#i need to stack as many tags on here as possible because well. disturbing.

[dailyhatsune]

Spooky Miku that's DISTURBINGLY and IMPOSSIBLY long

(in the voice of an expository note in an indie horror game) whatever you do…don’t look at her…or she will miku miku ni shite ageru

#hatsune miku #vocaloid #piapro studio #doodle #ask #creep-dot-commercial #unsettling #tw body horror #horror #i need to stack as many tags on here as possible because well. disturbing. #whoops

[seijorhi]

Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere touya todoroki x reader #tw character ‘death’ #tw dub con #soulmate au #I’m not even sorry #except I am #lmao last one I promise

[angelswithcigarettes]

“To find a way to cope”

Summary: Morgan finds Spencer's notebooks filled with partly disturbing drawings and poems and learns once again how much of what Spencer feels he doesn't know how to express and how much happened in his childhood he never talks about.

AU: [This is an AU in which Morgan and Reid share a house (as friends). The parts can be read independently.]

Warnings: Past Sexual Abuse

Relevant Tags: Autistic Spencer Reid, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 4626

First Chapter:

Notes: Since this series is the follow up serious to another one of mine "Green" (I will link it in the endnote) there can be some confusion if you haven't read it. But here is a short summary of it so you don't have to read it all and can still 'enjoy' this:

In the story "Green" Spencer gets together with Lola who abuses him following up this abuse he stays with Morgan who helps him recover as much as that is possible. Spencer doesn't want to go back to his apartment so Morgan decides that it is time for a change, they move in together in one of the houses Morgan renovated ones.

They each have their own privacy, their own floors including bathrooms and bedrooms and each of them has their own office but its not a secret to anyone that they also don't have much privacy because at some part after living together for so many years the embarrassment or shame for many things just faded.

However when Morgan picks up a box of books in the basement while looking for his old baseball equipment he feels bad when he looks inside of them.

They are notebooks, written in with black ink and he can tell that it's Spencer handwriting. There is a date on the corner, the note book is hardly a month old. He puts it away and grabs one from further down, revealing another date from eight years ago and he opens up a random page and starts reading.

"And if you look at me

Look at me for another moment

See me

If you really see me

Can you look at me the same again."

It's seems to be an attempt of poetry and Morgan opens another page finding a scetch of a person. Also in blank ink. Their hands scratching at their eyes, looking like they are screaming.

He reads another poem.

"Can you hear me screaming?

Did you hear me screaming for you? You hands burning my skin,you hands burning my innocence.

Can you hear me screaming?

In the latest night, can you hear me screaming?

Did you hear him burning my skin, his hands burning my innocence."

Morgan can feel an unsettling feeling spread through his body, these are too old to be from the time with Lola, judging by the date he must have been in his early twenties.

He looks into another notebook finding a lot of sketches and a few of them look similar to people Morgan had seen before, he figures they are unsubs and then he opens another scatch and it looks like a women, warning a gun holster and having a glass in her hand, her hair shoulder long and judging by the date this is Elle.

Morgan picks up another one, it is dated for approximately a year ago. The drawing shows their house but the windows are barricaded with wood and nails, only a light shining out of Morgan's room and a kitten is sitting in front of their doorstep, skinny and looking up to the doorbell handing in front of the door that is also barricaded.

The next one is a drawing from their kitchen and it shows Morgan, at least he thinks so, sitting at the table with his hand on his head the other around a coffee cup and on the kitchen counter are files stacked and the kitchen table is filled with overflowing cups.

There is a third, showing their bathroom and there is a liquid on the floor,again every drawing is held black ink but he guesses its blood and a handprint on the mirror and in front of the puddle and then there is a hand sticking out from behind the curtain from which the liquid drops down.

The fourth is what makes Morgan want take the notebook with him, it's a man standing in the door and by the tattoos he can make out that it is supposed to be him but he is wearing a mask and he is holding Spencer's stuff animal in his hand while wearing only Jean's and boots no shirt. Morgan can make out that this is supposed to be Spencer's room.

The worst he finds in that notebook is one of a women, sitting on a chair, her head leaned back and her arms sliced open, blood dripping down on the floor and by the necklace, the gun at her hip and the long slightly curly hair Morgan dares to assume that this is supposed to be JJ.

He puts the notebook aside and pulls out one from the time when he started at the BAU and the first drawing is of a little boy with glasses standing in the bullpen that is crowded with files. The second is a room filled with bees at the wall and an empty chair in the middle.

Morgan knew Spencer can draw he didn't know how well he does.

There are a few sketches of Morgan and Gideon and a lot of JJ. And many butterflies and with the ripped out pages in between he guessed that he draw them for her.

He quickly puts everything away when he hears Spencer walking down the stairs but goes back down to grab the one with the poem about the 'burning hands' the one with the sketch from Elle and the one with the drawings from the house and the women on the chair and for weeks he hides them in his office and eventually started profiling a few of them but quickly stopped that, feeling uncomfortable.

"What are you drawing?" He asks stepping into Spencer's office and the man shuts the notebook again.

"I don't draw."

"You don't?"

"No, I haven't in years."

"You haven't?"

"No, I am horrible at that." Morgan steps closer and it fits what he had found downstairs. The little pencil case open, only black pens inside and a pencil with a rubber. "What did you want?"

"Nothing just wanted to check in on you." Looking over he sees another stack of papers, and in a box next to his desk watercolours. "Its getting pretty stuffed in here."

"I like it. And I would like for you to leave now."

"I will." Apologetic Morgan takes his hands up and leaves the room.

There is a high chance that Spencer knows himself that his drawings are concerning and that that is the reason he is so defensive over people knowing he draws.

He keeps his findings a secret for a few more days until he gets to concerned and tries again talking to him about it but the moment he takes the word drawings in his mouth Spencer denies having drawn in the last years and accuses him of having sniffed around his office for things he draw as a teenager.

So he takes the notebooks and in a quiet moment walks up to Hotch's office who is similar concerned by them. For him the worst is one of Spencer himself, someone pressing a hand over his mouth and him into a pillow next to a poem about the lyrical I suffocating.

"There are more that hint at sexual abuse."

"He has a history we know that."

"Some are older than what happened with Lola."

"Did you try talking to him about these?"

"He claims he hasn't drawn in years." Hotch looks further through it finding more and more thinks he finds concerning.

"There are quite a lot of you."

"That's why I am here. I was hoping he maybe would rather talk to you about it. I can't explain why the drawings are portraying me like that." Hotch looks down on the page of a drawing of Morgan laying on the couch, the TV running but he is sleeping. On the table a ashtray with smoke coming from it on the floor next to the couch, multiple books that block his way and lianas hanging from the ceiling one close to curling itself completely around his neck.

"You have a theory?"

"My first guess was that something in the house made him feel captured, or even me but I am not sure."

"I would actually say that it's the opposite. That he feels like he captures you."

"Me?"

"This doesn't look like he is the one captured." He points at another painting showing Morgan standing in the kitchen, one half of his body having spiders all over it his other side being completely normal beside the fingers that in the end turn into bees and more bees flying away from it. "Are you okay?"

"You see this drawings and you ask if I am okay?"

"Besides that these drawing are definitely not something that leave you unaffected there are a few that a showing you in a vulnerable state he probably saw this before drawing it in his own interpretation."

"I am fine, I don't know why he draws me like that."

"Alright I will talk to him about it." Morgan initially wanted to go to JJ with this but she really doesn't need to see the drawings of herself being death by suicide. There is the one on the chair but also one hanging out of a tree with wings on her back.

For Hotch the most disturbing once are the two from a child, being beaten and in the other drawing having wings sitting on top of a clip, stars around them.

Morgan brings him the other notebooks too and in the earlier once its clear that he draws what he sees on cases and around himself. The poems not so much.

But the younger the note books the more it concerns his friends and random children.

Hotch doesn't find many of himself, but there is a notebook around the time Emily died that breaks his heart and when she came back the drawings change to something with more anger and eventually one that shows Spencer and him sitting in his office, Spencer looking at Hotch, Hotch doing the same but behind Hotch stands Emily or JJ he can't tell having a hand on his shoulder and covering his mouth while Spencer has a ghost behind him, covering his eyes.

He thinks long about if he wants to talk to him about the notebooks because Spencer seems to use this to cope and that is a good thing no matter how violent they look but on the other hand it seems like something is really bothering him so after weeks of debating he hands Morgan the box back saying that it feels wrong for him to interfere and Morgan first gets angry but then agrees that it is better if he first talks to him and then can offers Spencer to talk to Hotch if he rather wants that.

So eventually Morgan breaks the ice at a dinner picking up the box and placing it on the table. "You know what this is?"

"A box"

"You know what's in it?" He asks and Spencer nods with worry in his eyes. "I found it in the basement while cleaning it out."

"Did you-" Nervous he bites on the inside of his lip.

"I did"

"They are mine" He tells him, the fear clearly audible in his voice.

"I know, I am just a little bit worried about you, there is some pretty dark stuff in there."

"You weren't supposed to see."

"But I did and I just want to make sure that everything is alright."

"Yes they are just drawings."

"They are not just drawings."

"And poems."

"Not what I mean kid" Morgan grabs the notebook on top and sits down in front of him opening the page with the drawing of their house. "Is this our house?"

"Yes"

"Can you tell me why you draw this?" Spencer shrugs ones, tears in his eyes. "These are yours and I am not judging you or am mad I just think that some of these, because this notebook was finished a few weeks ago, need talking about. And I am just trying to help you."

"I don't know why I draw this."

"What about the cat? Is that Garfield?" Garfield is an old cat they adapted years ago and died.

"Yes"

"You still miss him?"

"Sometimes I wish he comes home again but then nothing is open here anymore."

"Garfield is dead and even if he wasn't dead when we got the call he would be by now." Morgan tells him in a gentle voice. "So this is about Garfield not coming back in,not you feeling captured in here?"

A nod.

"See that's why I think talking about this is good because I completely miss interpreted this."

"Did you see all of them?"

"Yes"

"All of them?"

"Yeah, I looked through them." He nods and then a tears rolls down his face. "Come on we go over to the couch for this, we cuddle up with your stuff lion and we talk about these, you can lean against me no need to look me in the eyes or for me to see your face." Morgan over the years found out that that is what makes him feel the most comfortable while talking. Either on car rides when Morgan can't tear his eyes from the road or while walking somewhere or placed so that Morgan isn't looking into his face.

Spencer ignores the offer to get his stuff animal from upstairs but he takes the thick blanket while Morgan pulls out the cautions from underneath making the couch bigger and then leans against him and Morgan opens the next page.

It's the drawing from Morgan in the kitchen, the files everywhere and the cups on the table. "What's with the Cubs?"

"I don't remember."

"Mr I have an eidetic memory that's very hard to believe."

"Sometimes everything gets dirty in our kitchen."

"And that bothers you?"

"I try cleaning it but it seems like it doesn't get better even when everything is properly stored."

"And the files?"

"It always happens when we have many cases after another and then it isn't fun coming home anymore."

"Because its dirty?"

"Because it's all tight" He tries to explain how the house feels to him. "We can't move in here."

"Is that the same thing you wanted to express with this?" Morgan asks opening the page of him laying on the couch with the lianas from the ceiling.

"Yes and- and that I- that I take your energy away."

"Okay one point after the other, what is it with the house being to tight? We have a lot of space and a lot of garden and everything, what makes it tight?"

"I don't know sometimes it just is." He tells him moving his head back on Morgan's arm shutting his eyes for a moment and then breathing in deeply.

"We don't have to do this all now if its to much for you" He tells him worried about how this affects Reid. "You just explain it the best way you think I will see about the rest."

"You won't get me."

"I do, it's tight in here sometimes, like you can't move."

"Yes"

"And cleaning doesn't help"

"Yes"

"See not that bad"

"It makes me feel bad." He continues and then hits his thigh ones. "Like I need to run."

"Like you need to run?"

"Yes. Like I have to move. Like my legs haven't moved enough."

"Because it's to tight in here?"

"Yes."

"What about you taking my energy away? What do you mean by that?" Spencer turns his head away not looking at the page but then eventually speaks.

"I am really not an easy friend."

"For me you are."

"No I am not."

"You are not taking my energy away."

"You could do a lot more thinks if it wasn't for me." Spencer justifies his statement.

"Like what?" But he just shakes his head still facing away from him and Morgan tries encouraging him to talk to Hotch but Spencer denies the offer so Morgan moves his hand down around his waist and pulls him closer again. "C'mon you did so good with the first drawings and we won't have to talk about this one any more we can just move on to another.”

Rest on Ao3 (I can’t post more words in here I’m sorry):

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #autistic spencer reid #jennifer jareau

[in-tua-deep]

Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion. 

But Five doesn’t know that. 

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane! 

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory. 

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist. 

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong. 

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing. 

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks. 

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is. 

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major. 

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood. 

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned. 

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails. 

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being. 

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and - 

“Five?” 

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and - 

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for - 

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever. 

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut. 

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long. 

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and - 

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up. 

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble. 

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments. 

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin - 

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona. 

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake. 

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

#unviable au #tua au #Anonymous #far tua long #the umbrella academy #long post #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus ben five and vanya are going to make up team apocalypse #five might be a ghost #but he's also a poltergeist #and also thirteen #ben says 'i am your mother now' to five #to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with #five CANNOT interact with people only objects #he isn't sure why #living people i mean #ben is a cuddler and five is touch starved and that's that #klaus thinks it's very very cute #but also tragic #also he keeps getting dragged into saving the world shenanigans #when he could be doing LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #klaus might be a bit grumpy #ben is unsympathetic #five can and will throw things at klaus #vanya is just. very confused #but also happy because five is?? back? #the family bugged klaus about five's ghost for years

[yoshichao]

the Smashers and their Host - Chapter ??? Preview

Series: Super Smash Bros.

Characters: Reader, Literally Everyone In Super Smash Bros Ultimate

Summary:  You’re an inter-dimensional being that owns a huge estate situated on the cusp of spacetime. You’ve been asked to rent out your mansion for the upcoming Super Smash Bros. tournament. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Reader-Insert, Romantic & Platonic Harem, Comedy, Fluff, No Smut

Read the fic here!

[hi a year ago i was writing a chapter about characters getting sick but then a pandemic happened, making this no longer as fun to write. as a result i’m not going to be posting this one for awhile... but i’m going to share the beginning portion of it anyways. hope you enjoy?]

"Room service!" you call out, peeking into the room with a friendly smile and a tray in your hands. Upon your arrival, Marth sits up in his bed and tries to offer a smile in return... but it is visibly weak, marred by puffy eyes and a flushed face.

"Well this is a pleasant surprise." The Altean prince's voice sounds different from what you're used to. It sounds like he has a stuffed nose... which he does, of course. "If anyone was to be bringing me soup, I would have expected it to be Peach."

You step fully into the room, nudging the door shut behind you with your hip before making your way over to the bed where the prince lies. "It was Peach's idea to make soup for everyone," you confirm, "but after we started delivering it to people, I think the full brunt of the illness hit her too and I told her to go lay down."

Upon discovering that over half the Smashers residing in your mansion had come down with a cold, you took it upon yourself to be a good host and play a part in helping everyone make a full recovery. Of course, having lived alone and illness-free for god-knows-how-long, you were a bit at a loss at what to do... and thankfully Peach was all-too-happy to lend a hand. You recall she seemed tired from the beginning but did her very best to hide it, and an hour and a cauldron of hot soup later, the exhaustion seemed to hit the princess all at once. It took some doing, but you eventually managed to convince her that you and the rest of the team could take it from there. She (and Samus, who was rooming with her while mansion repairs were still being done) was one of the first people you delivered to, and her warm, grateful smile was enough to convince you that you could do this. You can trek across the mansion for hours to deliver supplies to forty or so different people all day.

Even with your handy "shortcuts", it's more draining than you thought.

"Oh dear." Marth chuckles weakly at your explanation. "Thinking about it... for as long as we've been in Smash together, I don't think I've ever seen her fall ill before... I suppose I didn't even imagine it happening to her."

You have a feeling that Peach has gotten sick in the past - she is just very good at hiding it and powering through it. You're certain she would have continued doing that this time as well had you not convinced her otherwise. However, instead of saying any of this, you simply shrug while placing the tray on the bedside table.

"Well, she is a princess. You can't have royalty looking all unkempt and snotty - that wouldn't be right at all."

Marth needs a moment before he realizes… you are making a jab at him. The prince is flustered for a moment before he lets out a laugh, which you respond in turn with a cheeky grin.

“Do I look that bad?”

He is visibly unwell, but you feel inclined to soften the blow to his vanity. “Nah, I’m just teasing. Anything else you need before I go?” You can’t help but glance around Marth’s room under the guise of checking if anything in particular is missing. You respect your guests’ privacy, so you haven’t been in many of their rooms after the move-in - including Marth’s. His room is fairly plain and orderly - the only thing that really screams “Marth” in here is the mannequin that is adorned with his familiar Smash garb. Said mannequin also holds his sword, Falchion. You suppose storing an outfit with armour on it in this fashion is easier than trying to keep it in the closet or in a drawer. Though considering you don’t see any other articles of clothing lying about, perhaps the closet is just full?

...How many clothes does this guy have?

You’re curious now, but decide not to pry.

“Thank you, but I should be fine,” Marth replies, bringing your attention back to him. “You’ve done enough already. Merely visiting me was plenty - you’ve certainly been a sight for sore eyes.”

For a moment, you’re flustered… but then you remember this man is currently sick in bed. His thoughts are probably a bit jumbled and unfiltered. And really, who wouldn’t feel better knowing there was someone bringing them soup? Beauty comes from kindness and within, et cetera et cetera. All these excuses and more fill your head as you effortlessly wave away Marth’s silly words - you, a sight?! Ha ha! Why, isn’t that saying often used platonically as well? Yes? Maybe? You are drawing a blank.

You’re so lost in denial that you forget to respond aloud. Marth seems to take your silence and (unbeknownst to you) goofy smile the wrong(?) way and starts stammering out an apology, possibly growing even more embarrassed than you are.

“I-I didn’t mean… What I meant by that was… Well, it’s not that I didn’t mean it, but I mean, I find you… quite… um…”

“If you want a sight, next time you need something I’ll be sure to send in the cutest maid we have on staff,” you joke, easily shifting the conversation to more comfortable territory. Marth relaxes at the topic shift and chuckles lightly, still looking a bit embarrassed.

“I’ll never live that moment down, will I?”

“Nope!” Your first embarrassing encounter with any of the Smashers has been so diluted by increasingly hectic and bizarre moments that you find it more funny than embarrassing these days. Well, you say “these days” like it wasn’t just a couple weeks ago that that happened… So much has happened since then that it feels like it has almost been two whole years! Really, it feels like the tournament should have started by now. Crazy how time works like that, huh? Ha ha.

Anyways.

“Anyways,” you say aloud, not sure where that oddly guilty train of thought came from. It was almost like someone was trying to speak through you to express their feelings. But that’s ridiculous! Best not to think about it anymore. “I’ve got more soup deliveries to make, so if you need anything, just…”

Oh. Oh wait you don’t have a system in place for this, do you? And you’re pretty sure most of the Smashers don’t have cell phones… Gah, you knew you should have implemented an internal phone line! Maybe you can ask Master Hand to sneak it in there while doing mansion renovations for future needs. If you do it, you’d have to do it in every single room one by one, which sounds exhausting. You already have a lot on your plate today!

“Don’t worry,” Marth says, “it’s only a cold. If I need anything, I have enough strength to get it myself.”

You open your mouth to protest but… actually, he has a point. It’s not like anyone seems to be sick with the flu or anything. And most of the Smashers are adults - they are all perfectly capable of getting up and retrieving anything they may need or want. Well, R.I.P. to anyone staying on the top floor because you still don’t have an elevator, but… they can at least leave a message on the door or something. Whatever.

This is already proving to be a very good learning experience at how unsuitable your mansion is in its current state for hosting this many people. You’ll have enough experience and knowledge by the end of this that you could run a rental business in your realm if you wanted.

“Well, if anything changes and you start having trouble, just leave a note outside the door,” you decide definitively. Going door-to-door to check on people would be tiring (and you’d also risk disturbing people who are sleeping) - but taking a walk through the halls every couple hours to check for notes or whatever? Easy. Even your shortcut-less partners could manage that.

Speaking of your partners, you should really be getting a move on.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marth replies, wordlessly giving you the go ahead to skedaddle on outta here. “Thank you again for this.”

And he gives you such a kind and warm smile despite his ailment that you are practically stumbling out of the door, unable to figure out why it feels like there are butterflies inside you.

...Helping people out is good. That’s all.

Shaking away the strange feelings this encounter brought, you pop yourself back into the kitchen, where you are instantly greeted with the smell of hot soup. The room is warm thanks to the literal cauldron y’all made a day’s worth of soup in with Peach’s help, which remains on perpetual heat. There are only two Smashers in the room right now: femme Robin, who is using a laddle to scoop the soup into bowls and prepare the trays for delivery, and R.O.B., who is just on his way out with a tray balanced on his metallic arms. He stops when he sees you appear from nothingness, staring silently at you for a moment before turning his head back to a neutral position and rolling out of the room. Shrugging off the encounter, you approach Robin and the table of food trays.

“A couple more down - how many are left?” You spot the stack of trays that haven’t been prepared yet, each with a Smasher’s name stickied onto them. “Oh. That’s how many…”

“You work a lot faster than the boys do,” Robin chuckles, her voice notably different-sounding than usual. You’re pretty sure she’s sick too, but unlike Peach, she hasn’t been overwhelmed by it yet and waves away any concerns you’ve thrown her way. “R.O.B. can only carry one order at a time, and the Pikmin keep spilling or dropping things… or eating it. Shulk is… well, I think the stairs are too much for him.”

“That’s understandable,” you chuckle. Yeah, your team is not the greatest for this job. But you’re still thankful for the help. “You are giving him orders for people on the lower floors though, right?”

Robin gives you A Look before gesturing to the soup and the pile of crackers and bread… among other world-specific foods that are apparently good to eat when sick. “Hey, I’m busy putting everything together here! I don’t have time to tell everyone where to go! Just pick up a tray and go, that’s what I’ve been saying.”

Oh geez, not even you’re completely familiar with the rooms that the Smashers chose for themselves. You can imagine Shulk having to search every floor just to find the name he’s been looking for is on the top… Thankfully Peach managed to round up any and all roommate scenarios before leaving to rest, or else this could be even more hectic.

“Fair enough,” you relent, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the others’ hardships. It is admittedly funny to think about, but you intend to work hard enough so no one tires themselves out at what would otherwise be an endless task. You’re hoping that after this first round, you’ll all have a break when you only have to deal with specific orders… until dinner time, of course. Then this chaos will begin again.

“Ugh, and no one has even delivered food to my poor, sweet Lucy yet!” Robin groans dramatically, hand to her head like she’s acting in a movie. “Here I am, selflessly toiling away for the sake of everyone else, while my only daughter continues to suffer! Oh, won’t somebody deliver this soup to her in my stead?”

“Uh… Yeah, sure, I could do that. Or if you’d want I could stay here while you--”

“Oh you will?!” Robin cuts you off before you can finish, grinning as she scoops up the tray with Lucina’s name taped onto it and forces it into your arms. “You’re a lifesaver! A knight in shining armour! I’m sure she will be SO happy to know someone as sweet as you is looking out for her…”

With an awkward (but amused) hum, you accept the tray and adjust it so you’ll be able to grab a couple more. Before you can start browsing the selection though, Robin starts coughing - first soft, but then she’s leaning over and hacking into her arm. Uh oh. “Robin, why don’t you go lie down? I think the rest of us can take care of things from here.”

“No no, I’m fine. Really,” she says, considerably less bombastic than before as she manages a smile. You can tell that it’s forced. “Someone has to prepare all this food and look after the kitchen!”

She’s… not exaggerating. Olimar’s Pikmin tend to sample the selection any time they’re in here to pick up another delivery. And then there was the one time Kirby came in today…

...Best not to think about that nightmare.

“Well… maybe you can at least take a break?” you suggest, not wanting her condition to get any worse via pushing herself too hard. You all may need the help, but… you’re sure you can manage! “There aren’t too many trays left to prepare--” Ten isn’t much, right? How much work could it possibly be to put food on a tray? “--and we could just have Shulk or R.O.B. watch the kitchen.” You’d volunteer yourself, but like Robin said, you kind of are the most efficient person on hand right now. Even Palutena has this cold - there’s no one with teleportation powers well enough to lend a hand.

Robin puts a hand to her face, clearly considering your offer. You notice how tired she looks now that she’s not overcompensating her energy to hide it. “Oh, but…”

“You could bring a tray with you,” you tempt. “Go lie down, eat, maybe read or watch a movie? Then maybe in an hour if you feel alright you can come back…?”

The tactician is silent, envisioning the possibilities you are proposing. Finally, she nods and steals a random tray, ripping off the name and sticking it on one of the empty ones. “Alright, you got me. I’m convinced. Say hi to Lucy for me, okay?!”

With a cheeky grin, she leaves the room with food in tow. Briefly you wonder if she had been looking for an excuse to go sit down for a while now…

After Robin is gone, you start browsing the trays so you can deliver more than one order in a single trip. Should you try for a bunch on the same floor as Lucina, or should you grab some for higher floors instead so your partners can catch a break? Just as you think you’ve made a decision, a certain Monado Boy enters the room with an empty food trolley.

“I ran into Robin on the way here,” Shulk says in lieu of a greeting. He looks tired, but devoid of any cold symptoms that everyone else seems to have. “She said she was taking a break but seemed rather… excited about it. I don’t suppose that means we’re down another member?”

“I guess we’ll find out if she comes back or not,” you chuckle. You’re pretty sure Robin is a fairly reliable person but… she can be rather sneaky about her true intentions. “Either way, I think we’ll be fine! We can do this!”

Your positivity is infectious; Shulk returns the smile, albeit weaker than yours. While you’re certain he’s probably just tired from running around so much to help people, you can’t help but ask him again:

“Hey, are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re not sick too or anything?”

Shulk shakes his head. “I told you before, I don’t seem to have it. Really, I don’t feel sick at all.”

When you asked him earlier, he told you that he had a weird history of never getting sick at the same time as his friends. He just never seemed to catch the same bugs as them. His explanation for it was as good as yours - which was no explanation, because he doesn’t know how it happens either. Just luck and coincidence, probably. When you try to imagine Smashers with strong immune systems, Shulk would have never been at the top of the list. He just… he looks so frail! But you can’t fight the facts: he’s one of the only human Smashers who is still perfectly healthy right now.

“How about you?” Shulk asks, returning the question. “You haven’t started feeling sick, right?”

He must be worried that you are going to ditch him too. “Nope! Like I said earlier: I don’t get sick. Like, at all.” You honestly can’t remember the last time you had gotten sick. Certainly not since you “moved into” this world, which was… well, it’s been awhile! Assumedly, it’s just one of the many perks of who you are and the realm you live in. Regardless, it’s been long enough that you’re convinced that “virus immunity” is one of your many undefined abilities.

Unfortunately for you, “not being a clumsy fool” is not one of your cool superpowers.

“Oh no!” You let down your guard for just a moment and accidentally let the trays in your hands tip, dumping all the food and utensils onto the ground. Man, you’ve been doing so good today! Shulk helps you clean it up, but a certain issue remains.

"Ugh, what if specific foods were on those?" you bemoan aloud. "I can't remember what came from each tray…" And you don't know anyone's tastes well enough to remake them. Though you suppose you could just leave the soup plain… put a bit of everything on the side…

"Who were they for?"

"Lucina, Yoshi, and Villager."

"In that case, I think…" Shulk picks up a blue-and-white bag among the mess. "...this is for Villager."

This makes perfect sense. "Now for Yoshi… probably all the fruit?”

Shulk ponders for a second, then nods. This also makes perfect sense. The two of you put all the bananas, berries, and peppers onto Yoshi’s tray.

“That just leaves the soup for Lucina!” You grin and rush over to the still-warm soup pot and fill a new bowl. “That was easier than I thought.” You are pretty sure you didn’t make any mistakes whatsoever. Except… wait a minute.

“Didn’t I deliver this earlier?” At your query, Shulk glances over to the particular tray you’re pointing at. It’s labelled for Peach and Samus, but you’re certain that this was one of the first deliveries you made!

...Wasn’t it?

“Um.” Shulk seems just as puzzled as you were. “Honestly, I’m not sure…”

You try to reach further back into your memory, but it seems to get further and further the more you try. Today’s events have been a blur of chaos and confusion. “...I guess I’ll just do it again??” It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember doing it, if the tray is here then that means you have to deliver it! You pick up the tray and put it on your trolley, then start loading the trolley up with more and more trays until it’s full.

“Oops, I almost forgot…” You turn and look at Shulk, who is also loading up a trolley. “Shulk, can you take Lucina’s? Robin asked me to, but I’m out of space.”

The two of them seem like good friends anyways, you’re sure Lucina will be more happy to see Shulk than to see you.

“Sure thing.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time, you start pushing your food trolley out of the room. As soon as you’ve exited the kitchen, you warp to the second floor of the mansion. Static dances on your skin from the instant transmission, but you ignore it as you approach Peach’s room.

[hello again its me, this is the end of the preview. there wasn’t much to it and it ends on such a Nothing note but i hope you liked it regardless. one day this will end up in the fic, but not anytime soon i think lol. i hope you have a good day/night.]

#the smashers and their host #fanfiction #super smash bros fanfic #tsath #super smash bros #fanfic preview

[eddieeatsass]

The Truth Is That I Think I've Had Enough

Summary: For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was fully planning on taking advantage of it. He invited Richie on a camping trip, just wanting one night where he could pretend, but Richie had different plans. Pairing: Stozier Rating: E Warnings: Eventual smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

When it came to the list of things Richie wanted to be doing on Valentine’s Day, Stan knew camping was not high up on the register. Richie was a city boy through and through, but he was also a loyal friend, so when Stan suggested they go camping for the weekend, Richie had gone along with it.

They were both single, after all, and it’s not like they didn’t hang out every other day of the year… so why should Valentine’s Day be any different?

Well, as far as Richie was concerned, it wasn’t. But Stan may have been indulging in his yearning just a little bit. For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was going to take advantage of it. So sue him if he wanted to pretend for one night that things were different.

But the truth still stood that Richie knew nothing of Stan’s pining, and nothing about camping, which made the trip a little tricky. They’d gone camping a few times when they’d been kids, tagging along with Stan’s parents who had done most of the handy work. All Richie and Stan had worried about was how toasted to make their marshmallows in pursuit of the perfect smore.

But now Richie was standing before him, gazing between the crumpled tent on the ground, and Stan’s awaiting expression, clear confusion boggling his mind.

“You gonna help or am I doing this all on my own?” Stan asked with light laughter.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…” Richie drawled, unsure of how to proceed. “I mean yeah, of course, I just don’t quite... know... how.”

Richie picked up one of the objects sitting atop the tarp-like material. He jumped back when what started as a small bundle of sticks suddenly snapped out into a series of rods.

“Careful Rich! I didn’t plan on losing an eye today. We don’t have the medical equipment for that.” Stan warned, making sure to keep an ease to his tone so Richie knew he was teasing.

Richie nodded earnestly, taking more precaution as he began to snap the sticks into one long rod.

Stan knew what he was doing well enough to not need instructions, but Richie’s every move was a gamble between helping, or causing the whole tent to deflate. Stan finally took pity on him and assigned Richie the easy task of getting their blow up mattress out of the car, figuring it would be easier to finish the tent without Richie’s helping hands.

Their tent was generously sized, large enough for a twin person air mattress, and then a little extra room for their cooler and bags. Stan assured Richie that there were no bears in the area, so it was safe to sleep with their food alongside them, but Richie was still hesitant. He soothed himself by insisting that Stan sleep on the side closest to the cooler. If a bear attacked, it would be Stanley’s job to keep Richie safe. Stan’s heart fluttered a bit at the trust Richie instilled in him, no matter how hypothetical, or how unlikely he’d be to actually win a fight against a bear. Stan chose to keep both of those hypotheticals to himself and let Richie think him brave.

When Richie trekked back from the car, heavy box in one hand and air pump in the other, Stan was all done setting up the tent.

“God, why is this so heavy!?” Richie complained, plunking the box with the air mattress at their feet.

“It’s the price we pay for comfort.” Stan said, amused.

“At least we don’t have to blow this thing up with our mouths.” Richie conceded, giving the box a swift kick in retaliation for making his arms hurt.

“Psh, you don’t have enough air in your lungs.” Stan teased, taking the pump from Richie’s outstretched hand.

“But I have the blowjob lips to make up for it. One wrap of these puppies around that nozzle and it would blow itself up.” Richie made obnoxious kissing noises, too distracted by his obscenity to notice the way Stan’s cheeks heated up. His pulse pounded in his ears as thoughts of Richie’s lips wrapped around something else crept into his mind.

“Richie, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but blowjobs don’t involve any actual blowing.”

“And how would you know that, Stanley?”

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” Stan deadpanned.

Truth be told, Stan wasn’t as much of a virgin as his friends thought he was. He hadn’t done much, but because of his religion and strict parents, they’d all assumed Stanley hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Low and behold it was at Jewish summer camp that he had experienced his first kiss, and his second, and so on. He’d even gotten to second base on the very last day of camp with good ol’ Patricia Blum.

But Stanley was a private man, and as respect for Patty, he hadn’t gone around spreading word of their affairs, even though he was secretly dying to tell Richie and see how far his jaw dropped when he found out Stan had gotten more action than he had. Trashmouth never shut up about sex, but they all knew he’d never had any. Stan wondered if Richie would ask Stan for tips, or ask him to demonstrate how he’d groped Patty down by the lake that day. He could show Richie a thing or two, teach him how to be soft and gentle with his fingers.

“Looks like the sun is already starting to go down.” Richie noted, peering off towards the cliff that overlooked the valley. They’d gotten prime real estate thanks to Stan’s knowledge of the woods. He knew exactly where to go where they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers.

“We should start a fire.” Stan decided. He’d had enough training in the boy scouts to know it was always better to start your fire before the sun went down. It saved you a lot of annoyance, frozen fingertips, and a much harder time finding resources by flashlight.

“Rich, can you gather some twigs for me? About this big,” Stan picked one up that was by his foot. “and make sure they’re dry.” He handed the stick to Richie, who immediately brought it to his forehead in a fake salute.

“Aye aye captain!” Richie stiffened his limbs, swiveling around and doing his best army march impression as he wandered off in search of sticks.

While Richie was away, Stan got to work on setting up a makeshift pit for the fire to be contained in. He gathered as many rocks as he could find nearby and set them up in a neat little circle. Once Stan was satisfied with his work, he moved on to blowing up the air mattress inside their tent.

As he connected the pump to the mattress and began the repetitive motion that would surely leave his arms aching, he let his mind wander.

In hindsight, there was probably a much subtler way Stan could have found to spend Valentine’s Day with Richie. He’s sure if he’d offered up their usual Chinese food and ‘The Princess Bride’ (Richie’s all time favorite movie no matter what he says to the contrary), Richie would have pounced on the idea. So why had Stan felt the need to make it into a whole thing?

Well, he knew why, but he didn’t want to admit it. The knowledge was coated in shame and guilt, but it was still buzzing in the back of his head like a bug he couldn’t squish. Stan wanted this to be a date. Maybe he even liked pretending it was. He knew that wasn’t fair, but he didn’t have much control over it. If they’d done the same thing they always did, it wouldn’t have felt special.

Once the air mattress was completely inflated, and the pump tucked back into its box, Stan let himself fall forward on to the air filled PVC with an auditory oof.

Face down in the uncomfortable fabric, Stan felt like it was where he deserved to be. Lovesick, lying, dirty little-

“Yo, Stanny, I got your sticks!”

Stan steeled himself, tucking away his intrusive thoughts in favor of less intimate ones.

When Stan exited the tent, he wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a mountain of sticks. Standing before him, Richie was covered in dirt, twigs sticking out from his bush of hair, and arms full of branches towering high enough to shield half his face.

“Get in a fight with a tree?” Stan teased, hurrying forward so he could take half the stack from Richie’s shaking arms.

“Yeah, the tree won.” Richie answered with a matching tone, causing Stan’s heart to flutter traitorously.

“We didn’t need this many, you know.”

“I know, but I figured better safe than sorry, right? What if we suddenly need to build two fires? Or three? Or maybe even a fourth? What if we get stuck out here forever and need to provide heat to the village we create to survive. Our children deserve fires too, don’t they Stan? Don’t they?”

“We’re having children?” Stan questioned, beginning to place the sticks in the small fire pit he’d made.

“Yes.” Richie answered definitively as he plopped down beside Stan.

“I’m not sure that’s anatomically possible, but sure, I’ll play along.” Stan delighted.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have two kids. Twins.”

“Of course.” Stan nodded seriously, entertaining Richie’s wild imagination.

“One girl and one boy, or, you know, whatever gender they wanna be. We ain’t gonna be those kind of parents.”

That roused a laugh from Stan, knowing too well how strongly Richie’s opinions on parenting styles were. Richie had thought long and hard on what kind of parent he wanted to be in the future. You wouldn’t think Richie Tozier was a sap when it came to children, but tiny tots had him wrapped around their fingers. Richie had been dreaming about starting a family since they were kids, and Stan was no stranger to being ‘the wife’ in the equation. Richie had organized many imaginary weddings for them when they were young. They’d been married seven times in total, and had played house more times than Stan could count. It was almost enough to fuel Stan’s late night thoughts that Richie might actually reciprocate his feelings.

“We’ll name them Pizza and Macaroni.” Richie declared.

“Why in hell’s name would we do that?” Stan scoffed, grabbing the box of matches from his pocket. He ignited one and flicked it into the center of the pit.

“We’re creating a new society, Stan. There are no rules, no norms. Pizza and Macaroni could be the new standard for names. Imagine.”

“I don’t want to.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulder and pulled him in close, leaving little room between their faces for Stan to breathe.

“Imagine.” Richie repeated with extra vigor.

“Fine.” Stan closed his eyes and paused for a moment. “I’m imagining it.”

“And? It’s beautiful, right?” Richie asked excitedly.

“Oh, oh god, Macaroni just stabbed Pizza with a fork. He’s bleeding everywhere! There’s no paramedics around, the town consists of just us and we never got any medical training. I’m holding our son, Richie. I’m holding him in my arms, oh god, his blood tastes like tomato sauce Richie-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Richie laughed, wrestling Stan to the ground and pinning him in place. “Take it back! Do not eat our son, Staniel!”

“But he tastes so good.” Stan giggled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Spit him out! Spit him out or we’re getting a divorce!”

Stan finally peeked one eye open, seeing Richie’s bright smile hovering over him and dark curls falling into his eyes.

“You’ll have to divorce me seven times then.” Stan challenged with a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Huh?” Richie’s face contorted as he tried to pinpoint Stan’s line of thought.

A piece of Stan’s heart detached from itself and fell into the pit of his stomach. Of course he didn’t remember, why would he?

“Nothing, never mind.” Stan laughed shallowly, shrugging Richie off and rolling back on to his feet. He stopped to check that the fire was successfully catching and was moderately pleased with the small flames he saw licking at the sticks. It should continue to grow if they left it.

“Are you hungry?” Stan asked over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to detach himself from what had just happened.

“Uh, yeah, I could go for some food.” Richie answered, mild confusion still evident in his voice.

“Cool, I brought hot dogs and beans-”

“I think I want smores.” Richie’s voice suddenly rang from beside Stan, causing him to jolt. Richie just laughed at the reaction, cutting in front of Stan and jogging towards their tent.

“You can’t have smores for dinner, Richie.” Stan chastised.

“You’re not my mom!”

Stan once again found himself fighting back a smile as Richie’s figure disappeared into the tent.

An hour later Stan found himself sitting on a log they’d rolled over from a nearby fallen tree. He was holding a stick over the fire, a marshmallow precariously hanging from the end of it. The sky had darkened to a navy blue, pin pricked with stars and constellations they had yet to discover.

Stan moved the marshmallow a little farther above the flames, keeping it from getting charred like Richie’s own marshmallow, which was engulfed in flames.

“I can hear you judging me.” Richie quipped, keeping his eyes on his marshmallow as he brought the flaming gelatin towards himself and began erratically blowing it out.

Stan kept his laughter locked behind his lips.

“It’s just… so unnecessary.” Stan responded.

“It’s not unnecessary! It’s fully necessary! This is the only way to get the perfect marshmallow!” Richie defended.

Stan looked over at the gooey black orb Richie was shoving between two graham crackers. He made a fake gagging noise while sticking out his tongue, finally letting his laughter free when Richie punched him playfully in the arm.

“The perfect marshmallow will never include scorch marks.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Richie took a stubborn bite of his smore, reaching out with his free hand and tapping Stan’s stick.

Stan watched in horror as his flawlessly roasted marshmallow disappeared into the flames of the fire, immediately disintegrating into nothing but sticky residue.

“Saboteur!” Stan yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Richie’s chocolate covered face.

“Moi!?” Richie gasped, throwing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I would never! But, I am not a heartless man. Please, as condolences for your loss, will you accept the other half of my smore, monsieur?”

Stan wanted to cringe at the terrible french accent Richie adorned, but his cuteness won over and Stan was just left smiling.

“I suppose I’ll eat your ash-cookie.”

“I’d rather you eat my ass, cookie.” Richie shot back without pause, winking slyly as he scooted closer to Stan on the log.

The air around Stan began thickening, heating him up from the inside out and causing his brain to melt just slightly. He watched in slow motion as Richie’s fingers brought the half eaten smore up to Stan’s lips. It should have been gross; Richie’s face and fingers had remnants of chocolate on them, the smore was falling apart and showcasing the awfully burnt marshmallow, and Stan had a strict ‘no-sharing-food’ policy because he didn’t like sharing germs. But regardless of all of those reasons to pull away, Stan found himself leaning in closer.

As soon as Richie’s fingers brushed Stan’s lips it was like something inside him took over. Stan raised his hands to hold Richie’s wrist, and then cocking his head so he had a better angle, he raked his tongue over Richie’s fingers as he gathered all the chocolate he could. It was a lewd gesture, one Stan would never imagine doing any other time, but something about the flickering campfire and the stillness of the wind made him feel like he wasn’t in this world anymore. He was in a world where he could make Richie want him.

“Uhm…” Richie’s shaky breath brought Stan hurtling back to reality fast enough to leave him dizzy.

Stan quickly let go of Richie’s arm, pulling away both physically and emotionally as he chewed his smore with vigor.

“You’re right.” Stan said through a mouthful of goo. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Richie just stared in awe as Stan tried to swallow past the sticky chocolate and marshmallow that stuck to his teeth in defiance.

Once the residue of his humiliation was all swallowed down, Stan stood abruptly, stretching his arms high above his head and producing a fake yawn.

“Jeez, I’m tired already.” Stan lied, hoping Richie would go along with it.

“Makes sense, we did have a long day of travelling.” Richie answered towards Stan’s turned back.

Stan let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. As he let his arms drop, so did his shoulders, and some of his tension along with it.

“I’m gonna go change into my pajamas.” Stan stated, leaving hurriedly before Richie could respond.

Once in the tent, and hidden behind its nylon walls, Stan was finally able to process what he’d just done. As he slowly changed into his pajamas he went over the course of events in his head, wincing as he recalled the way he’d indulged so passionately in such a platonic touch. It had felt so good in the moment, convincing himself he saw lust in Richie’s eyes, but the remorse he felt now settled over him like a blanket. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Richie, he couldn’t, he had to keep himself together.

Stan was startled out of his stupor as the zipper of the tent began to open. Stan quickly pulled his sleep shirt the rest of the way down, hiding away his body and his thoughts alike.

“You decent?” Richie asked teasingly before opening the zipper any wider.

“Yeah.” Stan responded, warmth already licking back up his chest.

Richie opened the tent the rest of the way and as he climbed in Stan could see that he’d put out the fire. He felt a weird swell of pride that Richie had remembered at least some of the camping basics Stan had taught him.

He’d averted his eyes as Richie changed, had curled in on himself as Richie leaned over him to reach their stuff, but now he was laying next to Richie’s warm body with no way to escape. Their proximity seared into him like a burn that he was far too aware of.

“You know, this was way more fun than my usual Valentine’s Day.” Richie offered into the silence, gazing up through the skylight that allowed them to see the stars.

Stan’s heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“The past few years I’ve usually spent it with some equally lonely one-night-stand. The sex was never good enough to make the next day worth it.” Richie admitted.

“Why not?” Stan piped in.

Richie thought for a moment, allowing the silence to lull them a little bit deeper into the comfort of night.

“I’d wake up feeling disappointed because the person next to me was never who I wanted it to be.”

Stan’s ears perked up. He angled his body towards Richie, cushioning his head in the crook of his bent elbow as he contemplated his friend’s profile. This was the first time Richie had ever alluded to having a crush.

“Who did you want it to be?” Stan asked shakily.

Richie turned his head towards Stan, locking eyes with him and seeming to search for something.

“What about you?” Richie asked, flipping the question around without answering it.

“What do you mean?”

“Who would you choose to wake up to every day?”

The question leered above their heads, threatening to fall and crush the thin veil of tension that had formed between them.

Stan gulped audibly, wanting nothing more than to shy away from Richie’s gaze, but he held strong.

“It doesn’t matter, they don’t want the same thing I do.”

“How can you be sure?” Richie murmured challengingly.

Stan’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water as he tried to wade through the chaos in his head.

“All I know is I’m glad I’m waking up next to you tomorrow.” Richie said, turning his head back to the sky.

Blood pounded in Stan’s ears as he tried to decode Richie’s words. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Or was Stan just reading into things, spurred on by his unrequited feelings and juvenile hope?

“I’m glad too.” Stan breathed out.

Richie didn’t miss a beat before answering.

“Glad enough to kiss me?”

Stan’s entire body froze, something inside him shattering as the butterflies finally escaped his stomach, filling up their tent until Stan couldn’t see anything but Richie.

Slowly, as if scared one wrong move would make Richie run, Stan propped himself up on his elbow, peering down at Richie’s expectant face. He kept his pace steady as he slowly dipped down and braved a single kiss.

It wasn’t much of anything, just a chaste peck, a quick dip into the pool to test the water. But that one kiss was enough to erase all of Stan’s trepidation, leaving him as bare and open and vulnerable as Richie was. And it felt liberating.

The next few minutes passed by in a flurry. Richie surged up to reclaim Stan’s lips, no longer just a peck but now a full-blown kiss that left Stan’s legs shaking. Richie flipped them over so he was hovering above Stan, using his leverage to kiss up Stan’s neck, the line of his jaw, and back to his lips. It was quick to turn feral, their teeth clanking against each other as desperation took over. Stan had never felt so terrified and turned on at the same time, his hand trembling as it fisted into Richie’s lush curls and pulled him closer.

Stan’s breathing was labored, his swallows dry as he tried to steady his quickening pulse. Richie was everywhere, blanketing all of Stan’s senses. The smell of Richie’s laundry detergent swirled around them, melding with the lingerings of their campfire. His tongue tasted sweet like the chocolate they’d eaten, and the sound of Stan’s own meek noises were swallowed up by Richie’s own deep growls. If all that wasn’t already over-stimulation enough, Richie’s was consistently rutting himself against Stan, causing his arousal to become less and less subtle with every passing moment.

Stan broke away with a heaving breath, peering up at Richie through hooded eyes.

“I’m a virgin.” Stan blurted.

Richie stared deeply into Stan’s eyes, churning his gut with intensity until what felt like several minutes had passed. When Richie finally spoke again, the sound nearly startled Stan.

“Me too.”

Stan smiled, thankful that Richie felt safe enough to be honest with him. He reached a hand up and gently cupped Richie’s cheek, who immediately leaned into the touch.

“We don’t have to, uh, do anything.” Richie stuttered out, his eyes gently closing as he relaxed into Stan’s hold.

“I know. But if you wanted to…” Stan trailed off, leaving the offer open-ended.

Richie’s eyes popped back open, searching Stan’s face for further explanation.

“I brought stuff… uh… just in case. I guess I was kinda hopeful about tonight.” Stan admitted, averting eye contact. “Can I make a confession?” Richie whispered, his voice going a bit rough at the end. “I was kind of hopeful myself…”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Stan asked.

“I sort of fantasized about the way tonight might play out. I’ve had some… personal experience with receiving, so I made sure to clean myself in case my wildest dreams suddenly came to fruition. But I can also top! Uhm, if that’s your preference.” Richie rushed in addition.

“Personal experience? I thought you were a virgin?” Stan’s tone held a lick of jealousy, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

In response Richie held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, hoping that Stan got the message.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” Stan groaned, letting his head fall back against his pillow. He felt open mouth kisses being peppered down the column of his neck and keened embarrassingly loud.

“I’ll be honest, the thought of splitting you open on my cock does sound appealing.” Stan murmured.

Richie’s head shot up, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Stan thought he’d said something wrong until Richie was suddenly shucking his clothes as quickly as possible, dizzying Stan with his pace.

“Slow down! Rich- Richie- there’s not that much room in the tent!” Stan laughed, trying (and failing) to get Richie to sit still. When he finally stopped moving, Richie was stripped down to his underwear.

It’s not like Stan and Richie had never seen each other in their underwear before, but apparently context did a lot, and in this context Stan’s whole body was thrumming at the sight.

“Fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?” Stan whispered, trailing his gaze down Richie’s lean torso.

“Only if you want to.” Richie assured.

Stan wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. But words were failing him as he took in this brand new Richie, bathed in moonlight from the tent’s open skylight, eyes wide and vulnerable with lust.

So instead of talking, Stan took action. He locked eyes with Richie as he began stripping off his own clothes, doing so much slower than Richie had. It was purposeful, a confirmation that he was all in. Their gaze didn’t break until Stan was bared to the same degree as Richie, his navy blue boxer briefs a stark contrast to Richie’s hot pink flamingo print.

Stan was the one to surge forward when their tension peaked, knocking Richie on to his back and giving himself room to straddle him. Richie’s hands were slow burning coils against Stan’s skin, lighting him up everywhere they touched. Stan rolled his hips down experimentally, feeling Richie’s responding twitch between the thin fabric that separated them.

“Off.” Stan demanded, pawing at the waist of Richie’s offending boxers.

Richie complied, but did one better. In the same fail swoop, Richie hooked his thumbs under both of their waistbands and pulled them down in conjunction.

The action resulted in a collective moan as their oversensitive cocks finally broke free and rubbed against each other.

It didn’t take long for Richie's hands to slither back up their thighs and in between them, grabbing them both in one hand. Stan hissed at the contact, clenching his teeth in an attempt to hold back the wave that already threatened to crash over.

“Fuck, Stanny. Who knew you were packing?”

The comment was so un-sexy it made Stan puddle into laughter, his head falling to Richie’s shoulder as the chest underneath him rumbled in tandem.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m very good at this whole dirty talk thing.” Richie admitted between giggles.

“I don’t want dirty talk.” Stan murmured, placing a gentle kiss on Richie's temple. “I just want you.”

Richie nodded, evidently calmed by the notion that he didn’t have to perform, he just needed to be.

Richie experimented with another flick of his wrist, causing Stan to jerk away instinctively.

“Rich- if you keep doing that I’m not gonna last.” Stan admitted.

“Damn, I’m that good?”

“Shut up and teach me how to finger you.” Stan smirked as he wiped the smile right off Richie’s face.

“It might be better if I just… show you.” Richie shifted out from under Stan and got to his knees.

“You said you have lube…?” “Oh!” Stan exclaimed, bouncing up and reaching for his backpack. He immediately procured the lube and condoms he’d brought.

“Thanks babe.” Richie said casually, missing the way Stan spluttered at the pet name.

Richie reached for the lube as Stan tried to recover, but he didn’t have much time to do so as he watched Richie squeeze a little bit of lube on to his fingers and immediately reached behind himself.

Stan’s heart went mad, bouncing against its confines like it was a prison. He couldn’t help but stare at the way Richie’s face contorted into an all new type of expression, one Stan had never seen on anyone’s face before.

His eyes trailed down Richie’s torso, stopping to admire the way his thin body strained around muscle, how his pale chest flushed pink with arousal, and the delicious way his cock stood to attention just begging for praise. But it was the space between Richie’s spread thighs that mesmerized him, where he could see his hand moving behind him.

Without thought, Stan’s hand drifted to his own cock, acting on instinct as his mind went hazy. He held it gently, not stroking it so much as just giving it the pressure it craved. He watched as Richie’s index finger disappeared inside himself, making Richie moan lewdly.

Richie didn’t take long to get all three fingers inside himself, getting more and more into it as the minutes ticked on. Richie now had his eyes shut and his head thrown back as he fucked himself down on his digits. Stan almost didn’t want to stop him, wanted to see how long Richie could ride himself until he made himself cum, but even more than that, he wanted to feel Richie’s tight heat constricting around his shaft. “So are you gonna let me fuck you or what?” Stan’s voice seemed to jostle Richie out of whatever place his mind had gone to, causing him to look around the tent for the culprit of his ceased pleasure.

“Stanny, fuck, please-” Richie’s voice was completely hoarse as he crawled towards Stan eagerly. “Come here, let me take care of you.” Stan ushered Richie forward, pulling him flush against his chest and kissing him as passionately as possible.

“I want you to ride me.” Stan whispered against Richie’s lips.

“Yes, please.”

Stan laid back down, pulling Richie on top of him for the second time that night.

They kissed for a while longer, grinding into each other as Stan’s cock teased at Richie’s entrance. Keeping their lips locked, Stan reached for his condom, tearing it open expertly and bringing the latex down between their bodies.

Richie sat up on his knees, giving Stan room to roll the condom down over his dick, but as soon as it was situated snug against Stan’s pelvis, Richie wasted no time coating it in lube. He threw the bottle behind him, moving impatiently as he fumbled to line Stan’s cock up with his hole.

“Rich...” Stan reached for Richie’s free hand and entwined their fingers. The gesture gave Richie pause and he finally let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m just… I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Richie said quietly.

Stan’s heart swelled. He squeezed Richie’s hand in reassurance.

“Me too, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush. I’m not going to suddenly change my mind, we can take our time with this.”

Richie bowed his head, a shy smile flashing pearly teeth. Stan took the opportunity to slink his own hand around his cock, joining Richie’s. Together, they held it still as Richie slowly sank down until the head popped past his rim.

They both gasped as the new sensation washed over them.

Richie started cursing under his breath, sinking down a little bit lower every few seconds until he was fully seated in Stan’s lap.

Stan held an iron grip on Richie’s hips as he tried to ground himself, the feeling of Richie clenching around him almost too much to bare.

“Why haven’t we been doing this all these years.” Richie whined, pulling himself up until the head of Stan’s cock threatened to slip out, before pushing back down at a satisfyingly slow pace.

“Because we’re idiots.” Stan answered, raising his hips to meet Richie as he came down.

“H-huge idiots.” Richie agreed, nodding along with his thrusts.

“We have a lot of - hnnnng fuck - a lot of time to make up for.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Rich, I would literally stay in this moment for a lifetime if I could- ahhhh.”

“Your dick might shrivel up.” Richie noted, speeding up his rhythm upon hearing Stan’s moans.

“Worth it.” Stan swallowed thickly, getting lost in the sight of Richie’s cock bouncing against his stomach.

“I wanna suck you off.” Stan blurted, no longer able to filter his thoughts through the haze in his brain.

“Fuck, Stanny- you’re so perfect- nnnnggggg ohmygod-” Richie’s entire body tensed up as he reached his peak. Stan watched as his cock twitched, releasing strings of cum that shot impressively far. The feeling of Richie clenching around him paired with the sight of him completely unraveling tipped Stan over the edge along with him.

His orgasm felt like it lasted a lifetime, draining every ounce of energy out of him and leaving Stan completely boneless by the end. He vaguely processed Richie slipping off him, heard the sound of the tent unzip, and then felt the warmth of Richie’s body saddling back up beside him.

“You okay there?” Richie’s voice drifted through the tent, but it still felt light years away. Stan nodded meekly, his bearings just starting to come back.

Stan peered down at his spent cock, giving it a small nod in appreciation for its performance.

“Where’s the condom?” Stan asked drearily.

“I put it outside the tent.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Would you rather we sleep with it next to us?” Richie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Mmmmm- shut up and spoon me.” Stan grumbled, turning to his side and pulling Richie’s arm over him.

“As you wish.” Richie whispered.

#stozier #stozier fanfic #stozier fic #stozier fanfiction #stozier lemon #stozier smut #richie tozier #stanley uris #stan uris #it 2017 #it smut #it lemon #it fanfic #it fanfiction #my posts #my writing

[kiruuuuu]

Thanks to these two wonderful anons, I finally wrote more recruitverse! Thank you both :) 💗 In this one, they meet Shay’s girlfriend... and as usual, chaos is involved. (Rating T, humour + a whole lot of pining, ~5.1k words)

Meet my recruits! Find the other #recruitverse pieces under the tag or here on my masterpost 💙

.

Jojo has never seen Ivan Ivanovic this delighted. There are a few things which spark a grim smile, like being complimented on an exercise well done, or offering him food he adores, but nothing so far has managed to plaster a grin this wide and persistent on his stoic Russian face. His joy is contagious, and both Gian and Jojo himself mirror his expression with glee in between silent pointing and suppressed giggles. Even the blasted snake curled up in its tank seems to smile.

On top of Valenti’s forehead, Jojo’s phone comes alive with an alarmingly loud buzz, nearly toppling the group of chess pieces gathered on the display. The other three freeze comically, Ivan mid-step and his foot left hovering uselessly, Gian about to balance a ruler on the Frenchman’s toes and Jojo with his hands in his pockets, looking for his wallet. A few seconds pass. Nothing happens.

Valenti continues to sleep peacefully.

It’s Ivan who breaks out into quiet laughter, slight hysteria colouring his relief, and then they all have to hold on to something to not burst out into Frenchman-waking guffawing. They’re not even sure why Valenti is sleeping like the dead, but they sure as hell are taking advantage. He’s showcasing several stacks of various paraphernalia on all his body parts, the highlight being a literal chair precariously resting on his limbs. Jojo went where the other two didn’t dare and placed one of Shay’s ubiquitous containers of glitter on his friend’s crotch – closed, of course – and at this point they’re struggling to even procure more items to add to the impressive piles.

As Jojo gingerly places his opened wallet on top of one of Gian’s boots, Ivan Ivanovic, the madman himself, begins building a house of cards on the chair’s seat. Now and then, they whisper ideas back and forth and struggle to keep quiet in between the hare-brained suggestions – we could get Ying, was Jojo’s contribution, and Gian: I would like to try to put as many socks on him as possible. Eventually, it became absurd, with ‘an online coupon’, ‘a pottery course’ and ‘a trip to Italy’ marking the point where they had to stop or risk getting too loud.

A bag of water, Shay might’ve suggested, or if we distribute the weight equally, I bet we could put Dante’s tank on him.

But he’s not here, and Jojo isn’t even too sad about this fact. He’s been spending quality time with the other three, learning chess from Valenti, exercising with Ivan, discussing books from their childhood with Gian – they’re a friend group, after all, so he enjoys time alone with any of the four. Besides, when they get going, Shay’s absence is hardly noticeable anyway; Valenti’s and Jojo’s ideas are ridiculous enough and their motivation to set them in motion stronger than Ivan’s silence and Gian’s gentle disapproval. They don’t need him.

Which isn’t at all to say that he’s glad Shay has been frequently meeting up with his girlfriend. Of course not, Shay is wonderful – as wonderful as a good friend can be, in any case. Yet he’s not necessary for their group dynamic. Jojo can wait until the end of the day to share gossip and random events with him, sure. Shay isn’t the only thing that keeps him going each day. He’s not the first person he thinks about after waking up, though he’s usually the first to hear about Jojo’s convoluted dreams, and they usually text a little before drifting off to sleep as to not disturb the others. Even so, he’s not all Jojo can think about. He’s a big oaf, likeable yet with decidedly more stupid moments than any of them, gullible to a fault, easily entertained by pretty much anything – and now he remembers how Shay realised that the yellow flower called dandelion and the fuzzy one he called blowball are one and the same plant, and how amazed he continued to be by this fact for days and then Jojo told him that ‘dandy’ was derived from it as they, like the flower, tended to change their outfits drastically, and Shay actually believed him and excitedly told his sister who was merciful enough -

Gian is looking at him. Maybe because he’s been motionlessly staring at nothing again and Jesus fuck this is a recently acquired habit he could do without.

I don’t even want that much, he thinks and knows it’s untrue, he’s asking for a whole lot without finding the words and should move on. He should. He really, really should.

With a bang, the door to their room flies open, causing their heads to snap towards the two people in the doorway: Shay is unmistakeable, beaming like he won the lottery, and judging by his companion, he did. Brittany is by his side, close enough to touch and displaying a friendly, inviting smile which – to Jojo – looks fake. He recognises her from the endless photos Shay showed him, though she’s shorter in person, less attractive, even plain. If she didn’t use photoshop outright, she must’ve applied a beauty filter of sorts to maybe move her eyes closer together or reduce the size of her nose. Like this, Jojo just can’t see the appeal.

“Howya lads”, Shay addresses them, evidently not having noticed the snoozing Valenti, “this is Brit. What are we doing?”

We. Jojo suppresses a scoff.

Before any of them get a chance to react, there’s movement on top of the bunk bed they’re surrounding, sparking instant panic: Valenti is waking up.

As soon as the Frenchman notices the raccoon socks dangling right in front of his face, he jerks in surprise and sets a domino effect in motion: the chair topples, dragging Jojo’s and Gian’s phones as well as the old-fashioned wall clock they stole from outside with it, and while Ivan skilfully snatches the chair in mid-air before it can crash into Dante’s tank, the clock shatters on the floor (but at least breaking the phones’ fall), prompting another twitch from Valenti and before they can actively think about it, Jojo and Gian are suddenly scrambling to catch the cascade of assorted objects toppling down.

Ivan Ivanovic manages to prevent another catastrophe by grabbing the container of glitter with his free hand, making all of them breathe a sigh of relief.

There’s a small silence once everything has either gone splat on the ground or been cradled safely in their arms. Confusedly, Valenti eyes the mess either still in his bed, in Ivan’s, Gian’s and Jojo’s hands, or littered on the floor. “Are you serious?”, he mutters and yawns heartily. Then, after spotting something in particular: “You used your phones? Please tell me you at least took pictures beforehand.”

“We are no amateurs”, Ivan shoots back and nods to where his smartphone is sticking out of his pocket. “Of course we take pictures.”

“Can I see?”, Brittany bursts out excitedly. She looks way too entertained anyway, as if they’d orchestrated this chaos purely for her sake. “In college, stacking things on sleeping people was my favourite thing. Oh, and writing on them.”

“A classic”, the Russian agrees and readily pulls up his gallery after having set down the chair to show her, “I have photo of writing too somewhere.”

“Don’t show her that”, Valenti protests immediately. “You drew all over my chest, that’s not appropriate!”

“If my memory serves correctly, there was an instance of Shay exhibiting various pro-England slogans”, Gian joins the conversation now too, “proclaiming his undying admiration of the Queen, for example.”

“I told you they’re ruthless”, Shay dejectedly addresses the only woman among them, making her chuckle and quietly urge Ivan to show her said photos as well.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you lot!”, she erupts once more, apparently remembering where she is. “I’ve heard so much about all of you. Please call me Brit.”

And thus commences the general Fawning Over A Female. It’s a ritual Jojo has witnessed countless times in his life and as time progressed, it only became more sickening. Beginning with a funny introduction – nothing major, either a self-deprecating detail (I’m generally responsible for the trouble we end up in) or an allusion to an anecdote (I threw him over fence, don’t know if you have heard story) –, then followed up by desperately trying to include her into the group (Shay briefly mentioned a potential interest in video games, would you be willing to dare an attempt at playing some time soon?). Her laughter is suddenly more contagious than the plague, and there’s no doubt she’s drinking in all this attention lavished onto her like an alcoholic.

The lack of girls among the Rainbow recruits must’ve gotten to them. Even Ivan Ivanovic is being courteous, there’s no other word for it. Boot-licking maybe. If you can even call knock-off Uggs boots. Valenti is going cross-eyed with how much he’s trying not to ogle her and even Gian of all people seems dead set on winning her over.

Pitiful.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Jojo”, he interrupts her before she can get the words out (and it took her long enough to turn to him, the only guy in the room not beaming at her like a lunatic), “and I got a mess to clean up.” With that, he turns away to pick up the shit off the floor which Valenti kicked everywhere. He’s not known for tidying up, especially not voluntarily, but no one bats an eye.

After all, he’s not known for flirting with girls, either.

Brit hardly counts as a woman; with her freakishly large eyes, overdone expressions and exuberant behaviour, she’s infantile. Pretty? Maybe. Perhaps under all that make-up not so much. But pretty enough to melt his friends’ brains. She’s delighted over that stupid snake and pretends like nothing’s more interesting than hearing all about Valenti’s piano lessons, and they’re eating it up as if she was a date they snagged despite never expecting to.

Then, all of a sudden, something dawns on him. Something which has him freeze instantly and turn back to the giggling posse.

“How did you get in?”, he asks loudly, not bothering to apologise to an irritated-looking Valenti for talking over him.

Abruptly, the noise dies down. They get what he’s asking – except for Shay, whose grey cells might’ve been sucked out of him by this doll and dear fucking God, that’s a mental image for which Jojo only has himself to blame. “She parked outside and we walked in”, Shay clarifies, pointing in a seemingly random direction. “By the skip, you know. Why?”

Gian looks positively horrified. “They – they merely allowed you entry?”

The happy couple exchanges a glance, nonplussed. “Yeah? I mean, they know me.”

“What did you say you worked as? A waitress?”, Jojo can’t help but ask with a sickly sweet smile. “Shay, you fucking moron, you brought a waitress into an SAS base. She’s a civ!”

“Oh, is that what this is?”, Brittany clarifies cheerfully. “I was wondering about all the security.”

Jojo’s no longer wondering why these two airheads ended up together. By now, he’s only clueless as to how they found each other at all with how much they’re bumbling through life. “Yeah, you gotta go. Your man’s getting eviscerated if they find you.”

Despite the shocked faces around her, she’s still perky. “Ah, it’s not going to be that bad.”

Valenti pulls a face which Jojo feels in his guts. “If you think that, you can’t be very aware of our reputation.”

And this is when they suddenly notice boots stomping down the hall. Familiar boots. On the way to their room.

“Goodbye cruel yet magnificent world”, Gian mutters, already accepted his fate, whereas Shay and Jojo exchange a single glance – enough to ensure they’re on the same page. Which hurts. Despite all the mayhem and impending doom, Jojo has the brain capacity left to realise he’s never been this in tune with anyone else he’s ever met.

They grab the nearest blanket – Valenti’s, causing even more items to topple to the floor – and hold it up in front of Brit and Ivan, trapping them between two bunk beds yet shielding them from the door. Well, to be exact, it’s only Brittany who can’t be spotted anymore. Ivan’s eyes are still peeking over the edge.

Sledge barges in without so much as a knock (which is fair enough as it’d only give them more time to hide any evidence), and finding himself in front of five recruits staring at him, unmoving, doesn’t seem to quell his suspicions. Oddly enough. “Which one of you clogged the showers?”, he barks as a greeting and Jojo doesn’t even get that usual pang of I wonder if he orders Maestro around like this at home. He doesn’t know when the Scot’s broad frame became less attractive than gangly limbs and a crooked grin.

“First of all, I find it very disrespectful to assume it was one of us”, Valenti starts with as much indignation as he can muster while nearly shaking in his boots, “you can’t just default to us every time something goes wrong, it’s unfair and -”

“Shut up, Jean.” The Frenchman’s mouth snaps shut. “Who was it?” Sheepishly, Gian, Jojo and Valenti raise their hands. “Bloody knew it. If it’s not in mint condition by supper, you won’t be getting any. Now drop the blanket and let me see what else you broke.”

“Ivan’s indecent”, Shay quickly butts in, earning himself a withering glare. There’s movement now, and instead of standing stock still, Brit is sliding under one of the beds while trying to make as little noise as possible.

“Come on. Let me see, lads.” They manage to dodge Sledge’s hands until he eventually rips the duvet out of theirs to face the explosion caused by Valenti’s awakening earlier. The Scot eyes the mess suspiciously. “That’s it?”

“I really was indecent”, Ivan replies, deadpan. “We were comparing. Would you like to -”

Sledge’s face contorts in vague horror. “God no. I’ve heard enough. I better not catch any of you causing more trouble for a week, there’s only so much nonsense I’m willing to take.”

With that, he storms off, leaving them to gather around an extremely dusty-looking Brit with cobwebs in her glossy brown hair. Her muted expression soothes something in Jojo.

“Now we just have to get you out of here and we’re good”, Shay announces, sounding hopeful and pointedly ignoring the disbelieving looks of his friends. “Got any ideas, lads?”

The Frenchman is the only one looking contemplative instead of bleak. “I might have one.”

.

“Do we, uh”, Valenti begins hesitantly, fidgeting when attentive eyes shift over to him, “do we have blueprints of Hereford? Somewhere? Just out of curiosity? Maybe you’ve heard of a secret passageway to the Outside? A path theoretically possible but no one dares to use it?”

Jäger examines them, visibly fighting a smile. They approached the German engineer for no other reason than his involvement in their highly successful weapon of Christ-mass destruction and the fact that he didn’t rat them out, quite the opposite. They’ve discussed alternatives, a conversation Brittany followed with increasing entertainment, and decided against Smoke and Mute despite their love for mischief and support for anything threatening Sledge’s and Thatcher’s composure: the two are simply too unreliable and would indubitably sell them out for a Curly Wurly. There’s no love lost between any recruit and most of Rainbow, and the operators who do actually care about them are the ones who’d chastise them for causing any kind of trouble.

So they’ve snuck into the workshop, hoping their usual invisibility works in their favour.

“Gustave told me not to interact with you five anymore”, Jäger replies, though his lowered voice implies the opposite. “But you seem very polite. And reasonably desperate. Why do you ask?”

“We might be wanting to smuggle something out”, Jojo explains. It’s odd to talk to his fellow countryman in English and not his mother tongue, but he vividly remembers the previous time he tried to converse with Bandit in German. If he’d thought the man’s swearing and threats couldn’t get any worse than what he produces in English, he was sorely mistaken.

“Like what?”

Girlfriends, Jojo thinks. “Live cargo?”, he offers. Shay pulls a face.

“Oh. Did you adopt a stray animal?”

When he makes a pensive expression, he earns an elbow between his ribs. “Listen. We can’t talk about it. Can you help us?”

“Not without seriously upsetting my boyfriend, no. I’m already on thin ice after I accidentally helped Dom spike the afternoon coffee.”

That’s fair enough, thinks Jojo. So maybe they need something more… straightforward. He suddenly has an idea.

.

“Is it theoretically possible to use a trebuchet to catapult someone?”, Jojo wants to know interestedly and almost regrets asking the moment Mira’s face lights up.

“Of course! Do you have one at the ready or would you need to construct one first?”

The five of them exchange uncertain glances, so the Spaniard enthusiastically begins sketching out all the materials needed, complete with dimensions and tools. In fact, it’s a tad concerning how easily she outlines all the necessary steps and has Jojo wonder about her past – this sort of thing seems to come naturally to her. Engrossed, they follow her instructions with nods and mental notes and eventually accept the several sheets of construction paper with elaborate thanks. Consulting her was Jojo’s idea and he based it on Mira’s helpfulness and general spirit when it came to building… anything, really.

“Now have fun and don’t be afraid to use your hands. Making things is incredibly rewarding. Good luck!” It doesn’t seem to bother her that she can’t even remember their names as she’s too focused on a task well done. Before they can turn around, however, she stops them with a last afterthought: “Wait – you didn’t need the person to survive being launched, did you?”

Before Shay even has the opportunity to get more upset than he already is, Ivan speaks up: “Never mind. I have idea.”

.

Kapkan is sharpening a knife, with Fuze next to him cleaning a gun. The two Russians raised their gazes the moment they stepped outside and haven’t lowered them since, favouring a cold hard stare to intimidate over inspecting their own handiwork, which admittedly ends up being flawless despite the lack of attention. Otherwise, the two of them are unmoving.

Four of their expressions basically scream this is the worst fucking idea and only Ivan Ivanovic seems at ease. He nods curtly as a greeting and receives likewise, but when the rest of them attempt an equally cool gesture, they’re scrutinised even more closely as a result. Jojo is genuinely anxious; being in the same room as any other Spetsnaz always causes an uncomfortable itching just below his skin. Except for Ivan, of course.

“Why are we here again?”, Valenti whispers while trying to hide behind Shay, and winces when Kapkan’s eyes flick over to him.

“Guard on entry”, Ivan says, clearly not beating around the bush, “who is it today?”

The two operatives glance at each other. “Perkins”, Fuze replies, and Kapkan adds: “Pain in the ass. Why?”

“He could have accident. Two minutes.”

Holy fucking shit. Jojo feels all colour drain from his cheeks.

“Yes, he could have”, Kapkan concurs. “But it would cause a lot of attention. Potentially. Sounds like it’s not worth it.”

“It is”, Ivan emphasises and that’s the moment Valenti finally snaps out of his disbelieving stupor and drags the Russian away while muttering what could be either French swearwords or a bread recipe, Jojo isn’t sure.

“Thanks anyway!”, he yells over his shoulder as he quickly follows the others, their ranks breaking down more with every passing second. “No hard feelings! We won’t tell!”

“I cannot shake the feeling that this has ensured our demise”, Gian mumbles and Shay, just as pale as Jojo feels, simply nods.

.

“To be honest, I don’t mind spending some more time with this cutie”, Brittany waves off Shay’s concern the moment they’re back in their room. “I’ve never even touched a snake and Dante is a real gentleman, so don’t worry about me.”

“Are you out of your mind?”, Valenti hisses in the background, audibly furious. “No matter whether Perkins is a piece of shit, he’s SAS and we’d be dead meat!”

“They would have tied together shoelaces”, Ivan unsuccessfully tries to appease him. “Or something like it. Better idea than hoping Hereford is Hogwarts, with secret tunnel.”

The Frenchman turns a lovely shade of dark red which almost matches his scarf. “Really? You call involving the Russian mob a better idea? At least I didn’t try to turn her into ammunition!”

“Hey, no need to lash out just because you didn’t get your letter when you turned ten”, Jojo chimes in, feeling his own annoyance spike.

“My suggestion was reasonable at least and wouldn’t have ended with her splattering into giblets.”

Thankfully, Gian steps in before the two of them can get into yet another shouting match: “May I propose the simple yet effective art of social engineering?”

Oh. This sounds like it could actually go somewhere.

“But we already talked to Jäger”, Shay speaks up, confused, and Jojo doesn’t know whether to hug or laugh at him.

“A tried and tested example of this involves carrying a ladder into various establishments”, Gian explains. “The key is to seem so average, everyone else’s eyes glide right past.”

Shay is still frowning. “Don’t call her average.”

“Darling -”, Jojo begins to set him straight, but is interrupted by Brit: “No, he just wants me to carry a ladder.”

It’s immensely satisfying to have Ivan raise an eyebrow and then, very quietly, murmur into Jojo’s general direction: “Match made in a very chaotic heaven.”

“Fairly sure we can find a recruit’s uniform that fits her”, Valenti picks up Gian’s idea and has the happy couple react with an intrigued ohh.

.

“Doesn’t look too bad”, Jojo decides as he inspects the sixth recruit in their group. Brit is noticeably too thin and the make-up peeking out through the holes in the balaclava aren’t reassuring, but she might just pass. “Are you a decent liar?”

“About as good as I am”, Shay replies in her stead, prompting the others to exchange glances clearly spelling out we’re doomed.

“In that case, just don’t talk. Leave it to us. If you’d be forced to answer, maybe pretend you don’t understand English.”

“Why can’t I be mute?”, she asks, making Shay shake his head.

“He’s much taller than you are, Brit, that would never work.”

Bless him. To hell and back. This is the same guy Jojo trusts with his life, and he knows Shay would never let him down in a mission. Yet he’s so child-like in the most charming way, wide-eyed and curious, gullible and excitable. And, at times, really really dim. Not that it matters as their continued survival rests in his girlfriend’s hands right now, and she still doesn’t seem to have grasped the severity of the situation. While Jojo isn’t sure of the repercussions to inviting a civ unannounced, they can’t be great, especially with their history of either demolishing or disrespecting anything that’s not nailed down (and even some of what actually is).

Trying to appear nonchalant, they saunter through the corridor like they belong, naturally crowding around Brittany so it’s less obvious she has no idea where she’s going and hoping they don’t meet too many eagle-eyed operators. Female recruits are few and far between, so it’s indeed possible someone like Montagne or Doc, who interact with them often enough, would raise an eyebrow.

Fortunately, the first person they run into is Rook. Not only is he well-known for being sociable and friendly, he’s also comfortable with English and French only. Brit can easily claim being Russian and avoid any questioning with a thick accent.

“Hey, guys”, Rook greets them cheerfully. “Who’s your extra? A new recruit?”

“Yes, but unfortunately her English skills aren’t -”, Gian begins just as the masked woman blurts out: “Ah oui, pardonnez-moi, je suis française.”

Oh.

Well.

The panic in her eyes is visible as Rook, delighted, starts babbling to her in rapid French before Valenti replies with a few curt sentences and then drags her with him accompanied by excuses as loud as they are insincere.

So far, the plan is working beautifully.

“I’ve never met an American who could speak French!”, Brittany whispers in her own defence as they leave the building. “I thought it was a safe bet.”

“You have something more exotic?”, Ivan wants to know. They’re not far from the gate now, with a bit of luck they’ll make it.

And then they’re greeted by another familiar voice, a voice at which Gian’s ears perk up almost visibly. If there was ever the equivalent of a friendship crush, this would be it – Gian would give his right arm to be able to bask in this man’s presence, which says a lot as the ginger makes sure not to play favourites. But Castle? Castle is his celebrity. Castle is to him what Sledge is to the rest of them.

Unfortunately, Castle is also well-armed when it comes to languages.

Jojo already sees himself ejected straight out of Rainbow as soon as Castle realises the new recruit in their midst is a fraud, which will be incoming in a second or two, as soon as Brit chooses Spanish or maybe German or even Latin -

What comes out of her mouth, however, is nothing Jojo has ever heard. It sounds so unfamiliar that his heart soars, even if there’s a shred of doubt still – it’s so foreign she might as well have made it up despite how confident she seems. It’s perfect. Whatever it is, maybe Arabic or Nigerian, who knows, will definitely throw Castle for a loop.

His confidence lasts for all of a heartbeat. Because the operator, momentarily baffled, responds in the same odd vernacular.

To everyone’s bewilderment, Brit doesn’t seem to mind as she continues, exchanging a few phrases with an increasingly jolly Castle and then waving goodbye before strutting off towards freedom, leaving the boys at her heels.

“That wasn’t Korean”, Valenti mutters. “What did you -”

“I can’t believe it”, Shay pants, and for once, he’s breathless, “you speak Klingon?!”

“You do too?! buy’qu’ ngop!”

Holy shit. Jojo isn’t sure whether his eyes can roll any further into his skull. This is so fucking in character for everyone involved he should’ve seen it coming a mile away.

While the two nerds continue gushing, to Valenti and Gian’s amusement and Jojo’s frustration, Ivan Ivanovic breaks off from the group, in the direction of the small office by the gate.

“I will tie shoelaces together”, he announces quietly.

.

That evening, when they’re all huddled together for warmth in one of their secret hideouts – the attic of one of Hereford’s practise houses –, the atmosphere feels different. Where just a week ago, Shay would’ve spent several hours typing on his phone, wholly engrossed in whichever inane conversation he was having with his paramour, today he’s much more involved. Not that he’s participating in the impromptu Smash Bros. tournament Valenti put together on the spot as soon as Ivan mentioned being able to beat him (though neither of them have ever touched the game prior to this), but at least he’s looking up whenever one of them hoots. Now and then, he relays Brit’s opinions about the evening, making most of them laugh: once they’d successfully jailbroken her, they all went to a nearby café to allow for some time to pass (and the poor barista thought she was getting robbed for a moment). Brittany must’ve really enjoyed herself nonetheless, inquired some more about Dante and those ‘weird polyglot Americans’.

Yes, Shay’s attention is slowly shifting back to them now that both bubbles have come into contact, and he’s probably hoping they’ll merge with time. Valenti and Gian seem relieved by this change, they must’ve missed him too, whereas Ivan Ivanovic is his usual inscrutable self. He gave nothing away, though he must’ve noticed Jojo has bummed quite a lot of cigarettes off him recently.

Jojo hates it.

He hates the way Shay’s entire face lights up when Gian comments on one of Brit’s remarks, hates how the others have just… accepted her. Because it doesn’t involve him. He didn’t fall for her womanly charm and he seems to be the only one who’s not picking up what she’s putting down. The others laugh and it almost feels like an attack. If he wants to keep being a part of this group, he has to like her, it implies. He better make an effort.

Even if he really doesn’t want to.

“Shay”, he addresses his former best friend during a brief lull, “how come you didn’t contribute any ideas earlier?”

The idiot either hasn’t noticed Jojo’s gloomy mood or has chosen to ignore it graciously. His smile is genuine, like someone whose faith in his so-called best friend is unshaken, and Jojo’s heart throbs. “Honestly, I was so happy about her being here that I didn’t even think. At all.”

“That is utterly endearing”, Gian replies, and Valenti goes awww and Jojo thinks: I’m gonna throw up in my mouth.

After Valenti has K.O.’d Ivan using Jigglypuff (something about which he’ll brag for at least a year), Jojo requests another cigarette break and only narrowly resists asking for a hug first thing when cold air hits them. The Russian is watching him closely, probably expecting an outburst of some kind and normally wouldn’t be far off. But Jojo’s feeling too pathetic to conjure up his trademark anger, and so they stand in silence for a while. “Is it just me or is she a bit of a slag?”, Jojo eventually bursts out when he can’t take it anymore.

Ivan isn’t smiling now. He takes his time answering. “Just you”, he says calmly.

“So you want to get into her undies as well, Ivanko?” The silence stretches on long enough so Jojo can berate himself mentally for voicing his thoughts out loud.

“No. She is nice. I like her.” The simplicity of his statements drives home just how true they are. With a pointed look, he adds: “We all do.”

And this we, again, doesn’t include Jojo.

#rainbow six siege #recruitverse #fanfic #jojo you biased idiot don't be so harsh #also I watched the great british bake off and basically imagined alice from season 10 for brit #just as lovely and all over the place #I have a gameplan for the next parts but god knows when I'll get around to writing them

[maddiviner]

Dzień dobry and merry meet!

We’re all different. What works well for one witch might be a disaster for another. I believe keeping a notebook is useful for most witches, though!

I’ve written a lot about why a grimoire and keeping one can supercharge your magical practice. 

 It’s always going to be something I recommend. While not everyone can or does keep one, it’s always worth trying because for many of us it is so helpful.

The question becomes, though: how? What format should you use for your grimoire or Book of Shadows?

I’ve got an article about different types of grimoires here. Regardless of what style you choose, it can be helpful to keep it organized!

There are many advantages to keeping a binder-type notebook for a grimoire. It allows you to add and remove pages with ease! This means you can create tabbed sections for each Craft-related topic. 

You can then add to each as you see fit, without disturbing the rest. It’s also very easy to find information in your grimoire when you need it!

In the past, I used hardbound notebooks. I loved the Peter Pauper Press line of journals, and the Leuchtturm 1917. Over the past few years, though, I’ve come to appreciate the advantages of the binder system. 

I still use a normal Leuchtturm for my bullet journal. It doubles as my general magical diary and record.  

When it comes to making notes on my research and gathering Craft information, I’ve begun using a binder. It's so easy! You might want to try a similar setup. I definitely recommend it!

Supplies

To start, I purchased a six-ring A5 binder. I chose a coral-colored Carpe Diem binder, because it wasn’t too expensive and I liked the color. 

I chose A5 because it fits the size of my hands and my style of handwriting pretty well. If your hands are bigger or smaller, a different size might work for you. I also like A5 because it is quite portable. A three-ring letter-size binder could work, or even a small personal sized folio.

I filled the binder with dot grid paper.  I chose the dot grid because of its versatility. If you’re sketching, making diagrams, or drawing, the dots make measurement on the page easy. If you’re only writing, they function as lines to keep your handwriting straight and neat on the page, too.

The dots are subtle and not intrusive, too, making any art you might want to do on the pages very clean and visible. Most A5 dot grid paper is prepunched with the six ring holes, and despite this, you can even print on it!

This is good, because it allows me to print longer bits of information or diagrams. Granted, most files aren’t designed for A5 size. Yet, it’s very, very easy to resize something for that format, even if it includes images.

Organization

I added some blank tabbed dividers, labeling them with different Craft-related subjects. There’s one for Tarot, astrology, spellcraft, spiritwork, etc.

If you do this, your dividers would reflect whatever interests you. I recommend sticking to four or five different topics to start with. Any more than that can be overwhelming. 

I've written a bit of study tips for the self-taught here. If you’re a virtuoso who can juggle eight or nine topics without getting overwhelmed, go for it!  

I keep the dot grid paper in the very back of the binder. I add pages from that to the different sections as I finished them.

What to include?

Your grimoire is your own; you can include anything and  everything that you want! I included the following different sections in mine so far.

Blessings, Divination, and Spiritwork

First, I invoked celestial forces to bless this grimoire. Blessing your tools (including grimoire) can be very advantageous. You can ask the spirits and any deities you follow to bless your work. I used to have one of these at the front of mine, but recently ended up writing a separate blessing for each section.

You could devote a section to poetry or prose inspired by the spirits - I do, though I haven’t written much in it recently. Don’t ask me to ever share any of my poems, though - it ended up being very personal!

I devote a sizable part of my binder to writing about the divinatory exercises I do on my own. In other words, it's for notes on my personal Tarot, Lenormand, and scrying sessions. If you do divination, I recommend keeping such a record of your exploits!  I also sometimes keep a dream journal.

Spellcraft Details

Without a doubt, it’s useful to record your own spells and their ensuing results. If you’re starting in spellcraft, you can jot down ideas and brainstorm.

Then, you have a record of the spell’s development from start to finish! This is helpful for refining your approach to spellcraft. It helps you become more effective with it.

If you’re casting spells another witch developed, you can record those, too! Whenever I cast a spell from a book or website, I record it  by hand. I include my own notes on it, and any modifications I’ve made. 

Of course, I also include a citation explaining where I found the spell and who wrote it, too. Credit where credit is due!

The biggest thing, though? Remember to go back and record the results as they manifest. I recommend doing this in as much detail as possible, too. Keeping track of how your magic flows can help you to develop greater finesse.

Print Information

I also print out public domain texts from the Internet to add to my growing trove of information in the binder. If you’re using an A5 binder, you may have to fiddle with formatting on anything you’re printing so that it’ll fit the page. It’s not hard, though!

Many older translations of Classical texts are public domain now. So, you might include that sort of thing! And yes, most printers will print on prepunched A5 paper!

Some witchblr folks will also allow you to print their work, and add it to your personal grimoire. Be sure to check with the person in question first, though! Always keep track of where each piece of information comes from!

For the record, it’s always okay to include spells <INSERT LINK HERE> I’ve written on this blog in your personal grimoire. That is, as long as a) it’s only for personal use, and b) you credit me, even if you’re only printing it for yourself.

Personal Notes on Books, etc

I’m a big fan of taking notes when I read a book, be it a Craft-related one, or even something else. Everyone has a different way of taking notes! My notes synthesize my readings from several different books on the subject.

I took inspiration from studyblr in formatting my notes. That particular tag on here offers lot of great tips for taking notes that are effective, neat, legible and even aesthetic.

I realize the studyblr “aesthetic” isn’t quite the type of thing you’d expect from a grimoire. I like it. I can find things in my notes with ease, they’re readable, and fun to make.

Spawning

This system works well enough for a while. Soon, you’ll find that the binder gets full, unwieldy, and bursting with information. What do you do then?

When it first happened with mine, I wasn’t sure. I tried taking the pages out, tying them with string, and stacking them on my shelf. This turned out to be awful and messy, and some of them got torn.

The trick here is simply to get another binder. Look through the sections in your main binder and find which one is largest. Then, get another binder and transplant that section into it.

Keep doing this as your main binder fills up again and again. You end up with two or three different binders dedicated to different subjects. This is, to me, an excellent way of organizing things, provided you label the binders! It’s wild binder mitosis!

Thus far, my main binder has “spawned” two more - one for astrology, and one for spiritwork. I suspect other sections in the main binder will someday need to move into new binders, too.

In Conclusion

Keeping a grimoire is fun! I definitely recommend it! This article only gives one way of organizing such a grimoire, the one I use. Your methods will no doubt be different. I hope my suggestions above are inspiring and helpful, though.

Stay magical, and blessed be!

#magick #witchblr #witch #witchcraft #grimoire #book of shadows #studyblr #occult #spellcraft #divination #eliza.txt

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Joint Effort (baon)

Summary: Jeff is getting back on his feet and that’s pretty nice. He’s not so sure about Red and Sans’s version of helping, though.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationship, Humor, Marijuana Usage

Notes: I’m getting my timeline a little scattered, but man did I need something funny and cute.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Staying in New New Home was nice.

Honestly, one of the nicest places Jeff ever lived and there was something about knowing that if he went outside for a walk at least one person was bound to wave at him, and if it was a skeleton or a Bun or even a Moldsmal, it was, well. It was nice.

Not that Jeff was walking that much, he was only just back on his feet. Blue spent a decent amount of time this morning scolding him not to overdo it, doublechecked that he had his phone and that he’d call if he needed to, and gave him a sack lunch before shooing him out the door.

Maybe it was a little overkill for a walk over to Stretch’s house, but the kindness of it made a warm glow settle in Jeff’s middle and that was a nice change from the itch of his healing stitches. It reminded him a bit of how it felt for Stretch to pull his soul out, but that memory was blurred through pain medicine. Maybe someday he could persuade Stretch to do it again, just to compare his memory to reality. But not today.

Today they were hanging out to celebrate Jeff’s return to being upright. Stretch seemed all for the bag lunch anyway, promptly stealing it and now they were sitting in the backyard together sharing the chocolate chip cookies while the nice, healthy sandwich on wheat sat wilting in the heat, sad and ignored.

The chickens wandered around the yard, occasionally inspecting their feet for possible goodies. This was nice, too, sitting in comfortable silence with a friend, sharing snacks and company.

“hey, you two.”

Swallowing back a yelp, Jeff whipped around to see Sans and Red standing behind them, lounging back against the large tree. He didn’t really know either of them well, Sans a bit better of the two since he’d helped out with the lab work that one time. But the matching grins on their faces filled him with a sense of foreboding.

Stretch seemed to agree. He slouched even more in his chair, rolling his eye lights as he reached out lazily to snuff his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray. “hey, you two back. what do you want?”

“aww, that ain’t nice, honey bun,” Red shook his head sadly. “maybe we just came to visit you and your little feathery dinosaurs for andy’s first real outing.”

“maybe. except every time you come over you have an agenda, short stack, and it better not be trying to sneak in more of your spy shit.”

“i’m here, too,” Sans pointed out. “what’s the agenda, do i need to take notes? got a pen i can borrow?”

“like you’d do anything he says? i know you, you have your own shit planned. better not let him be rubbing off on you and you can skip all the puns around that, i’ve already thought of all the good ones and the statute of limitations isn’t up.”

“rubbing ‘em out as we speak,” Sans said solemnly. “now, if you’re through your daily quota of paranoia, we brought you both a gift.”

“you can’t have any cookies.”

“we ain’t after the fucking cookies. besides the blueberry would hand some over himself if we asked and you know it.” Red nudged Sans ungently and got a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble. “show ‘em.”

With theatrical flare, Sans reached into his hoodie pocket and withdrew what to Jeff’s inexperienced eye looked like a joint. “ta fucking da.”

From Stretch’s brutally unimpressed expression, he probably wasn’t very excited. “seriously?”

“c’mon, please?” Sans wheedled, hands clasped together in a pantomime of pleading. “we haven’t smoked since you hooked your anchor to the edgelord.”

“yeah, because the last time my brother was ready to commit a couple murders over what we did to his sofa.”

“he got a new one! besides, can’t burn any of the good furniture if we stay out here. it’ll be fun! andy, talk to him.”

Jeff froze, looking between the twin earnestly pleading expressions (it was oddly disturbing on Red’s face) and Stretch’s skeptical one. “Um. I don’t mind if you guys want to?”

“don’t go into infomercials, kid, you ain’t so good at the ringing endorsements,” Red said dryly. “c’mon, i doubledchecked, it won’t interact bad with your meds.”

“ixnay,” Sans hissed. Stretch only sighed.

“of course you did, you shit. you know, i need to stop bitching about my brother being controlling because you’re valedictorian with an advanced degree in meddling.”

“yeah, yeah, me and those kids with the dog,” Red waved that away. ”c’mon, we could all use some chill. either smoke with us, or sansy and i’ll go back to my place and do it there.”

“give me that,” Stretch said irritably, reaching for the roll. Sans let him pluck it away. He flicked his lighter and held it to the end until it kindled, inhaling deeply. Breathed out a cloud of smoke with a faint cough, “at least if you’re here i can keep an eye on you.”

“oh, yeah, you’re great as adult supervision. i feel safer already.” Sans took it back when Stretch held it out, taking a hit of his own. He held it out to Jeff, “give this a try, andy.”

“Um, that’s okay?” Jeff said meekly. “I tried it in college, it doesn’t do much for me. I don’t want to waste it.”

“can’t hurt to take a hit then,” Red said reasonably. “give it a try. what could wrong?”

~~*~~

“He is hot as hell, though, right?” Jeff slurred out, blinking up dazedly at the bright blue of the sky.

The path of his descent to laying on the grass was only a little convoluted. Starting with his feet being suddenly too hot, so he kicked off his shoes and the grass felt so good on his bare feet he decided that laying on it would feel even better. It did, all cool, faintly prickly glory and that mingled with sweet relaxation lapping over him was a hell of a lot better than simply nice.

He was pretty sure one of the chickens was trying to preen his hair. He damn well hoped it was a chicken.

“the edgelord?” Came from next to him where Sans had joined in on his magnificent quest to the grass. Red and Stretch were occupying their own section of the lawn, solidifying it as a common goal. Sans didn’t wait for Jeff to reply, only added with lazy fervor, “fuck, yeah, he is.”

Okay, so, all of them ending up on the grass was a path Jeff could chart. This topic of conversation, not so much.

After passing the joint a couple times, —and Jeff was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to take more than one hit— the rest of the cookies had fallen quickly to their ravenous appetite. So had the sandwich and the little baggie of chisps, and somewhere in there Stretch was lamenting that Edge wasn’t home to bring them more snacks. Sans made some comment about Edge being a snack, and then—

Jeff wasn’t entirely sure what qualified as attractive to Monsters, but from his own observations of others around them, he was pretty sure when they were handing out the sexy, Edge went back for a second helping. Didn’t hurt to ask though, right?

From somewhere around his bare feet, Jeff felt the grass stir, then a bony finger poked the sole of his foot hard enough to make him yelp. “are you two discussing how hot my husband is without me?”

“nah, you’re sitting right there.”

“i didn’t think so,” Stretch sniffed. “yeah, he’s really hot, isn’t he. fuck, when he wears those jeans—“

“yeah, and those boots of his—“

“And that belt? Kind of, you know, draws the eyes down, yeah?”

The sound that came from Jeff’s left made him frown, trying to turn his wobbly head that way to see how a wounded animal managed to get into Stretch’s backyard. But the only thing there was Red and rather than enjoying the feel of the grass, he looked like he might be attempting to bite out a chunk of the ground.

“can we please not talk about how hot my baby bro is?” Red said, and wow. Jeff never took him for the begging type. “let’s talk about how hot someone else’s honey is. you!”

Jeff froze when Red pointed at him accusingly.

“Me? Oh! Oh, yeah, Antwan is hot,” Jeff agreed eagerly, sighing happily as his mental picture of Edge was overlaid with Antwan. Both of them obviously took far more than their fair share of sexy on their buffet plates, letting it spill over onto everything else like salad dressing seeping into the mac and cheese. Hmmm, maybe he could keep them on his thought player side by side, Edge and Antwan—

His introspection was interrupted by a loud scoff from Red. “we know he’s hot, we can see. how is he in the sack, now, that’s a real question.”

“Um.” There were many answers to that question in varying stages of pornographic, each battling with his dwindling common sense to be said first.

“you can’t ask him that!” Stretch scolded and gave Red a rough shove with his own bony bare foot. Jeff’s swelling relief at being rescued was immediately punctured as he went on. “i’m his best friend, i get to ask. how is he in the sack?”

“Uhmm…he’s…good?” Jeff tried but as answers went, no one seemed very satisfied with it. ”Really good?”

“that’s how you describe a mediocre summer action flick, not getting laid,” Red complained.

“don’t pick on him!” Stretch said, loyal even in his disappointment. “don’t feel bad, andy, edge is good in the sack, too.”

“doesn’t anyone want to know how good my boyfriend is in the sack?” Sans asked.

“no!”

“you ain’t even got a boyfriend, you shit.”

“Yeah, okay. Is he hot?”

Before Sans could answer, a pair of boots came up beside Jeff’s head. He stared in awe at the glory of them. They were nice boots, familiar boots, and Jeff reached out to rub a thumb over the dark, shiny leather. To his disappointment, they moved out of his reach and Jeff sighed sadly, absently looking up the long, long legs, up, up…oh.

Edge was looking down at them, arms crossed over his chest and that look should be patented under Severely Disappointed.

“What are you idiots doing?” It was a question, but Jeff had his suspicions that Edge already knew.

“babe!” Stretch said gleefully and made an attempt to sit up. It failed somewhere around the point of pushing up on his elbows and he sank back to the grass. “you’re home! we’re just…uh…” That laser of disapproval looked like it cut through the cloud of his high and dawning realization washed over Stretch’s face. He made a hasty attempt to change tactics. “hey. uh. love you?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“which one will make you less mad?”

“Neither, brat.” But he moved to kneel next to him, a gloved hand gently smoothing over Stretch’s skull. He made a happy little sound, not unlike the chickens, and leaned into that touch. “I’m not angry. You seem relaxed.”

“yeah,” Stretch sighed. The way he tipped his head into Edge’s petting made Jeff unsuccessfully stifle a giggle. “and we kept it outside!”

“Smoking anything in my house is unwise,” Edge agreed.

Sans leaned up with marginally more success than Stretch, holding up the joint. “you want a hit?”

“No, thank you,” Edge said dryly. “Try not to light anything on fire this time. Do you all want a snack?”

From his wince, they were maybe a little too enthusiastic with their response. But Edge only nodded, his thumb skirting over the curve of Stretch‘s skull a last time before he climbed back to his feet, and Jeff watched in bemusement as both Stretch and Sans lifted their heads to watch Edge walk away.

Or at least Sans tried. For some reason his head dropped back to the grass with a muttered, “ouch! stop it asshole, i ain’t lookin’!”

The door closed and Jeff whispered as softly as he could to Stretch. “I thought he’d be mad.”

Apparently, his whispers were currently set to high. Stretch only flapped a hand vaguely at the house. “nah, he’s cool. also, he can hear you, he opened the kitchen window. gotta be a mamma bear.”

Sans’s voice managed to be somehow vague and still rich with his own brand of disappointment. “aww, so we have to stop talking about how hot he is?”

The loud sound of dishes crashing made a round of wincing go through them all.

Stretch waited for the last of the clatter to fade. “only if you want something to eat.”

“i’ll think about it…ouch! okay, okay, i’m done!”

Jeff shook his head when Sans held out the joint to him again. Whatever snack Edge was making, he wanted some, too, and if the price was ending any chatter about how hot Edge was, eh.

Better to not take the chance.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name #kustard

[hellowkatey]

The Come Up (Bucky x Reader)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701557/chapters/44353861

Friends to lovers trope cause I’m a sucker for a slow burn. All further chapters will be posted to AO3 (link at bottom), but the first chapter is posted in its entirety below the break.

Summary: Newly accepted as an official Avenger, you move into the infamous compound, anxious to be a part of a team for the first time. You quickly find acceptance among the group, but your loner habits are taking a bit longer to acclimate. Your first mission comes around, and you finally meet the infamous Bucky Barnes, immediately clicking and falling into a natural friendship. When ~feelings~ arise, you must figure out how to figure out if these new emotions need to be suppressed or let out in the open.

Warnings: none

Tags: friend to lover, pre IW/EG, reader x bucky

Rating: PG13 for language and suggestive content

When you look in the mirror, you don’t see “hero”.

It doesn’t matter that the suit Tony designed for you makes you look the part. No amount of lightweight bulletproof super fabric and Avengers emblems will change that you are still you underneath— hardened, scarred, and internally broken.

“It looks great.” You whirl around to see Natasha leaning against the door frame of your bedroom. She looks ready for bed with her hair tucked into a loose bun, a pair of flannel pajama pants and a gray tank top.

“Thanks,” you say shyly, glancing back at yourself in the mirror. For as wrong as it feels, it fits like a damn glove. He asked if you had a preference on design. You just said to keep it simple, and he really nailed it.

It looks like normal clothing. The pants are black, high waisted and fitted down your legs like skinny jeans but soft and stretchy and thicker than they seem. He explained it’s because they are meant to block bullets. A new material they got from Wakanda. The top is a dark gray v-neck and a similar material. It’s long sleeve and has the Avengers emblem on the breast and on the back of the neck in black.

Your favorite part is the jacket. It looks like black denim, feels like denim, and moves like denim. According to Tony it’s better. Adjusts to the weather to be cooling or heating. Tough and durable against sharp objects and bullets. Above all, it is practically the same outfit you have worn when you have gone out to do some ass kicking. Tony even let you keep your favorite combat boots.

“I want you to feel like you can be yourself here.” He said when he gave you a box containing this suit. The way he looked at you meant he read your file. They all have the same look when they learn the truth.

“Did you ever feel guilty being here?” You ask, turning to look at Natasha as you slide the jacket off and pull out your own bedtime clothes. She smiles softly, longing in her eyes.

“I still do sometimes. It’s hard moving past the things I’ve done. There will always be red in my ledger no matter how many times I kick bad guys in the face.”

You chuckle at the thought of Nat literally smashing some perp in the jaw. You’re sure she isn’t exaggerating either. “What helped?”

“The people. I let them in, and now they’re my family. I just keep reminding myself that they know about my past and still love me.”

“Easy as that?”

“Easy at that. Have a good night, [y/n].”

You say goodnight and close your bedroom door with her departure. Now alone you change out of the fancy suit and into an oversized t-shirt that hits halfway down your thighs and shorts just in case you run into someone in the hallway at 2am or there’s an attack in the middle of the night. Precautions you never had to deal with working alone.

You set an alarm for 7am for your morning workout and fall asleep almost immediately, the weight of another exhausting day pulling you into darkness.

The chains of the punching bag clatter and twist as you land multiple hard hits on the side. Sweat is dripping off your body as you land a final fatal blow and the punching bag strap gives away, falling to the ground with a loud thud that echos through the training room. You shake out your hands and kick it to the side with two others you have demolished this morning.

“Looks like the punching bag destroyer isn’t me for once.” Steve Rogers laughs, walking into the room with two other men that you recognize as San Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Sam smiles widely at you and then looks at your small pile of fatalities with wide eyes.

“Super soldier?”

“Sam—“

“Oh are we not allowed to ask?” He rolls his eyes at Steve but then looks at you a little concerned he crossed a line. You give him a reassuring smile.

“Not exactly a super solider by design, but I have some similarities. Strength, agility, enhanced senses, and faster healing would be the overlap.” Steve nods at your list, confirming your assumption.

“Anything else? Laser vision maybe? Man, I have been so disappointed in the lack of laser vision in this--”

“Sam,” Steve groans, and you let out a genuine laugh. You’re internally giddy at how well this conversation is going, even if it’s just a little banter between the naturally outgoing Falcon and Steve Rogers. You glance at Bucky who is standing by quietly, per usual. You know he’s paying attention because his eyes are going back and forth between you and Sam, but his expression is neutral. The resting stoicism of Bucky Barnes.

“Oh come on,” Sam whines. Steve gives him another look and this time he seems like he will cease.

“We’re not here to barrade [y/n]. We are here to deliver a mission.”

He holds out a file folder. It’s thick, and stamped with the SHIELD logo. Must be a few years old.

“How’s your Portuguese?”

“Fairly decent.” You reply in Portuguese, opening the folder to find a stack of case files with a black and white photograph paper clipped to the first page.

“Perfect. While we hate to just throw you into the field so quick, you’re the only other fluent Portuguese in house at the moment.”

“Other?”

“You will be joining Bucky in Brazil on this mission.”

You look up from the case to look at Bucky. Your eyes meet and the corner of his mouth turns up the smallest amount. A friendly smile. You guess it’s better than nothing.

Excitement courses through you. Your first mission! You didn’t expect to be so excited for something you’ve been doing for years, yet you can’t help but feel a little more confident after your talk with Natasha. You’re working towards a better future.

“When do we leave?”

“Saturday.” Steve says, indicating you have about two days to prepare. “Better start reading.” 

The three men then turn and leave you with a stack of classified files and three broken punching bags. 

November 18, 2004

Agent Log Transcript

“Shield agent Riley Gonzalez reporting in. It is November 18 in São Paulo, Brazil. Investigation of the numerous mystery attacks in the area has come up with no concrete evidence... locals have little insight, or do not seem affected by the disturbances. I have seen nothing down here that would indicate possible extraterrestrial activity. Next check in is November 24th unless new information is uncovered.” 

Transcript End. 

November 20th, 2004

Agent Log Transcript

“Shield Agent Riley Gonzalez, reporting in. Uhhh, so, I don’t know what to say. I, uh, I found something weird, don’t know if it connects, but--”

[yelling in background, incoherent voices]

“Shit!” 

Transcript End. 

You’re sitting in one of the large armchairs in the study, curled up in a blanket and sifting through the case files. You leave in the morning, and you just want to go over them once more to make sure you didn’t miss anything. 

When SHIELD was active, seven agents went missing in different parts of South America at different times. After SHIELD was disassembled, no more agents were sent down, but intelligence on so-called “extra-terrestrial attacks” continued to be gathered. After the attacks of 2012, the weird occurances suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish. Fury restarted the investigation and with the help of Tony’s advanced software, managed to find a pattern in the documented attacks. That is why Bucky and you are going to Brazil-- to try and witness and predict the next attack so they can figure out what they are and how to stop them. 

The overhead light flickers on in the study. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to the flood of brightness. You hadn’t noticed how dark it had become in there. 

Through your squinting you see Bucky stride into the room, his quiet confidence radiating off of him. “Reading in the dark?” he asks, a small smile appearing on his lips. You’re a little caught off guard to see him engaging you in conversation. The most you’ve ever spoken to him before this moment is when you were introduced, and that entire moment consisted of him him walking past the kitchen while Steve, Nat, Bruce, Sam, Tony, Wanda, Vision, and Rhodey were making their own acquaintances and Steve pointed to his fleeting figure saying “That’s Bucky.” and Tony adding “He doesn’t say much.” 

“It wasn’t dark when I started reading.” You push together the papers into a neat pile and tuck them back into the folder. Bucky sits down on the couch across from you, his eyebrows knit together despite his general friendly demeanor. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing wrong, just thinking about this mission.” 

“Are you nervous?”

He scoffs, and you roll your eyes. 

“Are you one of those guys that chalks everything up to having seen worse?” 

He cocks his head, pressing his lips together into a curious expression. 

“I have lived through the second world war, being frozen, and an alien invasion or two. I’d say that’s seeing some shitty things and missions like these don’t really make me that nervous.” 

“You never know. Seven other agents were probably thinking the same thing, and they were never seen again.”

He picks at a thread on the sleeve of his green henley, glancing up at you to make eye contact every so often. 

“What, do you want me to be nervous?” 

“It would be comforting to not be the only one.” 

He chuckles softly. “[y/n], it’s gonna be fine. First mission jitters go away pretty quick.” 

"When do we take off?" you shift the subject, feeling a little embarrassed at your comment about him "seeing worse". The man was a brainwashed assassin, who do you think you are to make statements like that? Even your shitty past can't compare to the baggage he must carry around with him.

"7am. You a morning person?"

"Usually yes."

"Then you're in charge of waking me up if I oversleep. Steve is gettin' real tired of mothering me."

"He would never tire of that." Bucky grins at that, nostalgia a glint in his eye.

"True." he mutters, standing and giving you a polite nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

You tell him goodnight and starts to head to the door before stopping and turning around halfway. He reaches over and flicks on a lamp that is sitting on a side table near you and then heads to the door, flipping off the much too bright overhead light. The lamp is the perfect amount of dim light for you to see, but not hurting your eyes. You shoot an appreciative smile at his back as he shuts the door to the study behind him.

Your head is whirling. Casual conversation with Bucky beyond the little squad of him, Steve, and Sam, is not something that you have seen often. He's nice, you observe, and quite laid back. Maybe this mission won't be as awkward as you fear it to be.

The sun is not yet up when you rise. The sound of birds chirping outside eases you into consciousness before your alarm can go off. Flipping over you press the screen of your tablet to see you have another half an hour before you planned to be awake. You're wide awake now, though, so you sit up and pull your legs into a crossed position and begin your morning meditation a little early.

You've been meditating for years. It's the only way you have found that truly helps you stay relaxed and control your powers, which is a difficult feat on its own. Being here has taken a toll on you lately, so you've practically tucked away your powers completely. When you were on your own, you used them constantly, figuring to make the best of a bad situation. Now, living with so many others, it feels wrong, like you're constantly being watched.

There's a knock at the door, and your eyes snap open. You get up and open the door to find Steve Rogers standing there.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I was up."

"Good. Can we talk?" He looks past you, indicating he must want you to invite him in. You step back, unblocking the doorway from him. He comes in and sits at an armchair you have in the corner of your room. You sit back on your bed cross-legged and watch as he twiddles his thumbs a little before finally looking at you.

"No one knows what you can do," he says, his voice careful. "I'm sure that was obvious after Sam's outburst the other day."

Did they inject Captain America with mind reading powers too?

"Why not?"

"[y/n], you're powerful. You may be one of the most powerful people we have ever had under this roof. I know and Tony knows, but since we did not know the true nature of your powers, we did not want to make assumptions and try to explain something we don't understand."

"So you're saying if I want people to know who I am, it's up to me to talk about that."

A part of you is relieved. The stories of you usually cause people to fear you, and that is not something you like. Another part of you is filled with anxiety that the bullet is still sitting in the chamber and you will be the one to bite it.

"Basically yes. I just wanted to talk to you about this since you are going on a mission and that might be a good topic to bring up... ya know, for partner trust."

"Understood, Cap."

"Uh, yeah. Good."

There's a moment of silence.

"I see what Bucky says about you being a mother now." you chuckle.

"He said what?" Steve raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on his lips. The strange tension in the room breaks and you are relieved.

"Just that you have to wake him up for school."

"It was his words not mine, then." Steve laughs and stands up. "Good luck, [y/n]. Watch out for my pal too."

"Definitely."

Steve leaves. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, a testament to the new conversation that has been added to your list of things to do on this mission. At least you have something to talk about on the plane now, you suppose.

Sometimes you wish you could fly. Or were just strong and skilled like Natasha. Or had something, anything other than the mess of powers that you have. It would be easier that way. Fewer people would leave out of fear or misunderstanding. Maybe you would have real friends.

Maybe that's why you accepted the Avenger's offer. You have been racking your brain endlessly for the past few weeks trying to figure out why you wanted to be here so bad. Being solo was so much simpler, so much fewer rules. Yet, when Tony Stark showed up at your crummy apartment door, you decided on the spot that you were in. For someone that tends to overthink everything, you sure made that decision fast.

There is a community of other people here that have rough backstories, misunderstood abilities, the weight of the world on their shoulders. A part of you just needed some sort of connection.

You place the last of your packed clothes into your duffel bag and zip it up. Wheels up in an hour and a half. You slip on a pair of black leggings and a green short sleeve roll sleeve top. Topping the outfit off with your usual combat boots and tying your hair up in a bun, you look in the mirror, satisfied, and throw the bag over your shoulder.

Bucky's room is nearly on the other side of the complex. He's next to Steve's room, unsurprisingly. You walk over and stand outside his door, your hand hovering in the air as you debate whether to knock or not.

Was he joking yesterday about needing to be woken up?

Fuck, you really should have confirmed that.

You drop your hand and press your ear to the door, listening for any sort of movement. Silence.

"Screw it," you mutter to yourself, and you knock.

It's quiet at first, but a few moments later you hear rustling and the sound of someone groaning.

The door opens suddenly and you jump back in surprise. There stands Bucky, hair disheveled and matted on the side, eyes droopy and sleep fresh on his breath. Shirtless... very shirtless and wearing only a pair of thin cotton pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Your eyes snap back up to his face, your face red that you totally just let your eyes wander down his entire body.

"'m up" he slurs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Uh huh," you nod, noticing some parallel straight lines practically carved into his forehead... someone fell asleep with his metal arm on his head. You restrain yourself from making any jokes and step back again to put some distance between the two of you. "Wheels up in an hour."

further updates can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701557/chapters/44353861

#bucky x reader #ao3 #no endgame spoilers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #james barnes #imagine #fanfiction #friends to lovers #pre infinity war #everything was happy and okay

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 39: Stand and Deliver

Chapters: 39/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor, Brunnhilde Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Come To Asgard, We Have Action, We Have Adventure, We Have Romance, We Have Massive Egos That Endanger Lives And Order, What More Could You Want Summary:  The day of the duel has arrived.

“He's been in there for a pretty long time.” Brunnhilde pointed out, handing a revised armor design back to a hovering aide.

“He's with ______.” Thor pointed out. “He's figuring some things out, and he's staying by her side while she heals. It's where he should be.”

“I mean, I agree, but isn't the Garprling duel this afternoon? He's still got to attend; he's the one who called the duel. What does he plan to do about this?”

Thor finished one stack of paperwork and began on another, sorting through them swiftly, to sift out initial rejections.

“I'm certain he is still going to go through with it, but I don't know how he intends to finish it. Alarr must know that he has committed a high crime, but he may be counting on my intervention to prevent Loki from ending him. I don't know if I really want to.”

“Harsh.”

Thor sighed. “This is one of those difficult decisions that I always dreaded having to be responsible for. Alarr both agitates for the solidification of certain traditions into law, yet flouts those very traditions while relying on the law to bail him out. I'm not sure if I should do the bailing this time. It may be better for him to see consequences.”

“I also agree with that, but what do you expect him to learn, if Loki cuts his guts out and strangles him with them? Can't learn anything if he's dead.”

“That's where things get difficult. If we were back home, the course would be clear: His life would be dependent on the outcome of the duel. If Loki decided to kill him, so be it. But now...Now we cannot afford to lose people. But we also cannot afford to let the rule of law slip away.”

He began leafing  through the papers that were left, signing the ones that didn't require further deliberation. He'd been seeing to Loki's stacks for the past few days as well.

“Alarr is in an odd place now. The Garprlings are only middling nobles, but he has the ears of many of the lower and middle nobles, and many of the merchants as well. He's been forced into a leadership position that he hasn't been trained for, all because he was loud-spoken about clinging to a past that cannot be returned to. I don't actually blame people for listening to him: people want their home back, and cannot have it. They fear assimilation, the abandonment of our ways. So they rallied to him, and now he thinks he has to be responsible. He has to be bigger and louder than ever, he cannot change course, cannot bend even a tiny bit, or they will turn on him. There is nowhere he can turn.

On the other hand, he never needed to go so big. He didn't need to rally others under his banner in the first place, he didn't need to advocate violence, and he certainly didn't need to commit what amounts to treason. He has still broken the law, even if he didn't think the law applied to his victim. But the law applies to all who reside within Asgard, and it must be enforced. Loki is well within his rights, and I honestly don't know if I should intervene. If Alarr dies, his followers may rebel, and cause much destruction. If Alar lives, he may not learn anything, and he may cause more trouble anyway.”

“This man is not martyr material.” Brunnhilde asserted. “Let the man be humbled. Let him be brought low, the illusion of his power shattered. You had probably better tell Little Brother not to kill him.”

Thor nodded slowly. He really would rather this be resolved without any death. Now if he could just get Loki to agree.

                                                                            *****

Loki nuzzled the back of your hand; gently, so gently. You hadn't awakened yet, and Bjarkhild assured him that it might still be some time before you did. The machines you were hooked up to showed strong vitals, but he had still been fiercely instructed not to touch anything more than your hand, and to remain quiet.

It was all right. It gave him time to think.

He loved you. Did he? Could he still love? Could he still care at all?

Yes, he was sure he could. He loved his brother. He loved Brunnhilde, whom he had taken as his sister. He still loved his mother, in her absence, and his father as well, despite all. It was love that had lead him to his death and his near-deaths. Yes, he was very much capable of love.

And his affections for you? From whence did they spring? It was true and very, very obvious that he cared for you, but was it love? Romantic love, or some other kind? Wasn't he still too broken and twisted for that kind of thing? Well, was he? Or was he just using that as an excuse to avoid allowing himself to be vulnerable to these feelings?

He wanted you to be close to him always, he wanted to share in your life and accomplishments. He wanted to be someone who could make you smile. He wanted your attention, and your affections. You and he were friends.

But he also thrilled at the thought of kissing you, even though his nightmares warned him away from it. He craved your touch, your warmth and softness. The thought of holding you...no, not just holding you, but you holding him back, responding to his affections with your own. To meet him with equal passion.

Passion. That was something he hadn't felt for another person in a very long time. Not since he realized that everyone who had approached him up to that point, had done so not for him, but for what he represented to them. Power, prestige, fortune. An escape from their family. A stepping-stone to his brother. But never, not once, for him. Never for love of Loki.

If you were to consent to his suit, what would be your reason? Convenience, most likely. You were here, and could not leave, and had to be near him all the time. Might as well.

Or perhaps a desire for safety would be the deciding factor. There were many things to fear in a life like yours, and he could keep you safe from most of them.

You cared about him, that he knew. You had admitted to being his friend. But could it be more than that? Could you love him, when nobody else had?

Not while you still slept.

He was much less enthusiastic right now, about what he had to do today. Not that he had forgiven Alarr; he most certainly had not. But Loki didn't want to leave your side, even to rain retribution down on his thick head.

The time was fast approaching though, so he tenderly lay your hand down, rubbing the back with his thumb, stood away from you, away from all the machines, and changed.

He wanted his finest armor, his most menacing horns. He wanted to be as intimidating as possible. He wanted Alarr to know fear, before Loki destroyed him.

He called Gungnir to him, determined to perform with as much royal pomp as possible. He would make this memorable, so that others might not soon forget what happened to those who trifled with you.

When he stepped back into the waiting room, he found Andsvarr there, wringing his hands. Ah, yes. Loki had been expecting this part of the issue to arise.

Andsvarrs head snapped up, his sunken eyes, red-rimmed and wide. “Y-your Highness...” He stammered, rough-voiced. “I couldn't talk him out of it. He kept saying he didn't have a choice in the matter. He thinks he can overcome you!It's ridiculous, but he just won't listen to me! He never listens to me...”

“Andsvarr, I actually appreciate your effort.” Loki began. “But a challenge like this is extremely serious. It is unlikely that there is anyone out there who could have convinced him to back down. You have done your part, and now I must do-”

Andsvarr threw himself to the ground at Loki's feet, gasping at his hems.

“Please don't kill my father!” He begged. “Please, my  prince! My family is in shambles, we all still mourn my brothers. We are beset on all sides by people demanding action from us, and I don't even know how we got there! I am not ready to inherit! And he is my father! Please...please don't kill my father, please...”

Loki stood stock-still, shocked by the sudden outburst. Andsvarr had never seemed particularly close to his father; in fact, the two fought all the time. But Loki understood; he was much the same in his feelings towards Odin.

“Andsvarr...” He said, but the lad was crying into his armor and couldn't hear. “Andsvarr! On your feet this instant, soldier!”

Andsvarr might have been young, and new to the einherjar, but he was well trained. He leapt up, trying to swallow his tears.

“Andsvarr. Lad, I can't promise this. I can only tell you that I will try not to let it come to that. But Alarr has committed a crime. He has also repeatedly shown a lack of respect that lead up to the committing of this crime, and even after, he doubled down on that disrespect. He will continue in this kind of criminal activity, unless I put a stop to it here. Hopefully, a sound defeat in front of his peers will destroy his credibility with them. Perhaps it will lessen their pressure on your family, and convince them to go back to relying on their community and themselves, rather than trying to build up a little kingdom in the midst of our larger one. But I have to do something decisive here.

I can't promise. But I can go into it remembering you. Besides...” He looked back at the door he had come from, beyond which you continued to rest. “I don't think she would want me to kill him either.”

“How is she?” Andsvarr asked, weakly. “All I could learn is that she can't leave here.”

“She is badly injured, very badly. She shouldn't be disturbed, not even for this. She does not even know that this is happening.”

“Should I guard her door while you are gone?”

Loki regarded him with the suspicion that came from being who he was. It was possible Andsvarr didn't want to witness this upcoming battle, and was simply looking for an excuse not to go. But though he did did not think Andsvarr had the guile required to be a double agent, Loki was essentially declaring war on his family for today, and some member of the Garprlings might be inspired to preemptive revenge.

“No.” He said. “Go...go find Saldis. Do whatever she tells you to. Do not come back here for the rest of the day.”

Andsvarr left in a hurry, still not fully composed. Loki headed or the challenger's field, filled with fresh anger at the trouble Alarr had caused for everyone around him.

                                                                           *****

People were shouting, whooping in enthusiasm for the upcoming fight. It made Thor a bit queasy; he'd had a hard time enjoying gladiatorial type combat ever since Sakkar. But battles for fun and to settle disputes were still popular, and he couldn't exactly skip out on this one, considering Loki's participation. This was going to be such a mess.

He hadn't been able to find Loki, to speak with him. There would be no chance to convince him to spare his opponent's life. It was in the Norns' hands now.

Loki entered the field so bedecked in armor that he practically sparkled with malice. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and even though Loki still had plenty of detractors, they merely held their applause. No one dared boo the prince.

There was danger in every line of his body, as he strode out into the center of the field. Everyone remembered that his was the man who had aided in the destruction of most of Jotunheims exalted warriors, the man who had slain Laufey, the great enemy. Who had destroyed the Kursed, and the guerrillas of Svartalfheim, who had invaded Midgard itself as a one man army, and might have won. This was a prime warrior of Asgard, no matter his parentage.

“My people!” He announced, his voice rolling out to reach the farthest observers. “As many of you are aware, I have taken into my entourage a human woman, whom I have named seidkona. Some few of you have met her, and know as I do that she is a creature of integrity and compassion, with a courageous voice and a stalwart heart.

I know some of you have concerns about human encroachments upon us. Just as your grandparents had  the same concerns about the Alfar. Just as their grandparents had the same concerns about the Vanir. Time and experience have worn those concerns away. Thus, I have brought her among us, to show you, my people, the power and capabilities of humankind, which my brother and I have both witnessed firsthand.

I understand that many of us are finding difficulty in our transition to this new age, and suspicion is rife. My seidkona acts as an ambassador, a bridge between our peoples, a personage of great importance, under my personal protection. Imagine the disgrace-the insult-dealt by this treacherous attack upon her! When, right in my presence, in a non-combative situation, Alarr of the Garprlings struck her full-force, knowing full well her species is more physically delicate than his own...That act was not only treasonous, but craven! He assaulted someone he knew was weaker in body than himself, who had no weapon in hand, who had no combat in mind! Even now, she lies abed, recovering from the terrible injuries he has inflicted upon her!

I ask you, my people, is this the statement we wish to make to our neighbors and benefactors? Is this the conduct of the nobility of Asgard? Are we barbarous? Have our trials robbed us of our civility?”

The crowd bellowed disapproval.

“This is the lesson that Alar must learn this day!” Loki declared. “We will not sacrifice our decorum, nor our decency! This I shall impart upon him, when I have defeated him here, in honorable combat, before the judges of Asgard!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, which Loki drank in, open-armed.

“Seems in good spirits.” Brunnhilde said from Thor's side. “Considering.”

Brunnhilde and the Valkyries were the chosen judges for this duel, and so they were scattered throughout the crowd to observe the fight from all angles. Any treachery would be noted, and in the case of a draw, they would make the ultimate decision to who actually won, based on displayed prowess. A duel was a time to go all out.

Alar entered from the opposite side of the field. There were cheers for him as well, though they were somewhat  subdued. His supporters surely wanted to laud his coming, but the presence of the prince, and the power of his speech had made it somewhat unseemly. Thor expected that Loki had counted on that, on the lack of open, enthusiastic support demoralizing Alarr.

Though the man was aging, he was not yet past his prime, and had decked himself in his old, battle worn armor from his days as an einherjar. It still fit well, and though it was likely his only suit of armor, it also served to show the crowd that he was closer to them than the prince, and more likely to understand and share their thoughts and beliefs. That was how he had gotten into this mess in the first place.

“My peers.” He addressed the crowd. “For centuries we have known each other. And for all those centuries, did the might of Asgard ever falter?” There were shouts to the contrary. “Only now, when we are cut off from the wider universe, when we are recovering from a devastating disaster, is there any real question that Asgard might fail. We are few now, isolated from our supply lines, vulnerable for the first time in millennia. And we are surrounded. By enemies, and by fickle friends, which are worse than enemies.

Those who have no fear of the natives of Midgard, those who dismiss them as inconsequential, are those who are not paying attention. I remember coming here, during the war with the Frost Giants. I saw what humans were like then. Though they did not have strength of body or weapon, they had numbers greater than could be mustered by Asgard and Jotunheim combined, and there are many times more of them now. Do you know the things I saw then? I saw barbarians who, when the giants were driven back, fell upon each other in their bloodlust. I saw a people who extorted and enslaved each other. Their own kind! They pillaged! They destroyed without reason, simply because they could! They committed atrocities upon their own, horrors we could never have imagined, and I was assured that this was the normal state of the realm.

They have not changed, though many of their generations have passed. Many of you have seen, or at least heard of the war camps gathering outside the gates. They are but the first waves that will come to wash Asgard away. More will come, mark me.

And for those who are friendly? How long do you expect that to last? The generation who show us mercy in gratitude for our kings great works here will be dead within a century. They are brief, and their care and dedication is even more so. We cannot count on them, and yet we allow ourselves to depend upon their fleeting charity! Has Asgard ever been brought so low?

Our rulers now bring one of them in among us, one that even her own people claim to be a lowly, grasping parasite.” Loki bristled at that. “Odin Allfather knew the lorelei's song of mortal attraction, and forbid our settling here for that very reason. Think of how fast they live, how fast they breed. A mere handful within the city now will grow to outnumber us in three centuries or less. Our rulers are kindly disposed towards mortals, and I think they do not understand the dangers. But I have seen the core of these people, and I have seen that they have not changed.

I work always only to protect our people, especially in these uncertain times. Like Odin before us, we must be firm and decisive, but we must also be responsible for our actions. And so I come to this impulsive duel, demanded of me from a place of the prince's emotions, rather than a place of his rational thought, to stand for the actions I have taken.”

The cheers were still not that loud, but they were steady. Thor knew that Alar spoke to many of the anxieties and insecurities prevalent in the people. It was clear now that he hadn't done enough to ease these fears.

When this was done, he would need to address that.

“Hoo boy.” Brunnhilde griped. “What a lot of hot air.” She stood, and flung a Valkyrie-blue ribbon into the air. The instant it touched the ground, both men launched themselves at each other, engaging in a whirl of yellow, green, and glittering, golden nornbein. It became quickly clear that Loki was by far the faster, but Alarr had a lifetime of experience more, and had not neglected his drills.

The two clashed, sword against spear, seeming to prove a disadvantage to Loki, who knew how to use a short spear in close quarters, but could not level the blade at his opponent. Alarr kept his round shield between himself and the spear, thrusting his sword out of the top and around the side, sweeping beneath to score Loki's greaves. Loki tried to hook the shield, to pull it away and expose Alarr's side, but the curved edge provided no purchase. A lucky twist as Alarr thrust out over the top allowed Gungnir's disarming barbs to catch the bracer of Alarr's sword arm, and slit the fastenings. The bracer fell away as the longer blade of the spear slashed his newly bared wrist.

That was first blood. Alarr could concede defeat now without disgrace. But as Brunnhilde called the strike, Alarr fought on, and Thor just knew that he was going to push it too far.

Alarr answered with a wild swing that caught Loki's horns, and ripped the helmet from his head. His spinning followthrough was clearly aimed at the prince's face, but Loki's great speed scored him only a gash among those raven curls, and exposed his back to the prince.

Loki's quick kick sent him sprawling in the dirt, and gave the prince the room to bring his blade to bear.  He was ready when Alarr swung his sword in a wide arc behind himself. The blood from his wrist had made his grip slippery; Gungnir's barbs caught the sword easily and ripped it from his grasp. But the blood streaming into Loki's eyes blinded him momentarily, skewing the aim of the disarm. He lost track of where Alarr's sword was, the weapon spinning twice straight up in the air, and coming back down, heavy blade first, onto Alarr's damaged wrist.

Alarr's sword-and sword hand-clattered into the dirt.

The crowd began to scream.

All of the Valkyries jumped to their feet, bright blue ribbons waving in the air. Brunnhilde called the match right there, much to Thor's relief.

“Alarr Ullfrson of the Garprlings, I declare you no longer fit to fight!” She shouted over the crowd. “The duel goes to Prince Loki! Medics, take the field!”

The medical team rushed to Alarr, roaring in pain in the soil of the field, as Loki retrieved and replaced his helmet, paying no mind to the blood that matted his hair.

“Let this matter be settled!” He declared. “Treason has consequences! Lawbreaking has consequences! Huglausi has consequences! Remember our ways! Remember our hospitality, and I will not have to mete out such consequences again!”

With that, he quit the field.

“Well.” Brunnhilde said. “That went remarkably well.”

“Alarr is crippled.” Thor pointed out. Brunnhilde waved it away.

“He has another hand, and he got to keep his entrails, and most of his blood. Pretty damn good, considering the stories you've told me about little brother's rage.”

Thor watched the medics bear Alarr off the challenger's field. There were arguments among the observers concerning the outcome of the duel: several of Alarr's supporters were loudly proclaiming that he victory could not decisively be Loki's, only incidentally, because it was not Loki's blade that took Alarr's hand, but an accident. The attendant Valkyries pointed out that not only had Loki drawn first blood, but he had also disarmed Alarr, and had him on the ground. All points for Loki's victory.

Thor took his leave. It was over, and he didn't want to stay any longer. No doubt Loki had gone right back to you, and Thor had work awaiting him. He was starting to welcome it.

Maybe this was why Odin had so rarely gone out among the people.

                                                                     *****

Loki stalked down a back corridor, where he knew only the servants every really went. It was a place for them to relax and enjoy each other's company; filled with windows and little sitting nooks. Several of these were filled with workers, taking breaks, snatching moments to have a meal, or spend time with one another. He found Andsvarr and Saldis in one of them, taking comfort in each other's arms. It was almost a shame to interrupt them.

Loki had known about them from the beginning, but kept his council. He knew Andsvarrs father would not approve, but that might just be moot now.

They held each other closer upon his approach, staring at the blood on his face with wide-eyed apprehension.

“He will live.” Loki said simply, then turned on his heel and left.

A soft sob echoed after him.

                                                                       *****

Loki wasn't allowed back into your room until the blood had been cleaned up, the gash having already stopped bleeding and begun to heal. He changed back into far more comfortable clothing, soft, fresh, and as simple as anything a prince owned could be.

He rushed right past the gaggle of people gathered in the waiting room-doubtless there for Alarr-and headed straight for your room.

The light was low in here, so much gentler on the eyes. The warm glow of the healing machines kissed your skin with golden light. He returned to his chair, and took your hand in his once again.

“I did it, my darling.” He whispered. “I have avenged you. I have taken the hand that struck you and left it in the dirt. It shall never touch you again.”

He kissed your hand tenderly. “Won't you wake? I wish so much to hear your voice once more.”

But perhaps it was better that you hadn't. You might be in terrible pain otherwise. The machines had been set to heal your broken bones more slowly and gently than they would have for an Asgardian. You were not fully healed yet, and would not be for some time. Your whole head was still swathed in a protective layer of gauze and bandages, showing only one closed eye, and part of a cheek...covered in dark bruises.

The rage was still there, fed on a steady diet of the helplessness of waiting, the frustration of there being nothing more he could do. He would stay with you though; he would be here when you woke. He wanted you to be able to count on him for at least that.

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel) #thor (marvel) #brunnhilde (marvel) #valkyrie (marvel)

[melodyofgraves]

In your arms (Chambers x Konevi)

A/N: So one lovely nonny asked me to write a request for them and sent me this:

And I agree, it’s cute as hell. At least in my mind. Not sure how i did with writing it.

But thank you so much, nonny! I really liked this prompt and i hope you’ll like what i did with it. Sorry for any mistakes and inaccuracies, my heart is still not okay after today’s chapter so my editing was kinda quick.

Also if anyone else would like to help me decide what to write next, then here’s the post.  Thank you to everyone who already did.

Warning: Shameless fluff

Words: 909 (oh, what a cool number)

Tagging: (please tell me if i forgot anyone or added someone by accident. i have a terrible memory): @hellospunkiebrewster @queerchoicesblog @brightpinkpeppercorn @itsbrindleybinch @pixieferry @akrenich @thehonorarybeaumont

Mr Chambers always tried to be as friendly as possible. Because of his rather cheerful and kind nature, he never had much of a problem with starting a conversation or making new acquaintances, which proven itself to be quite useful at all kinds of social gatherings.

However, he found himself often having a very hard time saying no to people, in fear of making them upset, an unfortunate trait that led to him being taken advantage of many times in the past.

And when on one beautiful spring afternoon in London he bumped into Mrs and Miss Holloway, he just somehow couldn’t refuse when they invited themselves to his flat for some tea. Especially when he felt like the intense stare of Augusta Holloway’s icy blue eyes painfully pierced his soul with every second he delayed the answer.

He knew Mrs Holloway didn’t consider him the best match for her daughter, the fact that filled his heart with joy, but she did seem rather persistent to still encourage their acquaintance. In her eyes he was a good enough back up plan, just in case Felicity failed her expectations and didn’t manage to get anyone wealthier to propose. And, needless to say, he had never rooted so much for any young lady to find a prosperous marriage.

Bartholomew tried his best to be nice, offering hot tea with some delicious biscuits, making polite small talk with both women, patiently listening to their boasting and ignoring every snide remark and eye roll with a bright smile. But eventually, his cheeks started to hurt. And he was done.

So after the twentieth time, Miss Holloway commented on how lacking his flat was compared to Mr Sinclaire’s splendid townhouse, he suddenly remembers about an extremely important meeting he had to attend that day. He gave both ladies his sincerest apologies and headed out with them to make his excuse more believable before making his way in the opposite direction.

His feet carried him to the flat of his favourite barrister. He was aware that Mr Konevi was busy, the giant stack of papers the man had to go through that day was the main reason they weren’t together in the first place, but after listening to all these gossips and ranting for so long, he just needed to find a calm, quiet place. And if the calm and quiet place also meant spending some time in Yusuf’s company, he wouldn’t say no. 

He let himself in, not wanting to disturb the barrister too much and quietly stepped inside. Then immediately made his way to the nearest window, noticing how incredibly stuffy the room was, and opened it. He breathed in the fresh air with a smile. “What are you doing here?” Chambers heard a familiar deep voice from the other side of the room.

”Hello to you too, dear.” he planted a kiss on his lover’s cheek while Konevi was still slouching over the papers scattered all over his desk.

”Yes. Hello. I’m sorry.” Yusuf rubbed his eyes and smiled weakly when Bart bent down again to peck him on the lips. “I just wasn’t expecting you here today.”

“I know, I know and I’m sorry for bothering you while you’re busy. But I’ve had a rather tiring day and desperately wanted to see you.” he tilted his head a bit so he could look into the brown eyes, frowning at the sight of dark circles under them. “However, it looks like your day was even worse. Did you even went to sleep after I left yesterday?”

”I have a lot of work to do.”

”So you didn’t.” Bart moved behind the chair and wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, a habit of his whenever he tried to distract the barrister from work. “I think a little rest would be a good idea for both of us.”

”I don’t have the time to…”

”Oh, hush, my dear.” Chambers whispered into his ear before brushing the lips against his cheek. “You look exhausted. Just get some sleep and it could help you with your work.”

”I have to admit, all those letters are starting to look the same at this point.” he sighed, rubbing his eye again. “Alright, love. I need to rest my eyes. But only for a couple of minutes. I still have work to do.”

”Of course.” Bart pecked his cheek once more before taking his hand and leading to bed. “I’ve spent so much time in the company of Holloway ladies, that even just these couple minutes of peace sound like a blessing.”

“Oh, I hope they weren’t too harsh to you.” Yusuf sleepily took off his shirt and got under the covers and held them up, waiting for the man undress as well to prevent his clothes from wrinkling. Once Bartholomew was by his side, the barrister dropped them over him and wrapped arms around his waist, nuzzling the back of his neck.

”Just give me five minutes,” Konevi mumbled before dozing off.

”Of course,” responded Bart, though his eyelids were getting heavy as well.

He put his hands over the ones resting on his stomach and smiled. He felt so safe and peaceful, with Yusuf’s warm skin pressed against his back and his arms around him. It was as if nothing could ever hurt them.

So he just rested his head against the pillow, breathing in the familiar smell of barrister’s cologne, and fall asleep with a soft smile on his face.

#chanevi #desire and decorum #mr chambers #mr konevi #chambers x konevi #sorry it took so long nonny #but thank you for the request #also sorry if its bad #fluff #im going to sleep now

[rageagainstthemarine]

Do Not Reach Beyond the Sky (17/?)

Warnings: None Tags: Canon-typical violence, Freeform, Retelling, Original Characters, Canon Divergence, Additional Tags Pairing: None yet Characters: All of them

Fahleon Lavellan is several things, a Dalish elf, a deserter Warden, but Herald of Andraste is not of them. The Creators have played a cruel trick if anyone is to believe he played some part of the Conclave even if the evidence is a rift-sealing mark on his hand. Where he does fit, he doesn’t know and isn’t fond of finding out.

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"-and even after the quarter arrangements are made, there are still more precautions to take. We aren't ready to house the entire rebel mage army."

"It was our goal, was it not? We will make it work."

"It was hastily planned, is all I mean."

Fahleon ground his teeth as Cullen and Cassandra bickered between themselves. They'd been talking in circles since Josephine pulled him from bed at sunrise to discuss the next steps in sealing the Breach. No progress was made, no solution was found, and Fahleon found his mind wandering. His attention wavered and he jerked in his seat at the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Every sudden noise made him wary. The slap of wind against the windows to make them rattle and the timbers of the ceiling shake made his stomach roll. Sudden conversation made his ears ring. The door opened with a knock and Fahleon gripped the edge of the war table tight as a servant entered with a tray of fruit.

"The position we're in now...we have to be prepared for abomin- for anything."

"If we rescind the alliance we made, it makes the Inquisition - and the Herald - appear incompetent," Josephine said, rising from her seat to clear space for the tray. Cullen snorted.

"That's the least of our concerns at the moment."

"But it is no light matter. At best, our next steps could make us look only foolish. At worst, it may make us look tyrannical."

She cast uneasy eyes at him as Fahleon followed her movements with suspicion. There had yet to be any hint of Envy since the magister had been led away in chains, but he still wasn't fully convinced. Time, and possibly the sight of Alexius, bound and caged in the dungeons like a mockery of the demon's attempts to attack him helped and yet....Fahleon twitched at the flash of green that lit up the skies outside and made the room's candles flicker. It was a weak glow, nothing like the bright, sickly shine of the Fade. Fahleon eased out a breath.

"Herald? Herald. Fahleon!"

Fahleon flinched and his knee hit the underside of the table hard. He cursed and glared at Cullen, looking at him where he leaned over the newest of his men's reports. Leliana was gone. A hand fell on Fahleon's shoulder and he scrambled out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste. The spymaster was behind him, a knife held tight in her grip. She lifted it at him, level with his ribs and Fahleon snarled. Any movement forward would put him in the path of her blade and any back would pin him against the table with no room for escape. Cassandra guarded the door and-

He flicked his eyes back to Leliana. He snatched her wrist as she finally advanced and slammed her hand on the table. Her fingers splayed, empty, on the map sprawled across it. There was no knife. His brow twitched. Slowly, almost delicately, Leliana peeled his fingers from their tight grip around her home and he fisted his hands at his sides before she noticed them shaking.

Cullen swept an arm out in front of him. "This is exactly what I'm taking about. He could be possessed as we speak and we'd have no way of knowing-"

"I'm not," Fahleon spat. Anger made his lips numb and his conviction fell flat from his tongue. He dug his nails into his palms. He wasn't possessed. Envy was....gone. And wouldn't be returning. The Inquisition would work with the mages on equal footing because he had no mind to control anyone. He would work with Cassandra to finish the business of closing the Breach and go home to live his life. He didn't want power, he didn't control. Envy had pushed and he hadn't relented. Cullen could push and Fahleon wouldn't give. Cassandra could try as well to get him to lead but he was not-

"Trapped. Here and there. Real is...both. But you are here."

"By the Maker!" Cullen rounded the table and the sound of his sword pulled free of its sheath was echoed by Cassandra's. Blood dripped from their points to stain the floor and Fahleon shook his head to clear the vision from his sight. His breath quickened and he staggered towards the boy who'd appeared on top of the table in the blink of an eye, all without entering through the door or disturbing the papers strewn about. "Get away from that - from that thing!"

Creators, he'd have loved the idea of leaving the boy behind. But he needed answers.

"Thing? My name is Cole. I came back with you to help," he said, and his wide eyes turned from the Commander to Cassandra and finally fell on Fahleon. Fahleon looked away, clenching his jaw. "I would have told you before but you were...." Fahleon hunched his shoulders. "Busy."

His scowl slipped and he replaced with a less than solid frown. "Is that what you call it."

Cassandra hadn't moved closer, but he hadn't put away his sword, either. "Don't tell me you know of this...Cole."

Fahleon pressed his lips, tight, together, and answered with only a curt nod. She didn't look any more pleased, but her arm twitched, once, before she let out a breath and sheathed her sword. Her flat look demanded an explanation, later, that Fahleon wouldn't give her.

Cullen remained where he stood, braced and ready. "No, call the guards. This creature isn't what it seems."

"I'm not like them," Cole said. "A corner of the Circle, cried of pain and fear louder than cries for help but if I keep shouting...." Cullen paled. "This isn't the Circle. It's not the Fade, either."

Fahleon looked away and muttered under his breath. "How do you know?" He caught Cassandra raise a brow and he looked away from her, too."

"Because it hurts."

"What do you mean, demon?" Cullen asked, and Fahleon curled his lip.

"Nothing." Fahleon cleared his throat and righted the chair. He didn't meet any of their eyes as he hid his shaking hands. He wouldn't have this debate here, in front of them all. Cole could be a demon in truth, but he had enough of them on his mind without one more. And if he himself was possessed? That had crossed his thoughts more than once....not that he would admit it. At least, not when Cullen's sword was still bare and ready to cut any abomination in half. Fahleon included.

He wasn't. He hoped. He let out a shaky breath. One more time. He'd question Alexius one more time, demand proof even it meant spilling his life blood to make sure.

Cole opened his mouth and Fahleon glared at him, braced to defend himself from whatever came out of his mouth next, but the boy only yawned and rubbed at one eye. Fahleon didn't relax. The careful eyes on him made him all the more furious. He needed to get out of the room.

"Don't attack the mages." That was what they were all gathered together for in the first place, to discuss what to do with the influx of new inhabitants. Haven couldn't hold them all comfortably. There'd be shoulders rubbing and nerves crossed, and not just his. "Or Cole," he added.

"What will we do about-"

"This isn't the Circle," Fahleon snapped, and he winced as he repeated Cole. Cullen's face turned red. Fahleon moved towards the door but Cullen tossed an arm out to stop him. "No templars," he growled, and shoved past.

"We can have some of Leliana's men watch the perimeter of Fiona's camp," Josephine suggested, half-heartedly.

"They aren't trained to fight against magic," Cullen argued, voice loud even as Fahleon put distance between himself and the war room.

"I think that's the point, Commander," Leliana said. "I'll see it done. In the meantime..."

Someone called for Fahleon as he left the Chantry, and he let their greeting disappear behind him as he walked back to his cabin. Marched. Stomped. He most certainly hadn't run. Like some frightened deer, spooked by a shadow seen out of the corner of his eye. Fahleon swallowed back a curse and slipped through the door, pressing his back against it to force it close with a solid sound. He felt it in his spine and only felt the tension knotting in his stomach unwind as it finished shuddering through him.

The sheets on the bed had been changed and they stretched tight across the straw-filled mattress. There was a new stack of wood in the corner and the ashes in the fireplace were swept clean. It made the place look even less lived in. For some reason, it didn't make him feel any better.

He hadn't slept within its walls since the night he'd woken from the first attempt to close the Breach. He preferred the trees around the servants tents, where the presence of so many elves put him at ease and the constant motion and noise reminded him of home. The smaller cabin he'd found on the edge of the lake was another favorite spot, and he'd stopped there only once after to rest after a hunt. Lately, he hadn't slept at all.

Most of his belongings were stuffed into a bag by the door, ready for him to grab at a moment's notice to run - either away or towards the next fight. His bow was slung on a hook above it, and he strapped its quiver to his belt before shouldering the bow. He crossed the room and held an arm out for Ada to perch on instead of the bedpost. Her weight grounded him, kept his feet on the floor. If there was any sign that he was in the present, that everything around him was real, it was her. No demon could try to replicate Ada without him noticing the difference. He ran a finger down the feathers of her neck, and he relaxed despite the sharp beak that snapped at his fingers. He'd spend another night at the cabin by the lake. He could shake off the last of the demon's influence in the quiet solitude there, and Ada could stretch her wings after the day spent cooped inside. A hunt sounded good. The feel of his bow in his hands and the night air in his lungs would do him better than any spoken word from a ghost.

Fahleon picked up his bag. He'd pick his way around Haven and circle around the kitchen tents from the back, out of sight and out of range of questions.

The door knob turned before he reached for it and Fahleon tensed. He shifted his weight and let his hand fall to rest among the fletching of his arrows at his side. He curled a finger around one and pressed his back against the wall, eyes never leaving the door.

The scent of roasted meat and vegetables wafted in the room above the common smell of cold, snow, and smoke. Metal clinked softly together, dull and too solid for any sort of blade. Fahleon narrowed his eyes and wedged his foot into the sudden, small opening of the door and kicked at the leg that tried to push it open.

"It's not rotten this time." His ear twitched the familiar voice and Fahleon removed his foot with a sigh. The servant girl stumbled in, just barely holding onto her food trays as she righted herself. He didn't move to help her while he set them down on the dresser. She turned when she finished, hands on her hips.

The demon was getting more daring - or desperate - if it was recreating Raya's face.

She brushed down her apron with a snort. "This isn't the Fade, you know." Fahleon looked away when she tried to meet her eyes. How many knew? Leliana had seen his return with her own eyes, but he hadn't told her where his mind had wandered off too while she took down the magister's men. The report he'd given Cassandra when he came back to Skyhold with the mages was even less descriptive. Cole was the only one who'd taken part in his....nightmare, and today was the first he'd been seen in the days since. How had they found out? He clenched his fist. He'd break the jaw of whoever spoke of his....uncertainty. He'd dare anyone else to say something more, after.

Raya did, without flinching. "You're safe here."

"So I hear." His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth.

"You're welcome," she said, without any shame, and Fahleon felt himself flush. "I'm a mage. We can tell our dreams from being awake, and if I'm awake..." She held up a hand and pointed at him with a spoon dripping with gravy. "You look like you're about to say 'but that's something a demon would say!'."

He clenched his jaw hard enough his jaw hurt. He needed to get out of Haven, and soon, before someone else read him as easily.

Raya tossed a roll towards him and he snatched it out of the air with a growl. He picked it apart in silence, and stepped away from the pile of crumbs when Raya threw a chunk of meat to the floor for Ada.

"That thing on your hand," Raya continued, and Fahleon rolled his eyes. It wasn't any better choice of conversation than the talk of demons in his opinion, and the way she looked at his hand as he pulled apart the roll made himself too aware of his current position in the cabin. He shifted his weight uneasily. "It's like a magic I've never seen before."

Solas had said something similar. Before the demon-

Dread wolf take him. Fahleon shoved what was left of the roll in his mouth and reached for another, dipping it forcefully into the gravy first. It splashed over the rim of the shallow bowl to stain the sleeve of his shirt, and he cursed. One more mention of the Fade and he'd truly lose his senses.

"Get out."

"I only-"

He took a step closer. "Get. Out."

Raya lifted her hands, empty, and backed towards the door. Fahleon watched her leave with narrowed eyes, and he swore when the door swung open, again, with another person standing just outside. Persons. The sight of Varric lessened some of his suspicion, and he turned his wary eyes on the boy with him.

The dwarf, at least, wasn't phased by the sight of an angry Dalish elf.

"I heard the Inquisitor was in need of a distraction."

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #fahleon #cassandra #leliana #cullen #varric #josephine #raya #my writing #fanfiction #do not reach beyond the sky fic

[hostgalli19]

The Cannibal’s Book Collection -  Chapter 2: Uncle Jamie

Chapter Summary: Au: Clarice was adopted by some unlikely people and it changes a lot of things but many things stay the same. Note: Good evening everyone. Here's the newest story in this little collection of stories.

The idea came to me today and I couldn't help but write it down. I'm likely going to be doing more with the idea but I'm not sure if I want to make this idea its own separate story or not Length: 2,194 (3 pages)

Tag List: @wilfordwarfstacheisbae, @matt10nt, @fuckmethomasshelby, @lamb-and-knife Link

Date: 17/05/20 Time: 1:29 pm - 2:19 pm

Clarice sighed as she walked up the steps of the somewhat run-down house, irritated a Jack for sending her to interview an old lady instead of letting her help catch Buffalo Bill. She could look after herself and wasn't as incapable as Jack seemed to think she was. Clarice was really paying attention when she knocked on the door and introduced herself. She did look up when she heard the person gasp.

"Uncle Jamie?" Clarice questioned, she hadn't seen her Uncle since she was maybe eight years old and he was chasing her through his basement while her parents were out getting dinner. He had changed quite a bit since she had last seen him. He had blue eyes and blond hair instead of the brown hair and green eyes he'd had when she was eight years old.

He was shorter then she remembered him being but then again it had been a good 15 years since she had last seen him in person.

"Clarice, what are you doing here? Since when do you work for the FBI?" Jamie question staring at his now-adult niece who had expected to see so soon. He had been planning on visiting for Christmas. He had been annoyed when his sewing was interrupted. His neighbors knew not to disturb him unless his the light in front of his house was turned on.

His niece had changed a lot in the last 15 years but she was just as curious and strong as she had always been. She had been a willful child and had run her parents ragged and kept them on their toes. He had been more than happy to look after her. He was a little surprised she applied for the FBI considering what they had done to her parents though then again it wasn't really that surprising.

"I work for the BAU. I'm here because you kidnapped the senator's daughter," Clarice answered easily, trying not to laugh when she saw the annoyed look on her Uncle's face at the news. He was able to tell if someone was important or not. It seemed that unique power had failed him with the Senator's daughter, she couldn't help but wonder why. He hadn't gotten the sense that the girl in his basement was important.

Apparently he had been wrong. He hated being wrong. It meant police asking unwanted questions, having to find a way to get rid of the body (that become easier after meeting Clarice's parents) and having to move which was tedious and annoying at the best of times. It usually took him several months to find the correct house, he could never move suddenly, he always had another house, just in case.

He didn't particularly want to leave this one so soon. He did have other houses that suited his needs but this one was by far his favourite. 

"Ah. Well then. You call the FBI and I'll go and clean up a little then we can put on a show for them," Jamie replied Clarice nodded, a large smile spreading across her face, making her looked far younger and much more innocent than she really was. It would nice to catch up with her.

He made his way into the basement and got everything ready, making sure to clean up the maze a little so his Starling wouldn't trip and hurt herself. He didn't want to get yelled at by her father for hurting his baby. He tried his best to make the maze the way it had been the last time she had been there. That way she would have no problem getting around.

Anyone other then Jamie would have had trouble following her without tripping. he had been more than surprised when she had learned to navigate the maze in the dark and was even able to run through the maze, in the dark, with surprising speed having seemly memorized the layout. He sometimes changed it up but she still managed it. 

Jamie looked up when he heard the tap turning on and the sink filling followed by the clinking of dishes being washed that Clarice was trying to make his kitchen look somewhat presentable. He hadn't gotten the chance to clean lately, being that he was busy trying to finish his new skin before the end of the year.

Clarice sighed as she walked into her Uncle kitchen and knew her Pa would throw a fit if he saw the state of the kitchen. There were plates, bowls, pans, pots and cups on every available surface. The importance of a clean kitchen was drilled into her from a young age. Some mess was acceptable as long as you were able to prepare and cook with little problem.

She made quick work of the plates, pots, pans, bowls and cups. Leaving some of the pots to dry and some cups and plates in the sink and some stacked next to it, she made coffee sitting it on the counter before going to clean up the rest of the house a little. Just before she called the Jack she grabbed her Uncle's phone and called herself before calling Jack and making it sound like she was in a hurry.

Hopefully, it had given Jamie enough time to clean up and seal the correct rooms and get everything in place for their little show for the Senator's daughter. She walked into the basement, noticing how things had changed in the 15 years she had been here. She just hoped the maze was still the same. It luckily was and was able to get around with little trouble, tripping once or twice. 

She wanted to strangle the Senator's daughter, she was a rude, ungrateful brat and knew if she had been anyone else's daughter she would have ended up their dinner for her behaviour or would have, at the very least taught her a lesson. After she had shot her Uncle in the stomach she went to free the Senator's daughter resisting the urge to strangle her yet again.

She ended up shooting 'James' in the stomach and felt horrible but knew as soon as the lights turned on, the 'person' groaning on the floor wasn't her Uncle but something else. Likely a Gollum of some kind. Hopefully, it would be convincing enough once its job was done that no one question what it was.

"Yelling and shouting aren't going to get you anywhere. Either you act like your the Senator's daughter or I'll leave you down there until the FBI arrives," Clarice snapped when Catherine Martin continued to swear and threaten her with losing her job. Didn't she know who Catherine's mother was? She shut up very quickly upon hearing that she might be left in the hole.

Clarice was going to have a... chat with Senator Martin about her daughter once the FBI arrived, her behaviour with theory despicable and very much unwarranted. She was only trying to help her and yet the brat was swearing and threatening her. Hopefully, this and possibly the loss of her allowance would teach her a lesson about being a decent human being. 

She was relieved when Jack turned up with the Swatt team, it meant Catherine would finally shut up about how cold she was. When the light in the basement was turned back on she could see the man groaning on the ground wasn't actually her Uncle, but something else. Most likely a Gollum of some kind. She just hoped it would last long enough in prison, her Uncle had always been good with that sort of thing. 

She nearly shot her Uncle in the chest for real when he grabbed her from behind before she could leave his "sewing room". She knew his real sewing room was hidden behind a false wall. He laughed and asked if she wanted to get something to eat and catch up. She, of course, said yes and exited the house while he exited through the 'back' entrance, picking up his car from two blocks away and driving it over. 

She introduced her Uncle James Martin-Wells to Jack, telling the man that her Uncle had called just before she had called Jack using Jame Gumb's landline so they could find his home. Clarice took him to a nearby cafe and they spent a good three hours catching up on things. Clarice was beyond irritated when they were accosted by Freddie Lounds. 

The women was thoroughly dislikeable and never seemed to take the hint. Her parents had told her not to say anything to her. Clarice had plenty of run-ins with her over the years, particularly after someone told Freddie who her parents were. Freddie Lounds had many lawsuits filed against her over the years but they never seemed to go anywhere. She was too useful to The Tattler.

James politely told her to "fuck off and leave them alone" before they got into Clarice's car and went to visit her parents. It had been a while since she had been home and she messed them a great deal. It had also been a long time since she had something decent to eat and no one cooked quite like her Pa did. He had sent her a care package every few months when she was in college

"Papa, Dad. I’m home. I brought a guest. Hello, Wendi" Clarice yelled as she walked up the steps of her father's house, they switched every other week, greeting the dogs when they come racing out of the house, almost knocking her over. She smiled when she saw the large dog standing the doorway, he came up to her waist and had been a very good friend. 

She wished she had taken him with her when she went away to college, then maybe the men would have kept their hands - and their comments to themselves. She had eventually created a list of the different ways she was going to kill many of her male classmates, she was just so used to every man in her family respecting that it was a shock when she went to college. 

She knew her Pa would be horrified and scandalized if he found out half the things her male classmates were saying about her. 

"Did you bring them for dinner or for dinner? What prompted the sudden visit?" A familiar voice from further in the house question and Clarice groaned, her father wasn't even trying. She heard just about every cannibal pun in existence at this point. Most of them were horrible and yet she still laughed even though most people didn't know why.

She usually threw whatever she happened to be holding at whichever of her parents had made the pun because no college friend wasn't dinner. 

She was coming for a normal dinner not one of her Pa's special dinner's even though they were the best. Normal food didn't taste quite as good as her Pa's food and she knew, on some level, she should find that disturbing but she really didn't. She had learned from a young age to never mention what her Pa used as a special ingredient to make his food taste so good. They would be horrified if they ever found out. 

"That's a horrible pun Will, you're not even trying," James answered rolling his eyes. He had long since gotten used the horrible puns but some of them were just horrible and groan-worthy. He had heard that one far too many times for it to be funny anymore. It hadn't been funny in the first time he had heard it even though he had been incredibly confused by what one earth Will had been asking.

He had been a little freaked out when he found out. Though who wouldn't be when they found out their friends had been discussing different ways to cook you for dinner.

"You wouldn't make good food anyway, your far too lean," Clarice groaned even louder, that was an even worse pun, she walked into the house, scratching the large dog behind the ear as she went and going to hug her father, her mouth-watering at whatever or more like whoever her father was cooking. It really had been too long if the mere smell of her Pa's cooking made her stomach rumble. 

"Hannibal I've told you before, you aren't turning me into soup or any other dish so stop pretending you're looking for recipes every time I come over. It's getting annoying," James growled playfully. He knew he was in no danger of becoming dinner, it was a long-standing game they played. At least Hannibal never suggested the same recipe twice.  

"You know Pa's never going to stop. I'm sure you've heard about the Buffalo Bill cases. Jack threw me to the wolves, completely unprepared and sent me to visit 'you' in BHCI. That was fun. I wanted to punch Chilton and Miggs is a bastard. Seems your Gollum is just as protective of me as you are," Clarice answered briefly burying her head in her father neck before going over and giving her Pa a hug. 

She'd missed them. 

Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you like the twist of who Clarice's parents were. I will go more into depth later though I am unsure of how exactly they come to have her. I haven't quite figured that out yet. I have changed the title of the story. 

I think it fits much better. If you have any requests for stories, please do let me know though you'll have to go into some detail.The next chapter should be up soon. 

Its mostly finished. I just have to edit it and add a little more to it. It was going to be the second chapter I wrote this one first.

#Hannibal Lector #William Graham #Silence of The Lambs #Clarice Starling #my ao3 Hannibal stories

[spiteandalice]

Judas Touch Pt 5

Sincerest apologies for my scatterbrain. Whenever I sit down to write this my brain goes BUT WHAT IF DAUNTLESS WERE WEREWOLVES! WRITE THAT! Or I get ideas for the second story which is actually my first that I never continued past the basic outlines. 

SMUT warning, language warning and also violence warning because this character has a lot of violent thoughts.

tagging, as per request: @beautifulramblingbrains @beltz2016

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR Fuck Eric and his stupid face. Fuck Max. Fuck the fucking infirmary and all the wretched staff. They conspired against me and that is so not appreciated. I fell asleep on the ride back and when I woke up I was in the infirmary. Handcuffed to a cot and sedated. For my own good. The second I get out of these cuffs I will be leaving a trail of limbs behind all the way to the leadership offices.

Lucy, my nurse who is most definitely strung out on Amity serum, comes in with that chipper smile and bounce in her step that instantly sets my teeth on edge. She is the one that informed me that they had to run some tests before giving me a healing serum or anything other than small doses of the harmless painkillers half of our faction eats like candy. Because, you see, I had unprotected intercourse and could be pregnant.

For that alone I will cut off his balls with a rusty butter knife.

“Doing good I see. We will get you some good food in a bit, you need more nutritious meals in your diet after what you've been through, especially given the circumstances.”

She smiles at me as if we were best friends talking about our crushes during a sleepover. If she tries to braid my hair or paint my nails I will put her head through the nearest wall.

“But first, you have a visitor. Quite a few, actually, but you're supposed to rest. Can't send Max away though so he'll be in shortly.”

“I think we should take that rest thing very seriously, don't you think. Just have someone shoot everyone that tries to disturb me. Even better, just give me my gun.”

That giggle is the most terrifying thing I have ever heard and I have heard my own bones break.

Unfortunately my suggestion fell on deaf ears, because Max strolls in minutes later, looking like the pompous ass that he is. They have some strange birds out in Amity that are strutting around as if they owned the place and I named the fattest of them Max. They roasted him during my last ambassador visit and he was rather tasty.

“Mina, it is good to see you are up….” Max has one of those faces that seem completely blank at times, making it a bitch to read for me. But he looks at my cuffed wrist and chuckles, that isn't hard to decipher. Dauntless men are a bunch of sexist pigs. “Eric enjoyed that a little too much.”

“Yeah, wait until I get out of here, he will find that even more enjoyable.”

Our grand leader raises an eyebrow at me and instantly makes me feel like a child throwing a tantrum, which I can ignore like a pro. I was raised by the most intimidating bitch this faction has seen before I came along, he has nothing on that. Max strolls over to the tiny window with his hands clasped behind his back, something I feel he would have picked up from an old book if I thought he was truly capable of reading. We are not the brainy faction and reading is somewhat of a shameful little vice people do behind closed doors - funny, because I can’t count all the semi-public blowjobs I’ve walked past in my years here.

“I realize that I shouldn't have sent you out so soon, so part of this mess is on me. You were absolutely reckless and ill prepared to deal with surprises. Never, ever go out on a mission without your phone, Mina, that's one of the first things we teach our fledgling soldiers. You need a way to contact us at all times in case the radio fails. How you didn't think about having one of your team get back to us… it shows me that you aren't fully ready to lead our groups out there.”

I open my mouth, ready to start the angry retorts, but he holds up his hand.  Without even fucking looking at me, how creepy is that?

“However… you handled yourself well, given the circumstances. All of yours came back relatively unharmed. Which, of course, is a testament to their training as much as your leadership. I realize that you have been through a lot lately, which is why you will continue to focus on our initiates for now. It will take two days for the test results to come back, you will rest until then. We will decide how to proceed after we have news on your… status. Although, to be honest, it's about damn time. The new ruling was passed just around the time you disappeared so we cut Eric some slack, but since you are back, well.  That saves us some time.”

I'm not often speechless but I'm positively dumbstruck. What the actual fuck? He is the one who sent me on this supposedly easy trip. Just days after I got back from being tortured and all that fun shit. Now he's telling me I'm not fit to do my job? That is rich. And not one word about the patron saint of sanctimonious assclowns who decided that I was some fucking damsel in distress? That Nose has read way too many old books about knights and secretly virtuous bandits saving helpless womenfolk in need. And then… hold on.

“What new ruling?”

It is nearly impossible to look any more condescending than Max right now, but he seems to remember that I've only been back for a few days and can't possibly be up to speed on everything that has been going on.

“There's been talk about how to improve birth rates, they are low all across the board. It's now a prerequisite for leaders and higher ranking members of all factions to be married and have children. Ideally before they are chosen, which doesn't apply to those already holding a position when the ruling came to effect, of course. They have a certain time frame to find a suitable partner, which was suspended in Eric’s case due to his age and circumstances back then. And we made an exception for you for now since it's only a matter of time that you two make it official, especially if you really are pregnant already. Two birds, one stone.”

And with the most aggravating smug expression he drops some papers onto my bed and saunters away.

Yep, going to kill them. All of them. Slowly.

In what has to be one of the most amateur moves of the century Max actually left stacks of paperwork held together by paperclips. I was born Dauntless, we handcuffed each other for fun in daycare to see who could get out the fastest.

So I am currently on my way to my alleged betrothed, head held high as I limp around the compound barefoot and bruised in nothing but sweatpants and a tank top. People move out of the way in spite of my pathetic appearance because hell hath no fury like a Dauntless woman on her way to smite patriarchy.

The raven haired chick that's supposed to be Eric’s assistant doesn't even bother to try and stop me so I make a point of remembering her name.  Raven, oh dear. But Raven shall receive a generous gift basket soon. Maybe we'll share it sitting on a pile of heads. She inclines her head towards the closed door and smirks at me, I can hear him snarl at someone. This should be good.

There is a certain beauty in the sound a door makes when it is opened so forcefully it ricochets off the wall, even more beautiful when it's accompanied by the various sounds of shock a group of five already intimidated grown men is capable of producing. I look them over and growl.

“Out. NOW!”

They scurry away like spooked little kittens before Eric can say anything to the contrary and I silently dare the little bastard to say something. To give me one more reason to fucking maim him. But he doesn’t, merely looks at me with that cold, slightly disgusted look of his he bestows on mortals. Asshole.

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“What did you say? You want me to crush your skull? That can definitely be arranged.”

As an afterthought I kick the door shut, I can at least pretend that we are trying to keep this quiet. At this point I don’t care if we do this in the middle of the Pit on a Saturday night, since everyone is up in my business already anyway.

“You’re acting like a fucking child.”

He is still sitting behind his desk, arms folded in front of him, looking strangely tense. Eric is always so nonchalant, even when he gets angry, but this is different. Not that he would like it if I let on to seeing the difference, he likes to be the unreadable one. The aloof leader. My ass.

Even though moving hurts, a lot, I manage to hobble to his desk and shove it towards him. It’s relatively solid, but I know that one of the legs on his side has been wobbly since I spent some time bent over the thing, it was shaking considerably. Luck is on my side and the leg breaks, sending his computer and neat stacks of paperwork flying.

Finally, a reaction.

Grinding his teeth hard enough for me to hear Eric slowly rises out of his chair and fixates me with his patented stare that is supposed to make me submit on the spot. All it does is annoy me, and make me a little wet. His nostrils flare, too.

Maybe a little more than a little wet.

“So when were you going to tell me about your little schemes, there, leaderboy? Do you honestly think you could trick ME into this shit? I don’t want to get fucking married and I don’t want to breed, for fuck’s sake. They can take their leadership position and shove it up their collective asses for all I care, I’d rather go back to listening to Amity’s crop problems.”

The computer screen crunches under his boot because he is too busy staring at me having my outburst. This is usually more fun when the other party actually responds though, and he’s beginning to creep me out. Without a word he grabs me and slams me against the door, I think we’ve been here before, not too long ago. My brain isn’t working properly right now. Might be the lack of oxygen because he’s got a hand over my throat, pressing down just far enough to make my vision a little blurry around the edges. Might also be because the blood flow to my brain has been slowed down in favor of sending more blood rushing through my nether regions.

“I'm not tricking you into anything. You neglected to take care of birth control so I informed them of that. And you might not give a shit about your position but if I want to keep mine I have to get married and at least pretend to adhere to the new rules. Matter of fact, Jeanine has suggested a few suitable  candidates I didn't bother to look at yet.”

Of course she did. Something inside me tries to protest at the idea of Eric marrying some dumb Dauntless bimbo for appearances. Truly a dumb move because at this point nobody would believe that he actually wants her, not after… this. Maybe he has a point. I will not admit that even if it would save my life. It is a fact that he can’t stand about 99.9% of the population of this city and that is a very generous number, all things considered. The thought of having to share a place with someone, even just for appearances, makes my skin crawl. Married people don’t live in separate apartments, do they?

“So you didn’t try to knock me up on purpose?”

My words sound squeaky since he is still trying to strangle me. Eric still looks angry but he raises an eyebrow at me and something about his face is completely off. It’s not anger, there are several shades of that everyone here is very familiar with. It’s not lust, either, although somewhere deep inside he would probably not object to fucking me right now. Not quite sad, either. Disappointed? Why would he be disappointed.

“So you really think I would trick you like that.”

Eric has a talent for making it sound like he is not asking questions and that he wouldn’t be interested in the answer if people still took it as one. But I am beginning to realize that he wants me to trust him. After all, I sleep when he is around, more or less. I’m naked. Granted, I have developed a habit of waking up with my gun in my hand, but that is a recent development. So me assuming the worst, just like everyone else would, is pretty much the opposite of what he expects of me.

“Excuse me for not being able to read your fucking mind, I will get right to practicing that.”

I do notice that the pressure around my throat eases just that little bit that makes all the difference between life and death and I gasp, desperate to take advantage of the once again relatively unrestricted airflow. But Eric still has that strange look and it bothers me more than it probably should, being a friend with undeniable benefits and all. I sigh and try to gather my wits.

“Look. I’ve been kidnapped and tortured. I come back to this clusterfuck, am made a leader and almost killed once more, excuse me for being in a mindset where expecting the worst is kind of the thing to do. It has nothing to do with you, Eric.” There it is, his face looks a little less miserable, but that glimmer of hope hiding behind the frown is almost worse. Definitely worse is the urge to protect that little spark at all cost. “And I guess you are the best choice for this marriage bullshit, out of everyone I hate you the least and your chances of surviving the first three months are pretty good. I’ll think about it, alright. I just… need to sort through shit.”

If I didn’t knew any better I’d think he looks relieved, but it is quickly replaced with his trademark smirk. “I can work with that…” His hand yanks down my sweatpants and much to both our surprise I am not wearing anything underneath. Who the hell undressed me in the infirmary? They sure got an eye full. The new underwear I bought is uncomfortable and I’ve always preferred going commando, as they say.

Coming back to my senses I push off the wall and shove Eric backwards until he is in his chair again, before I can straddle him he has his pants unzipped and is ready for me to slip onto him. Not a single sound can be heard from inside this room as I lower myself slowly, torturing both of us inch by inch until I am fully seated and Eric grabs my hips, trying to urge me to move. It’s always like this, fast and hard and relentless but maybe I’m in the mood for something new. If the guy can fucking spoon me all night he can let me have this moment.

And he does, even though I can see he doesn’t like it much, at least not until I dip my head to catch his bottom lip between my teeth and lightly tug on it. It gives him something to focus on and the bruising grip on my hips loosens a little when I suck on his tongue, Eric even groans, a strangled little sound but it’s there. Another follows when I begin to slowly roll my hips, not lifting myself up at all but grinding against him instead.He wraps both arms around me and I half expect him to try and take charge, which he could easily do given his clear physical advantage. Instead he just leaves them around me, holding on to me and steadying me at the same time. It’s kind of nice.

Somewhere outside people are talking in hushed voices but I only hear them as if I’m under water somewhere, distorted and distant. All my focus is solidly tethered to where we are joined, my tightening muscles and the feeling of my skin sliding against his in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. The friction of coarse hair against my sensitive flesh is soon gone, soothed by sweat and the wetness pooling at the apex of my thighs whenever he just so much as raises an eyebrow at me.

Then his phone rings and he holds up his hand. Is he fucking serious?

“It’s Jeanine.”

Of course he is fucking serious. I watch, undoubtedly with my mouth wide open, as he picks the damn thing up and greets that witch, at least he has the decency to sound annoyed. Good, he is currently balls deep in his probably, maybe future wife.

“Eric. You still have not answered my message so i decided to be a little more proactive, after checking your schedule I saw that you have an opening right now. The most suitable candidate i personally picked should arrive at your office any moment…”

My eyes widen but before I can snatch the phone away eric blocks me with his free arm and scowls at me. In response I tighten my muscles and he hisses.

“No need for that Jeanine, you know that.”

Good boy. I begin to slightly rock my hips back and forth, thoroughly enjoying his grimace. And I am very much looking forward to his retaliation as soon as he gets off the phone.

“Please don’t tell me you are still hanging on to the foolish notion that that savage woman is a good match for you. If you think that you have to, given the circumstances, I can evaluate the test personally, I’ll have someone bring her samples up to me this instant. Even if she should be pregnant, we could…”

Within seconds Eric’s face switches from mildly annoyed to murderous.

“Don’t even say that. My answer has been, is, and will be no, no matter how often you bring this up. I am very happy to accommodate you on a professional level, but this concerns my private life and I decide who I marry, if I do and when.”

This man is a god and I don’t think I have ever liked him more than in this very second when he is telling my least favorite person in existence to shove her ideas up her ass. Which, considering how stuck up she is, should be ready to burst already with all the sticks up there. I grind my hips harder and Eric growls, but he is grinning at me.

The Matthews woman is going on about how, as a leader, he has a duty to his faction 24/7 and how the perfect match for him should reflect him in the best way possible but I can tell he lost all interest in the conversation a while ago.

“I’ll have to let you go, I am currently in a meeting with a very savage woman that is demanding my attention. Have your assistant contact my assistant about our next official meeting. I’m done with this bullshit.”

And he hangs up, drops his phone to the floor and gets up, all within seconds. I’m firmly wrapped around him and not sure if he’s grinning or snarling, but I don’t think even he is very sure about that.

“You fucking bitch”, he hisses and sends shivers down my spine, that man has a way with words that makes at least this savage woman swoon.

There is some rustling and crashing as he flings away things that have fallen off his toppled desk to make room on the floor, I may or may not be laughing about his urgency, but once he has me on the floor and the admittedly pretty loud sound of flesh slapping against flesh can be heard that laughing turns into barely muffled moans and it doesn’t take long before we both cry out in unison, muffled by each other’s necks, jaws locked and tender flesh caught between our teeth like two dogs fighting over a bone. We will be walking around with teeth marks, both of us, but that is nothing new. Maybe we can make that our form of engagement thing, most here get a tattoo when married and do a little trinket exchange before that to signal that they are off the market. I like this better, the skin on my neck an angry red, teeth indentations clearly visible, a little bit of blood trickling down.

When we stumble out of his office, both in a suspiciously good mood, me pulling up my pants, he just zipping up his, Raven sits behind her desk and bites into her fist, barely hiding her amusement. There is a girl, and she is really barely more than that, sitting on a chair waiting, wearing her best little dress and too much makeup. Eric looks her over and mutters a ”Hell, no.” that, embarrassingly enough, makes me giggle. Which, in turn, makes him smirk at me and slap my ass. I guess we’re doing that thing with touching in front of others now?

Raven leans forward and clears her throat. “Sir, I will call maintenance to have someone check your intercom since it doesn’t turn off anymore.”

I look at Eric, he looks at me. So… they could hear everything. Every muttered curse, every slap, every hiss. I shrug, he grins. I was born without the part of the brain that lets you feel embarrassment.

“Thank you, Raven. Take the afternoon off, clear my schedule.”

And with that he throws me over his shoulder and walks towards his apartment. Our apartment. For once I’m not inclined to protest, instead I practice my regal wave when he passes a group of gawking initiates.

PART SIX

#eric divergent fanfiction #eric divergent/ofc #eric dauntless #eric dauntless/ofc #jai courtney fic #jai courtney fanfiction #judas touch

[a-deadly-serenade]

Chasing the Dragon: Greed/Reader Fic (Chapter 1)

so i posted this last night and when i checked the tags, it was nowhere to be seen so... guess i'll try again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You've been in an apprenticeship with the renowned bio-alchemist Shou Tucker for several months now, the both of you hard at work trying to crack the secrets of human-chimera transmutation. After having dedicated so much time to this strenuous field of study, the both of you are thrilled when a breakthrough is made that allows you to become a certified state alchemist. Watch and certificate in hand, you head back to your hometown of Dublith to celebrate, where you've planned to meet an old friend at your favorite locale: The Devil's Nest.

[it is also available on my ao3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061765/chapters/22418879] 

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER TWO

Chapter 1: Victims of Contingency

“Wake up sleepy head! Let’s go play!” 

 You did not even need to open your eyes to know who had just disturbed your slumber. 

“Nina…” a low grumble rumbled through your chest, a delighted round of laughter tumbling from the little girl as you acknowledged her. You felt a tug on the sleeve of your labcoat, and sighed, hands going to try and rub the exhaustion off of your face. 

When you finally glanced down at her, the smile she sported seemed to double in size (if that was even possible, you pondered) and she instantly latched onto your arm. 

“Yay! You’re awake!” she exclaimed, and practically dragged you out of your chair in her excitement for this new play session. 

You gave the girl a few pats on the head before you gently pushed her back onto the floor. “Nina, why don’t you go play with Apollo for a little bit? I need some breakfast before I can play.” 

 The tiny brunette pouted, her arms folded across her chest as she stomped angrily on the hard wood of the bedroom floor. “But I wanna play now!” 

 “Nina?” 

 You picked up the sound of a door being pushed open, and a sigh of relief left you when you noticed that Nina’s mother, Anna, had come looking for her daughter. 

 Her long, brown hair was thrown over her shoulder in a sloppy braid, wisps of hair framing her kind face. Crinkles formed around her dark eyes as a grin emerged on her thin lips, and the older woman kneeled down slightly to place her hands on Nina’s shoulders.

 “How many times must I tell you that it’s very rude to enter someone else’s room without knocking first, Nina?” she scolded. 

 The young girl looked away from her mother’s stare, her own expression bashful as she looked to the floor, the pattern of the wooden boards appearing very interesting at the moment. “I’m sorry mama,” she muttered, her hands folded behind her back. “I just wanted to play.” 

 Anna tucked her own hands under Nina’s armpits and easily picked her up, carrying her as if she were still a baby. “Why don’t you come and help me make breakfast? I’m sure that (Y/N) would be very happy to find a nice stack of warm, fluffy pancakes when they came out to eat with us. Whaddya say?” 

 Nina instantly brightened at this suggestion, and she pointed in the direction of the kitchen almost immediately. “Yeah! Pancakes, pancakes!” she sang out, and gave you a parting wave as she and her mother made their way to the kitchen. 

“I’m terribly sorry that she intruded upon you like that.” 

 You instantly straightened your slumped posture, and your hands fumbled to tidy up the wrinkled lab coat that, more than likely, had ink stains all over the cuffs. “M-mister Tucker!” your voice came out more startled than you would have liked it to, to which the older man simply chuckled at. 

 “Please, (Y/N), I’ve told you time and time again to call me Shou. We are in my home, there’s no need to be so formal.” 

 You relaxed, albeit slightly, and silently berated yourself for not remembering this order you had been previously given. “Sorry, sir,” 

 An irritated sigh left Shou when he heard the use of yet another formality, but he decided that it would be best to simply let it slide...this time. “You must forgive Nina for being so ill behaved. It seems as though my wife is allowing her to get away with certain truant behaviors that would not go unchecked if I were given more time to supervise her.” 

 You nodded your head in disagreement and waved off his concerns. “It’s not a problem at all, sir. She is only two, there’s only so much I can expect out of someone her age, and being full of energy is certainly something I anticipated.” 

“I commend you on your patience. I’m sure that a lot of people would have taken that transgression much more seriously.” 

 “I’m sure that they would have understood,” you replied, and slowly began to compile the messy stack of papers that were sprawled across your desk. 

 This seemed to have shifted Shou’s focus, and he strided over to your workspace. He pushed his round glasses further up the bridge of his nose, as he attempted to sneak a peek at any notes that you had jotted down throughout the night. 

 “You don’t need to hover over my shoulder, sir. If you’re curious about anything I might have come up with, you’re free to read my research,” you stated, and earned a round of quiet laughter from the man. 

 “I see that you were reading over the case files that I had given you,” he observed, and picked up a bundle of papers you had finished organizing. 

“Yeah,” you muttered, and frowned. “I cannot lie and say that I was not in a state of shock when you first handed these to me. I mean, real life chimeras, and ones that could have easily blended into human society?” 

 A delighted grin split Shou’s face at the mention of such perfect specimens. “Yes, indeed. As someone who has been studying these creatures for almost the entirety of their career, it gave me hope that I would be able to replicate these experiments and add to our findings.” 

 “It would be remarkable if we could make advancements in this field of study. It was a real shame that the previous test subjects managed to escape,” you griped, irritated that such vital and precious information had managed to slip through the military’s incompetent fingers. 

 “Indeed. That is why I am grateful that we are able to work on our own pace with this. I’m more than certain that the two of us will be able to crack the secret to human-chimera transmutation.” Shou appeared elated at the idea, and his giddiness seemed to transfer to you as well, and the both of you had wicked grins on your faces. 

 “Oh! I almost forgot,” you suddenly chirped, and clipped the top of your most recent set of analyses before you handed it to Shou. “I believe that I, if I may say so, had a stroke of genius last night, sir!” 

 Shou practically snatched it out of your hands, going silent as he flipped through it, and gave careful attention to the diligent annotations that you made on the cases. “Hmm...this is very interesting. So you believe that the five that had been experimented on were only successful because just a portion of the animal was used during the procedure?” 

 “Yes,” you replied. “I personally came to the conclusion that it may be impossible to transmute a human being with the complete vessel of the animal, for their bodies would be incompatible and they would live in constant pain due to their different extremities.” 

 “Some people go through their whole lives dealing with chronic pain. Are you saying that their existence is worth less than that of someone who develops without a care in the world?” 

 Shou’s question surprised you, and your hand stilled over your mouth in silent shock. “T-that’s not what I meant, sir,” you stuttered, as you tried to make up for your obvious fumble. “I have only concluded that it would be inhumane to merge two completely sentient souls together, as it would most likely result in their death.” 

 “Of course, I meant no harm by what I said,” Shou gave you an uneasy smile, a hand placed on your shoulder as a sort of reassurance. “Your hypothesis is interesting, and it saddens me that we are unable to test it.” 

 You huffed and got up out of your seat, shedding your lab coat and tossing it onto your bed. “I doubt that the government would be willing to offer anyone up, even if they were the scum of the earth.” 

 “Yes, ever since they shut down laboratory five, it’s become impossible to receive any subjects.” Shou glanced over at the clock that ticked away on the wall, and tapped a finger against your desk. “I see it’s almost time for you to head out. Make sure that you aren’t late for your briefings. I’m sure that the generals will be very pleased with these new discoveries of yours.” 

 You gave him a small bow, the golden buttons of your military uniform clicking against one another. “Thank you. I sincerely hope that this is what will finally allow us to become state alchemists once and for all.” 

 Shou offered you an encouraging grin. “I hope so as well. Now you best be heading out. Prove that even we scientists have a place amongst the elite ranking of the military.” 

The meeting with the generals when about as well as you expected: they had listened to the bare minimum of your proposal, but when you could provide no definitive proof of your claims, they swatted you away and ignored all of the data that you had compiled, scratching it off as “too complicated to follow.” 

 Your leg bounced anxiously as you sat in one of the many hallways in Central Command, arms folded across your chest and gaze up at the ceiling. It was infuriating to be turned down on such weak grounds. This would not have bothered you if this had been your first trip here, but both you and Shou had been trying to earn your state alchemist license for months now, and you were beginning to feel disheartened, like all of your work was going to amount to nothing. 

 “Hey there! Long time now see!” 

You jumped when you glanced down and found someone standing uncomfortably close to you, however you eyes narrowed slightly when you realized who it was. 

 “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, so...nice to see you again.” 

 “Oh come on, (Y/N), what did I do to deserve that tone of voice?” 

 You could feel the couch sink a bit as he took a seat beside you, hints of concern laced on his face when he picked up how upset you were. 

 Must be his parental instincts kicking in, you thought bitterly, annoyed that he was able to read you so easily. 

 “I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.” you mumbled, and hunched forward so you could prop your elbows on your knees, your cheeks squished when you decided to rest your face in your hands. 

 “Did the higher ups chew you out again?” he questioned, but you decided to be stubborn and keep your mouth shut, staying true to what you had said earlier: you did not wish to talk to anyone. 

 You heard him sigh, and a warm hand was placed on your shoulder. “You really need to stop all of this from getting to you. I know it’s frustrating to not be taken seriously, but you just need to keep pushing. You can’t give up just because some jerk didn’t see the value in your research.” 

 “That’s easy for you to say,” you quipped, and rolled your eyes when you noticed the smirk on Hughes’s face. He had gotten you to break your supposed “no talking” policy, and quite easily, you might add. 

 “Come on, (Y/N). You just need to head back to Tucker’s house, and get back to work. Every time I see you back here, you seem much more confident, as though each time you’re turned down, it only strengthens your resolve to become an alchemist. That doesn’t go unnoticed.” 

 You understood what Hughes was trying to get across, and even though his kind words did help you calm down a bit, it was still hard to fight this feeling of rejection, a sensation that you had practically conditioned yourself to experience whenever you were in Central. 

 “It’s just...really discouraging to get assigned this task, and toil over all of this information on such a complicated subject, and be dismissed over and over again, even when you’ve made some discoveries on precisely what the military wants to know.” you confessed, while you shoved your documents into your bag. 

 “Just know that you’re not the only one, okay (Y/N)? Everyone that you’ve met here stationed in central, regardless if they’re an alchemist or not, went through a lot to be where they are today. It’s not an easy road to get to where you wanna be in life, and sometimes you don’t even get there. But the one thing you can’t do is give up.” Hughes pointed down a nearby hallway, and you followed his indicated target to find that it was directed to the office of Colonel Roy Mustang. 

 “Despite being a colonel right now, Roy’s aiming to become the new Fuhrer of Amestris.” 

 Your eyes widened in amazement, for you could not believe that someone was trying to have one up on King Bradley himself. “Are you serious?” you gaped. 

“Of course I am!” Hughes exclaimed. “Even if it seems like a hopeless endeavor, what with how sappy he is, I still can’t allow him to lose faith in that slim possibility. Which is the same sentiments that I’m carrying over to you.” 

 A smile finally broke through your gloomy expression, and you flinched as Hughes slapped you hard against your back when he noticed the mood change. 

 “There’s a happy face!” he said, before he grew a bit more serious, while still retaining his jubilant personality. “Just know that even if nobody else has said anything, that I still believe in you.” 

 You could feel your cheeks grow hot at Hughes’s encouraging words, and turned away from him to hide your embarrassment. It meant a lot to know that someone was supporting your endeavor, for it often seemed as though you had taken up this undertaking all on your own. Shou was definitely a presence within your work, but he was often enveloped within his own tasks, and the two of you hardly interacted in order to increase productivity and make sure there were minimal distractions. 

 It was often overwhelming, dealing with the stressors of such a demanding job, and receiving little to no reassurance for your accomplishments, no matter how small they may be. You were practically all alone, since you had moved away from your home in Dublith in order to be in an apprenticeship with Shou, one of the leading pioneers in the field of bio-alchemy. Sure, you called your parents from time-to-time to see how everyone was doing, but besides menial chit chat on your studies, and the occasional play-date with Nina, you were often consumed by your work, giving you little to no time to socialize and form more lasting bonds with anyone that you happened interact with. 

 It just made you feel...special, was that the correct word? No, it was more as though all of your struggles had been validated when Hughes disclosed his faith in everything that you had been striving so hard for.

 You finally gathered the courage to face him again, a shaky sigh leaving your tired body as you managed to give him a shy grin. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate what you just said. These past few months haven’t been easy.” 

“That’s certainly the understatement of the century,” he joked. “I’m glad that you aren’t throwing in the towel, (Y/N). It takes a lot of guts to keep going. Be proud of the fact that you aren’t conceding to defeat.” 

 Your chest swelled with this sudden sense of pride, and you gave him a well deserved salute to express your gratitude. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.” 

 Hughes burst into a round of laughter, an arm wrapping around you as he brought you into a bone-crushing hug. “Finally, someone who’s earnestly taking my advice to heart!” 

 “Excuse me, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes,” 

 You peered up at the woman who had called for Hughes’s attention, and you recognized her as one of the many secretaries housed in the building. She was a tiny thing with big, bulging blue eyes and short, black hair. 

 “Oh, hello there! What can I do for ya?” Hughes did not seem to mind that your pep talk had been interrupted, nor did he seem to mind the appearance of this surprise visitor, as the embrace he had you in remained quite strong. 

 You fidgeted slightly in his grip, wanting to appear at least a little dignified in front of the woman, but it was no use. 

 “Actually, I was told that they would be with you, so I went looking for you, sir.” she said, and handed you a piece of paper. “There’s a call waiting for you on line three.” she directed, and was gone almost as quickly as she came. 

 You glanced down at the note, written in cursive, that a Miss Nina Tucker was requesting an audience with you. 

 “Nina, hmm? She sounds cute. Is someone crushing on you, (Y/N)?” Hughes cooed. 

 You grimaced at the implication and shoved the nosey man off of you. “No,” you seethed, as you grabbed hold of your bag. “She’s the daughter of the alchemist I’ve been staying with.”

 “Oh, scandalous!” 

 You glared at him, all but threatening to hurl you satchel, heavy with your research papers, at his cocky face. “She’s only two years old, Romeo, don’t get any sick ideas.” 

 Hughes practically pounced on you when you said this, his wallet being whipped out at inhuman speeds while simultaneously unfolding itself to reveal the dozens of pictures that he kept of his wife and young daughter. “My little Elicia is only one! Wouldn’t it be so perfect for the two of them to get together and have an adorable little play-date? Huh, whaddya say?”

 “I suppose I could talk to Anna about it. Nina does get rather lonely,” you mumbled, more-so to yourself than to Hughes.

 He gave a delighted cry in response, and ogled at the most recent photo of Elicia, one where she and his wife, Gracia, were blowing at the seeds that bloomed from dandelions later in the summer months. “That would be wonderful! You better get back to me as soon as a date is set. Now, hurry along to Miss Nina, you wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” 

 You gave Hughes one last goodbye before you walked over to a nearby telephone. You winced slightly as the cheap strap on your messenger bag dug into your shoulder muscle from pushing it all to one side, and then reached for the telephone. You pressed the three on the keypad and was instantly greeted by a huge ruckus on the other end of the line. 

 “Hello? Nina?” you called out, unsure if someone was still even there. A few moments of silence passed before you managed to pick up the sounds of a scuffle, and then soft puffs echoed into your ear. You pushed the phone closer, pressed to make out any of the noises occurring in the background. 

 “Nina?” you repeated, much louder this time. 

 “Mommy and daddy are fighting again.” 

 You seemed to freeze on the spot as you registered those words. 

 Her parents...Anna and Shou...were fighting? And did she say again? So this is not the first time that she has overheard them bicker amongst one another? 

 You could not believe it. You had been living there for months, and had yet to witness any sort of violent altercation between the two of them. Surely you would have noticed the physical evidence of abuse taking place, you saw Anna and Shou every day, it would have been nearly impossible to keep such things hidden for as long as you had been there. 

 Although, you did leave the house quite often whenever you had to make trips to Central, so perhaps it took place behind closed doors, when no one else was around to interfere. Still, the idea itself was preposterous in nature. Why hadn’t Nina come to you for help? She clearly understood that something was wrong, why keep it quiet? Was she afraid that she might become their scapegoat if they found out that she talked to someone? 

 No, this had to be a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps they were just being passive-aggressive to one another, and Nina mistook it as them fighting? She was still only a child, afterall. She might be blowing the whole situation out of proportion. 

You shook your head vigorously in disagreement, upset that you would even think of blaming Nina during an incident such as this. You had to get a better grip on the situation. 

“Nina, what do you mean that they’re fighting?” you questioned, and made sure to keep your tone soft and gentle, you did not wish to startle her. 

“Yelling… so much yelling… and mommy threw stuff.” her voice faltered slightly, and you hear her gasp, probably terrified of what she has just witnessed. 

“Where are you right now?” you were concerned for her safety, and sincerely hoped that her parents would not punish her for seeking help. Who knows what sort of discipline a man as powerful as Shou had in store for her if he caught her. 

“Mommy and daddy’s room. Yelling… the yelling is downstairs.” she sniffles. “Apollo is with me.” 

A small sense of relief fills you when she mentions that the family dog, Apollo, is with her. You doubted that even a full grown man would take on a great dane, and one that was extremely loyal to Nina. That dog would fight off even the renowned Brigg’s soldiers if they dared to take arms against his master. 

“That’s good. Apollo will protect you. Do you want me to come and pick you up?” 

“Yes, yes! Please, please pick me up!” 

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” you reply, and start to wonder if Hughes would be willing to take your offer up on that play date a lot sooner than you anticipated. Nina was certainly going to need something fun to help her cheer up. 

“Mommy’s coming.” 

That’s good, you think to yourself. Maybe she’s going to find Nina and apologize for what she saw-- 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You felt your heart stop. 

“Who are you talking to? What did you say? What did you tell them you little brat?” 

No… this couldn’t be Anna… 

“Nothing. Mommy, nothing!” You heard Nina’s pleas fall on deaf ears, and almost dropped the telephone when a loud smack echoed through the receiver.

“Filthy liar.” 

Silence, a thick silence rang through your head, and you were too frightened to hang up the phone. 

“Who is this?” Anna’s voice was harsh, cold, and it cut right through you. 

Your mouth was sealed shut, you could not even breathe, and the few seconds that passed in between crackled with tension. 

Then the call cut out, and the dull drone of the operating number buzzed through your ears. 

Your feet were rooted to the spot, your mind in a daze, unable to process what just happened. Did that really just happen? 

Nina. Nina was your priority right now, you needed to make sure that she was okay. 

You glimpsed down the hallway and gave a silent hallelujah when you saw that Hughes was still there, the man showing off his impressive amount of family photographs to some poor, unsuspecting sap that had happened to walk by. 

“Hughes!” you called out. 

He gave you a sideways glance, and ushered down to meet you halfway. “(Y/N), have you seen this picture of my beautiful wife and my beautiful daughter? It happens to be one of my favorites, but oh, who am I kidding, I love all of these pictures!” 

You knew that you had to get to the point fast otherwise you’d be stuck here for hours, and you could definitely not waste any time with small talk.

“Sir, I was wondering if we could schedule that playdate relatively soon… as in, today. Would that be alright? We could go and pick Nina up right now--” 

“Say no more.” You nearly leapt out of your skin as Hughes all but dragged you down the halls, and out of the doors to Central Command. The next thing you knew, you were in his car and being driven down the streets of Amestris. 

“Where to?” he gave you a grin whose brightness could rival that of the sun, and you quickly instructed him on how to arrive at the Tucker’s house. 

When you arrived, you threw open the passenger door and sprinted towards the entrance of the home. Your heart beat started to pick up again as you frapped erratically to signal your arrival, anxious as to what may greet you on the other side. 

Would they even open the door? Would they take one look at you, and immediately slam it in your face? You truly did not wish for Lieutenant Colonel Hughes to get involved, but if they refused to let you inside, you would have no choice but to use force. Nina was what was important here, not your reputation amongst the scientific community. 

To your surprise, the door went ajar slightly after you had knocked, round glasses reflecting off the bright light of the midday sun. There was an elated gasp and you mentor, Shou Tucker, poked his head out to give you a crooked smile. 

“Ah, (Y/N), so nice to see you again. I take it that you’re back from the meeting in Central?” 

You took notice of his disheveled appearance, his shirt torn, and tiny bits of glass dusting his thin hair from what you could hypothesize as one of the items that Anna had hurled during the heat of the argument. A large welt was also beginning to form on his right leg, dried blood crusting over the tear that had been made to his pants. 

You tried swallowing a large lump in your throat, nervous as to how you should proceed. If you told him that you gotten a phone call while in the office, they would know that Nina had been talking to you amongst the pandemonium, and she would be severely chastised. You supposed that bringing up the possibility of allowing her to leave their… care for several hours might help relieve some of the strain, so you went along with that excuse. 

“Yes, and while I was there I ran into an acquaintance of mine, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.” you could tell that Shou was disinterested, and you fumbled over your words as you made haste to take Nina away from them. “A-and well, he has a daughter of his own, you see, and I was wondering if Nina would be okay with meeting little Elicia, and if she wanted to play with her.” 

Shou pondered the idea for a moment, the hand that he had placed on the door trembling a little, before he nodded his head. “Yes, that sounds like a rather good suggestion. Anna and I have actually been needing some time to ourselves, so you showing up is kind of a blessing.” 

The pitter-patter of tiny feet scrambling to reach the outside caused you to unexpectedly peer over Shou’s shoulder, and he flinched under your intense stare as he took several steps back into the shadows. Nina shoved past her father’s legs, almost tripping on the stairs in her haste to make her escape. You opened your arms up for her and she promptly leapt into your embrace, while her tiny body trembled slightly as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. 

You turned to make your way back to Hughes’s waiting vehicle before Shou called out to you. 

“I… um… I will call you when it’s time to bring her home.” 

Your common sense was all but begging you to scream back at him that Nina wasn’t going to be coming back, but you could not take their daughter away from them. You needed more evidence if you wanted to press charges, and even then, the military police would not take action for they had not seen in take place themselves; they did not want to burden themselves with more work than necessary. 

A solemn nod was your response, not even bothering to turn around and face the man who had assisted in frightening his own child so terribly. You placed Nina in your lap as you took your spot in the passenger’s seat, and felt a great sense of reprieve when Hughes began the drive to his apartment. 

You did not wish for Nina to deal with anymore unwanted stress, so you tried to pull her out of the rut she was in at the moment. If Hughes could pick up when you were feeling upset, then just imagine how simple it must have been for him to assess that Nina had been victimized within her own home. If he had questions about what happened, then he could direct them to you at a later time. Right now, you just wanted to get Nina smiling again. 

“Hey Nina, do you know who this is?” you cooed. 

She glanced up at Hughes, a blank expression on her face as he smiled at her. She turned back to you, and nodded her head. 

“His name is Mr. Hughes, and we’re going to his house. Mr. Hughes has a daughter of his own. Her name is Elicia, and I’m sure she’s very excited to play with you!” 

Nina brightened at the mention of Elicia, and the future prospect of having some fun with another kid around her age. “A… a girl?” she murmured. 

“Yup! That’s my Elicia for ya! She is going to be so happy to know that she’ll have a playmate, and an adorable one at that!” Hughes was beyond elated, and it was pretty difficult to not catch even a little bit of his optimism. 

“I’m going on a playdate?” Nina questioned, and her voice sounded much happier. 

“Yeah you are. Oh this is going to be so much fun!” 

A grin finally broke through Nina’s gloominess, the brunette beginning to bounce excitedly in her seat. “Yay! I’m gonna play! I’m gonna have fun!” 

The ride to Hughes’s residence was certainly much more pleasant, and you suspected that Nina and Hughes must have exchanged thoughts whilst on the way there because as soon as the both of them hopped out of the car, they started to race up the stairs. By the time you had managed to catch up with them, Nina and Elicia were already together, the younger of the two handing Nina some building blocks so that they could work in tandem to create something. 

It did not come as much of a surprise to you that the two girls hit it off almost instantly, or that the hospitality that was provided by Hughes and his wife Gracia would be exemplary. Gracia not only made coffee, but she also baked a delicious apple pie, one that you believed could rival even the finest patisseries in Amestris. 

Your time with the Hughes family passed by amicably, it was a genuine safe haven, and one that you were repeatedly invited to visit again and again. While the girls enjoyed their time playing, you happened to have a very stimulating conversation about your most recent findings with Gracia and Hughes. It was actually quite surprising how much Hughes knew about bio-alchemy, but he only attributed this knowledge from when he was helping his friend, Roy Mustang study, when he took up the feat of becoming a state alchemist.

In spite of the peaceful time that you were having, you knew that it could be interrupted at any time by that call from Shou telling you to bring Nina back. You were dreading that moment, and you were earnestly trying to keep yourself from blatantly staring at the telephone. Maybe if you didn’t think about it, that it wouldn’t happen? 

Briiiiiiing. Briiiiiiing. 

Eugh. Of course. 

“Oh? Who would be calling at this hour?” Gracia wondered, and pushed herself out of her seat so she could answer the phone. 

Maybe it wasn’t Shou, maybe it was someone from Central, or maybe it was one of Gracia’s family members. You didn’t need to jump the gun on this. 

“(Y/N), it’s for you. A Mr. Shou Tucker needs to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.” 

Perhaps you could convince Shou to let Nina stay the night. You could say that it would give him and Anna more time to reconcile between one another, and that you would make sure to keep an eye on Nina. You could lie to a superior if it was for the greater good, right? 

“Hello?” 

“Oh, (Y/N), I’m so glad that you answered. You must come quickly,” Shou sounded slightly out of breath, but there was a gleeful undertone that you could not ignore. 

“Are… are you alright, sir?” you prodded, and supposed that if you changed the subject that he would forget all about asking you to bring Nina back. 

There was a round of giddy laughter on the other end of the line, and it sent a vicious chill down your spine. “I’m more than alright. (Y/N)... I’ve finally done it! I’ve finally completed a successful human-chimera transmutation.”

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #greed the avaricious #greed fma #greed x reader #maes hughes #gracia hughes #elicia hughes #shou tucker #nina tucker #fan fiction #chapter 1