called.
Patton put his hands on his hips. “Now, Virgil, you’re being necessarily mean to-”
“Drop it, Patton. Let’s just fight,” Roman huffed.
“Aw, but kiddo-”
“Patton, please.”
Patton watched Roman for a long moment, the usual twist of fear in his chest being replaced by a slight nausea in his gut. Roman’s brow was creased and his jaw was set as he stared back. Chewing on his lip, Patton sighed and climbed onto the field.
“Alright. On the count of three?” Roman said.
Nodding, Patton placed his feet shoulder length apart and let his hands hover at his sides. “Ready!”
“One…”
Virgil rolled his eyes.
“Two…”
Logan pulled out his scroll.
“Three!”
Roman shot into the air as Patton dashed forward, leaving their leader to turn and look up as he hovered above. Light began to glow around Roman, and a moment later, four knives had formed in the air.
Thrusting his hands down, the knives shot towards Patton, who yelped and threw his hands in the air; ice encased his arms just as the knives stabbed into them. He looked at them with wide eyes before Roman shot down and kicked Patton in the chest, knocking him back a few feet and towards the edge of the boundaries.
“That isn’t fair, you can’t just go all out on him!” Virgil yelled.
Roman laughed, shutting his eyes and shrugging. “You can’t let your opponent get the first move, Patton! It gives them the advantage to-”
Yelling interrupted him, and the next thing he knew, he and Patton were rolling across the floor; Roman hooked Patton under the arms, and when he was on top, he shot them into the air. A blast of wind shoved him in a different direction than he’d planned, and in his surprise, his grip on Patton loosened. Patton used this to his advantage and squirmed until he was falling.
“Patton, that’s not a very wise tactic-!”
Logan winced as he smashed into the ground; he glanced at his scroll to watch Patton’s aura drop about a quarter of the way down the bar. He hissed a breath between his teeth and cringed.
“Are you alright?” he called.
Patton didn’t move. Roman landed and ran over, hands extended.
“Oh, my gods, I’m sorry! Are you hurt?”
With a cry, Patton whipped around and slammed his foot into Roman’s chest, knocking him back a few feet and causing his wings to flutter furiously. Patton charged and leapt at him, but Roman stepped to the side and grabbed him, whipping him around and throwing him across the field. Patton rolled, but managed to get to his feet before his momentum came to an end.
“Excellent coordination, Patton!” Logan yelled.
Roman charged at Patton, and Patton moved to do the same, but his foot landed on the edge of his cloak and caused him to tumble to the floor. Roman skidded to a stop just as he was over top of Patton, and Patton rolled onto his back, placing his hands on Roman’s calves to launch himself across the floor and knock Roman over. Finishing the move with a backwards somersault, Patton stumbled for just a moment as soon as he was back on his feet.
In the bleachers, Virgil laughed. “Nice, Pat!”
Pushing himself halfway up, Roman raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You have definitely made some progress this semester.”
Patton smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “Does this mean the fight’s over?”
“Not a chance!”
With a flick of his wrist, a sword formed in Roman’s hands, and he flew towards Patton and swung; Patton ducked backwards and grabbed Roman’s wrist. He tugged at it to pull him to the ground, but Roman flew back and ended up dragging Patton halfway across the field instead. He slashed down towards Patton’s head, and he threw his frozen arm up to block the hit. Once Roman pulled back, Patton drew back his fist and swung.
Behind him, Virgil scoffed.
“Typical for a faunus to cheat.”
Flames engulfed Patton’s hand just as it made contact with Roman’s chest, sending the dragon faunus flying out of the ring. He smashed into the wall and crumpled to the ground, sword dissolving in seconds. Patton gasped.
“Oh, my goodness!”
He and Logan sprinted over to Roman as he pushed himself to his knees, gingerly rubbing the back of his head; Patton dropped down and grabbed his hand.
“I- I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean to—!”
Laughter shoved the rest of the sentence back down Patton’s throat as Roman shook his head. “Are you kidding? Patton, that was- that was epic! Don’t apologize for that!”
Patton frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Huh?”
“Roman’s right, that was astute,” Logan said. “It seems you’re starting to get a hold on controlling your semblance, as well. This was definitely a show that you’re headed in the right direction.”
“Um…” Patton leaned back, pulling his hand away to wrap his arms around himself. “Not really… I didn’t mean for it to kick in for that last punch…”
Slouching against the wall, Roman smiled tiredly at him. “Then it’s a good thing it kicked in when it did. I probably would have defeated you if it hadn’t.”
Patton blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Aren’t we still- the fight isn’t over, is it? I didn’t completely deplete your aura?”
“Well, no,” Logan replied, looking back at his scroll. “You definitely did a substantial amount of damage, but Roman could have continued to fight for a long time if you hadn’t have knocked him out of the ring.”
Patton stared at him; Logan sighed.
“Knocking someone out of the ring is an automatic win, no matter how much aura they have left,” he explained.
Perking up, Patton looked between Roman and Logan. “Wait, so… I won?”
Roman smiled and nodded; Patton started to flap his hands, but a laugh behind them cut him off.
“Of course you won, Patton,” Virgil said. “You didn’t have any animal instincts to get in the way of your focus.”
A gasp caught in Patton’s throat while Roman glowered and Logan frowned.
“Surely, that’s not true,” he pointed out. “Faunus instincts would most likely be an advantage, not the other way around.”
“What is your issue?” Roman snapped. “You’ve been at this for nearly half the semester now! I thought you were done being discriminatory!”
Virgil glared. “Just because I wasn’t saying anything doesn’t mean I forgot the truth.”
Climbing to his feet, Roman put his hands on his hips. “And what truth would that be?”
“That humans are better than faunus.”
Patton scrambled to stand between the two and held his hands up. “H-Hey, now, let’s not go saying anything we might not mean-”
“Patton, don’t lie to him,” Virgil drawled. “You just saw it yourself. You kicked Roman’s butt, I’ve kicked Roman’s butt in class, and I have absolutely no doubt that Logan could kick his butt, too! We have all the evidence we need!”
Logan hummed. “No, I don’t think that’s nearly enough data. I would say we’d need at least five instances of humans defeating faunus for a very, very small sample, meaning Roman would need to lose about-”
Roman shoved past him and stormed towards the exit.
“Wait, Roman!” Patton called.
The door slammed open and shut, leaving the other three in silence; Virgil rolled his eyes and scoffed.
“So dramatic,” he groaned.
Patton growled and glared at Virgil. “Go apologize.”
“What? Why?!”
“What do you mean, ‘why’?! You’re being really rude and hurting his feelings!”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Patton, please. He doesn’t have feelings.”
Patton’s fists combusted as he spluttered to find words, frustrated tears forming in his eyes; after a moment of gibberish, he let out an angry groan and turned to head to the exit.
“Roman, wait!”
As soon as the door shut behind him, Logan adjusted his glasses and looked to Virgil. “They’re right, you know,” he stated. “There’s no evidence that any difference lies between humans and faunus. Just because they have traits of certain animals doesn’t mean they deserve any less respect than you and I. They aren’t evil.”
Virgil let out a bitter laugh and crossed his arms. “Yeah, right! I have yet to meet a faunus that doesn’t completely ruin my life!”
“I don’t see how Roman has ruined your life,” Logan sighed. “If anything, you’re causing harm to his.”
“I’m only protecting myself,” Virgil snapped.
Logan raised an eyebrow. “From what, might I ask? I’ve yet to see any reason to be afraid of him.”
“He’s a faunus. Sooner or later, you’ll see why.”
“Then why aren’t you afraid of Patton?” Logan asked, crossing his arms. “Or me, for that matter? How do you know humans won’t provide the necessary reasoning for you to fear us?”
Virgil glared at Logan for a long moment as his arms fell to his sides. Slowly, he stepped towards him.
“Listen to me,” he huffed. “A faunus has made my uncle’s life hell for as long as I’ve been alive. It was faunus at Sanctum who tormented me about having the semblance of a villain until I was too afraid to use it at all.”
“Okay, that one sounds like it is a matter of self-esteem, not due to-”
“It’s because of a faunus that my little sister is dead, Logan!”
The words echoed through the empty gym; Logan stared at him with raised eyebrows while Virgil clenched his jaw, attempting to keep his breathing steady.
“I… was unaware,” Logan finally muttered.
“Yeah. You think I’m gonna believe Roman’s gonna be any different than them?” he asked.
Letting out a breath and looking away, Logan reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Virgil… I offer you my sympathy that these things have happened to you.”
Virgil huffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”
“But that doesn’t make it okay to be discriminatory.”
There was a pause.
“…Excuse me?”
“It isn’t Roman’s fault that those things happened. Not every faunus is going to harm you, or possess the desire to harm others,” Logan firmly pointed out.
“I’m sorry, have you heard all of the attacks from the White Fang in the news lately?” Virgil snapped.
Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes, and if you were paying attention to Roman, you would have heard his extreme distaste in the organization. Besides, there are plenty of faunus who are just as against the White Fang as he is. You’ve met a multitude since coming to Beacon. How many of them have been anything less than kind to you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you really going to ask that?”
“Yes. Have you considered that perhaps Roman has only been returning the attitude you have been offering him? The majority of faunus- especially here at Beacon, where we’re learning how to protect people -would never dream of harming you. What do we have to do to convince you of this?”
Virgil stared at Logan for a long moment; his eyes flicked up and down, inspecting his face, body language, and tone of voice. Logan prayed he wasn’t offering any miscommunications.
The door opened, followed by the abrupt end of a conversation.
“Whoa… Uh…”
Finally, Virgil scoffed and stepped back, glaring at Logan.
“Nothing,” he stated. “No one, not even Patton could convince me the faunus are good people. Because they aren’t. I’m only stating the truth.”
Logan sighed as he watched him turn and storm towards the exit; his heart leapt a little seeing Thamir at the door, scroll pressed hastily against his ear. Part of him wanted to run over and pull him out of the way before Virgil could cause any harm, but Virgil shoved past him before he could even begin to move.
The door slammed shut behind him. Thamir looked to Logan with wide eyes as he pulled the scroll away.
“Is he alright?” he asked.
Sighing, Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and looked to the floor. “I don’t know.”
He heard Thamir quickly finish his phone call, and then he was hurrying over to stand next to Logan. A hand landed on his back and rubbed little circles.
Should be hurting, should be hurting, why isn’t it-?!
“Come on,” Thamir softly said. “We can either talk about it or fight it out. Your choice.”
Though he knew it was inappropriate after such a tense conversation, Logan had to force a smile away from his lips.
The dorm was eerily quiet that night, and Patton was feeling less than cheerful about it.
All he had wanted to do now that his homework was done was do a little bit of reading on his scroll, but with all of the tension in the air, he realized he was putting way more energy into staying in control of himself than he was into focusing on the words. With a sigh, he pulled his attention out of his Achieve Men fanfiction and stretched, taking the opportunity to look around the room.
Next to him on the bed, Virgil concentrated heavily on his own scroll. Some sort of news article appeared to be on the screen. His free arm wrapped loosely around his torso, and his hand rested on Patton’s detached cloak, where it was draped over both of their legs. For a moment, he dropped the back of his head against the wall, eyes narrowed in deep thought, but he turned back to his scroll before he could notice Patton’s gaze.
A huff from Roman on the other side of the room drew his attention. The faunus leaned back at his desk, scrubbing at his eyes before he reluctantly turned back to the textbook laying in front of him. His fingers weaved through his hair as he attempted to focus. Patton knew that Roman’s exhaustion was keeping him from finishing the assignment, but his pride would keep him from taking a break.
Logan reached into the box of stim toys sitting at his desk and pulled out his fidget cube, glancing up to eye at the weighted blanket on the top shelf before turning back to his work. The sound of the switch flicking back and forth broke the silence a moment later, but no one in the room minded. He started to scribble something in his notebook. For a brief second, he let out a sigh and turned to look at the poster of Team BYRD; Patton noticed a look in his eye that seemed quite out of character for him, but he couldn’t decipher what it meant. Logan turned back to his work before he could study it any longer.
A gust of wind rattled the shut window. Patton shifted under the cloak and tucked his legs underneath him. It was quiet, but at least they weren’t fighting.
“Oh, look, another Dust shop was robbed,” Virgil said. “How much do you want to bet it was the White Fang?”
I spoke too soon, Patton thought.
Shutting his eyes, Roman let out a long sigh. “Honestly, those scoundrels are probably just doing it for fun at this point,” he grumbled.
“Is there a reason you would assume the White Fang over any other run-of-the-mill thieves?” Logan asked, keeping his eyes on his work.
“They’ve been behind the majority of the other Dust shop robberies lately, haven’t they?” Roman responded. “Besides, they’re the lowest of the low. Can’t be bothered to spend a single Lien when they could just steal it.”
Virgil huffed out a laugh. “Plus, they’re faunus. What more would you expect?”
“Virgil…,” Patton sighed.
“Not every faunus is as low as they are,” Roman snapped.
Rolling his eyes, he looked back to his scroll. “You certainly seem to be.”
A loud bang echoed through the room as Roman slammed his hands on his desk and stomped to his feet. He whirled around and sent a glare that pierced Patton into coating his scroll with ice. Virgil simply raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you ever,” Roman growled, “ever compare me to those- those- those vile creatures ever again.”
“Oh, gee, looks like I hit a nerve. Should I grab the muzzle?” Virgil sneered.
Patton bit his lip. “Wh… What makes the White Fang so bad?” he softly asked. “I’ve never heard about what they do before I came here…”
“How?!”
“Patton, they’ve literally been attacking… Well, every kingdom for years,” Logan pointed out.
He held up his hands. “I don’t know! My parents didn’t tell me anything about the world; I wasn’t even allowed to watch the news by myself! Sure, I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know what they’ve done to be… well, scoundrels.”
“They’re terrorists,” Roman growled, fists balling as he glared at the floor. “What started as a faunus civil rights group peacefully protesting turned into awful people using hate and fear to get what they wanted. They claim to be doing it so people like us will be treated like people like them, but they do nothing but ruin the name of faunus.”
Virgil scoffed. “You didn’t need their help.”
Roman shut his eyes and lifted his fists a bit before shooting daggers into him. “What the hell is your problem?!” he yelled. “We were getting along fine until your uncle showed up a few weeks ago! Is he as discriminatory as you are?!”
Virgil glared and threw the cloak aside, accidentally covering Patton’s head with it. “Don’t you talk about Chao like that.”
“Oh, not so great when I’m throwing the attack back at you, now, is it?!”
Patton yanked the fabric off of his face to see Virgil and Roman practically nose to nose in the middle of the room; he glanced to Logan, who had turned in his chair to watch, and they made slightly frightened eye contact. Chewing on his lip, Patton began to reattach his cloak.
“There is just no winning with you, is there?” Roman huffed. “If I’m kind to you, you’re waiting for an attack. If I’m rude, I’m proving you right. What is there for me to do to prove to you that I’m not evil?!”
Virgil barked out a laugh. “You think you can? I know how you faunus are. You can’t delude me into thinking you’re kind at heart.”
“I’m not trying to delude you, I’m trying to show you you’re wrong!”
“Oh, right, because calling me awful nicknames like Sunshine and Emo Nightmare are doing wonders at making me think you’re a great person. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’ve never met a kind faunus, and that doesn’t exclude my time at Beacon,” Virgil shot back.
“Why, then, am I the only faunus you openly discriminate against?!” Roman yelled.
“Because you’re the only scaley freak on this team!”
Roman pulled back his arm and slammed his fist into Virgil’s nose; he let out a yelp and stumbled back a few steps. Patton and Logan jumped to their feet, but neither of them moved any closer. Fist shaking, Roman took a few heavy breaths. Virgil glared and raised his own trembling hand towards him.
Silence fell.
After a moment, Virgil curled his fingers back and squeezed his eyes shut, letting out what sounded like a strangled sob and storming out of the room. As soon as the door slammed behind him, Roman dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered.
Logan moved to his side, hovering next to him as he chewed on his lip. Emotions were far out of his strong suit, and he knew that. He turned to look at Patton, but their leader’s spot was empty. The door to the hall opened and shut.
A smoldering hand print remained on the door frame.
As soon as the evening chill hit his skin, Virgil scrubbed furiously at his face. His heart was thundering and his hands were trembling; the King Taijitu in his chest squeezed as hard as it had back in the Emerald Forest. He strode down the sidewalk as quickly and unsuspiciously as he could muster. He’d almost used his semblance, he’d almost proved himself the villain, he needed to get out, find a place to hide, go, go, gogogo-
“Virgil!”
He walked faster.
Behind him, he heard someone running. He didn’t dare look back.
“Virgil, we need to talk about that-”
“No.”
“None of that was okay-”
“I said, no.”
“Virgil Millard Vengier, you go back and apologize right now!”
Virgil whirled around and jabbed a trembling finger at him. “Patton, shut up. I am not going back in there.”
Illuminated by the glow of his hands, Patton glared; Virgil’s chest squeezed just a bit more. “I’m not asking you to do this,” he stated. “All of what you said was inappropriate and rude and just… just awful!” He threw his hands into the air. “Family doesn’t treat each other like that, Virgil! Whether you like him or not, that doesn’t mean you can say such awful, discriminatory stuff! What in the world makes you think that’s okay?!”
“You don’t understand,” Virgil growled. “You don’t understand anything!”
“Try me,” he snapped.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Virgil shook his head and turned to walk off. “No… No! I’m not- I- You don’t get it, Patton! You don’t know the faunus like I do!”
Letting out a groan, Patton hurried over to walk next to him. “Virgil, one faunus being the reason for an accident doesn’t make the whole species evil! You can’t judge an entire group of people based on one person!”
“Nere isn’t the only faunus I’ve met,” Virgil retorted. “The faunus I knew at Sanctum-”
“Bullied you? Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry that happened, but you know what? My parents treated me just as terribly, and they’re humans! You don’t see me treating you or Logan like you’ve been treating Roman!”
Virgil slowed to a stop, glaring at Patton as best as he could through the wind of the loading docks whipping his bangs in front of his eyes. His jaw clenched so tight he was worried his teeth were going to break; he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms.
“What do you care?!” he yelled. “Why is it that you only ever stand up for Roman when it comes to these kind of things?! You didn’t even say anything about the fact that he freaking punched me! I thought all those years with your parents made you hate confrontation like this! Why is this such a big freaking deal?!”
“Because I’m a faunus!”
Virgil’s breath caught in his throat.
Patton’s shoulders shook with every breath he took. There was panic in his eyes, but the flames showed no sign of stopping. Slowly, he gulped down a deep breath and put his hands over his eyes.
“I’m a faunus,” he softly repeated. “That’s why my parents treat me like they do. They are the most discriminatory, awful people you could ever meet… and… And you’re acting just like them!”
He threw his hands down, tears dripping down his cheeks.
“You think I’m not going to care when someone’s talking to a faunus like my parents talk to me?! You think I’m not going to care when someone’s talking to anyone like that for something they can’t control?!” he screamed. “Roman and I didn’t choose to be faunus, Virgil! Heck, I wish I had gotten that choice! But I didn’t! And neither did Roman, whether he would’ve wanted it or not! We can’t change who we are! Why do you insist on hating people like us for it?!”
A teardrop fell towards the other wet spots on the sidewalk, but it began to hover before it could join them; as Patton caught his breath, the fire began to die down. His face screwed as he tipped it towards the ground.
“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” he hiccuped.
Patton wrapped his arms around himself, the movement causing Virgil to finally snap out of his trance. His eyes darted up and down, scanning his sobbing teammate’s entire body.
“…Where?”
He sniffled. “Huh?”
“Where’s your… trait thing?” Virgil asked. “Why haven’t I ever seen it?”
Shuddering, Patton straightened himself and pulled off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “It’s hidden,” he choked out. “My parents don’t want anyone to know I’m not human. I- I shouldn’t even be telling you this, they’d be furious if they ever found out—”
“Wait, your— your parents,” Virgil interrupted, waving his hands in front of himself. “They’re human. Are— were you adopted, too?”
“No. They would never have chosen a faunus,” Patton bitterly replied. He put his glasses back on. “I don’t know how they had me. Everyone in my family is human, and just as discriminatory as my parents. There’s gotta be a gene or something— I don’t really know, maybe we can ask Logan. Honestly, my parents won’t even tell me how babies are made because of this. I don’t know how I happened.”
Slowly, Virgil nodded. He reached behind his head and rubbed at his neck, tucking his fingers under his collar. The shock of the new information was starting to wear off, and Virgil found himself back in the awful feeling of the world spinning out of control. This was wrong, this was wrong, wrong, wrong— faunus were bad, but Patton’s too pure, too trustworthy to be one, but he is one, and if there’s one exception, who’s to say there can’t be more? Who’s to say anything he’s ever thought is true? How does he know the world he knows isn’t just one, big, blundering lie?
If Chao could lie to him, how many other people had, too?
He swallowed thickly, shaking his head to stop the train of thought before it got too out of control. “What… What kind of a faunus are you?”
Patton bit down on his lip, eyes darting away as his swaying came to a stop. He was silent for a long moment.
“I… Uh…”
A familiar scream cut him off.
The two flinched and snapped their heads towards the dorm buildings; Virgil furrowed his brow.
“That sounded like…”
The scream rang out again, and Virgil’s eyes darted to their own window. When he saw the curtains flapping outside, he gasped. Two figures struggled against each other on top of their bookshelf, one of which was attempting and failing to unfurl his scaley, black wings.
Patton and Virgil turned to each other with wide eyes.
“Roman!”
22 notes · View notes