#it crashed last night trying to get into the windmill

[pearl-kite]

starting to feel like larion knows I have lesson plans to type up and keeps crashing to tell me to get my damn work done

#kite rambles #it crashed last night trying to get into the windmill #and now it keeps crashing right before I can get into the abandoned town altogether #same spot twice in a row #feels like a sign #I SHOULDN'T be playing so like... message received i guess #my 3rd part passed it's time to do the 4th but I realized that includes the actual unit plan ugghhh

[skzdarlings]

04. sharing a bed series ; skz ; hyunjin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 4/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. penetrative sex n the pull out method lol. also hyunjin n reader were drugged the night before, premise is based around them getting married in vegas under the influence and not remembering how it happened in the morning. drama llama antics ensue.

-

Hyunjin has the heart of a sentimental corvid; he loves his people, but he’s weird and sneaky about it.  His propensity for dramatics is only in certain situations and the rest of the time he is quiet and tends to balk at grand displays.   He definitely does not like cuddling or hugging.  He will only begrudgingly suffer through it when his more physically affectionate friends get the bright idea to attack him with their loving arms. 

So you are wildly confused when you wake up in your hotel room with Hyunjin plastered to you, hugging you so tightly that you are halfway convinced he glued himself there.  His chin is nestled on your shoulder, his breath coming softly against your neck.  The hood of his grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head but some of his long blonde hair still falls on your face.  You blow at it unsuccessfully, getting some in your eye.  He holds you tighter.   

What the hell?

You arrived in Las Vegas yesterday and while most of last night is a foggy blur, you do remember the room had two twin beds.  Sure enough, there is a second bed just a few feet from yours, the covers completely untouched.  The neatly made bed is a stark contrast to the mess of your bed: the duvet sliding off the foot, the pillows on the floor, the bedding partially untucked.  All the sheets are wrapped around your body like a cocoon while a shivering Hyunjin clings to you, presumably for warmth.    

You try to roll over but your bedsheet-burrito has you trapped, never mind Hyunjin’s death grip of a spoon. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper.  “I can’t breathe.”

He grumbles and squeezes you, making you squeak.

“Hyunjin,” you say, a bit louder.  “Wake up.”

He groans in his sleep and buries his face further in your neck.  His nuzzling sends shivers shooting down your spine. 

“Hyunjin.”  It comes out like a croak.   You try wriggling your shoulders.  “Hyunjin, wake up!” 

He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t move.

“Oh my god,” you say.  “How are you such a bitch even when sleeping? Wake up!” 

When he stays sleeping, you are forced to take drastic action.  You turn your face and blow, hard.   His face scrunches up and he finally stirs. 

“Ew,” he says, slowly blinking his eyes open.  His mouth draws into a sour pout, his brow tight.  “Stop.  Your breath is so disgusting.”

“Ahem.”

He makes a fist and rubs his eyes.   His dark brows are still furrowed but there is modicum of clarity when he looks at you.  It takes a minute to fully register your proximity, his eyes flicking here and there.  Finally, they open wide.  

With remarkable speed, Sleepy Hyunjin concedes leeway to Drama Queen Hyunjin.   He mewls like a frightened cat, ripping away so quickly that it knocks the air out of you with an oof. 

“What—” he starts.

He is interrupted when his thrashing makes him slide.  You are still bundled in your bedsheet-prison and can only watch as the clumsy oaf slides backwards right off the bed.  All those long limbs make a frantic windmill as he shrieks on his way down, hitting the floor with a heavy crash and groan. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“Ugh,” he replies.   “My head.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.  Well, when you’re done, come help me.”

His hand appears first, thumping onto the messy bed.  His head follows with an exhausted peek over the mattress.  His hood has fallen back and his long hair is infuriatingly neat considering everything.  Hyunjin is so beautiful that it is ridiculous.  All he does is run his long fingers through his hair, shake his head a little, and he looks picture perfect. 

“You’re staring,” he says with a scowl. 

“It’s because you’re so ugly,” you say. 

“Liar,” he says.  He makes a V with his fingers and licks between them.  “I’m sexy and you love me.” 

He is correct, so it is only natural that you try biting him.    

You chomp at him when he approaches, threatening to bite his fingers when they get too close to your face.  He pinches your nose between two knuckles and squeezes.

“Hyunjiiiiin, staaawp,” you say in a nasally whine.

He does, but only after playfully snapping his own jaws in your direction. 

“I should just leave you here and have a peaceful day,” he says.

“I’ll kill you and bury you in the desert.”

“Gross.  Can’t you bury me on the strip?”

“I’m gonna feed your carcass to some desert scorpions.”

“Ew.” 

It takes some effort, but Hyunjin manages to find where your blanket-burrito starts.  He grabs it and tugs like the annoying bimbo he is.  Your protest comes too late and he whips the blanket open, sending you flying off the bed.  You land with a heavy thud of your own. 

“Oops,” he says.  He rustles through the sheets to peer over the edge of the bed.  “Are you okaaaa—whaaaat are you wearing?”

You were already dizzy before Hyunjin decided to throw you around like a human tennis ball, but now it’s even worse. 

You have no idea what happened last night but it clearly involved a hit of something way, way, way stronger than usual.  It takes you a minute to come back to reality.  After shaking your head a few times, you are able to push yourself into a sitting position.  You finally look down.

You freeze. 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“That’s what I just—”

“Hyunjin.  What the fuck am I wearing?!”

It is an utterly useless question because it is abundantly obvious that you are wearing a wedding dress.   A big, poofy, princess wedding dress with giant puffed up 1980s sleeves and enough cleavage on display that Hyunjin almost falls off the bed because he is tilting his head so much. 

You yank up the skirt as if that will offer any answers.  You find a pair of white stockings, one still neatly clipped to a thigh garter and the other halfway down your calf.   You stare at that stocking for a long moment, the vaguest recollection of something fighting its way through the fog of your druggy, drunk memory.   

“Uh,” Hyunjin says. 

You look up at him but his eyes are downturned to his own wrist.  You look there, your own eyes widening when you see what he sees. 

Your missing garter is looped around his wrist like a silky white bracelet. 

An image comes flooding back.  The periphery is still in smog, but you distinctly remember Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, gathering his long hair into a ponytail as he smirked up at you.  You remember him lifting your skirt, his head disappearing under the pile of white lace. 

You look at each other at the same time.  Did he just have the same memory?  Does he remember more?  You have no idea and you can’t bring yourself to ask.  Your voice is shot to hell, swallowed up by the heart that seems to have jumped into your throat.   

The silence is tense.  It is hotter than the desert in here. 

“We didn’t…?” he finally says, pointing between the two of you. 

“No way,” you say.  It sounds very uncertain. 

He lifts his other hand to tuck some hair behind his ears.  That’s when you see it.  Hyunjin wears so many rings so often that you completely missed it at first.   But right now his hands are bare save for one unfamiliar ring in a very particular spot. 

Hyunjin follows the trajectory of your horrified gaze and freezes when he spots the wedding ring.  He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. 

“Oh my god,” you say.  You are afraid to check your own hand but it is imperative.   Hyunjin looks at you, his shocked hand still covering his mouth.  Together, you watch as your hand shakily rises out of the pile of white princess lace. 

There is a wedding ring on your finger too. 

You and Hyunjin scream at the same time, him clapping both hands over his ears as he hollers and you shaking your head and kicking your feet.  After your mini-freak out, you wave your hands to silence him.

“Stop, stop!” you say.  “It’s okay.  Be calm.  Be quiet.  This is okay.”

“We got married,” he wails, dragging his fingers down his face.  “My mom is gonna kill me.” 

“Your mom?  YOUR MOM?  Hyunjin, I’m gonna kill you before you even leave this city, so don’t fucking worry about your mom.”  You mime throttling him because he is too far to reach. 

Hyunjin flops down on the bed.  He lays on his back with his arms folded like he is ready to be mummified. 

“Oh my gawd,” he says.  “Oh my gawwwd…”

“Look, we might not have even done it,” you say.  It takes a lot of effort and you fall on your ass twice, but you manage to stagger ungracefully to your feet.  “Some rings and a dress don’t mean anything.  We were probably just goofing around.  What do you remember?” 

He is still in a mummification pose, his eyes closed.   

“Nothing,” he says.  He frowns.  “No, wait.  You were hitting on some ugly bitch of a man and didn’t listen to me, as usual, and the loser put something in your drink so I drank it to prove a point.  But then you still drank it because you’re the worst, and I dragged you out of there.”  He covers his face with both hands.  “Then we got married and ruined our lives.” 

“Okay, the last part you don’t know for sure,” you say.  You stumble around the bed.  “I’m gonna go wash up and clear my head and sort this out, because there’s no way we—”  You stop when you spy something sitting on the television stand.  It takes a few clumsy steps to reach, but you get there.

“Uh oh,” you say.

“Is that a marriage certificate?”  Hyunjin asks.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.” 

“Cool.”  He rolls over so he is facedown on the bed, his voice muffled by the messy blankets.  “I love this.”

“I’m gonna… go… wash up still,” you stay.  You sigh and gather up your dress to stomp over to the bathroom door. 

“Brush your teeth,” Hyunjin says.  “Your breath is gross.” 

“I hope you suffocate over there and make me a widow.”  You close the door with a pointed shove. 

You want to disobey him on principle, but there is a truly nasty taste in your mouth so you brush your teeth before anything else.  You avoid your reflection for as long as possible because the crazed madwoman in the mirror is a terrifying sight to behold. 

You reckon with her monstrous appearance eventually, tidying up as best you can.   You remove the stockings and garter, gulping when the memory returns.  You splash a lot of cold water on your face and it helps ground you. 

Just as you begin to feel cleansed, you feel an itch on your throat.  You crane your neck and tentatively touch the sensitive indentation, the raised bruising of a hickey.   Touching it awakens another memory, one that strikes hot at your core. 

Hyunjin.  You.  This hotel room.  He pressed you against the door and caged you in, forearms on either of your head.  Despite his presence looming over you, you did not feel nervous.   You touched him as if that intimacy was something you always shared.  You remember him cupping your face in one hand and turning your head, him kissing you softly on your temple and cheek, him breathing lightly over your throat before sucking a hard kiss under your jaw.  He was all teeth and tongue, drawing moans out of you while you bucked against him.   You remember him grinding against you, remember him pinning you to the door.   You remember stringing your arms around his neck and him picking you up, then it all goes black again.   

You turn away from the mirror, still holding your neck. 

Did you… no.

Did you?

No.

You didn’t fuck Hyunjin.  No way.  You would have remembered that much.  If nothing else, there would be evidence now.  A used condom or a mess somewhere, a twinge between your legs.  You are both fully dressed.  You even have underwear on.  It’s not the underwear you were wearing when you first left the hotel room, but it is underwear nonetheless. 

One thing is certain; you did not go that far. He took a bite out of you and carried you to the bed where you probably passed out.  How you got into a blanket-burrito, you are not sure, but at least it protected your dignity.  Whatever was left of it, at least. 

You step out of the bathroom only to walk straight into a pacing Hyunjin.   You bonk heads and cuss each other out, swatting the other person out of your way. 

He walks over to the bathroom and is about to step inside when you release a sigh. 

“I have a hickey,” you say.   

He pauses in the bathroom doorway. 

“You gave it to me,” you add. 

You cross your arms when he turns around, his gaze suddenly too hard to meet.  You tap your foot and stare at the wall. 

“I know,” he says.  “I remember it.” 

That draws your attention.  You look right at him and plant your hands on your hips. 

“Well, what else do you remember?” you ask. 

“I—I—ugh!  This is so annoying!  Ugh!”  He grabs his head and shakes it like a snow globe. 

His stupid beautiful hair is barely ruffled and he still looks amazing when he surfaces.  He runs his teeth over his plump bottom lip and you suddenly remember him grabbing your face with both hands, him smiling at you as a hot breeze fluttered around you, him holding you steady as he planted a big, wet kiss on you.  It makes your whole body lock with tension, barely paying attention to the Hyunjin in front of you now, the Hyunjin on the verge of a meltdown as he intentionally smacks his head against the doorway. 

“We came back here,” he says.  His whole face is scrunched up with disgust like he just ate something bad.  “Then I gave you that.”  He slaps a hand over his face.  “Then you… tried…”  He puts the other hand on his face too.

“I tried what?” you ask, heat creeping your neck. 

“You put your hand down my pants,” he croaks, hands over his eyes.  “I said we should wait until morning and you started crying.  I think you tried to give me a lap dance while crying, actually.”  That does sound like you, drugged or not.  “Then I…”  He points to the messy bed.  “I wrapped you in the sheet to protect your honour.”   

“My honour?  Ewwww.  Don’t call it that.”

“I’m gonna go drown myself in the shower.” 

“Hyunjin, wait.”

Once more, you stop him before he crosses the door.  He sighs and his shoulders deflate.  Pushing a hand through his hair, he turns around.

“What?” he says. 

“I’ll take care of this, okay,” you say gently.  “We weren’t ourselves.  Thank you… for taking care of me.  Seriously.” 

He sniffs and looks aside, the tips of his ears turning red.  You try to ignore the pitter-patter of your heart.  

“It’s Vegas,” you say.  “I bet they have drive-through divorces.  I’m just… I’m just sorry this happened.” 

“You are?” he says, staring at the ground. 

“Of course,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster.  “Hyunjin, I know you.  You’re a goofy old romantic.  I’m sure you’re not happy about your first technical marriage happening while you were drugged up, and to someone you don’t even love.  Right?”

He looks a little panicked when he meets your gaze.  It flashes in his eyes for a second, then he looks away.  He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.    

“Hyunjin,” you say.  It feels like someone just lit fireworks in your chest.  “You… don’t… love me, right?” 

There is a long moment of silence then he throws both hands in the air. 

“Why do you say it like that?” he demands.  “Would it be that bad if I did?”

“What.” Your jaw falls open.  “You love me?”   

“Unfortunately, yes.  Sorry for inconveniencing you with my goofy romantic feelings.”  He snarls at you.  “It just happened.  If I could have stopped it, I would have, but I can’t.  So live with it.” 

“What kind of love confession is this?  You’ve watched like a million romance dramas and that’s what you come up with?”

“I’m a painter, not a poet.  Good-bye.”  He is quick this time, jumping into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.   

It leaves you standing there, jaw still hanging open. 

Hyunjin loves you. 

Of course Hyunjin loves you.  How could you be so stupid?  All this time, you had yourself convinced your best friend was unattainable because he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth, but all this time he loved you and you didn’t even notice.   He drank a drugged drink just to protect you.  He got a bit nutty in the head and married you, but even at his most fucked up, some intrinsic part of him sprung to your defense.  No matter how out of his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that could potentially hurt you. 

Oh my god.  

Hyunjin loves you.  You love Hyunjin. 

You are pacing when Hyunjin exits the bathroom and smacks into you.  You bonk heads and curse, again, then he brushes past without saying anything more.  You watch him go to the clean bed, watch him fold back the covers.   He takes off his hoodie and his pants.  Despite how many times you have casually dressed down around each other, this time you find yourself looking away, hot in the face.   When you look back, he is in a t-shirt and his boxers, sliding under the covers. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Going back to sleep,” he says.  “I’m tired.”  

He doesn’t look at you once.  He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, laying stiff as a board. 

You touch a finger to the mark on your neck and shiver.

“Hyunjin,” you say, to which he just grunts in reply.  “I want to sleep too.  I’m sorry, but can you help me with the dress?” 

He exhales and closes his eyes, shoulders dropping, but then he flips the covers down and gets out of bed.   He still doesn’t meet your gaze.   His strides are long and quick and, before you can blink, he is in front of you. 

You open your mouth to speak but he grabs you and spins you around.  It feels like an electric zap from your heart to your pussy, hands instinctively clutching your chest in surprise. 

You can feel him fiddling with a few buttons, muttering expletives to himself.   

He is still wearing the ring.  So are you. 

“Hyunjin,” you say softly.  “I love you too.” 

He has his fingers on the zipper.  He stops. 

“What?” he asks.  He stops touching you entirely so you look back at him.  He is tucking hair behind both ears, shaking his head.  “Don’t just… say it,” he says, still staring sideways.  “That’s worse than not hearing it.” 

“Hyunjin,” you say.  At least he looks at you this time, even if it is with uncharacteristic uncertainty.  You smile at him.  “Unzip me please.” 

You turn back around, chewing on your bottom lip.  

It takes a second, but Hyunjin does what you asked.  You feel one hand on your back, the other circling the zipper.  He tugs it down slowly and you shiver as the cool air conditioned air kisses your back.  His fingers brush your bare skin when releasing the zipper.

“Thank you,” you say, glancing back at him. 

He nods curtly and spins around.  You smile, watching him march back to the bed.   You turn your back to him when you let the dress drop, then you remove your bra.  His open luggage is nearby so you slip a t-shirt out of the suitcase.  It smells like him, his favourite cologne, and that alone gets you hot.  

With a final tug on the hem of the t-shirt, you turn and walk up to the bed he is in.  He is sitting upright but under the covers, his hands folded neatly in his lap while he stares at you. 

“Can I sleep here too?” you ask.  “The other bed is a mess.”

He nods.  A second ago, he refused to look at you and now he can’t stop staring.  It makes you grin, beaming at him as you slide under the covers. 

“You’re staring,” you say. 

“I’m not,” he lies, still staring at you.  He slumps against the headboard and slides down until he is laying flat.  His hair pools around him on the pillow.  Ridiculously gorgeous man. 

You lean over him, staring back.  You rest a hand on his chest and can feel his heart palpitating as quickly as your own. 

“You are staring,” you say, then giggle a little because his expression is still wide-eyed.  “You look like you’ve never seen a woman in bed before, and I know that’s not true.”   

You say it jokingly but he doesn’t laugh.  He tilts his head, his expression softening.  His tongue touches his upper lip then he smiles at you. 

“Not like this,” he says with heart-stopping sincerity.  “Not you.  Not… my wife.” 

Oh god.   People always act like there is something supremely unsexy about wife or husband, some stagnant nothingness that kills sex appeal.  But the second he says that word, it feels like an electric storm ignites between the two of you.   His gaze is dark, his breathing hard, his heart still pounding under your palm.  You suck in a deep breath, a shuddering release.  You are already aching. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. 

His hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.  It passes over your bottom lip and tugs at it.  It feels like you have a heartbeat between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you say, and swing yourself over him. 

He makes a noise the second you are straddling him, both his hands dropping to hold your hips.   You lean down, your hands on either side of his head.  His eyes are already closed when you start kissing him.  You rock against him, feel him getting harder in his boxers as his hands run up and down your thighs. 

The kiss breaks for a second, just to breathe, and he sighs. 

“Good,” he says.  “You brushed your teeth.”

“You are soooo…”  You try to sound annoyed but it’s impossible.  He laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth.  “Ughhh, the worst!” 

You roll off him as if you have any intention of denying him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to tease him.   He just follows, rolling on top of you so it’s you pinned under him, the weight of him between your open legs.   He goes right back to kissing you, taking his time, almost torturously slow while pressed so intimately against you.  He licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, steals your breath and comes back for more. 

“Hyunjin.”  You are out of breath.  You grab his face with both hands, gasping against his open mouth. 

“Mm?” he replies, pecking your lips. 

A part of you thinks you could lie in bed all day doing nothing but kiss Hyunjin.  Just a small part.  The rest of you is burning up with the need for much, much more. 

“Make love to me,” you whisper.  His breath stutters.  “Please,” you say.

He nods frantically.  If you weren’t so hazy with want, it might have made you laugh.  As it is, you string your arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss.  This one gets heated quickly, wet and sloppy and pressed messily to the corner of your mouths, your hands moving over each other, trying to find the hems of your shirts without breaking apart. 

It happens in a frenzy, but you somehow get down to just your underwear.  His boxers land on the lamp and the shirts could have flown out the window for all that you care.  He is laving kisses all over your body and you are so wound up that you get a little teary, arching under him and tugging on his hair. 

“Hyunjin, please,” you say, dragging your nails up his back.  “I need you.”

He looks up at you.  You smile and bite your lower lip.

“I need my husband,” you say.

You are pretty sure you can visibly see his brain short-circuiting.   The next second, he is fully above you, pulling your panties down your hips.  It stays hooked around one ankle but the thought of it leaves your mind quickly.   He slides his hands under your thighs and spreads you open, leaning down to kiss you as he finally eases inside you.   

You both look down at where he inside you.  It feels like your clit is jumping for attention, your whole body shaking when he gently rubs you there while sinking fully in. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself once he fully inside you.  He closes his eyes and breathes a little harder.  “Don’t move,” he says.  He leans down so his chest is against yours, your faces close.  “If you do, this is gonna be over really quickly.”

“Really?” you say with a giggle, pleased he is as unravelled as you. 

He just nods, his eyes still closed.  You kiss his cheek and hold the back of his neck, stroking there lightly and giving him a minute. 

“Feels good,” you say, because it does, even just like this, pressed so tightly together, him so full and hard inside you. 

He just groans, dropping his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder.  You rake your fingers through the hair at his nape when he rocks a testing thrust into you.  You have only just adjusted when those hips starting rocking with fluid determination, rolling steady and deep.  He feels almost impossibly good inside you, driving you into the mattress again and again. 

“Oh my god,” you squeak, putting both arms around his neck and clinging tight.  “Hyunjin.”

He just makes noise, unintelligible sounds that make him sound crazy despite how deftly he is moving.  You feel a bit crazy yourself, blinking at him with your mouth open when he lifts his head.   He kisses you, swallowing up your gasping moans, and presses his forehead to yours.  For someone who claimed to be close, he lasts a long time at a steady pace, the subtle, corded muscles of his slender frame holding taut as he moves. 

“Touch yourself,” he says, and kisses you without waiting for an answer. 

You kiss him back, very messily at that, but you do what he said.  You lick your fingertips and slide that shaking hand between your bodies, getting yourself off just seconds before his hips get erratic and he has to pull out.  He strokes himself to completion just over you, coming on your thighs.  He manages to reserve his strength long enough to gather you in his arms and roll over.  He guides you to rest on top of him, your face in his sweaty neck and your rising-and-falling chest against his own. 

“Why haven’t we been doing that for years?” you mumble. 

He laughs, his hand flying to his face to cover his mouth while he giggles.   The ring catches your eye and you reach for that hand.   He gets quiet, watching you. 

You lace your fingers with his, looking at the ring then looking up at him. 

“We’re a little crazy if we stay like this,” you say. 

He leans in and kisses you for so long that you almost forget what you were saying.  You remember when he smiles down at you, when he squeezes your hand, when he leans in and says, “That’s okay.  I like a little crazy.” 

In agreement, you smile back. 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut

[strawberrysatellite]

don’t be a stranger

inspired by scott street- phoebe bridgers

word count: 4.6k

Y/N never liked living in cities.

When she had to move away from home for uni, she dreaded it. Every minute of her last year in sixth form, she lived with this cloud over her head. This great big black cloud. One so full of loneliness and anxiety that she knew would burst the moment she finished school and was forced to leave the only place of comfort she had ever known. A tsunami of homesickness that would crash over her in catastrophic tides every time she laughed with friends, as if the moon saw her struggles and was trying to convince her to stay, controlling these tide-like feelings encompassing her. Or when she went to the movies with her mum. Or made her little brother a cup of tea. She knew that one day, it would be the last time she did those things. And that thought ruined her.

When she did eventually move away, she left with heavy feet and an even heavier mind. A car full of belongings packed up to move to a busy, overcrowded, polluted concrete jungle. A heartless, ticking machine of a place. Nothing like the tiny town she had grown up in that still had weekly markets and the postman knew her entire family by name. Her life had been packed up into boxes, leaving no trace of her in the home she once knew.

The only home she had ever known.

As soon as her degree had finished, she knew she had to move back home. She had tried for a month or two to stick it out in the big city, thinking it might have just been her nerves that convinced her she wasn’t fit for the city life, but she knew in her heart she didn’t belong there.

She belonged in her mum’s kitchen. At the worn dinner table with scratches and pen marks from her younger self’s clumsy hands. She belonged on her nan’s couch. The one she had had since Y/N was born, and where Y/N’s wonky pillow that she had made in a textiles class years ago (which was barely half-stuffed and was slightly misshapen due to- again- her clumsy hands and the unreasonably large fabric scissors that were much too heavy for an 11 year old to use) still sat pride of place. She belonged to the fields next to the out of use windmill, a 10 minute walk from her home. The fields where she would run and laze in the sun, napping until she could feel the slight chill the moon brought with her, waking up to grass in her hair and a pink flush over the bridge of her nose.

That was where she and Harry differed.

Harry was never one for small-town living. His curly head was always wrapped up in some daydream. Dreams of living on the other side of the world, making a name for himself. Meaning something to people. Proving himself.

He couldn’t wait to leave home. Not to say that he didn’t love his mum’s house and her slightly flattened rug in the exact spot he napped each afternoon. Or the windowsill in his room where he would sit with his headphones in and dream. Of a bigger life. Something bigger than he could ever imagine.

He supposes it was luck that granted him that sort of life. One little audition and he’s suddenly fulfilling everything he had ever wanted and more. He got his big life. He meant something to people. He sells out shows every night. People know his name. He gets to do what he loves every day. Not many people could say that.

Y/N and Harry were always inseparable. From the minute they were delivered into the world, the two were attached at the hip. Where one went, the other followed. There was nothing about one that the other didn’t know about. The word ‘secrets’ wasn’t in their vocabulary.

Y/N knew all about Harry’s dreams. She supported him in all of them. Always. But even she couldn’t have predicted the magnitude that would be Harry Styles. The curly-headed boy she grew up with now the same face she saw in the supermarket, dashed across every magazine.

When Harry first got that incredible news on the day of his audition, she was the first one he called. His tears were audible in his voice, throat claggy with unadulterated happiness. This was what he had always wanted. His dreams were becoming his reality.

The two never imagined they would ever be separated. Even when Y/N went to uni and Harry was somewhere on a different continent playing sold out shows to thousands every night, they still spoke. Phone calls, messages, letters, pictures, postcards. Any feasible means of contact, the duo kept.

Until. The contact just..stopped.

The letters dwindled. Phone calls left unanswered. Voicemail boxes full and emails left unopened. Neither knew when or why it happened. They just did.

Y/N moved back home, getting herself a little cottage that reminded her so much of her nan’s, just on the outskirts of her town, right next to those fields she would- and frequently does now she is able to- snooze in as a young girl. She lives a simple life, working at the florist shop she opened in the heart of the town square. It’s a simple life, but one she has always wanted. The thought of ever moving back to the city quite frankly makes her skin crawl. Her tiny ragdoll kitten, Bowie, lived in her tiny cottage with her, his favourite spot to stretch out and nap in the house being on her giant oriental rug. A worn patch had appeared as a result of his daily afternoon naps.

She still speaks to everyone in the village- was kind of forced to because of her job and how many people trecked themselves through her shop door everyday. Almost every Sunday, Harry’s mum would appear in the doorframe, the slightly rusted bell jingling above her head. Y/N always thinks that sound matches how her stomach feels when she sees Harry’s mum’s smile. It’s the exact one he wore at all times.

The two always make small talk when she visits the shop. Y/N asks about Harry and Gemma and Anne’s cats, Anne asks about Y/N’s mum and Bowie. It’s never awkward per say, but they’re both aware there’s something unspoken there. It’s not solid enough to call it a tension or a problem. Not something that hinders their conversations. They find it in the deep breaths they take before speaking, the way Y/N’s fingers fumble every damn time Anne mentions Harry’s name.

She doesn’t know why she’s so bothered. Evidently, Harry never asks about her since Anne never mentions anything about it. She should be happy about that. The fact that Harry is so focused on his dreams and making the name for himself that he always wanted.

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. That he just forgot her.

And yes, the phone works both ways. But.

It was always her messages left unread. Her phone calls that went to voicemail. Her letters that came back voided, as if he had changed his address and hadn’t bothered to tell her. It was her heart that was broken every time he ignored her.

And sure, maybe it wasn’t on purpose. The Harry she knew would never go out of his way to purposefully ignore and hurt her. But.

It sure felt like it.

Now, Harry lies awake in his bed. He’s currently in the middle of making the band’s 5th studio album, their first one as a group of four. He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s the fact that one of his close friends just left the band they had been in for most of their teenage years. Maybe it’s the fact that his friend’s departure had flicked a switch in his brain and forced the last 5 years to hit him in the face all at once.

The truth was, Harry was tired.

He had been going non-stop for five years now. Tour after tour, album after album. Recording albums in their tour bus because there wasn’t enough time between tours to stop and record an album in a studio. Recording songs in hotel rooms, in makeshift sound booths connected to shitty hotel wifi. He used to think that was the cool thing about the albums. That they were recorded in hundreds of different places.

He sees now that it was too much. Too much for a 16 year old boy to suddenly step into the shoes of a world famous pop star. Never being in the same country for more than a month in his most crucial, formative years fucked him up in ways he didn’t even want to think about for fear of spiralling.

Lying in his bed in his apartment in New York, on the rare occasion he had a few weeks to himself before he had to get right back to recording and shows and the whole circus, he pulls out his phone and opens Instagram. He doesn’t know exactly why he does it but he types in a name he hasn’t so much as thought about in at least 3 years. And he feels immense guilt for this, yes, but he does it anyway. Maybe finding her and seeing she’s still doing okay will placate him in some way. He hopes.

It’s not hard to find her- he would know her face anywhere even if he doesn’t think of her all that much. Her feed isn’t the most interesting in the world. But, it’s so her. A couple pictures of a white kitten, a filtered snap of a familiar windmill, countless bundles of flowers, the odd selfie with her ever present smattering of freckles still visible along the bridge of her nose. It’s not until he gets a bit further down her page that his stomach truly does start to bubble with guilt. A picture of her in her cap and gown, a scroll of paper clutched between her hands and her mum stood beside her. His own mum stood on her other side.

God, how had he missed that.

Ever since they were young, she had been the brainy one. School came to her like second nature. He had never in his life met someone so intelligent and wondrously her. And Harry had met a lot of people in his lifetime. They used to speak about university as if it was some made up land, far into the future.

And now here they were. 3 years after her graduation and he had missed it. Never even congratulated her. He vaguely remembers his mum saying something over the phone about her and university, but he figures it must have been in the middle of one his tour legs and he had immediately forgotten the news as soon as he was told, not even registering the words due to his brain being so overloaded with other things.

He doesn’t regret joining the band. Some of the memories he’s made are irreplaceable. His regret lies in the fact that he left his best friend behind. The one person who knew him better than anyone.

He had just…forgotten her.

He feels ashamed when he thinks of her name now. As if just the thought of her would regurgitate his past mistakes and force him to face them head on.

Guilt weighs heavy on his conscience, and it’s this that makes him spring into action. Lying in his bed, the nighttime sounds of NYC and helicopters over his head playing in a loop, he books the next flight home.

His first step back on home soil (literally- a majority of the roads in the town are just worn down pathways instead of actual tarmac roads) is one filled with unfiltered anxiety. He knows exactly what he left behind. He knows how much he’s changed from that cheeky 16 year old boy that left. Now, he’s a 22 year old grown man.

The huge black range rover he parked on the side of the road looks so out of place compared to the rest of the village. It’s as if he’d left modern civilisation and stepped back in time. So different to anything he’s known for the last 5 almost 6 years. It’s hard for him to believe he ever lived here, never mind was born and grew up here.

Walking through the one main street in town, he’s hit in the face with nostalgia.

Memories he can’t believe he ever forgot about.

Rushing down to the old-fashioned sweet shop after school to spend his pocket money. Racing home on his bicycle to catch a rerun of Life on Mars after an evening spent working at the bakery, helping the old ladies pack their baked goods. Buying his first ever album on CD (Shania Twain, obviously) at the family owned music shop next to the corner shop. Meeting up with Y/N and a few of their other mates every Friday after school to walk down to the field by the old windmill, both of them packing snacks and water bottles so they wouldn’t have to leave the field until they were forced out by the sweep of nightfall and the premise of a hot meal on the dinner table.

Now, he feels like a stranger. Like that boy with those memories wasn’t even him. Like he’s watching someone else’s childhood play out in his head, a VHS warped by time and played so many times that the tape ejects. A polaroid camera whose film has been sun damaged and now has that kind of hazy quality, not quite accurate to how it looked in real life.

He’s a stranger in his own home.

He’s ashamed.

Y/N’s working her usual shift at the shop. Just like any other Saturday, she begins by taking stock of what she has and what she needs, ordering new shipments and sending out business emails, checking orders to make sure she hasn’t kept anyone waiting too long for their flowers. It feels like any other Saturday. Until. It doesn’t.

An awful pit forms in her stomach, as if warning her about a danger she can’t yet identify. Ignoring it seems impossible- her mum had always told her to trust her gut feelings. Her hands shake and she can’t seem to get them to bend to her will, her brain so caught up in whatever this sludgy feeling is that it refuses to allow her limbs to do what she wants. Deciding that what she needs is a quick moment of fresh air, she manages to coax her legs into moving her outside despite them moving at a slower pace, as if stuck in invisible quick sand, slowly sinking into the floor and submerging her lungs with every movement.

What she doesn’t expect is Anne to be standing on the other side of the door, a surprised smile on her face as if she too hadn’t been expecting Y/N to emerge at that moment.

That bloody smile sends another wave of black goop around Y/N’s stomach. A perfectly imperfect grin that also belongs to a certain bunny-toothed boy. Well, man now.

If Anne notices Y/N’s slight wince and momentary hesitation to smile, she doesn’t say anything and instead begins a conversation that Y/N has to put all her effort into concentrating on, “Oh, hi, sweetheart. Fabulous timing. I was just popping round to tell you that your mum’s round at mine having a cuppa if you wanted to join. Got a bit of catching up to do and we thought you’d want to join, hm?”

Y/N could kiss Anne right now. A cuppa with two of her favourite people sounds like heaven- as if they could sense what was happening and knew exactly what to do to make her feel better. Maybe once she sees that everything is okay, this feeling in her stomach will subside. She hopes.

“I would love to, just gimme a sec to shut up and I’ll be right over,” Y/N smiles gratefully and gives Anne a short hug, telling her to be safe and that she won’t be too long.

The walk to the Twist house is exactly what she needs. It’s not too long that her feet start to hurt in her work shoes, but it’s long enough that she’s able to take some deep breaths and rid her mind of that sickly feeling. It used to be a lot shorter of a walk until Harry began his career, only a couple of minutes down the road from her mum’s. She supposes that tiny distance between them growing up was another factor in their friendship.

Once Harry began making serious money in the band, he bought his mum a house, completely clearing her of any debts or mortgages. She wanted to stay in the village since she had grown up there as a little girl herself, and she still wanted to act as a kind of home base for Harry, so he had gotten her a bigger cottage with her own piece of land and a big driveway. The garden was constantly in bloom, and it was big enough that he even got her an industrial lawnmower type thing that he would ride about on on the rare occasions he used to come home. He hasn’t been home for a while.

The minute Y/N steps through the threshold of the house, that awful sludgy feeling returns. It’s a combination of that familiar, masculine scent she remembers a certain person using throughout his teenage years, the echo of a baritone voice from the living room just behind the entrance way, and the thick woollen trench coat that she knows doesn’t belong to Anne or her mum hung on the coat hooks by the door. Just next to the gallery wall full of family pictures of Harry, Gemma, Anne, and Y/N. The same coat visible in the photos from Gemma’s graduation. Harry’s coat.

Her breath is immediately lodged in her throat, a tiny gasp that seems to echo in the tiny entrance way of the house and reverberates around her. A gasp that effectively cuts off that baritone voice and silences the whole house.

“Y/N? Is that you, love?”, Anne’s voice calls from the living room and the shuffling of slippers along hardwood floor can be heard before her head pops round the doorframe, that same smile carved into her face. “There you are, lovie. Was starting to think you got lost. Come in, come in. I’ll get you a cuppa sorted.”

Y/N has half the mind to turn around and scarper. She doesn’t think she’s strong enough right now to face the guest in the living room. She knows now what that horrible rock in her stomach all day has been for, as if her soul sensed his before she even knew he was here. But she can’t do that to Anne, so she slips her boots off and hooks her coat up next to his trench coat, unsteadily ambling to the living room.

At first, she doesn’t see his face. Just the back of his head, those ever-present curls now past his shoulders and resting on the button-up shirts he seems to love now. His armchair is the one facing away from the doorway, giving Y/N an extra second before he turns around that she grasps onto like a buoy out in the ocean, the only thing keeping her afloat in the maelstrom of emotions surrounding her and threatening to drag her under.

When he does turn around, she feels the wind being physically knocked out of her. His face is a punch to the sternum but simultaneously a hug after a long week. His presence stings like a papercut and soothes like the touch of a lover. His eyes are jaded fragments of precious metals too toxic to touch, and they are the beaming lights guiding sailors to safety. He is both the sun and the rain creating a vibrant display of fragmented light.

He’s home.

“Hi, Berry.” His voice is weak- a stark contrast to the belting voice and confidence he projects on stage. He performs to thousands of people no bother every night, and yet he can’t summon enough confidence to speak above a whisper to the only person who has and ever will truly know him.

A part of her crumbles at the nickname he uses. So casually, almost cruelly. It’s a moniker she was dubbed by him from the youngest of ages; whenever he saw her, she would be eating strawberries, every perfume she used would contain notes of strawberry- even her lip glosses were always strawberry scented.

“Hi.”

At that moment, Anne shuffles through the doorway, “Oh, good- you two are talking yeah? Why don’t you go take a walk, hm? I’m sure there’s lots you’ll want to catch up on. Leave me and Y/N’s mum to have a chat.” Despite Y/N being slightly pissed that she wasn’t told Harry was home and would be here, she can’t find it in herself to be angry for much longer when Anne speaks with that calming voice and comforting smile.

“Um…yeah, sure. We’ll go round by the old windmill?” Harry is the one to offer this up, a peaceful olive branch of sorts.

“Sure- you remember where it is, yeah?” Y/N’s response isn’t meant to sting as much as it does. But he can’t help but feel wounded at the fact that she thinks he would just forget. It was their place. Theirs. Harry and Y/N’s. How could he possibly forget that? He could forget anything else- every word to his songs, how to drive, how to speak, hell, he could go blind and deaf- but he would always remember that field and the sound of her voice like the back of his hand.

“Of course I do.” Her head just nods at this and she turns back around to retrieve her shoes and coat.

“Hey. Sunshine?”, Y/N’s mum stops him before he follows after her, “Go easy on her, yeah? I know you didn’t mean it but you two not speaking really did a number on her. She’s a lot more fragile than she was. Be gentle with her. And be gentle on yourself.” Her smile is the exact same as the girl’s in the hallway. He ducks his head in a guilty nod and makes his way out of the house, collecting his coat and realising Y/N must be already outside waiting for him.

The walk has been eerily silent so far. The whole premise was to catch up and talk, but neither of the two can summon enough courage to spit anything out, both in fear of disrupting the somewhat civil tension between them. It’s so unlike what they used to be. There was never a silent moment between the two. One of them always filling every gap in conversation like they couldn’t stand not hearing each other’s voices. She used to say comfortable silence was overrated anyway.

It isn’t until they reach the very edge of their field that Harry opens his mouth, not able to stand this unfamiliar silence any longer.

“So you moved back after uni?” He wants to smack himself for asking such a stupid, obvious question.

“Uh..yeah, I did. Never really liked living in the city. Came back and opened the little florists in town.” Her reply is laced with pride. She should be, he thinks. Out of everyone he’s ever met, she deserves to be proud of herself.

“M’proud of you. Can’t be easy- having your own business n’everything.”

“It’s not the easiest thing in the world, but I love it and it’s worth it.” She nods to herself, keeping her eyes focused on the floor. She’s disguising this lack of eye contact as just watching where she’s going, but they both know she knows her way through every inch of this field like she knows herself.

“Listen, Y/N- I’m sorry for not being there at your graduation. I know how much it meant to you. I can’t apologise enough- I’m… m’ashamed.” His brows furrow in disgust at his own actions, as if he can’t possibly fathom why on earth past him wouldn’t have gone.

Her reply is instantaneous, as if she knew his apology was coming and didn’t want him to, “No, don’t be daft. It was a while ago n’I know how busy you must be with the band and all. Don’t worry about it.”

It’s silent for a few moments after this, both of their feet dragging them through the overgrown grass, almost like magnets leading them subconsciously to the windmill proudly standing in the middle of the field. A constant in a life full of temporaries.

“Your mum told me Adrien got his degree. Political science? Suits him.” Harry’s words are soft, as though if he speaks any louder, he’ll disrupt the balance of time and the universe will shatter at his feet.

Her laugh is self-deprecating and filled with a heavy sigh, “Yeah, couple months ago now. Always was more politically minded than us, wasn’t he?”

“Makes me feel old, honestly.” His own smile is small, too afraid of big emotions and throwing her off.

Another sarcastic chuckle erupts from her mouth, “What does that make me?”

“Hey, you remember when we were in school? That god awful band we had? What was it…white something or other,” He speaks fondly, reminiscent of what used to be.

“Oh, god. White Eskimo?” Her smile grows at this, her own head full of the same memories as his.

“Yes! That’s the one. We were horrendous. I remember you weren’t half bad, though. You still play the drums?”

“Jesus, no. Gave up on that a while ago. Far too much shit to carry around everywhere. Bradley and Robbie are getting married now, you know? What about you- how’s the band?” She asks, as if she hasn’t been there for every moment of his career, cheering him on silently from thousands of miles away.

He’s suddenly more solemn at this, “Erm, I’m sure you saw about Zayn leaving. That hit us all pretty hard. Just trying to carry on and come out the other side, really.”

It’s silent again for a while after this. Neither of them know where to go from here. By now, they’ve reached the windmill and decide to sit down against it. If Y/N looks hard enough for it, she knows she’ll find their initials carved into it somewhere.

At least if they don’t make it through this, their names will always be here beside each other, proof that they were once inseparable. Proof that they existed and meant something to each other.

This quiet time isn’t like the others. It feels like the closing of a book; a dog-eared, well-loved book, flipped through so many times it’s worn down by the oil from fingertips. It’s the conclusion to everything. The sound of his bicycle bell as he rushes to her house after school. The sound of the train whistle as he left home for his audition. He left home and never came back.

The silence once again becomes unbearable for Harry, “I feel like I can never stop apologising to you. But, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry for what happened between us. I never ever meant to hurt you. I was just…busy. If that’s even an excuse. I was falling asleep in one country and waking up in another, trying to keep myself level-headed enough to play shows and just. I really don’t have a good enough excuse. Just know that I will never regret anything more than letting us go.” His voice shakes through all of his words, chest rapidly expanding and contracting under the tonne weight of his words.

Y/N takes a few moments to process his words. In all honesty, she understands. She will never be able to imagine how much pressure he must be under.

She just wishes him fulfilling his dreams hadn’t cost her her best friend.

She misses her best friend.

“It’s…it’s okay. Really, Harry. I made peace with it a long time ago. Our chapter is over. And that’s okay. I will always be so proud of you. In whatever you do. Just…don’t be a stranger.”

decided to start posting my writing on here :)

i have this over on my wattpad but i’m on here more so it only made sense!!

#harry styles #x yn #scott street #music #harry x yn

[mayhemproduces]

Eddie Kingston vs Lilith Brookes- Crimson League- Heist Night 10

Lilith and Eddie are face to face, jacking the jaws as the referee calls for the bell - AND EDDIE CRACKS OFF A BACKFIST TO THE FUTURE! Right out of the gates, holy shit! It’s already over!

1… 2… - KICKOUT!

2.99, but Lilith kicks out! That would’ve been a terribly disappointing ending to a rather lackluster run for Lilith, but she manages to escape, keeping the match alive. Kingston punching and biting Lilith, before backing her into the corner. Knees and punches from Kingston, keeping the fast paced, hard hitting action alive, before hitting an irish whip. Kingston charges, hitting a huge knee in the corner before going for more punches to the head, trying to get Lilith down in the early goings here. He follows it up with an overhead exploder suplex, tossing Lilith across the ring! In the corner again, Lilith explodes out of it with a lariat, flooring Kingston, before moving into mounted punches. Eddie tries to turtle up, before throwing Lilith off him. Pump kick from Lilith, but Eddie just flips her the bird. Chops and punches from Lilith, but Eddie nails her with an eye poke, shrugging off the attack. To the apron, Eddie wants another exploder, but Lilith blocks it. Clubbing blows to the back, before Lilith nails him with a huge roundhouse kick, and Kingston crumbles to the floor! Dragging him up, Lilith grabs the right hand, and smashes it into the steel ring steps! Kingston howls in pain, but tries to punch Lilith with it anyways,and immediately regrets it. Putting Lilith into the ring post, Kingston rolls back inside for a moment to break the count.

Grabbing Lilith, she nails him with a pele kick to counter, before jumping up on the apron. Watching Eddie get back to his feet, Lilith runs and jumps, bringing Eddie to the floor with a running blockbuster! Eddie gets dropped on the back of his head, and Lilith quickly returns the action back inside the ring. Kingston wobbles to a vertical base, and Lilith charges, dropping him with a jumping shoulder tackle. Kingston back on his feet as Lilith runs the ropes, hitting a second shoulder tackle. Still, Eddie doesn’t stay down. He tries to swipe at Lilith’s head, but she ducks, using his momentum to lift Eddie up and plant him into the mat. Just as this starts to feel a little too familiar, Lilith raises a hand to the sky, a smirk plastered on her face as La Boom showers her with boos. Bending over, Eddie can definitely see this, as Lilith flips him the bird! “Fuck you, Eddie!” Lilith kneels down and punches Eddie in the head! Lilith toys with the crowd some before picking Eddie up, and nailing him with a suplex. With a twist of the hips, she brings them back up, and down again with a second vertical suplex. Drawing them up again, Eddie blocks the trifecta and backs Lilith up into the corner, nailing her with windmill punches. To the top rope, Eddie climbs up with her…. And brings them crashing down with a HUGE Superplex! Both wrestlers are down!

Slowly rising, they come head to head, punch for punch. Neither willing to give an inch. Lilith gets her forearm up, causing Eddie to punch that instead, and she gets the advantage. Beating up on Kingston ,before she drills him with the Cinci DRiver! Cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Rolling Kingston onto his stomach, Lilith floats into the Last Chancery! Pulling back on the head and neck, trying to force Kingston into a submission, but Eddie won’t give up so easily. He claws out of it, and they go back to trading barbs in the center of the ring, trading chops, practically beating the piss out of each other with these. Until Kingston hits an exploder suplex! Lilith flops into the corner, using the ropes to pick herself up, while Kingston marches up to her, and lays into her with a flurry of chops to the chest! Lilith starts to melt down, and Kingston follows up with a DDT! Lilith flips over, looking far gone, but she’s able to swing her back, nailing Kingston with the spinning back kick! She drops to a knee, but Eddie powers up, and drops her with the Northern Lights Bomb! Cover!

1… 2… Kickout!

Lilith grabs him and whips the arm, dragging him into a huge knee strike, putting them both down!

As La Boom tries to will Eddie on, Ophelia doing the same for Lilith, they gradually get to their feet. Throwing bombs back and forth - EDDIE HITS THE BACKFIST OUT OF NOWHERE! HE FALLS INTO THE COVER!

1… 2… 3!

“Here is your winner, Eddie Kingston!”

[its-deputy-caleb]

How would the Lord’s be with a s/o who’s short like 5’0 but they’re super sweet but can be feisty

Heyy so i’ve been sick recently so this may not be as good as always and it’s a little rushed but i hope it’s not too bad! but this was still always enjoyable to write as always! enjoy

Alcina Dimitrescu

Alcina is lecturing one of the maidens for leaving one of the windows open when she feels something tapping on her leg.

Her eyebrow raises when she finds you tugging on the fabric of her dress, your hands covered in blood.

She picks you up by the back of your shirt as you give her the brightest but cheekiest smile.

“Now what have you been up to in these castle walls that has led you to put blood all over my dress.”

Your legs dangle in the air as you explain that you’ve spend the last four hours running around in the cellars and dungeons trying to find hidden trinkets. You didn’t anticipate to run into an array of grim reaper type creatures but you never turned down a challenge.

“My my, it seems you have been busy.”

Alcina throws you over her shoulder and carries you into her private quarters before she practically dumps you in the bath that swallows you.

“You, my dear are not coming to dinner looking like that.”

She’s seated on the edge of the tub, gloves removed as she rubs her expensive rose scented shampoo in your hair. For a moment it’s quite peaceful.

You’re ever the troublemaker and considering Alcina’s dress was already dirty you couldn’t help but splash water on her.

She grasps but plays into your cheeky ways and splashes you back just as playfully until you’re both soapy and covered in water.

You both dress for dinner with Alcina insisting you wear some of your more finer clothes but you still manage to pull some buttons loose here and there.

Although you’re a wild one, bouncing down the hallway and nearly knocking over one of Alcina’s fine porcelain vases, you still take her hand in yours and walk proudly into the dinner room with your lady.

You take your place at the dining table next to Alcina, your chair significantly higher to sit comfortably but she definitely pampered you with some of the finest cushions to boost you up.

Still you can’t help but feel happy and full of joy to see your family and that only lifts your mood further.

Donna Beneviento

Donna walks into the lounge room to find you chasing angie around, trying to get to her from behind the couch.

“You’ll never take me alive!!”

You’re just as crazy and rambunctious as Angie, the two of you instantly getting along. Donna smiles when she finds that Angie finally found a friend and she’s thrilled that Angie is taken with you.

“Will you two calm down before you break something!”

The two of you stop to stare at Donna who is holding a porcelain doll in her hands to stop it from being broken as you practically jump around the room.

But somehow through all your wildness you have a soft spot for Donna. Slowing your movements and walking up to her, you wrap your arms around her neck and hide your head under her chin.

“I’m sorry Dons, will you come exploring with Angie and I in the mountains??”

With you and Angie on either side of Donna, the three of you spend your afternoon exploring the caves near the waterfall.

Jumping over pools of rocks and mini cliffs, you always go first holding your hand out to Donna each time so she can hold onto while she jumps.

You’re always there to catch her too. It’s a little hard when you’re smaller than her but you’d never let her fall.

Eventually you come to an opening in one of the caves. The view is spectacular, with the waterfall cascading down and catching the fading light beautifully.

Your hand is in Donna’s gently rubbing your thumb on the back of her hand. However in a split second Angie comes up and surprises her with a loud BOO.

Donna’s surprised shriek rings in the cave she thinks she’s going to fall from the height of the cave, Angie’s creepy laughter eventually drowns it out.

You wrap your arms around her, keeping a calm but gentle hand on the back of her head to steady her.

“It’s alright, I gotcha now”

You hug Donna tightly, death glaring Angie behind her shoulder. When you pull away, you take Donna’s face and cradle it gently in your hands.

“Common, lets go home I could do with a nice warm cup of tea to go with a good book.”

Even though Donna was less adventurous as you were, she always enjoyed running around with you and Angie but you always spoiled her afterwards with a warm night in under blankets and warm tea while you read to her.

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore was walking around the windmill trying to find you when he’s interrupted by a rather loud noise.

“HEY SAL GUESS WHO’S FINALLY TALLER THAN U??”

He audibly grasps when he sees you sitting on the wooden sail of windmill, smiling down on him.

You jump down and land in front of him, giggling at the small scream that leaves him. Stepping forward and into his space you place a kiss on his cheek.

“It’s me!!”

You take Salvatore’s hand in your own and lead him to explore all the nooks and crannies of the windmill with him.

Eventually you run off from him and hide behind one of the wooden crates stacked in the corner.

Poor Salvatore is confused by where you’ve gone trying to find you frantically as he runs around looking for you. You had the advantage however, being small had its perks sometimes.

When he��s not looking you run up and jump him from behind, your hands wrapping around his neck as you cling to him.

His laugh bounces off the valley and he spins around with you in a piggyback. One of your favourite things is making him laugh.

You spend the next few hours playing what is basically hide and seek as you run around all through the windmills, reservoir and mines doing your best to stay clear of any lycans.

You’re a wild card in Salvatore’s otherwise quiet life, but he loves you nonetheless. But you don’t miss the way his hand clings to yours in a death grip.

However, sometimes you’re a little too wild for his comfort zone and he definitely refused to do the zip line with you. But he cheered for you from his place on the ground because he never wants you to change the way you are. To him, you’re perfect.

Karl Heisenberg

Karl is always used to strange noises and loud bangs within the factory, but after living there for as long as he had; he can always tell when somethings out of place.

A rather large crash rings throughout the halls of the factory and Karl begrudgingly puts out his cigar, hoping that one of the Soldats hadn’t broken any of his equipment.

When he walks into a smelting room he finds you on the floor with metal boxes all over you and you buried under the toppled over shelf.

Karl flicks his wrist and all the metal moves to the corner of the room to reveal you huffing your hair out of your face.

You were looking for a mould to craft a new dagger with, sorting through the assortment of boxes when it all came falling down on top of you.

Karl moves his wrist once more, moving the mould you were looking for to his hand, a smug look on his face. He knew. For the last few weeks he’d seen you eyeing out that mould when you came to sit with him while he worked.

“Looking for something?”

You stand to your feet and try to snatch it out of his hand. Karl sees you coming from a mile away and holds it above your head, he doesn’t even need to use his powers for this one, his arm will do just fine.

He’s cocky and can’t help but torment the thing over your head like a child but in an instant you have him tackled to the ground. Now that one he didn’t see coming.

“Don’t think for a moment Heisenberg that just because I’m small that i couldn’t totally kick your ass if i needed to.”

Now you’re the one to be cocky as Karl stares in awe up at you, it took a lot of strength and maybe a hint of luck to bring down someone as powerful as him.

Eventually you let him up from his kindly uncomfortable position on the floor, his back strained against the metal grates. You totally don’t threaten to throw him at Alcina’s doorstep if he doesn’t make that new dagger for you.

Karl loved that about you, how feisty and wild you could be. It meant you were a great training partner and both of you either trained together often. Being small had its too. One thing Karl lacked was finesse and you were much more agile and skilled in your movements.

Other times you’d help Karl out in the factory by lifting boxes of scrap metal or even welding some of the weapons. He absolutely loved that about you, how he could easily be comfortable with you and his heart swelled when he could teach you all that he knew about metal. For the first time in a long time it felt like someone was on his side.

One day Karl saw you take a Soldat out with your new dagger and to say that it didn’t scare the shit out of him would be a fucking lie. Soldats were taller than him for christ sake.

Karl loved you though. He loved how fierce you were but you had the heart of gold and to him, you were this perfect little being that made his heart beat twice as fast when he was with you.

He loved that you could hold your own and would stand up to anyone but in the closed doors of the factory he got to see a softer more tender side of you filled with tender kisses and tight hugs.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau #salvatore moreau x reader #resident evil village #resident evil headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil #asks #prompt

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

Under a Windmill

It’s been eight hours since he started driving with that old wooden box riding shotgun; but this time, the driver didn’t get to pick the soundtrack for this trip. It has been silence the whole way, only broken by Dean’s sporadic cries and the crashing of his fist against the steering wheel.

At times, his mind would drift and he’d forget that what had happened, happened—and he’d allow himself to feel Cas’s presence again, as if the angel were still wholly next to him, filling up the passenger seat, filling out that damn, ugly trench coat instead of filling up that old wooden box.

Another scream—another punch to Baby’s dash.

He chokes the pain back down and rubs his palm over the inside of the car.

“Sorry, old girl” he mumbles. “It ain’t your fault.”

It’s mine.

He screams again; but the silence doesn’t argue with him, and that old wooden box doesn’t either.

And that’s the cold reality, the harsh truth—the permanence in all of this. If Cas could come back, he would have by now, and he’d be here, convincing Dean how wrong he is to blame himself. He’d be telling Dean that he’s an idiot for thinking of himself as anything less than perfect, and Dean would argue with him, telling that idiot-angel that being an idiot would automatically disqualify him from “perfection”. And soon, he’d be laughing, because the debate would be so stupid, so pointless, he’d forget to be angry anymore, and then he’d clap Cas on the shoulder—smile at him, and tell him for the millionth time, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Dean reaches over, brushes his fingers over the top of that old wooden box, and closes his eyes a moment.

“I’m glad you were here, Cas.”

He knew the place, the perfect place to leave him. It came to Dean after the first few hours on the road. Earlier, Sam had offered to take Cas’s ashes to the lake a few miles from the bunker, but Dean refused. Even though the lake was beautiful, it seemed like the “convenient” choice, and not the right one. So, he took that old wooden box, the one that he used to hold all of his pictures—pictures of his life in the short time it could’ve been called “normal” … a life he can only remember through pictures now, and he gathered Castiel’s ashes in his palms and placed them inside its pined walls. On his knees, hands together, ashes to ashes, dust to dust … lives remembered, lives lost, all collected in that old wooden box. It seemed fitting—and so very wrong; and then he set out to find the right place to keep all the wrongness he felt. He needed someplace beautiful, peaceful, calm and pure. A place that people would only go to if they wanted to—if they sought it out ... a choice. Nothing seemed to represent Castiel more than the beauty of choice; so, after a long night of driving, Dean finally set course towards a place that he thinks Castiel would choose to go to—if he could, if he were still alive and able to choose anything anymore …

Dean screams again, headlights from the on-coming cars catching the tears in his eyes, making them shine.

The sun is just coming up as he makes his way down the hill, and it’s as pretty as he remembers it being, even though it’s been several years since he’d last been here. He and Sam were on a case—a cut and dry witch’s curse, but the hunt had brought them to this meadow in search of a flower they needed for a spell. They found it pretty quickly. The flower grows all over this area in the spring; but Dean decided to stick around a few minutes anyway, just to walk, breathe in the sweet smell of the new grass, feel the warm breeze on his skin. It's calm here, beautiful. The kind of land he’d love to build a house on and live out the rest of his days—if he could ever be so lucky. It's a perfect slice of Heaven on earth, and Dean remembers walking through this meadow all those years ago and thinking, “I wish Cas was here.”

He’s not even sure why he thought it at the time. He hadn’t known the angel long at that point, but maybe it was because he could tell, even way back then, there was something special about Castiel. There was something fun and unique, powerful and strange, something Dean knew he had to hold onto.

If he had just held on ...

Afterwards, he often dreamt of this meadow; and sometimes—in his dreams, Cas was there with him. They would walk through the trees and talk. They would laugh … Castiel, angel of the lord would actually laugh, and it would make Dean laugh too. They would never mention monsters or the world ending. They’d just talk about good, simple things, and they’d walk and admire the beauty of this place, and they’d be happy … and then Dean would wake up.

That old wooden box feels heavy in his hands now as he makes his way through the trees. He isn’t talking, he isn’t smiling … and he isn’t waking up.

A small clearing spreads out in front of him just as the morning sun starts to swallow up the trees. A thin brook babbles along the far edge beneath the heavy bough of an oak, and an old windmill creaks softly as its shadow reaches out towards the two of them, Dean, with Castiel resting in his hands. The windmill’s shadowy arms brush the top of the box with each pass, saying hello—warm and welcoming. Dean looks up at it, feeling himself ease under the windmill’s watch, knowing that it’ll keep watch over his friend once Dean walks away from this place.

“I’m glad you’re here” he whispers to the windmill.

The windmill spins on, strong and steady … just like Cas used to.

Dean smiles weakly, nods—and then looks once more at the box in his hands, soon bending down, knees to dirt, setting the box onto the ground. The brook trickles over the rocks, muttering into the distance, telling him that it’s okay. It’ll talk to Castiel, keep him company. It’ll let Cas know that Dean was here, and that he’ll be back soon to visit, not to worry. He’s not alone … never alone.

Dean nods once more and then takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as shaky fingers finally open the box; and he lets that breath out when he opens his eyes again, heavy and harsh when nothing but ash is staring back at him.

“Damnit, Cas” he says, starting to cry as he runs his fingers through the gray grains. “Damnit.”

A fist, then a fistful, then another—clutching what used to be, crushing it into his palms, trying to embed it back into his skin, as well as leave his own mark on the angel like the angel left on him. But both are gone now, the marks, the angel. Past tense leaving nothing but the present tension that Dean will always have to live with. He looks around once more, envying Castiel a little, because he gets to stay in this place. This magical little meadow with special flowers and guardian windmills, and softly spoken brooks to keep him company.

But as Dean opens his hands, letting the ash slip away—letting the angel slip away once and for all, his envy slips away too, because Castiel deserves this. He deserves every beautiful blade of grass, every drop of warmth from the golden sun. He was made to rest in the peace of this place, and Dean was made to leave it.

Leave him.

And as the last of the angel coats the earth, Dean walks the opposite direction upon it —knowing that all he has left is that old ugly coat in the trunk of his car, that old wooden box in the palm of his hands, old memories of the a life he’ll never get to really live, and this old place— a forever-home for his oldest friend, forever in his rearview.

“I’m glad that you get to be here, Cas.”

And he is— glad.

The windmill waves him goodbye as Dean drives away.

Ashes still coating his palms, dust still coating his knees—that old wooden box still riding shotgun, only now ... it's empty.

[X]

#Destiel #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Ary Writes #ficlet #Tombstone #spn scripts #13x06 #13x06 tombstone

[winchester-fantasies]

Thank God for Sexual Frustration

Summary: Dean offers to help you out when you’re going through a dry spell. No friends with benefits, simply a one time deal. But will you both be able to stop once you start?

Word Count: 4398

Warnings: smut, fingering, dry humping, steaminess in the Impala, bit of dirty talk, fluff, tiniest bit of angst, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

You huffed as you tried, unsuccessfully, to get comfortable in the back seat of the Impala. You were on your phone, checking up on social media, scouring the national news for new cases, and even reading interesting, but pointless, articles on why red light isn’t used to illuminate streets. But nothing could distract you from the aching need between your thighs. 

You huffed again in frustration, throwing your phone onto the seat beside you, the device bouncing off the leather and dropping somewhere on the floorboards. You glanced out the window, watching as mile after mile of flat land and cornfields flew past. You and the boys were passing through Iowa, windmills and the occasional cow being your only companion.

You’d been in Wisconsin, hunting a pack of werewolves. It had been a successful one so you and the boys decided to go to a local bar to celebrate and cut loose a little before heading back to the bunker. Of course Sam and Dean had had no trouble finding women to take home; one flash of Dean’s pearly whites or peek of Sam’s dimples and any woman within a twenty mile radius was theirs. Or at least it seemed that way. 

You? Well, you weren’t exactly what most people would call gorgeous. Pretty, yes. But compared to the Winchesters? You weren’t anything special. 

There were plenty of men at the bar, but none that caught your eye and apparently none that took interest in you either as no one approached you, even just to make light, friendly conversation. So instead of finding a guy to take back to the motel, you’d just drunk a few beers, played a couple of games of pool with a group of cocky fuckboys, and left early to crash into the back of Baby while the boys lived it up. 

Needless to say, you were beyond horny and sexually frustrated. You needed a release and fast.

“You okay, sweetheart?” You jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, and you turned to find him looking at you questioningly in the rear view mirror.

“Yeah,” you said nonchalantly. “When’re we stopping?”

Dean glanced at his watch. “Not for another five, six hours.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes as you shifted your weight, grinding down lightly against the seat, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Why?” Dean asked. “You gotta pee or something?”

“No,” you growled. 

“Then what’s the matter? You’ve been grumpy since we left Wisconsin,” Dean said.

“Nothing,” you said. “Just keep driving. I’ll be fine.”

Dean gave you a look that said he didn’t believe you, but he didn’t press the issue further, much to your relief. You turned to stare out the window once more, your interest piqued and your mind diverted from your predicament by the thunderheads building in the west, a low rumble of thunder and a quick flash of lightning streaking across the sky. But the next second you were reminded of your almost unbearable need as Dean drove over a bump in the road, jarring you in your seat and causing the seam of your jeans to catch deliciously on your clit. You clenched your thighs together, but you couldn’t help the quiet moan that left your lips. 

Dean apparently heard it, too, because his eyes were back on you when you glanced at the rear view mirror. “What was that?” he asked, suspicion lacing his words.

“Nothing,” you said offhandedly, hoping he’d drop the subject. Unfortunately he didn’t.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asked. “Kinda sounded like a...moan. The guy you take home last night show you that good of a time?” he added brazenly with a cocky smirk, causing your cheeks to redden.

“For your information, there was no guy,” you stated, crossing your arms and quickly glancing at the still sleeping Sam in the passenger’s seat. You didn’t really want to have another audience member listening to your sexual woes.

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Seriously?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, really,” you snapped. “What’s it to you anyway?”

“Just surprised is all,” Dean said defensively. “With a girl like you in a bar filled with half-drunk guys looking for a good time…?”

“Yeah, well some of us don’t have the privilege of being sex on legs,” you said sarcastically, indicating him and his brother.

Dean chuckled, his crow’s feet becoming more prominent. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, sweetheart,” Dean said lightheartedly. He paused for a moment, his jaw clenching and his gaze focused hard on the road, deep in thought. When he finally glanced back at you, his eyes were steely and filled with something you couldn’t quite read.

“I could help you out,” he said nonchalantly.

“What?” you asked with a frown of confusion. “What do you mean?”

Dean sighed, his eyes returning to the road again as large drops of rain began to pelt the windshield. “Look, it’s pretty obvious you���re sexually frustrated,” Dean said. “I could help you with that…. If you want to of course,” Dean added.

You bit the inside of your cheek thoughtfully as you watched another flash of lightning light up the increasingly darkening sky. You had to admit the thought of having Dean between your thighs, or at the very least his fingers, was more than a little enticing. 

“And it doesn’t have to be any of this “friends with benefits” shit,” Dean said when you didn’t immediately answer. “Just a one time deal.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice level.

Dean’s gaze shot up to meet yours in the rear view mirror again, his eyes betraying his shock, almost as if he had expected you to say no. And if it had been any other day, you probably would have declined. But right now your pussy was aching for the touch of a man.

“O...okay,” Dean repeated, almost hesitantly. “Lie back and unbutton your jeans.”

Your eyes widened in shock and for a moment you thought you’d misheard him. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” Dean said gruffly, his green eyes looking darker than normal. “Lie back. And unbutton your jeans.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks at his request and you licked your lips nervously as your eyes shot to Sam who was still passed out. Dean was joking right? 

Another glance in the rear view mirror told you he wasn’t. Not if the determined and lustful look in his eyes was any indication. “Dean…” you whispered imploringly. “Sam,” you hissed, jerking your head in his brother’s direction.

Dean smirked lewdly at you, and you couldn’t help the rush of arousal that washed over you. “Just trust me, sweetheart,” he said.

You swallowed hard and cast one more glance at Sam before doing as Dean told you. You laid back on the leather, the hum of the Impala loud in your ear from this position. Next you unbuttoned your jeans with trembling fingers. “Okay, now what?” you asked.

The back of Dean’s head was just visible over the front seat, and you watched as he turned, his tongue running over his bottom lip when he saw you sprawled out as he had requested. “Now you let me take care of you,” Dean said, his voice low and filled with desire.

You shuddered as you nodded slowly. Dean’s arm came over the top of the front seat and settled on your lower abdomen, his fingers brushing over your already heated skin as he sought to help you relax.

“You good?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look back at you. 

“Y...yeah,” you breathed out.

“Just try to relax, okay?” Dean said. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” you said, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes.

Dean massaged your abdomen and thighs a bit longer before his fingers traveled up and settled at the top of your waistband. You tensed, but reminded yourself to breathe as his hand slid past your jeans and into your panties. 

You spread your thighs wider, one foot coming to rest on the floorboard as his hand moved lower, his rough and calloused fingers finding your swollen clit. 

“Fuck,” he growled. “You’re more than ready for me, aren’t you babygirl?” Dean asked, running his fingers through your wet folds. 

“Mhm,” you mewled, biting your lip, your eyes still tightly shut.

“Just remember to relax,” Dean said again.

You gasped lightly as his fingers found precedence on your clit once more, rubbing small, languid circles over the bundle of nerves. “That feel good?” he asked, his voice low and smooth like honey.

“Yeah,” you moaned quietly. “Feels so good.”

“Good,” he growled. After a few more strokes, he slowly trailed his fingers lower, gently inserting his middle digit into your soaked pussy. You whimpered at the feeling of finally having at least some part of a man inside you. You rocked your hips with his movements, the palm of his hand pressing into your clit with each movement. 

“Dean,” you moaned, your hand coming to rest on his wrist as he continued pumping his finger in and out of you. He glanced behind him, watching his hand undulate inside your pants before moving his eyes to your face, craning his neck to see the moment you came undone.

Blood was pumping in your ears, your breath was becoming shallow, and that familiar tightening in your lower abdomen was growing. You were close. So, so close. 

Sam suddenly sat up straight, looking around wildly. Dean jerked his hand from your jeans while you quickly rolled over, facing the back of the seat. You held your breath, praying Sam wouldn’t be able to tell that he’d just interrupted his older brother fingering his best friend in the back seat while Dean drove.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked, and you could’ve sworn his voice sounded a little strained.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, sniffing and shifting in his seat as he sat up straighter. “Just had a bad dream…. Where are we?”

“Just outside of Iowa,” Dean said, his voice sounding normal again.

There was a pause before Sam spoke again. “She finally fall asleep?” he asked quietly.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean commented. “I think so.”

“Mm, good,” Sam said. “She’s been having a rough time of it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said simply before silence pervaded the Impala once more.

**********

You were jerked awake by the sound of a door slamming. You shot up in your seat, your heart in your throat.

“Easy,” Dean said, a chuckle in his voice. 

You took a deep breath before leaning forward, resting your elbows on the top of the front seat and rubbed your eyes. “What’re we doing?” you yawned, looking over at the building a few yards away from where Dean had parked the Impala.

“Sam needed to take a piss. Said he was hungry,” Dean said. 

“Oh,” you said, watching a few people enter the convenience store. 

“You never did finish,” Dean said suddenly, his voice even and calm like he was just shooting the breeze.

“What?” you asked, turning your gaze away from the store and back to him.

His met yours, and you swallowed at the salacious gleam in their mossy depths. “You didn’t cum,” he said bluntly.

“Oh, I, uh,” you stuttered, feeling your cheeks redden. “I, uh, no. No, I didn’t,” you finally got out.

Dean searched your face for a moment before speaking again. “You could finish now.”

Your eyes widened and it was your turn to search his face, looking for any indication that he was joking. Your stomach clenched when you realized he was dead serious. “Wh...what about, Sam?” you asked, glancing towards the store just as a man exited.

“Sweetheart,” Dean said, his cocky tone drawing your eyes back to his smirking face. “I can have you cumming faster than you can say please.” 

You swallowed hard, feeling your body warm at the thought of him bringing you to orgasm. You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing the options. You could wait till you stopped for the night before heading to a bar and just hoping you’d get lucky. And those chances were pretty damn slim. You were still beyond sexually frustrated at having been interrupted right when you were on that glorious precipice of release, and you’d woken up just as horny as when you’d drifted off. Dean was offering you something you craved and desperately needed. 

“Okay,” you conceded for the second time that day.

Dean’s face broke out into a wide and cocky grin. “Get up here,” he said, his voice deep and demanding. You wasted no time in fulfilling his request, agilely climbing over the seat. Almost as soon as you were in the front seat Dean was reaching for you, drawing you to him and helping you straddle his thighs.

You tensed at the unexpected feeling of his erection pressing into your core. Dean must have seen your surprise because he chuckled, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Been so fucking hard since earlier,” he said, his admission turning you on even more. “God, you’re so fucking hot. All those moans and sighs. They’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Dean,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his.

He groaned and a shuddering gasp left both your mouths at the friction. You did it again, this time firmer and with purpose. Dean’s head fell back against the seat, his eyes falling shut as he opened his mouth in pleasure. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”

You rolled your hips again, finding a steady pace. Dean’s hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as you slid over him. You snaked your arms around his neck, playing with the soft hairs at the base of his skull. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, his erection pressing into your clit deliciously. Dean’s hands wound their way around your waist, his palms lying flat on the small of your back, helping to guide your movements and pull you down harder onto him. Wetness was beginning to pool in your panties in earnest, leaking out the front of your jeans and leaving a dark stain on Dean’s. 

Your body was on fire, sweat dotting your upper lip, a few rivulets running down Dean’s face. You moaned, leaning your head back to give him easier access as he kissed and sucked at your neck and shoulder. Dean shifted slightly, pushing up into you with such force you grunted. You could tell he was close, his breathing labored and thrusts sloppy.

“(Y/N),” Dean groaned quietly. You leaned down, pressing you lips forcefully onto his, his tongue finding yours a few moments later. It was all hands, teeth, and heavy breathing as you both chased after your releases. 

“Cum for me, Dean,” you murmured in his ear when you felt yourself right on the edge. He groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he thrust against you hard, both your paces turning feverish. 

And just like that, the coil snapped. You were writhing as you came, your muscles contracting uncontrollably, Dean’s name falling from your lips like a whispered prayer. 

Dean came seconds after, his face contorted in pleasure and his lips parted as he gasped out your name. He rolled his hips lazily against you once more before he stilled. 

You were both panting, your arms still wrapped around one another, your head resting on his broad shoulder, sweat starting to seep through your clothing. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t just cum the hardest you could ever remember. 

“That...that was amazing,” Dean said. You leaned back, smirking as you met his gaze. His hands traveled up your sides and he was about to say something else when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye, spying Sam coming out of the convenience store. 

“Shit!” you hissed, hurriedly climbing off of Dean. “Sam’s coming!”

Dean’s eyes widened and you were just about to climb into the back again when you glanced down to his pants, a feeling of dread washing over you. “Dean,” you clipped, your horrified look drawing his gaze to his crotch where the material was completely and utterly soaked through. “What’re we gonna do?” you asked, panic lacing your words.

“Sweetheart, calm down,” Dean said, putting his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I got this.” He quickly shrugged off his flannel, throwing it over his lap. You sent him a skeptical look as you climbed into the back, settling down in your seat just as Sam opened the passenger’s side door. 

You expected him to say something about the flannel on Dean’s lap as he climbed in, but instead he surprised you by wrinkling his nose in disgust. “What the fuck?” he grumbled. “What did y’all do in here? Run a marathon? It reeks like fucking sweat!”

You felt your cheeks turn scarlet as you caught Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Uh, sorry, man,” Dean said nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam said dismissively. “Just roll down a fucking window.”

**********

Your eyes scanned the crowd of dancers as they whirled around the dance floor. Finery and flashing jewels caught your eye at every turn, and you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place even though this was a case. You and the boys were currently hunting what you thought was a shapeshifter posing as one of the wealthy people in the room in order to rob the entire place. You and the Winchesters were dressed to the hilt, and although at first it had been nice to dress up, you couldn’t wait to get back to the motel and into your tank top and pajama shorts.

You glanced towards the back of the ballroom, your eyes finally settling on Dean. He jerked his head to the side, indicating he had found something. You nodded slightly before making your way over to him, hugging the walls.  

It had been nearly a month since your incident with Dean in the Impala. Neither of you had talked about it. It was a one-and-done after all. But you couldn’t help but think about it. It was impossible not to. You remembered everything, from the way he felt underneath you to his groans, pants, and gasps. 

You finally made it to the other side of the room, finding Dean standing near the hallway. He motioned for you to follow him, you hurrying to keep up. You were about halfway down the corridor when Dean suddenly turned, grabbing your bicep, and hauling you into a secluded room. It was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the streetlight outside the window.

“What are we doing?” you hissed, feeling for the knife at your calf. 

You were caught off guard when you felt Dean’s hands fall to your hips and spin you around, your back hitting the wall with a dull thud. 

“Dean!” you gasped as he closed the small distance between you, his body pressing firmly into yours. “Wh...what’s going on?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he growled, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “The way you felt. The sounds you made. Fuck, you don’t know how many times I’ve gotten myself off to them.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your mouth as he lightly rutted against you, his half-hard cock pressing into your hip. “De...Dean,” you stuttered, trying to think past the arousal coursing through your veins. “Wh...what about the shifter?”

“Already took care of ‘im,” Dean muttered, kissing and nipping down your neck. “Sam’s following up on a few things with the owner.”

You felt yourself relax a bit at his revelation, and you closed your eyes, throwing your arms over his shoulders and holding him close as he continued his ministrations. 

“The way you fall apart,” Dean groaned, his breath coming out in fast, hard little spurts. “Goddammit, sweetheart, I gotta see it again.”

“Dean,” you mewled, all the pent up lust from the past month slowly starting to seep out. You wanted him so badly. You needed to see him unfurl almost as much as he did you. “Please.”

Your hungry plea was all Dean needed. He spun you back around, backing you into a sturdy mahogany desk roughly. You hiked your skirt up as fast as your fingers would allow, Dean’s fumbling with the waistband of your panties. He pushed them down, you deftly stepping out of them before he was on you again.

He hoisted you up quickly, placing you on the desk before kneeling down and throwing both your legs over his shoulders. Dean growled as the scent of your arousal permeated his senses, and his hand came up to your aching core, thick and calloused fingers running through your slick. “Fuck, baby,” he grunted. 

You nearly fell off the table, your hips jerking forward harshly, when his tongue teased your bundle of nerves. But he gripped your thighs, keeping you anchored to the table. He swiped his tongue through your folds once before he really began in earnest, lapping at your juices and sucking on your clit.

You couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through your body at the pleasure he was giving you, and your hands found his head, desperate to ground yourself even further. He suddenly changed his tactics, fucking you with his tongue while his nose nudged at your swollen bud, the scruff on his face leaving a stinging pleasure on your most sensitive parts.

You came not long after, your legs clenching around his head and your teeth sinking into your lower lip so hard you tasted blood. But you couldn’t hold down a wanton cry as your walls clenched around nothing, so tight it nearly hurt. 

Your whole body was trembling when your walls finally stopped fluttering. Dean gently disengaged your legs from around him, standing and capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. “Fuck me, Dean,” you pleaded as you broke the kiss, your lips ghosting over his.

Dean’s breath hitched and without warning he stepped back, unbuckling and undoing his pants, pushing them and his boxers down in one go. His cock sprang free, bouncing off his stomach. Even in the low light of the room, you could see the tip, red and leaking pre-cum. You bit your lip at the sight.

Dean pumped himself a few times before he stepped back between your thighs, running his cock over your still sensitive core and coating himself in your slick before lining himself up with you. You both let out a groan as he pushed in, your walls stretching to accommodate his wide girth. 

“Fuck, baby,” Dean panted. “I knew you’d feel good. But goddamn….”

Dean leaned down and kissed you, gently pulling your lower lip between his teeth, and you clutched at his shoulders as he bottomed out, holding himself steady as he allowed you to adjust. After a few moments, he started moving, going slow at first and picking up the pace when you wrapped your legs around his waist.  

He gripped your ass as he pounded into you relentlessly, his cock filling you in a way you’d never experienced before. Dean rested his forehead against yours, your hot breath mingling together as your mouths hung open, lingering over one another but not touching.

“Mm,” Dean grunted, his thrusts faltering for a moment as you tightened around him. “Fuck, baby. I’m not gonna last much longer…. Feels so good.”

“Dean…” you whimpered as he lifted your leg a little higher around his waist, his cock sliding over your sweet spot. 

He hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers expertly finding your oversensitive clit and swiping back and forth almost frantically, determined to make you cum before him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you began to feel your muscles tighten and just like that you came. You buried your face into his neck, your teeth sinking into the flesh as you tried to stifle the loud and lustful cry that ripped from your throat. 

Your orgasm triggered Dean’s, and he groaned deeply, his fingers digging into the meaty flesh of your thigh. He rocked into you sloppily, trying to ride out his orgasm for as long as he could, finally letting go with a quiet grunt of your name as he came deep within you.

He buried his face into your neck as you came down from your highs, only pulling out when you leaned back. You let out a soft whine as he slipped from your depths, already missing the fullness. 

He helped you slide off the desk, taking your face into his large hands and running his thumbs over your cheeks. “You okay?” he asked, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” you said, raising yourself up to kiss him. It was softer this time, and you couldn’t help the painful yearning of your heart as you realized this was probably the end of...whatever the fuck just happened between you and Dean.

Dean pulled away, but only slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a look of desire that wasn’t sexual. “I can’t do it,” he said, his hands sliding down your neck, over your shoulders and arms until finally coming to rest on your hips, one hand splayed out on the small of your back. 

You gave him a questioning look, running your hands up his arms reassuringly, encouraging him to continue when he looked away as if he were embarrassed. 

“I can’t walk away, (Y/N),” he finally admitted, meeting your gaze again. “I can’t just act like this was a quick fuck and that it didn’t mean anything. Because it sure as hell meant something to me. Ever since what happened outside the convenience store…. You’re all I’ve been able to think about. Fuck, (Y/N)! You’ve ruined every other woman for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and all you found yourself capable of was staring up at him. Never once had you considered that he might have felt the things you’d felt growing over the past month. 

“I...I,” you stuttered, trying to form words past your surprise. “Dean.... I can’t walk away either.”

Dean’s face broke into a wide grin and he pulled you a little tighter against him. “Thank god for sexual frustration,” he said right before he crashed his lips to yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 25 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: The communities are on alert as Negan goes missing and Alpha remains quiet. As the reader is dealing with the love of their life disappearing again, Negan finds company on the road.

Word Count: 5413

Warning: Swearing, Graphic Depiction of Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Wicked Game” by James Vincent McMorrow

Note: We begin with the reader’s POV, but we focus on Negan for the rest of it. Reminder, I will be changing things from canon with the rest of these chapters. all official dialog is property of AMC. 

--------

One Week Earlier…

“You know, I once knew a woman who could swallow a sword,” you said, examining your own blade in the low light of the cell. “I think in another life, I could do it.”

“Let’s not try tonight, okay?” Negan said, lowering the blade with his fingertips as he sipped from the clear jar you had brought him.

There was too much drama going on at the moment with Alpha, her Walkers, and of course, just trying to stay sane in all of it. Nevertheless, you still found time to indulge in the man that you loved. 

Showing up at his cell once it became dark was a normal thing, but the jar of moonshine that you had brought along with you was a change. A very welcomed one at that. You and Negan now sat on the floor of the cell, your backs against the cot, basking in the alcohol as it warmed your veins. 

“I still think this shit is highly dangerous,” Negan said, passing you the jar back. 

“It’s flammable too,” you said with a small laugh as you leaned against him. “Learned that the hard way.”

“Do tell,” he urged and you sunk further into him, getting comfortable. Negan slung an arm around you, keeping you close. 

“Eugene used to keep it outside of Alexandria in an old electrical box thing,” you explained, trying not to slur your words. “One day, he asked me if I would help him move some of it to Hilltop. I think Jesus or Alden wanted some. Anyways, us being morons, went out in a thunderstorm.”

“Which of course was not your favourite plan,” Negan said. 

“Right,” you agreed. “So, we were on our way to the place that he was holding it in when Eugene suddenly realized he had forgotten to take the big metal antenna off the top of the box.”

“Oh no,” Negan said, running his hand over the back of your neck as he listened. 

“We were about fifteen or so feet from the thing when lightning strikes and the spark lights the booze causing a massive fire. The worst part was that Eugene was also storing some leftover fuel at this place for Daryl’s bike and well…” you trailed off, making explosion movements with your hands. “I smelled like burning metal for three days.” Negan started laughing at that and you looked up at him, trying to see his face. You always loved it when he laughed. 

Reaching up, you ran your hand over his face and he turned towards you. “You are just…” you trailed off. 

“I’m what?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he gazed down at you. 

“Unpredictable,” you whispered. “You surprise and amaze me every damn day.” 

“That’s good though, right?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“It’s very good,” you said. “I’m not cut out to deal with the mundane.”

“Good cause you are anything but ordinary,” he said softly. The moonshine in your system was forgotten as those hazel eyes bore into yours. He was like the sun and you were trapped in his gravity. 

“You know that I’m always going to be here for you, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he whispered. 

“I just need you to understand that I trust you with my life and more,” you said, sitting up more. “I know that things are going to get messy with the Whisperers, but I think we’re gonna get through it. Especially if we stick together. I think we can win this war.” Negan wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you into his lap. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“I know, (Y/N),” he said. Tightening his grip, Negan made sure to be looking you in the eyes, something he always did when he was completely earnest. “I don’t know what I would do without you. For a while, I thought that there wasn’t a future for me besides these four walls, but you changed that. I love you so much and I know that you are right. We will win this war, no matter what it takes.” 

Smiling down at him, you leaned in to kiss him softly. “I love you, too,” you whispered against his lips as he pressed you harder against him. You laughed as he grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it over your head before kissing you again. 

The moonshine on his lips was sweet but full of fire which was a perfect metaphor for the strong man that you gave your entire body and soul to…

A loud crash came from your right as a pile of lumber fell over near the windmill, taking you out of your memories. 

“Ya good?” Daryl said from beside you as he added fletching to his bolts. 

“Fine,” you said, running a hand down your face, trying to break out of the trance you had been in. 

It had been a day since Negan had gotten out, or was let out, and you didn’t know how to even begin to understand what was going on inside his head, let alone yours. 

The last time Negan had left, you had been angry, but now you were just confused. Something didn’t feel right about any of it. Negan wasn’t a saint, everyone knew that, but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t heartless. Multiple scenarios went through your mind after Gabriel told you what happened. 

Lydia had tried to take the blame, but you had barely slept that night and would have woken if she had snuck out at some point. Then there was the fact that you didn’t hear anyone below the Grimes house all night. So, if someone had let him out, it was definitely a planned maneuver. 

Negan getting out was something that you wanted to happen, but you wanted it to happen on your terms. You and Negan would have had to make the decision together. The two of you had even talked about running and staying gone for a while so tensions could calm down. You’d go North, see what was in New York or Philly. You always thought that you would come back a year or so later and things would be different.

It was reckless and an idea that you didn’t think you’d ever actually do, but it was still in your mind. Negan had cautioned you against thinking such things. You figured he was afraid that you were going to alienate your family for him. What he didn’t understand was that he was your family and if he could be free, it would be worth it. 

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Now, you weren’t so sure what all those words he said to you meant. Did he even want to get out with you or was he using you? No, Negan would never use you. He had promised that you were different from all the relationships he had had in the past and the man never lied. 

And yet, maybe he had been lying the whole time. 

Your brain felt as if it was on one of those rickety carnival rides from your childhood as it invented theory after theory, trying to soothe curiosities. It was disorientating and it was also making it difficult to focus.

Leaning your hands on the table before you, you picked up one of Daryl’s bolts, turning it over in your hands as you wondered what it would feel like to put one of them between Beta’s eyes. 

“(Y/N),” Daryl said again and you dropped the projectile. 

“Sorry,” you said, rolling out your neck. 

“Ya need rest,” he said, trying to offer some comfort, but you didn’t want it or need it. Daryl was also not the cuddly kind of person at the moment. 

“I need to find him, I need to find Beta,” you said. Daryl narrowed his eyes, confused. 

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” he said, remembering his own fight with Alpha’s second in command. 

“I think it is,” you said with defiance. “Beta threatened me; he put his hands on me and I am not going to let him breathe any longer than he has to.”

“He threatened all of us,” Daryl said, but you shook your head. 

“This was...different. The way he looked at me that night, it was as if he was challenging me to try something. He reminded me of the Governor. Beta has that twistedness inside of him, I could practically smell it.”

“He threw me around like I was nothing,” Daryl reminded you.

“Well, I’m not you, am I?” you said, facing him. “Beta dies by my hand even if I have to build my own damn rifle and take the shot.” 

“Revenge doesn’t look good on you,” he said. 

“It’s not revenge, it’s inevitably,” you clarified. Daryl sighed, but he could tell that you set in your ways about this. 

“I’m sorry I was right about Negan,” Daryl said after a moment. 

“You weren’t,” you disagreed. 

“Come on…” he said with a knowing look. 

“You don’t know him, Daryl, I do, and I know that he had a reason. He wouldn’t have left me if he didn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he challenged. 

“I do,” you said. “I know him more than I know myself. I don’t know why he’s gone, but I don’t think he just left to get away from Alexandria. With Negan, there’s always a fucking reason. That’s what makes him… him.”

“Don’t hold onto hope, (Y/N),” Daryl said. Looking at him, you shrugged.

“Right now, that’s all I got.”

------

The outside felt different this time for Negan. 

The last time he had gotten out of his cell, it was on a whim. Now, he had a direction and a purpose and he was going to damn well fulfil it this time. If he didn’t, you were definitely going to hate him forever.

Leaving you had been the hardest thing he’s done since he’s been locked up. However, when Carol stepped out of the darkness with her offer, he saw something that he had only seen in you. 

Possibility. 

Killing Alpha ensured the survival of Alexandria, Hilltop, and Oceanside and while all of those people couldn’t care less about Negan, there were a few that did and that made a difference. You, Judith, Lydia, and all the kids would be safe. Carol would have revenge for her son’s murder too. While Negan knew he wasn’t going to be winning any popularity contests with these people, he owed them, whether they cared or not. 

However, while he was doing it for them, he was also doing it for himself. He needed to know if he was worthy of being the hero, rather than just the sucker. 

It wasn’t just you that Negan was thinking about though, he was also thinking about Lucille. His late wife was the only other person who knew him as well as you did. Lucille saw the man that he could have become but never did due to his own faults. Negan had been a horrible husband to her, but he was willing to do better this time. 

In no way were you a do-over, but he did see the relationship that he had with you as a chance to finally be the man Lucille knew he could be. He just hoped that you would not end up hating him as Lucille did. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle losing you, not after everything he had done and lost to find you. 

Still, there was still that fear in his gut that he would not succeed on this mission. Alpha could take one look at him and take his head as she had with the others months before. That thought scared him, but he didn’t fear death, he feared leaving you behind without an explanation. Negan was ready if it came down to it and as much as he knew it would pain you, he needed to take the risks. 

“‘To die will be an awfully big adventure’,” Negan quoted as he turned his face to the sun. You had found an old battered copy of Peter Pan not that long ago. You had spent nights in his cell reading him passages from the classic and now Barrie’s words were ringing true. With a sigh, Negan continued on through the woods, trying to formulate his plan. 

Just as he turned down a small hill, however, a voice stopped him.

“Gotcha!” a male voice said and Negan froze, swearing under his breath. Raising his hands, he was ready to take the person down and run if he had to. “Don't try anything,” the man said before he began to laugh. Confused, Negan turned and who he saw made him drop his hands. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Negan muttered, “Brandon?”

The young guard from Alexandria, who was carrying a backpack, smiled at Negan. “The look on your face! Dude, seriously, I'm just messin' with you!” he said.

“What are you doin’?” Negan asked, but Brandon was still talking. 

“You're fast. Took me forever to catch up,” Brandon said. “So, prison break part two, huh?” Negan rolled his eyes and turned away from the kid, continuing on his way, but of course, Brandon followed.

---------

“My dad, he used to tell me how, like, you and the Saviors would, like, whistle back and forth before,” Brandon said as he kept pace with Negan who was trying very hard not to slap him silly.

“That was a long time ago,” Negan said with a huff. 

“I mean, not that long ago though, right?” Brandon tried as Negan didn’t bother with an answer.

“You, uh you say you had some granola or some shit?” Negan asked. Brandon quickly began rustling through his bag, eager to please. 

“Sorry about the raisins and the busted knife. Was kinda in a rush when I packed it all,” Brandon said as he handed Negan some food and the weapon he had brought from Alexandria. 

“It’s fine,” Negan said, waving him off. 

“So, you're really not gonna tell me how you got outta that cell?” Brandon asked, but Negan stayed quiet, not giving the kid an inch. You really didn’t like Brandon and Negan was starting to see why. Sure, he was annoying, but Negan already knew that. Now he was starting to see him as who he really was, a leech. 

“Alright,” Brandon continued, “well, at least tell me what we're lookin' for.”

“Someplace safe,” Negan said. Carol had given him freedom, but the plan was completely up to him. Considering how his day went after the first time he got out, he was getting a bit nervous. 

“I get it. A new Sanctuary,” said Brandon. “Damn, how badass was that place? And then, Rick Grimes comes along, talk about hypocrisy, kills our parents, drags us to Alexandria, lectures us about community.”

“Grimes was a good man,” Negan commented, not allowing the kid to tarnish Rick’s name. No matter what they thought of each other, Rick deserved respect. 

“I guess,’ Brandon shrugged. “Man, I heard you made him cut his own kid's hand off, then you killed them,” he said and Negan froze. “You know, Carl Grimes, I heard you shot him.” 

Negan whirled on the kid, shoving him against a nearby tree. “I never did that,” Negan sneered. “I don’t give a shit about what kind of fucked up rumors you’ve heard. Carl was... I would never kill a kid.”

Brandon was staring up at Negan and the latter was glad to see a bit of fear in the kid’s eyes. People could hate on him all they wanted, but the Grimes family were good people, are good people, and he respected them too much to listen to any slander. 

Especially about Carl. 

“Yeah, no, definitely. I'm with you, obviously. We're both Negan,” Brandon said and Negan felt sick. They walked on once Negan let him go, but Brandon was still pushing. “Did you talk to (Y/N) before you left?”

“Excuse me?” Negan asked, looking over his shoulder at the kid. 

“I just mean, do they know why you left?”

“I’m not seeing how that’s any of your business, kid,” Negan snapped. Brandon fell quiet then but soon spoke up when the two men came across an odd sight. 

“Who would do this?” Brandon asked as he looked down at the makeshift fence. Wrapped in barbed wire, wooden posts acted as a barrier and Negan immediately knew what it meant.

“Whisperers,” Negan said. 

“Damn. Should we cross? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Brandon offered. 

“No,” Negan said but made a point to remember the location. “We’re not equipped to deal with them.”

“They’re just people.”

“People who can blend in with the Dead,” Negan pointed out. “I’m not sure we can consider them human at his point.”

“Right, like that Lydia chick,” Brandon snipped and before Negan could go off on him, Walkers converged on them. Brandon slid to the side as the Dead fell upon Negan. The weight of the Walkers nearly brought him down, but Negan was able to eventually overpower them.

Once the Dead were finally down, Negan turned to Brandon and he was pissed. “What the hell!” he said. 

“Sorry, sorry, I was just getting your gift ready,” Brandon said as he showed Negan what was in his hand. Negan straightened up as he saw the baseball bat. A bat that was freshly wrapped in the wire of Alpha’s border. “I also got this,” Brandon said as he pulled out a leather jacket. “Found it in the back of an old storage garage. My dad said he never saw you without it.”

Suddenly, Negan got an idea. Before Rick locked him up, he was good at a lot, but the best thing was charming his way into places. However, that charm had disappeared after the many years locked away. Now, looking at the jacket and the new bat, Negan finally realized what he would need to do to get to Alpha. 

He would have to become the Negan everyone once feared. Although, not just yet. 

“Listen,” Negan said, “uh why don't you just put that in your backpack? I don't wanna be recognized.” 

“You like it, though, right?” Brandon asked, sounding like a damn groupie. 

“More than you know.”

———-

Negan and Brandon kept moving. 

“Did anyone see you leave?” Negan asked, not wanting Aaron or Daryl to be tracking them. That was the last thing Negan needed. 

“Nah,” Brandon said, “but the bitch with the baby did see me come out of my house. Not sure she cares.”

“Her name is Rosita,” Negan corrected, surprising himself. Since the blizzard, he had been thinking about Miss Espinosa. Rosita had as much reason to hate Negan as Maggie did, but Negan began to think that perhaps the new mother was just as tired of being outwardly hostile as he was. 

“Right,” said Brandon. “Sorry man, I thought you didn’t like her.”

“No, she doesn’t like me, there’s a difference,” Negan said. 

“Is there?” 

“I only had problems with a few of those people. Rosita was not one of them.”

“I heard a story that she shot at you,” Brandon said and Negan snorted at the memory. 

“That she did,” Negan said. “Though, I did murder someone in front of her so I guess I deserved it.” 

“And now she’s with a priest. Weird.”

“Gabe is alright,” Negan said. In fact, besides you and Lydia, Gabriel was the closest thing he had to a friend. He had thought he was making headway with Aaron, but he could never get a proper read on that man. 

In fact, there was one person whom he actually did want to properly speak to and that was Ezekiel. There was something about the king that made him incredibly curious. However, after the death of his son, Negan didn’t even know what he would say to him.

You had always said that Ezekiel was a good man and a fair one. Negan began to wonder what the tiger-wrangler would have done with him if it had been up to him and not Rick. Those thoughts were interrupted when he and Brandon heard screaming. 

“Sounds like a girl,” Brandon said. 

“And a kid,” Negan said as he heard the second yell. Negan took off towards the sound, anxious to find the source. It didn’t take long for him to find it. An abandoned bus stood broken down in an old lot. Inside, he could hear screams of panic and the unmistakable groans of Walkers. 

Negan didn’t hesitate to run towards the bus, hauling himself up the steps of the old vehicle. In the back, a woman cowered before the Walker as a young boy hid with her. Negan headed straight down the aisle, grabbing the creature by its shoulders. The rotting jaw snapped at its new attacker, but Negan was stronger. Throwing it towards the open back door, Negan slammed it to the floor and used the accordion door to smash its brains to bits. 

The shouts of alarm were replaced by heavy breathing and then small sobs as the woman clutched at her child. “Thank you,” she cried, “thank you.” Negan, who was breathing heavily nodded to her, offering her a squeeze on the arm that she reached towards him. Amongst the gratitude, Brandon was celebrating Negan’s gory display. 

Once Negan was able to get the mother and her son calm and situated, he pulled Brandon aside. 

“So, what’s the plan here, boss?” Brandon asked. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Rob them? Take their shit and go, right?” Brandon offered. 

“It’s a mother and child,” Negan reminded him “Fuck kid, you really think that I’m going to hurt them?”

“I mean… that’s what you do,” Brandon said. 

“What I do is none of your goddamn business,” Negan said, stepping into his face again. “You know what, this isn’t exactly workin’ out, is it? I think you need to get lost, find your own damn celebrity so you can lick their fucking boots. I’m done.”

“I can’t just go home, they’ll know I helped you!” Brandon said, stopping Negan before he could leave him behind. 

“Then don’t go home,” Negan said. “You’re free, kid, go wherever the fuck you want.” 

“I thought I was helping you,” he said. 

“No, you’re not. I got my own shit to do and I can’t play babysitter. Do us both a favor and get the hell out of here,” Negan said before turning his back on the teen. Brandon hesitated for a few moments before hiking his bag up on his shoulders and walking away. Negan didn’t relax until his form disappeared into the surrounding brush. 

After Brandon had gone, Negan went to speak with the mother, helping her get comfortable as her son was in view just outside the bus. “Ya alright?” he asked. 

“Better now,” she said.

“How long have you been out here? You got people?” 

“It was just Milo and me. We'd been walking for days, weeks, until the hissers ran through our camp, scattered everyone to the winds. After that, we went back to what it was before, what it always is in the end, Milo and me, moving from place to place, surviving,” she said. 

“I’ve been there,” Negan said. “The wandering is the worst part.”

“How did you stop? The wandering,” she clarified. 

“That is a long story, but I did end up in a place that’s not too far from here. You and your boy seem like good people and if I know them, which I do, then they will help you,” Negan said. 

“Why would they?” she asked. 

“Because,” Negan said, “they’re the kind of people that save people.”

--------

Negan found Milo not that long after. 

“Hey,” he said, joining the kid. Milo looked at him with worry, but Negan offered his hands in a placating gesture. “Don't worry, kid. I don't bite. Your mom, she's inside, packin', so we got a little bit of time to kill,” Negan said. 

“Where'd Brandon go?” Milo asked, looking around. 

“Brandon, he went looking for supplies,” Negan said and then sighed, not liking the taste of lies on his tongue. “You know what? I'm gonna be real with you. Uh, I told Brandon to get lost. You see, uh, it turns out, not the best co-pilot, if you catch my drift.” Milo looked at him in confusion. “You don't catch my drift at all, do ya?”

“Not really,” Milo admitted. 

“You've never been on a plane, huh?” Negan asked and Milo shook his head again. “Aw, man, it's alright. It's not your fault that God turned this world into an asspit before you were born. Alright. Picture this, alright? Sitting on a plane, really nice, comfy seats, but it feels like you've been sitting on the runway for Goddamn ever. Suddenly, there's this kinda rumbling, a groan, alright? The plane finally starts to creep along, right, and now we're moving faster and faster. And you look out that window, and everything's turning into a blur. And then, Whew. Wheels come up off the ground. You are flying,” he said with a smile. 

“Like birds?” Milo asked. 

“Hell yeah like birds,” Negan said. “Up and up and up, higher and higher, until it feels like you are floating on top of the frickin' world. And you're looking out that little window, and you can see houses. They look like little toy houses and little toy cars.”

“Sounds scary,” Milo said. 

“No scarier than the hissers,” Negan said, using the nickname Milo’s mom had used. “I hope you’ll be able to experience it someday.” 

“Me too,” Milo said. Negan smiled down at the kid, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Do you have kids?” 

“I don’t,” Negan said. “Though I do know a few and they are just as badass as you.”

“Are you married?” Milo asked, still curious.

“Not anymore,” Negan said, looking out over the dying world. “Though, I do have someone. Their name is (Y/N).”

“Where are they?” 

“Someplace safe,” Negan said. 

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“I gotta do something,” Negan explained. “Fix some things.”

“I get that,” Milo said, reaching over to pat Negan on the back, causing the latter to laugh.

“What is with you kids in this new world, you’re all so damn wise,” Negan said as he thought about Judith particularly. “Look, I told your mom about a place I know. They’ll help you and get you some food. They’re good people.”

“Are they your people?”

“A few are,” Negan said. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.” 

“Thank you for saving me and my mom,” Milo said and Negan smiled at him. 

“You are welcome, but if I don’t go and find some firewood, all three of us are gonna freeze tonight. Take care of your mom until I get back?” 

“I will,” Milo said. 

“Good man,” Negan teased as he got up and headed into the woods to hopefully find some warmth for the night.

------

Negan walked, grabbing wood as he found it, but it was taking too long and he needed to get back to Milo and his mother. 

As Negan began the trek back to the bus, a Walker shuffled out of the trees. Pulling the old knife that Brandon had given him, he let the Walker approach him. “You bastards just get more ugly by the day,” Negan grunted as it grabbed for him. Negan kicked out its legs and shoved his blade in the rotting skull. Kneeling down, Negan searched the Dead woman’s coat. He was hoping to find a lighter or matches, but what he found instead made him laugh. 

Inside her coat pocket was a broken hatchet. It looked as if she had hit something too hard with it and broke the handle. However, the blade was still intact and Negan could see dried blood in the etching. Holding the hatchet, he began to think about another hatchet-wielding maniac he once tousled with. 

“Look at me, Rick,” Negan said to the empty woods, “I’m trying to be the fuckin’ hero. If Carl could see me now…” Negan left the broken weapon behind as he hauled his firewood back into his arms and headed back to the kid and his mom. 

Negan walked with steady steps, ready to finally get some rest. However, as he approached the lot, something felt wrong. It was too quiet and as Negan turned the corner, the wood in his arms crashed to the ground. 

Laying in pools of their own blood, Milo and his mother were dead, their vacant eyes gazing up at the sky. Standing above them, holding a tire iron, was Brandon. The teen was beaming with pride as he looked at the man before him. Negan, however, was only seeing red as he saw the child’s body crumpled on the floor. 

“That's it, right?” Brandon asked. “You almost had me. Back on the bus, when you kicked me out. Then I remembered, This is Negan. He's always messing with people, keeping 'em in line.” Negan began to stalk towards Brandon, his body moving on its own accord. 

“So I realized there's a test,” Brandon continued. “‘It's gonna get a lot more dangerous from here on out.’ That's what you said to me. You wanted to make sure that I had the balls to do what had to be done. What do you think? I passed, right?” Brandon said with glee as he stared down at his victims. Negan bent over and picked up a large rock, weighing it in his hand as he approached the lunatic. “I am Neg‒” Brandon tried to finish as Negan swung and hit him over the head with the rock. 

Brandon went down hard, blood oozing from his head, but Negan had to finish the job. With a few more hits, the brain was damaged and Brandon was dead with no possibility of returning. The rage that he was feeling was too overwhelming. The mother was bad enough, but a child? Milo was as pure as they came. Brandon hadn’t killed them, he had stolen them and Negan wasn’t going to allow that. 

Blood was splattered on Negan’s clothes and face, but he kept moving. He grabbed Brandon’s bag, pulling out the black leather jacket. Taking it in his hands he admired it for just a moment before sliding it across his broad shoulders. 

The feel of the leather on his back was both familiar and terrifying. However, he knew it was needed and so, he zipped it up the way he used to and from the bag, pulled his new weapon. 

Lucille 2.0.

The menacing weapon felt familiar. She would never be what his original was, but she would do if he was going to pull off the performance of a lifetime. “Takin’ one for a team that would rather see me in a grave. Oh, how things have fuckin’ changed,” Negan said as he swung the bat up to his shoulder as he looked down at his newest victim. 

Negan raised his head, leaned into one of his legs and then headed towards his destination. A destination fenced with barbed wire. 

----------

“Alright, you sorry, rotten sacks of shit! What's a fella gotta do to get eaten around here?” Negan announced as he wandered through the darkness. Waiting until nightfall, Negan had prepared himself for what he was about to do.  

“What's the matter? Huh?” he continued. “Y'all scared of the Big Bad Wolf? Little pig, little pig! Let me in!” he yelled as he moved over the border and into Alpha’s territory, letting his voice travel. “And there you are!” Negan said as he finally noticed the Walkers and in the moonlight, blades appeared in some of their hands. “Oh, I am gonna huff. I am gonna puff. I am gonna blow your house all the way down!” 

Out of the darkness came a large shape and Negan immediately knew who it was. You had described him so much that Negan felt as if he practically knew the asshole. 

Beta. 

“Alright, you big-ass freak,” Negan said as he stared down Alpha’s right hand in the dark. With a deep breath and your face at the forefront of his mind, Negan gripped his new Lucille and grinned. “Here we go.”

TAGS: 

@lucillethings @cameronsails @stark-dreams @amaroho  @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @scootankle @ritajammer21 @writteriguess @tea-atfive @jennydehavilland @waspyyy @yespleasejayhalstead @hoemadegrace @writingdeadangel @huffledor-able541​ @pulplorrd​ @felicisimor​ 

#Negan imagine #negan x reader #negan x gn reader #twd #the walking dead imagnes #the walking dead #negan #savior sessions #walker words #negan x you #the walking dead fanfiction.

[sourbat]

Here’s a little ficlet I wrote today. Please give it a little glance, and let me know what you think :)

Summary: Nathan listens in on an intimate conversation and becomes increasingly jealous over it. 

Pair: Magnus/Toki 

Toki’s never been one to leave his door closed for long. Nathan is used to passing by the small room, sometimes at the earliest hours of the morning, and finds the door agape, lighting aglow and showing off the interworking of Toki’s short, erratic attention span. He’s seen Toki hunched at his desk, indulged in the time-consuming process of building model planes, and he’s seen Toki rolling all over the floor, tossing his controller and screaming at the television screen. There is Toki coloring, tossing his crayons against the wall and complaining about the mess he made with his stuffed animals. Front row seats to Toki rocking. Toki dissecting his actions figures. Toki purposefully breaking his things. There are nights where Toki frantically rearranges his room, and times where Nathan approaches the stretched light and hears the young man muttering, but often pitifully whining, in another language. There are cold, silent nights where the door is closed, and Nathan can still pick up the sounds of whimpers and stifled cries. There are instances where Nathan knocks, fewer where he enters and talks to the guy. Sometimes Nathan cleans. Picks up robots with missing legs, or ones that contain screws where they shouldn’t be. Most of the time, Nathan continues onward, leaving Toki to his devices.

It’s nearing one in the morning when Nathan’s throat tires, and concludes another successful night recording lines with Pickles. After they split, Nathan enters the familiar hallway that eventually leads to his room, and on his way, finds the long, dim light emitting from Toki’s bedroom. Like before, he thinks little of the dimly lit room, but notices a gentle sound emitting from it as he approaches.

Kid is sleep at the desk, he thinks when he catches something muffled, something that sounds like slow breathing. The thought to turn off the lamplight and let Toki sleep uninterrupted arises, and Nathan considers it as he reaches the room, figuring if the floor isn’t covered with too much crap, he’ll give Toki a break this time. His pace slows as he heads for the door, footsteps adjusting and soles rolling to muffle his sounds, and when he gets close, Nathan picks up on a conversation.

“…milks and apples?”

Toki’s talking. He’s whispering to someone. A conversation centered on food. 

Nathan readies his hand, already thinking to tell Toki it’s getting late, too late for a midnight snack, but a raspy chuckle stops him.

“Hold up, dude. We got one paragraph left.”   

It’s Magnus’ voice.

Nathan’s chest tightens, muscles instinctively bracing for an incoming attack that won’t happen. Magnus isn’t here, not really, but his mere presence taking the form of some voice over the phone is enough to make Nathan’s bottom jaw ache from the subconscious grind.

Nathan withdraws from the door, furthers himself away until he can barely register the conversation taking place. No, not a conversation. He picks up on Magnus’ voice, the solidity and clarity as he carefully pronounces each word. It’s a recital. It’s him narrating. It’s Magnus telling Toki the story of a bunch of dumb animals trying to run a farm, and in all likelihood, it’s also Magnus trying to induct Toki in his bullshit philosophy.

It’s a few sentences of Magnus gently concluding a chapter to a fatigued Toki, and by the time Nathan remembers the finer details, the windmill and Magnus ranting about how their country will end up in the same sad state as the farm, it’s over. There’s silence, the sounds of Toki shifting in his bed, and Nathan draws closer.

“Alright, we’re done with chapter 3. What do you think?”

A pause. Nathan worries Toki will confess to a lack of understanding, but then he suddenly speaks up. “Don’t thinks it ams fair the pigs gets all the apples.”

Another chuckle. “Well, I don’t think it’s fair either.”

A blanket kicks up. Something folds. The mattress groans. “I thinks all the animals should be sharins,” he hears Toki say into the phone.  

“I feel the same way, Toke.”

“Why didn’ts them pigs share, Magnus?”

A simple, but foolish question, Nathan thinks. It suggests more than a lack of understanding, but gives away that Toki doesn’t comprehend the deeper layers, and that this is just a story about talking animals for him. Nathan’s bottom lip curls inward as he relives a memory of Magnus lying on top of the sofa, pages held open with thumb and pinky. Magnus tells him of a dystopian future where everyone’s at the bottom, where there are worker bees and handful of queens at the very top. Metaphor after metaphor, and Magnus peeling off his jacket because he’s so excited, tongue tripping at the increasing velocity of his words.

Nathan remembers, and admired that side of Magnus. Magnus, who always had something to say, who unleashed a crashing wave of information that, although incomprehensible to Nathan, sounded good. The man had passion, to say the least. Only problem was him constantly trying to insert it, to force it into Nathan’s head, his thoughts and his message. Cram. Shove. Jam. Hammer it all in, and when none of it stuck, and Nathan never applied, Manus got mad. Grew cold, distant and resentful.

Poor Toki, Nathan thinks, and awaits Magnus’ vengeful attack on the kid’s lack of intelligence.

“Well... why do you think the pigs won’t share?”

The question takes Nathan by surprise. He almost second guesses, thinks maybe it was Toki who asked, but then hears Toki hum aloud and guess it’s because the pigs want to keep the good tasting food for themselves, which is why they lied in the first place. Nathan hears another chuckle, this one louder, and approving.

“So, you know they’re lying?”

There’s a giggle from Toki. “Ams not a very good excuse,” he says. Magnus agrees, tells Toki he’s on to something, and the compliment earns stupid little noise from Toki.  “I wonder if them animals will change their minds abouts them pigs…”

“You’ll have to wait later, man.”

“Oh, why nots now?”

“My break ends in about five,” Magnus replies. Nathan hears the disappointing sigh emitting from Toki. He hates to hear it. He hates knowing the rise it gives Magnus knowing Toki wants him to continue reading. The silence in the air hangs low, affecting everyone. “We’ll talk more about apples and the farm later, when you’re awake, alright?”

“Oh, okays.” More blankets shift as Toki nears the phone. Or maybe he’s holding on to the phone. Nathan has his back to the wall, eyes looking away from the light, from the intimate scene he never should’ve listened in on. “I likes the story so far. Even though them pigs ams kinda fishy, the horses and other animals ams nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Strange to hear his voice so soft, so gentle and accepting of another man’s limitations. Even weirder to hear Magnus compliment the horse. Last he remembered, Magnus hated the horse. Nathan grimaces at yet another memory that dared to rise from his personal, repressed storage. He crushes it before it can take form, but Nathans still wonders where the hell was this version of Magnus 17 years ago?

“Well, time’s almost up.”

“Thanks you for readins to me,” Toki chirps. Magnus tells the kid no problem, and Nathan silently gags at the sound Toki makes. A loud, audible smack. He’s kissing the damn phone. Really, Toki? “G’night, Magnus.” 

“Sweet dreams, Toki.”

Nathan stares out, mind dwelling on the conversation. Where’s the damn cross comparison, the conspiracy and literary theories, and that long rave about how ignorant Toki was for not considering the “bigger picture?” Why wasn’t Magnus mad at Toki for asking such a dumb question? Why was it that he got yelled at for not understanding Magnus, for crushing his vision, for not appreciating his contribution and message, but Toki gets to be read to, gets to ask stupid questions and earns warm appraisals for coming up with half-assed responses? Where is the fairness in that?

Nathan blinks, and realizes it’s silent. The air is still and lacking the warm glow from before, and the stone wall pressed against his back emits its solid, unforgiving chill. The light in Toki’s room is off, and was likely turned off the moment the call ended, and now it’s just him, standing alone in the dark, obsessed over the memory of a man who no longer existed. 

Nathan hangs his head low. No fair. I at least knew it wasn’t about animals.

#magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #nathan explosion #magtok #hammertooth #implied magnate??? #metalocalypse #fanfic #needs editing

[outoftimewriting]

Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids (6/7) or (11/12)

House of Hades Pt.2 - In the Argo II

Hello darlings! Before reading this, there's at least other 11 parts - and I almost had to divide this into two - check on the masterpost - but don't be sad is ending :(

First - I have no idea if I'll divide Blood of Olympus in two because I hate the climax Rick wrote - so probably? Also not sure if I'll need an epilogue - we're not delving into TOA, though.

Second - I'll keep writing! I have a handful of ideas that I want to do next - and the next AU will have Female! Percy - so keep logging in!

Check on the warnings before proceeding, and good reading :))

To say that things are tense in the Argo II is downplaying the major depression the ship seemed to be sunk in since Perseus fell.

Leo and, surprisingly, Nico are the only ones who are able to get anything done in the first couple of days, but they aren't fooling anyone - the white eyes of the son of Zeus seem to be every day a little more bloodshot, and more than one fire happens without no explanation.

Annabeth didn't stop crying for a second - even throughout Will's examination of her and her brother - for at least 12 hours. Then she crashed for another 12 hours - and when Annabeth woke up, she was enraged.

She is going to bring the damned statue back to Camp - and then she will kick her mother's ass. That's her best friend, not collateral damage.

And when her dumbass of a best friend comes back, Annabeth is going to kick his ass too. How dare he fall - for her, not even his closest friend - into freaking Tartarus?

Frank is devastated - he and Piper are coping by planning the future - how they can spend the summer at Camp and live in Nova Roma, how they'll visit Perseus if he decides to go to college in the mortal world. It feels a little like denial.

Hazel and Jason are coping in the totally opposite way. Where Leo and Nico are fueling themselves with determination, Annabeth is anger personified and the other two went in the road of negation - they're both in a deep state of panic.

The sea became too dangerous to travel - the tides answering to Jason's turbulent emotions - and any metal on board keeps exploding or becoming so fueled with energy that no one but Nico and Hazel can touch it.

They pray together - for Neptune, Jupiter, Pluto, Letum, any god that Perseus ever helped (a lot of them) - for his protection. Jason holds evening prayers - just like in Nova Roma - and they offer anything, everything, for Percy to be alive. Everyone goes.

Except for Will, who is in a whole other league. The moment that he arrived at Camp, Percy was the one to settle him, and calm him, and take care of him. It was a side of him no other person in this ship had ever seen - Nico got in Camp in the worst timing possible, and all the others were pretty independent when they met Perseus.

But Will remembers - the nights with hot chocolate, Percy's warm sweaters, a pair of blue gloves messing his hair, the anxiety when the boy left for school, just for him to keep IMing Will every evening - and he misses Percy.

After the Labyrinth, the war, the losses, they reconnected - the prejudices against Percy's parentage long gone - and it felt like nothing ever changed.

It was Percy who helped him coming out for his mother. It was Percy that held Will after he lost Sibele - a daughter of Momus - to her injuries. It was Percy, always Percy.

Percy is much more of a father then Apollo - and much better as a brother then some of Will's siblings. So Will just locks himself up in his infirmary - and grieves. It's weird in such a hard mission to remember that Will is just fifteen and that he is a veteran of war.

The mood lingers, even when they start fighting regularly against the Apennines - and isn't this a whole other mess.

The mountain spirits are pissed - because Hades/Pluto and his wife are really pissed. It's Malcolm - the only one with a phone and a good connection to the internet - that tells them that the world started having earthquakes every few days.

The mortals are confused because most of these are not even close to the tectonic plates - and none of those cause turmoil at the sea. It's just Hades - mightly pissed his only son is beyond even his reach.

Three days in fighting the Ourae - who don't like having their mountains shaken over and over again - the sky also starts thundering. Coincidentally, it's July 30th - they've been traveling for twenty-two days - which also marks Thesmophoria - the greek festival of harvest.

But, alas, nothing is blooming. Persephone is as dangerous as her husband - and Demeter seems to follow her daughter's lead. With the Earth corrupted - the crops aren't growing.

Jason doesn't blame his matron - he is not really happy himself. Besides praying for Perseus' safety, he spends most of his days in patrol against boulders and rocks of all things.

Leo barely sleeps - too busy keeping the ship from falling apart - and Nico is, most of the time, right behind him keeping the ship steady. They try using canons and fail miserably. There's no way to fight against mountains - it's like Dom Quixote fighting against the windmills.

The others, even Will, rotate between fighting rocks and sleeping. Four days after Thesmophoria, Leo decides it's enough, turns the ship around, and solves to not cross the Apennines.

He just hopes Perseus can last another seven days.

Hazel - the only one awake, because this is supposed to be her patrol and Leo finds her the most reasonable out of all their friends, who would probably insist on keep fighting the freaking mountains - is praying. Like always.

Leo doesn't know how he feels about praying. His extended family was very catholic - they prayed for a god that they couldn't see or touch. But Leo met the gods - or, if Annabeth is to be believed, one set of them - and he doesn't like them.

They're petty children who have no care for the fate of their children - the ones who fight for them, go on their errands, keep them alive, y'know. Leo doesn't want to praise them. He doesn't think they deserve it.

But Hazel's prayers are answered when her venti, Tempest, appears aboard. Hazel tells Leo to go on without her - she'll be back soon.

He is concerned for her - like always. Of all new people, Leo seems to be the closest to her - his overall cheeriness and electric behavior are endearing to her, a light in these dark times. Sometimes, his smile makes her flush - just like Frank's did and still does.

Hazel mounts Tempest and the venti takes her, through mountains and hills, to a door. There's mist curling at her ankles and a chill in her spine.

She isn't very thrilled by meeting Trivia - Hazel heard stories of her greek son by Perseus, who seemed to hold the guy in high standard, but she knows gods. The goddess of magic wants something.

Trivia is an imposing woman - taller than Hazel, she has the same midnight skin as Perseus, though hers looks purple-ish, and her eyes are entire universes - stars bloom in her irises and twin moons rise in her pupils.

The goddess is fickle - she seems to be there and not, at the same time. Ghostly. There's three of them, then one, then five.

Trivia beacons to the daughter of Jupiter and she follows, the cursed little girl she is. The goddess offers her three options: Perseus, prone in the ground as she, Leo, and Annabeth battle an invisible foe, the two demigod installments at war, or the Argo II.

Hazel chooses the Argo II, but she promises herself, and the goddess, that she will save Perseus, and that no demigod blood will be spilled by other demigod's hand. Not again.

She will learn how to control the Mist. But Trivia is very mistaken if she thinks Hazel is going to become her acolyte. She remembers well what happened last time - she died.

The Argo II is traveling without much hassle - when they're crossing Monte Falterona, in the Campigna National Park, they are attacked by a new mountain spirit - and this one talks.

"Get Pluto his brat back, you useless halflings!"

Like the boulders the immortal is throwing at them will help. Leo screams this back at the mountain, who is not impressed at all.

Their next foe is in San Marino - a chimera. Most popular knowledge is wrong about those monsters: chimeras are not just goat-lion-snake mixes. They are an amalgamation of any three or more animals.

This one, in particular, is a very... candid mix of a Pyrenean chamois, a monk-seal, a mouflon, and a goose. Not very lethal or hazardous - just very angry. It's the first time they hear Annabeth laugh since Perseus fell.

While Malcolm is chasing and being chased around by an evil goat-goose-seal-weirdass deer chimera that he is fending off with an encyclopedia, the others can't even bring themselves to help. It's ridiculous - the thing is not even big. It's just ugly and it sounds like a honking clown.

Eventually, they get around to killing the clown chimera - it honks as it vanishes - and following route to Bologna. Frank tries to mutate to the chimera during the travel - to different levels of failure - which makes everyone laugh.

Thanks to their two encounters, the crew gets to Bologna at two in the afternoon.

Frank can't help counting the days as they pass him by. He is not the only one - he can see Annabeth muttering the time every now and then - but it feels like a countdown. Can Perseus survive one more week in Tartarus?

Even with the pressing worry for his lost friend, he can't stop thinking about Hazel and Leo. The two of them are thick as thieves - and Frank wants in.

But he knows it's wrong - Leo is a boy. Hazel is younger. Leo bares a power that could kill him. Hazel is his best friend. They're two people. - but he sees them flirting and can't keep his eyes to himself.

It's wrong. Soldiers aren't supposed to date men. Men who dated men are prostitutes, entertainers. Less. And two people at the same time? Outside of a bedroom? Preposterous.

Frank wishes he was more like Perseus. Perseus is all about duty: he would eventually marry Reyna. Or Annabeth, or other pretty and intelligent warrior, and have two point five kids with a picket fence.

But no. Here he is - midday, they are stopping for lunch, and he can't keep his eyes off Leo and Hazel - who are quietly chatting in the other end of the long table.

Frank ponders what would they think. Would the two be repulsed? Would they laugh at him? He can deal with laughter. Their disgust, however, would cut his heart in half.

Nico is in a very similar, and yet completely different, situation. He has been in love - or as close as love could be when you never dated the person - with Perseus Jackson.

He knows it's okay to be gay - he is friends with Will and Jake. He lives on CHB since he was a pre-teen. Perseus himself was - is - queer.

But the thing is, he'll never have a chance with him. Not the chance he is longing for gods know how long. He failed Perseus yet again - he let the demigod fall.

Perseus can have anyone. Perfect Annabeth Chase, Shrewd Reyna Arellano, Magic Alabaster Torrington, anyone. And he wouldn't have a problem with that - no. The problem is that he can't make a choice. Because he is in Tartarus.

Because Nico. Let. Him. Fall.

He isn't even sure if he let Perseus fall on purpose. A part of his mind knew someone would have to go. It was always meant to be Perseus. Did he purposefully let him go?

The rational part of his mind knew that if he tried to fly them off, all he would accomplish is falling into Tartarus with Perseus, probably dragging Annabeth with them.

But the guilt creeps into his heart - again, yet again, Perseus suffers for something he did or failed to do. He can't sleep. He doesn't know how anyone can eat.

A rock for him in these difficult times has been Jason. The son of Neptune seems to be as affected as Hazel or Annabeth - but Nico would never be able to rely on them.

Hazel has her own problems - a lot of them since Trivia appeared - and Annabeth is a painful reminder of everything Nico is unable to have.

Jason, however, is different. They had dreams of each other - something about their conquests, Nico didn't pay attention - and that apparently brought them close. Jason, differently from Annabeth, isn't a competition. He isn't vying for Percy's attention and love.

He is just a close friend - like Nico pretends to be most of the time - incredibly worried about the son of Hades. Nico would tell Jason about how he feels - but the militar roman's sensibilities might not be adjusted to the greeks' freedom yet.

Nico, however, is also not the only one with heart problems. Piper finds himself entranced by Annabeth Chase - even when she knows, she knows because of her powers, that Annabeth is painfully straight.

And Piper knows it's not love - it's the heat of the upcoming war and the hormones of being cooped up with just other teenagers for twenty days. She sees the blossoms of young lovers everywhere.

The yearning between Leo, Hazel, and Frank; Nico and Jason unconsciously sharing long-term crushes on Perseus; Will missing Jake and his parental figure;

She wishes she was more like Malcolm. Malcolm is asexual - besides being the only other transexual person on board.

Before this war spiked from nothing, the boy was just back from his mission for Hermaphroditus - a two-month search for a missing choker. He is still adapting to his body - it's bigger and broader and he doesn't have to wear a binder. Piper thinks it's amazing - he tells her it isn't that easy.

It's not a slow transition. One second your body is something - and then it isn't. One morning, the demigod caught him holding a red binder in his hands. Sometimes, she sees a shot of testosterone tucked in his pocket.

One day, he was a boy stuck in a girl's body. Then, he wasn't anymore. He has the body he dreamed of for forever - and it's difficult accepting it. Malcolm tells her is not exactly body dysphoria - is just difficult to conciliate.

Piper thinks after this, she'll get her body. After all of this, she deserves it - her body, all hers, with boobs and a killer jawline. Maybe then, it'll be easier to like girls as well. Maybe then, she'll shave half of her head and get a piercing. And maybe, a couple of tattoos.

But while this doesn't happen, she is whining to her asexual friend about her crush in his sister. Malcolm crushes her with logic - "Annabeth has only shown interest in men. She might be bi or pan or even a lesbian, but the odds aren't on your favor" - and she tries to put the blonde out of her mind.

Lunch, however, is a little ridiculous for her. As a daughter of love herself, that table is such a mess of yearning and pining and infatuations.

Malcolm seems to be the only rational - but even he is a little flushed. Piper totally saw that picture of Mitchell in his drawer last week.

She couldn't blame him really - her brother is hot. All demigods are - in very different ways of course, but their godly blood made them more or less otherworldly compared to mortals. Didn't matter their ethnicity, their gender, if they're disabled or not - they are all hot.

Piper, however, doesn't spend all her time freaking over hot people. She is a teenager with a friend who has a good connection to the internet, so she does that a lot - but most of her time these days is looking at Katoptris.

She's waiting for a vision of Perseus. Anything - just proof that he is alive, that he hasn't curled in a ball on whatever is the ground down there and went mad.

It doesn't come. She is looking at this ridiculous lunch table, eating vegetarian burgers, and waiting. Just as it seems like her dagger starts glowing gold - two monkey twins sweep down and steal it. And Leo's tool belt and Archimedes' Sphere.

Piper is really pissed. She wants this mission to end - she wants to find Perseus and stop Gaea, and that's her magical item. It's important. So she and Leo go after the twin monkeys.

Using one of the armory's javelin - for lack of a better option - they sprint over roofs and marketplaces. Bologna is a beautiful city - but they have no time.

They corner the twin monkeys, get their things back - and some things pertaining to a god of harvest - Triptolemus. Perhaps if they make an offer to him, Demeter and Persephone will be more cooperative. Maybe Persephone will be able to calm her husband.

Piper really doubts it. If she learned anything in the nineteen days she traveled with Perseus, is that he calls Persephone "Kore" or "Mater". The only other person he refers to with such open childish joy is his own mother, Sally.

The guy IMed both of them twice a week - enough that Piper knows their voices. While Hades isn't high in the demigod's list of people, his wife seemed to be at least number #2.

But they go back to the ship and relay their plan anyway. They set route to Venice. In the hour that it takes them to get there, they're delayed twice: once by the personification of River Ádige - which enabled them to pass until Jason helped with a small problem - and then by a couple of ventis - which Hazel sent off.

Frank, Annabeth, Hazel and Nico venture into the drowned city - Piper declines to go, saying that she is waiting for Katoptris to cooperate - being Nico the only one who actually speaks Italian in the ship.

The city is infested with anteater-like herbivorous monsters called katoplebones, which are pointedly not from the Greek pantheon. It's pretty rare for monsters to cross pantheons - and the Egyptians are pretty good in keeping them under lock and key - but sometimes, this happens.

They aren't capacitated to deal with those. Annabeth has half a mind to call the Kanes and demand an explanation. Pretty sure they were possessed by the gods to avoid this kind of situation.

She doesn't have much time to think - Hazel is quickly overwhelmed by the poisonous breath of the cows. Of course - is there anything in Egypt that isn't connected to snakes?

They find Triptolemus - who is not thrilled with their presence. Demeter - his mistress - and her daughter are distraught by Perseus' missing status - and he blames Annabeth and Nico for it.

Annabeth tries to persuade him - after all, they have Jason on board, and he is blessed by Ceres. Triptolemus - a very greek god - is not swayed.

"Your trickster words shall not fool me, daughter of Athena."

That's how Annabeth became a rosemary bush - good for memory and brainpower. Nico, when he tried to fight back, became a corn crop.

Mars is whispering in Frank's mind - he is not really fond of his father but uses his help to kill the evil Egyptian cows and get a python for the god's chariot.

He can't let Hazel die. He can't see the light go off her eyes - to see the same pain reflected in Leo's eyes. But Frank is so using Nico's stunt as a corn plant as blackmail material later. Not with Annabeth thought - she would stab him.

Triptolemus, pleased, turns Nico and Annabeth back to human and heals Hazel. Then, he tells them they have to eat barley cakes - so they can survive the poison needed to enter the house of the dead.

Proceeding south down the Adriatic toward Greece, a journey that should take about half a day, the crew of the Argo II is first accosted in Koper - a city on the coast of Slovenia - by four monocerus in the middle of the night.

Monocerus, in Leo's very succinct explanation, are "evil unicorns with big feet that can't fly and shouldn't be in a flying ship".

Whoever, the monsters apparently don't care where they should or not be - and Annabeth - still reeling for her time as rosemary - takes two of them out, keeping the horns as a prize. Nico takes one, who is so beat that leaves nothing, and Malcolm kills one with a handgun.

It's not the most practical weapon, because celestial bronze is not that easy to fabricate/find/obtain - so to use it in bullets that will explode and render it unusable it's kind of a desperate - but it's the first thing he could get - Malcolm's double tessen was being repaired by Leo.

Because yes - not only was the twenty years old able to fight with normal blades, he also fights with freaking fans made of iron.

After the run-in with the evil unicorns - Annabeth looks really cool covered in gold blood and curved silver horns in her hands - they proceed across Croatia.

It goes well for about thirty minutes - in Zadar, they cross paths with Sciron. Sciron is a bandit and outlaw, who - for some reason, is assisted by a giant predatory sea turtle.

While Hazel tricks him into throwing himself off the cliff using her new-discovered Mist, Jason talks to the turtle. It says its name is Chelone - that it's the turtle who took Aphrodite Ourania from the depths of the sea to the shores of Cythera - when she was still young, with remains of other goddesses in her anima - Innana and Ishtar.

He convinces the turtle to stop killing people - mainly by saying that he should hunt elsewhere, deeper onto the sea. It may become a problem for his father, but Jason has bigger issues right now.

They go to sleep, and Hazel dreams. She expects any god to come - but who comes to her is none other than Pluto and his wife, Proserpina.

Proserpina is shrouded in black, and her eyes are not green - but yellowish, like dead leaves. She talks - and tells Hazel that the Doors of Death are in the bottom of the Necromanteion - her powers over metal energy would guide her - and will be guarded by Pasiphae, vengeful of Pluto - and, by default, Perseus - for the lack of punishment for Minos.

Her husband is a silent presence by her side. He is not in mourning... probably. It's difficult to tell, as he is always in black. But his eyes hold a weight easy for Hazel to understand - he just lost a son to the abyss. No matter that Perseus might be alive - he wouldn't get back whole and safe.

Proserpina ends her dream by telling her to wake up Piper - the goddess is putting all her strength to send a vision of Perseus to Katoptris - they need one much more than her, seeing that they are able to interfere.

What Piper sees don't tell them a lot - Perseus seems mostly okay, with some sort of companion that Nico says it might be Iapetus, a brand new scar over his face and a bad limp.

It's the last they'll see of him until their eventual meeting face to face, but it gives them hope.

Annabeth herself has a dream - a dream that the Romans give the statue to the greeks. She sends an iris message to Rachel - so she can meet personally with Reyna.

Reyna, on the other side of the world, mounts her pegasus, Scipio, and leaves. Not only her co-praetor is in freaking Tartarus, but they are on the verge of two simultaneous wars. They need peace.

As soon as she is out of the roman range, however, she sends an iris message to Jason - telling him to go to their hero's place of rest - she had a vision from Mars. That she will meet them in Greece. Jason tells Leo to set course for Split, in Croatia. There's a roman scepter there.

Of all of them, the most capacitated for this mission are Frank and Jason, who are both educated Romans, and Nico, who can fly - a very good power to have in unstable ruins.

They're confronted by Favonious, who takes them to his master, Cupid, in Dalmatia. Nothing good can come of talking to the personification of love - such an old concept that the god has been reborn twice.

"Well, well, well"

"What do we have here?"

Jason falls onto the ground - "You think you found true love, haven't you? But alas, I was where you last expected me" - and he hates love, for that single moment.

"I shall give you what you want, Romans, if each of you is able to tell me - who do you love the most?"

Nico trembles - guilt is a difficult pill to swallow - and Frank visibly wants to bolt out of there.

"Oh, are you afraid? But there's no hiding in the face of true love"

Jason - always the brave one - gives a look at Frank. His friend never met the greeks. He might hate Jason after this.

But they need this scepter.

"Perseus Jackson"

Two heads whips in his direction - one unbelievingly, and the other distressed.

"Ah, love crafted in dreams - the perfect mix between me and my wife. Tell me, Jason Grace, was it bad when he looked upon you and saw naught but a myth?"

A laugh creeps upon Jason's spine, and he turns around. His blade hits something hard, and he is on the floor again.

"Such luck, to be able to even graze love. Perhaps yours is the purest of all - not yet tainted by failures and mistakes. On that note, why don't you go next, Nico di Angelo?"

Nico shivers - he... they have no time for that. That is unnecessary drama - to cause unnecessary problems.

A memory rushes to the front of Jason's mind - that quick chat with Reyna in Nova Roma. "The blond girl, Di Angelo"

Nico loves Perseus. It rushes to Jason now - the way that the younger boy stared adoringly at the son of Hades. The drunkness of his lovesick gaze. The despair when Perseus fell.

"Tell them Nico di Angelo" Cupid prompts "Tell them all about your guilt, your mistakes, the way you let him down, again and again, and again."

Nico floats a little off the ground. It's years of pain and sorrow that won't bring Perseus back.

"Will you fly off yet again, in the face of rivalry? Will you be my next servant - just like Favonious, consumed by jealousy, Nico di Angelo?"

Jason sees the memories. Nico screaming at Perseus. Grover reluctantly telling him about their adventures. The way he betrayed Percy - and a dozen more scenes he never saw from Nico's perspective, only Percy's, that made him unable to speak.

"It's okay Nico... I.... I get it."

It's painful to utter these words - it's almost like he is giving up Perseus. But they have a war to get through - and then, when the other demigod is back, they can figure this out.

"P-Perseus Jackson"

And then it's Frank's turn. But Frank is as pale as a ghost - he seems to be close to vomiting.

"It's a costly thing isn't it, looking at the true face of love. Now it's the turn of the brave son of Mars. Will you tell your friends easily, or shall you be a coward like the son of Zeus?"

Frank doesn't talk. Jason doesn't understand why - it's Hazel, isn't it? Is it because of Nico? He mentions talking to the son of Zeus, but Di Angelo doesn't look at him - the Cupid knew very well how to play his game.

"Come on. Tell them - tell them of whom you think before you sleep and who dominates your first thoughts every morning."

"You don't scare me"

"Oh, I scare you very, very much. Face me. Be honest."

"H-Hazel. Levesque."

"That's just half my question, little half-blood. If you want to lead the roman legions, you must answer it fully."

"I love H-Hazel. She is the one I think before I sleep and when I wake up."

"Still hiding. You're not strong enough, Frank Zhang."

Frank tries to charge at the wind, but it just mocks him. It's weird seeing Frank crying - it looks like the world is crumbling at his feet.

Jason, yet again, doesn't understand. Nico is also confused - he looks between the Romans as if he never saw any of them before. But then it dawns on the son of Zeus.

"Not only my sister. That's why you keep gazing at them, isn't it?"

All the fighting and denial leave Frank at once. His sword clangs in the ground.

"I love both Hazel and Leo. Together." He spits out, still trembling. "That's the truth. Are you happy now?"

"I wouldn't say Love always makes you happy. It can make you incredibly sad, sometimes. But you have faced it now. It's the only true way to conquer me."

Cupid appears - in a flash of white wings. It might be the god Jason hates the most - his eyes seem to penetrate his very soul. There's a scepter in his hand.

"Only a true child of Mars Ultor can yield it. It's your destiny, Frank Zhang."

Then he promptly disappears. The demigods look at each other - there's a flurry of emotions deep inside their chests. Frank looked at both of them, waiting for an attack, or for them to start fighting.

"No one has to know" He starts "I'm s-so-..."

He doesn't end. There are copious tears rolling through his face - his cheeks are a deep shade of red. A sob escapes his throat.

"P-please, p-pleased-don't t-te-tell anyone." Frank sobs, and it's such a jarring sight that both Nico and Jason rally to reassure him, leaving their own issues aside.

"There's nothing wrong with loving two people at once. No one will have a problem with it, Frank - fuck, this isn't Nova Roma. Most of us are greek."

"Hazel would hate me though. This is unnatural- I- I can't."

"You don't know that. Hazel loves you, Frank"

But the son of Mars just keeps crying until they both promise not to tell another soul what they saw. It's enough for the weird atmosphere to return.

Midway in the trek back to the ship - a six-hour walk - Nico is too riled up to safely fly with two people and none of them being too fond of air right now - Frank summons enough power to ask the question.

"So... uh... hm... Perseus?... like, uh, I can see the appeal-... but... both?... forget I asked, just....uh oh, sorry."

Jason and Nico pointedly avoid looking at each other. It's very bizarre - Jason knows a lot about Perseus, but now he knows Perseus also from Nico's perspective - and this is all messy.

They go back to the ship, relay to Annabeth that they got the scepter, and immediately go back to their cabins - to cry, to scream, to think.

It's been a day and a half - and they're still eleven hours off Epirus. Leo is pissed - because not only their three heavy-hitters are pissed at something and won't communicate, and they're of course.

Emerging from the infirmary for something other than to eat and mend people is finally Will - at least. He takes patrol in place of Nico - the boy quietly mumbled at his friend that they had a run-in with Cupid. Will can imagine how that went.

He doesn't have a clue about Frank - but Jason and Nico? They have the same long-lasting crush on Perseus - everyone on board knows that. Except, apparently, for each other. And Perseus - because his mentor/kind of brother/bother figure is a dumbass.

When they're passing through the coast of Albany, they're attacked by Khione - who is still very pissed her ex-lover's son doesn't want to spend eternity frozen with her. Leo ends up being sent away - for the distress of both Hazel and Frank and the anger of his best friends, Piper and Jason.

Piper ends up stabbing Khione - while Frank transforms into the giant dragon and burns her - making her unable to freeze them. Eventually, she runs away.

Leo, however, wakes up on an island. There's a sad girl at his side - she is using a modern blue dress, and there's a crown of black flowers upon her head.

"You were not the one I was expecting."

The son of Hephaestus wants to scream. Well, he didn't want to be whatever here is either! But her face is so sad - her gaze down to her bare feet. She seemed to be crying. He settles for asking who is her.

"I... I am sorry. My name is Calypso. This is Ogygia."

It startles him. Mainly because he has heard this name before around camp - wasn't she supposed to be freed?

"What happened to you?"

The immortal girl relays her tale - how she got freed for a year, and then the war started. The gods - Zeus - didn't trust her not to turn against them. So they locked her up - she was not the only one. Leto, Themis, Rhea - good titans or their offspring. Locked away.

She, after a year of freedom that Perseus got her, was back into her old shackles. Calypso is waiting for him for months now - but she thinks he forgot her.

So Leo tells her what happened - the bits he knows anyway. Juno/Hera, Nova Roma, the mission. Calypso seems calmer. They stay together for a while - friends it seems.

Calypso tells him about her year - about how she wanted to explore the world. She tells him she wanted to join Artemis' hunt - but, courtesy of Odysseys, she is no maiden.

He tells her about Hazel and Frank, Perseus, and the love hexagons he doesn't even know he is in - omitting the part that he is now in Tartarus. They talk about Festus - Calypso tells him about how his father is good to hear - how he came to visit, sometimes.

A week passes, maybe a week and a half. Leo vows to take Calypso off the island once the war ends, and she believes - once, a hero as brave as Leo made her the same promise, and stuck with it through the end.

In Cancun, Africa, Jason and Nico are having daily audiences with Auster, the Roman god of the south wind, in connection with the Seven being able to proceed on their way to Epirus - seeing that their ship is all broken and they have no Leo.

Auster is indolent and seems increasingly disinclined to cooperate with Jason and Nico: he dislikes the son of Zeus, and the wind never had a good relationship with the sea. Annabeth also tries her hand at it - but it's rebuffed at every turn. Piper is prohibited from entering the palace because of her magic voice.

Jason and Nico - even though they aren't speaking to each other - have for a long time admitted they don't fit completely at either camp. Jason is still too militar for CHB. Nico is too old for CHB. Both are too free with their personal lives for Nova Roma.

Auster agrees to meet with them and tells them to commit to one side - greek or roman. They deny it - they're both. The gods are both, they have been thrust in a war of both sides, they commune with gods on both aspects and they ask them to run errands for both pantheons. They have the right to be both.

Auster is not happy with this - mainly because he believes they should keep the sides separated. But it's the first time Nico and Jason agree on something - and they fight together for it. No god has the right to define those petty things when the demigods are fighting their war.

Auster merges with his greek counterpart Notus - an amalgamation of both his carefree and his militar side - and sends The Seven on their way when coerced by the threat of a hurricane and a typhoon.

He sends them to Valletta, Malta, where they find the Argo II fully repaired and in the harbor. In the port, on a small cafe, there's Leo - sitting and raging internally against the gods, who once again, fucked up something.

They trade stories, and Leo just rages more. He isn't sure how Perseus didn't ally himself with Kronos in the first war if that was the bullshit he had to deal with every day.

First Khione, then Zeus locking Calypso up, then this Notus guy - they are a week and a half late. Is Perseus still alive after nineteen days in the Pit? Is he sane? Did he tried to get out - and they weren't there?

It's with a shocking gasp from Annabeth that they realize that Perseus's birthday is in three days. They have been traveling together for thirty-seven days now - and they have to get Perseus out of Tartarus before the 18th, at least. Is the minimum.

It takes them a day to get to Epirus. There are enough monsters in their way to start a menagerie - Gaea is actively trying to stall them, so there must be a reason. Perseus might be alive.

Arriving at the Necromanteion, which they learn is just a very fancy name for catacombs, Hazel, Frank, Leo, Annabeth, Will, and Piper descend into the ruins, leaving Nico and Jason - who are both completely useless under the earth - behind with Malcolm - who, since Arachne, is pretty much claustrophobic.

They eat the barley cakes to protect themselves against the toxic potion they must drink in order to enter the temple. It's difficult to swallow poison - it burns as it goes down.

The mist tries to confuse them at every turn - Hazel diverts it. Her power over metal energy guides them - she can feel the basis of the building, way down where they are.

Katoptris burns in Piper's hand. It shows her Perseus' face - he looks cadaveric, shrouded in death. Sometimes he flickers, like a ghost - but he is alive, and heading to the Doors just like they are.

It's enough to spur them forward. Perseus is doing the same journey - from a much difficult side. They will meet in the middle.

Earthquakes strike the caverns, making part of the floor collapse. In a side, Piper and Will, surrounded by monsters in all sides. In the other, Frank, Leo, Hazel and Annabeth. The son of Mars doesn't think twice - the scepter.

He uses the Scepter of Diocletian to summon ghostly Roman soldiers, and as a Legatus Legionis, he does have the power to command all of them. It would be more controlled if he was Praetor, but the actual Praetor is Perseus, and so, in his absence, Frank will have to do.

The tunnel collapses. Hazel. Leo. They might be dead - but Frank can't panic right now. They are alive. They will protect each other, they have Annabeth Chase with them. Hazel controls the mist - everything will be just fine.

Anger grew in his chest. Those are his friends, his... his loved ones. This freaking ruin don't get to kill them before Frank summons enough courage to submit himself to the ridiculousness of telling them.

Hazel wants to cry - they left Frank behind. He might be dead - they might be all dead. Leo isn't much better. For all that Zhang seems to hate him, his infatuation with the Canadian never disappeared.

Annabeth however, is practical. She tells them Frank will be fine - the guy can transform into a dragon. Or a chimera. Probably a poisonous one, after the stunt in Venice. He has an army - it's okay.

Pasiphae is a bitch. Leo hates the woman - she reminds him of Aunt Rosa. Or Juno. Or Lady Muddy herself. He and Annabeth let Hazel do the majority of the talking - but both of them bristle as the Doors shake.

An unauthorized presence. Perseus actually did it - they have twelve minutes, in accord to Annabeth - who Leo knows better than to doubt - to open the Doors. Or he is dead, lost forever.

"It's a pity Gaea needs a son of the Earth and a daughter of the Sea... But none of you are children of the Underworld or the ocean, are you? Not even the acolyte of Trivia."

Everything indicates that she'll open the door herself - but Annabeth can't risk she whisking Perseus away to Gaea before they can reach him. So she sneaks past with her cap while they fight.

Pasiphae goes down to Hazel's illusions. Annabeth opens the Doors, before cutting the chains as Hazel and Leo distract Clytius. Perseus stumbles out, a giant tiger in his heels.

Leo didn't think he would ever see a harsher picture. The tall boy was still muscular - but gaunt as if he hadn't eaten since the fall. There were scars everywhere.

He couldn't look more - Clytius is threatening Perseus, but both Annabeth and the tiger stay in his way. Trivia appears - but they aren't truly winning until Piper, Will, and Frank are able to reach them through Hazel's magic.

Will goes immediately to Perseus' side - there's panic in his eyes. Leo can't see much this far - he hopes the son of Hades isn't dead. Piper and Frank fight alongside them. Annabeth is still hovering protectively over her best friend's prone body.

There's not much need for help - between Hazel and Trivia, the bulk of Clytius powers are unusable. The shared power of Piper (love is never where you expect it), Frank (and his undead soldiers), a very angry Annabeth, and Leo is just overkill.

They win. Will is feeding Perseus ambrosia - there's something really wrong because there are tear tracks in the blonde's face. Leo comes closer - their friends follow.

Perseus is destroyed. He looks like he has been through hell - there's a scar crossing his face and his eyes are sunken in. But that's not where it stops.

Leo's gaze goes down, to the ragged clothes that are barely recognizable - the sweatpants he was convinced to wear to go underground, the once-green sweater - and sees what is missing.

Where Perseus' leg once was, there's a metal one. The boy is curled in the fetal position - his metal leg sticks out like a sore thumb, and it looks like he might cry if he wasn't so dehydrated. The tiger nudges its head against the boy's leg and growls at them, but it doesn't attack.

"I... I can't touch him. I touched him and he started panicking... I... We have to take him back to the ship. He is stable, but..."

Frank picks up Perseus in a bride-carry - a month ago, he wouldn't be able to do it. But now, he is stronger - and Perseus must weight ninety pounds wet.

The tiger follows - when they cross to the daylight, they can see it's not a normal tiger. Annabeth - with a distraught look in her face - tells them it's a skeleton tiger. Probably a saber-tooth.

They go back on board - Piper goes up to call Nico, so he can fly Perseus into the ship. He does, but the expression in his face is so crushing Leo almost wishes they had delayed it by destroying property and landing the ship on the street.

The mood of the ship is yet again somber. No one wants to leave the infirmary - but Will forces them to rotate, so as to not overwhelm Perseus. Hypocrite - he is living in there.

Leo, Malcolm, and Piper - the least close to Percy, even though they are friends - let the others take the bulk of the shifts. Annabeth, Nico, and Jason almost get into blows about it - she wins on the fact that she knows Perseus longer.

It's difficult to IM both Rachel - who is a minute away from depression since he fell - and Lady Persephone. It's even harder to tell Sally - they leave the task to Annabeth.

They harbor for two days, waiting for Reyna. She appears from the sky during dinnertime - her horse has to be euthanized almost immediately after a run with the spirit mountains.

They talk - and end up deciding that she will take the statue back to Camp with Malcolm, the most resourceful out of them. Percy would be the logical solution - taking him out of Gaea's reach - but the son of Hades would probably be unable to shadow travel so soon.

While this happens, the others will set course to Athens - to stop Gaea and destroy the Giants. For now, they eat.

Midway through their meal, Will comes into the board - everyone knows what it means. Perseus is awake - on his birthday to boot. They take their food to the infirmary - to see the boy looking at the ceiling.

He gives them a faint smile, but no one misses the way he curls into himself any time there's someone a little too close. Perseus relays his tale - it's heavily edited, Annabeth can tell.

But he tells them about the leg - but not how he lost it - about the tiger - the name is Small Bob, but he doesn't talk about Bob - and about the firewater - but not how he got the injuries.

Small Bob never leaves Perseus's side. The demigod insists that he wants to go outside - he ate enough ambrosia and drank enough nectar that even some of his scars are gone. Not the one in his face though. Will let him go - but Annabeth thinks that he just asked out of courtesy.

He doesn't have green eyes anymore - they darkened to a point they can't distinguish his pupil. They observe as he sits calmly in the deck, metal leg sticking out, and strokes the head of the tiger, who is acting more or less like a giant house cat.

None of them miss the tracks of tears across his face, or the look he gives the night sky - it's bittersweet.

"Bob says hello"

#percy jackson #jason grace #pjo #nico di angelo #au #heroes of olympus #percy jackson son of hades #nico di angelo son of zeus #nicercy #jercy #annabeth chase #will solace #malcolm pace #leo valdez #frazeleo #frank zhang #hazel levesque #piper mclean #trans piper mclean #poc percy jackson #jason grace son of neptune #bi jason grace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #cupid scene #argo ii #calypso #tartarus #gods #percy jackson and the olympians #bob

[midnightactual]

Yoruichi’s Character Arc

I’ve alluded to it before with things like Yoruichi’s Versions, but I’ve never really directly spelled out my conception of Yoruichi’s post-exile development and character arc from a more emotional point of view, so I guess I might as well do that. I’ve talked about Yoruichi’s character flaws and deficiencies before in The Duality of Yoruichi, and I’ve talked about impressions other people have of her in Yoruichi and Loneliness. A lot of the former issues stem from her childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, which is detailed (if dispassionately) in History, and a lot of the latter has to do with the image she presents to others as a form of distancing herself from them.

Something which serves as a good emotional guide to Yoruichi in this timeframe is The Glitch Mob’s remix of Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes. I’ll be intercutting lyrics from it to illustrate that point more as I go.

Upon her arrival on Earth, Yoruichi (Yoruichi-4) was essentially extremely Tired and Done as a result of the things which had happened to Yoruichi-1 through Yoruichi-3. Although getting away from things wasn’t her primary motivation during the Hollowfication Incident, it did nonetheless inform her complete willingness to leave her life behind. Simply doing that, however, didn’t really free her mentally from the ramifications.

And I’m talking to myself at night Because I can’t forget Back and forth through my mind Behind a cigarette

And the message coming from my eyes Says “Leave it alone”

Engaging in avoidant behavior, she quickly departed from reminders of her past life and promptly threw herself into worldly human concerns as a way of getting away from her past and herself. This sort of worked for a time, although she would accordingly encounter new traumas due to the horrors of the early 20th century, resulting in Yoruichi-5 and Yoruichi-6.

While she would properly reconnect with Kisuke and the Shōten following the conclusion World War II, it was the death of Kaien that really altered her trajectory substantively. The subsequent Yoruichi-7 was more aware of the fact that she couldn’t escape who she was and where she’d come from, but chose to contextualize it within her recent experiences: she chose to uphold Kaien’s ideals in trying to guide and save humanity through direct action. (As a full nuclear exchange World War III would crash the reincarnation system just as hard as any subsequent threat.)

And if I catch it coming back my way I’m gonna serve it to you And that ain’t what you want to hear But that’s what I’ll do

And the feeling coming from my bones Says “Find a home”

Yeah

I’m going to Wichita Far from this opera forevermore I’m gonna work the straw Make the sweat drip out of every pore

While this agenda was ultimately successful (even if her final relevance to the outcome was questionable) it really boiled down to just keeping things ticking over so that (metaphorically) the sun would still rise the next day. Yoruichi also kind of lost herself in the process and became even more Tired, which even the comparative respite of the ‘90s did relatively little to alleviate.

Being summoned back to Karakura to deal with Aizen finally making moves again, she sort of framed it as one last ride before retirement, only for the fights with Soifon and especially with Yammy to make it clear to her that nothing was really over. Yoruichi-8 thus came about, resolved to return to to her peak performance (at the level of Yoruichi-3 and more) and to put an end to everything once and for all.

The return to dealing with matters involving Soul Society and the organization of the universe at large reawakened feelings of inadequacy and failure within Yoruichi, and Kisuke’s proposition of a grand plan to put things right using Ichigo and Rukia resonated with her: she could either finally atone and receive absolution for her past, or at least receive judgment and oblivion.

All that came crashing down when that plan failed in a spectacularly ignominious fashion. “Judgment Day” came and went with the Wandenreich War, and the world as it was known trundled on past the apocalypse rather substantively unchanged. They failed. She failed. The resulting Yoruichi-9 was thus mostly defined by her rage and resentment at having her satisfactory conclusion snatched away from her by forces beyond her control, and being forced to live with herself just like before only without much hope for some sort of resolution.

But she did have to live with herself. Eventually, as she lived day to day and her anger cooled, she became Yoruichi-10, who was nonetheless still rather more latently irritable and aggressive than most past iterations. This Yoruichi was left looking for purpose in life, and more besides.

And I’m bleeding, and I’m bleeding, and I’m bleeding Right before the Lord All the words are gonna bleed from me And I will think no more

Eventually, she found it in the idea of protecting humanity, just like Yoruichi-7... if differently. Yoruichi-11 was, as a result of recent experiences with Yoruichi-9 and Yoruichi-10, rather more presumptive, assertive, and—to not put too fine of a point on it—quite capable of being a bitch toward others. Unfortunately for her, just having the resolve to live and a purpose in doing so wasn’t really sufficient to lead a meaningful and fulfilling life, and she knew it (as seen in Provocateur).

The real crux at the heart of her interpersonal discontent was, “Don’t you all know you’d be so much better off without me?”

And the stains coming from my blood Tell me “Go back home”

The Void and Hale event was Yoruichi’s attempt to find real personal meaning in life rather than just some sort of impersonal mission statement, and so she decided to fashion her own little idea of “Judgment Day”: she quite literally threw herself away, again and again, searching for deeper meaning in the process of doing so.

There was no divine revelation at the bottom. All that was down there, in the deepest and darkest abyss, was a single spark of indignation: a rage against the dying of the light. What she decided to do upon finding it, was to cradle it within her hands and to make it her purpose to fill the entire universe with it: “Let there be light.”

Yoruichi-12 finally really gets that she can’t do that by herself, and that the way of achieving it is to indeed “Go back home”. Of course, home to her isn’t something so simple as the Shihōin Manor or even the Urahara Shōten. She’s a creature of two worlds at this point—of Earth and Soul Society—and knows that home is as much other people as it is some place. It’s Yūno, and Yūshirō, and Kūkaku, and Kisuke, and Tessai, and Soifon, and so on. (Yes, even her parents.)

This Yoruichi is probably the closest which she has ever actually been to the image which many others have of her (see Yoruichi and Loneliness) and is (increasingly with time) likely the most well-adjusted she’s been too. However it’s important to keep in mind that despite this, Yoruichi is fundamentally a rather Absurdist figure, capital-A.

What she’s truly wanted for more than a century—redemption—has been, in essence, ridiculous. Her latest conception of herself, as filling the human universe with “light” through her own personal example—of rebelling against the status quo and improving things for their own sake right now, and damn the consequences, because that’s what it means to be human—is preposterous. What she ultimately resolves to do in Peace and subsequent threads (set approximately a year after Void and Hale?) could really be seen as her at her most absurd, like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

Nonetheless, there she is, and there she goes, living on and by her own terms.

#Out Of Character #Headcanons #Music

[kpop-zone]

Kiss and Make Up | Jennie

Warnings: mentioning of alcohol, NSFW

Wordcount: 3,290

Request: Can i request a jennie scenario based on kiss and make up? Thanks

Jennie winced in pain. She hadn’t paid attention and burned herself on her flat iron. She was in the bathroom, getting ready for the day, but in her head, she was far gone. The two of you hadn’t talked all morning. She couldn’t even pinpoint the moment your fight had started, because you seemed to slip from one fight to the next one almost seamlessly.

You were probably still in the kitchen, having breakfast, while she racked her brain thinking about your argument. It was the same old thing. The two of you just couldn’t seem to manage spending time together. You were both always busy. In the beginning, it had only been her that was working almost non-stop because she wanted to make a name for herself in the industry. During that time, you had spent a lot of effort on trying to keep your relationship alive. You had bought her gifts, made sure she ate well and waited until she could make time for you. But then things began to change.

You seemed to become tired to tilt at windmills, because there seemed to be no end to Jennie’s after hours. So you started to immerse yourself into work too. And eventually the two of you seemed to live alongside each other instead of together. Therefore, occurrences like last night weren’t uncommon. The two of you had planned a date, but you had cancelled last minute to go out with some colleagues instead.

When you came home, Jennie couldn’t save you the accusations. Her disappointment was just too strong. But you accused her of hypocrisy in return, leading to an ugly fight eventually. At one point, Jennie had just stormed off to your shared bedroom, loudly slamming the door behind her. Those fights never seemed to have an end.

Jennie didn’t know what had happened. You had been a happy couple, almost spending annoyingly much time together. But then over time, you decided to give each other more personal space, eventually ending up in a seemingly unbridgeable distance between the two of you. She didn’t know why you had drifted apart. In her heart, she felt that she still loved you. She didn’t want to live without you, but she just couldn’t overcome that weird tension that had started developing between the two of you.

Therefore, both of you had gone to bed angry last night, turning your backs to each. When Jennie woke up, you had already left the bed. She could hear plates clattering in the kitchen, causing her to decide to skip breakfast and get ready for work instead. Jennie was so immersed in her pondering that she didn’t even notice you entering the bathroom. She flinched in surprise when you suddenly reached past her to grab your toothbrush, not caring to gently make your presence known. She was watching you through the mirror, but you avoided her gaze. Aggressively you brushed your teeth and Jennie figured that both of you weren’t over the argument yet.

Nevertheless, she cursed herself inwardly. No matter how much the two of you fought, she always craved your touch. Having you stand so close beside her, made her stomach feel all giddy. She wanted you to wrap your arms around her waist and rest your chin on her shoulder, like you had always done in the past. But now you avoided her like the plague. When you rinsed your mouth, you made sure to keep a distance between your bodies and Jennie’s heart twitched.

The two of you had always fought, but you never really stayed mad at each other for long. You always used to kiss and make up, because one of you always broke their cold facade, annoying the other until they gave in, letting your lips play together to make up for all the things they had let escape before.

But now you left the bathroom with all those unspoken words still hanging between the two of you. Jennie wished that you would come back and settle the fight, but when she heard the front door slam, she knew that this would be another unresolved fight that would eventually lead to the next.

With an unsettling feeling in her stomach, Jennie started her day, driving to the company where her best friend, greeted her with a worrisome look.

“Y/N again?”

She said with a knowing sigh and Jennie knew that the two of you couldn’t go on like that anymore. Her life outside your relationship began to suffer from her constant emotional distress and people started to notice.

“It seems like Y/N doesn’t even want to spend time with me anymore.”

Jennie whined with all the pain swinging in her voice and Jisoo immediately wrapped her arms around her.

“I wish I could tell you some encouraging words, but maybe you should consider that your relationship is too broken to be fixed.”

Jennie heard Jisoo’s words and anger filled her body, making her step back from Jisoo’s embrace.

“Don’t say that. Y/N and I belong together.”

She spat back, making Jisoo realize that she had struck a chord, causing her to defensively lift her hands, deciding to put this conversation to rest.

“But you’re still coming to Lisa’s birthday tonight, right?”

Jisoo asked instead of elaborating her opinion further, and Jennie huffed loudly. She had totally forgotten about that. Lisa was one of your best friends, but after dating for so long she had somewhat become one of her most trusted friends too.

She knew that you would be going to the party and Jennie didn’t want to ruin your night by showing up, but she also knew that Lisa would be really hurt, if she wouldn’t come.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Jennie answered absentmindedly, already thinking about how she could avoid you tonight. Lisa was a social butterfly with a million friends. Surely the party would be huge with several opportunities to hide from you. She could think about that at the party though. Now she should focus on her job instead.

The rest of the day, Jennie tried banishing the thoughts about you from her head. She couldn’t let your relationship affect her whole life. Being heartbroken and jobless would be a bad combination. Only when she had gotten home again, beginning to get ready for the party, she could feel nervousness welling inside of her again. You weren’t home, so she assumed that you were avoiding her. Would it be awkward when you met at the party? Would you make a scene?

After she looked more or less representable, Jennie anxiously made her way to the party, ducking her head low when she made her way through the crowd once she had arrived. She didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention, so she searched for Lisa while hoping that no one would recognize her.

“Jennie!!!”

A shrill voice suddenly screamed, however, and Jennie rolled her eyes inwardly. So much to hiding tonight. When she turned to the origin of the loud noise, she could see Lisa’s beaming face and Jennie had to chuckle. That girl was truly full of energy. Quickly she made her way over to her friend, wrapping her arms around her.

“Happy Birthday!!”

Jennie almost screamed into her ear because the music was so loud. Lisa kissed her cheek in response and Jennie smiled widely. A second later, however, her smile ceased when she saw you standing directly next to Lisa. You had a stern look on your face and Jennie immediately avoided your gaze, staring on the floor. Lisa noticed the tensed atmosphere, looking from you to her and back again. But she was having none of it. This was her birthday and she wouldn’t let her two best friends ruin the mood, so she came up with the perfect solution.

“Shots!!”

Lisa yelled suddenly, grabbing the hands of her two friends and pulling both of you to the bar where she forced each to down five shots. And Jennie was lowkey grateful. She could feel the nervousness leaving her body and the thoughts that had occupied her mind non-stop the past weeks, vanishing into thin air. There was no reason for her to not enjoy this party. She was here because of Lisa, so she should express how much she valued this friendship. Therefore, Jennie chose to ignore your presence at this party, letting herself be pulled on the dancefloor by Lisa.

Her body automatically started swaying to the beat and she closed her eyes to feel the bass vibrating though her body and the alcohol clouding her senses. When she opened her eyes again, Lisa was looking proudly at her, laying her hands on Jennie’s hips, being glad that she had her girl back. Jennie threw her head back in laughter, enjoying this opportunity to blow off steam.

She kept dancing for a while before subconsciously letting her gaze wander through the room. Soon her eyes fixed on one particular person, however. She could see you standing at the edge of the dancefloor with a drink tightly clasped in your hand. You were staring at her with an unreadable expression in your face.

Were you jealous? Were you still angry?

Jennie couldn’t tell. But she didn’t care right now. She just wanted to feel your hands all up on her. She had missed you so much these past weeks. So without overthinking, she made her way over to you, pulling you on the dancefloor with her. You were looking at her in confusion, but Jennie couldn’t deal with this back and forth anymore.

She needed to be close to you again, so she laid your hands on her hips while her arms sneaked around your neck, pulling your heads together until your foreheads were pressing against each other. Jennie began moving her hips to the beat again, while looking deeply into your eyes. You were hesitant for a second, but then you gave her hips a light squeeze before starting to dance too.

Soon you let your hands roam her body and Jennie’s chest began heaving. There were no words to describe how much she had missed you touching her, but she needed more. She needed to feel your lips on hers, giving the two of you the chance to kiss and make up like all the other times before. Quickly she grabbed your neck to hold you in place while she crashed her lips into yours. Right away, you followed the rhythm of her lips, letting her sneak her tongue into your mouth. Jennie could feel you humming into the kiss and a smile started to play on her lips. At least you seemed to have missed her too. When Jennie pulled back, your eyes were dark, and she knew that both of you were thinking the same thing.

“How about we leave this party?”

She whispered close to your ear and you nodded in response, letting her pull you out of the building, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone.

In the car on your way to the apartment, you almost couldn’t keep your hands to yourself and Jennie could feel her heart pounding like mad in anticipation. No matter how often you fought, you always managed to trigger all the right chemicals in her body, driving her absolutely insane.

Hastily, both of you made your way to your apartment where you immediately pushed Jennie against the door after entering. Your lips never left her body until you suddenly pulled away, looking deeply into her eyes. Your brow was furrowed, and Jennie could see that your emotions from before had caught up to you again. You gulped before opening your mouth to talk.

“I‘m so…“

„Sh…“

Jennie shushed you immediately, putting her finger on your lips.

“I don’t want to hear you saying sorry.”

She whispered, before trailing kisses down your jaw, making you move your hands to her hips automatically.

“I’m tired of talking.”

Jennie added and she could see that you were torn. Of course, the two of you should probably resolve your problems, but not tonight. At least not by talking.

Therefore, Jennie pulled the neckline of your shirt down a bit to leave a trail of kisses on your collarbone. You sighted while closing your eyes.

“Do you think we can work this thing out?”

You choked out, fixing your gaze on her and Jennie became serious for a moment.

“I don’t know.”

She answered honestly, because she didn’t care right now.

“I just wanna kiss and make up one last time tonight.”

Jennie added, because she was feeling tired of both of you always saying the same things. You had tried talking your problems out and apparently it didn’t work. So maybe you should use another approach to make up. You looked at her contemplatively for a second before nodding in response. You grabbed her hand to pull her to the bedroom where you sat on the edge of the bed, letting her sit on your lap.

Jennie ran her hands through your hair, admiring your beautiful features before connecting your lips again.

“Touch me like you touch nobody.”

Jennie breathed into your ear after pulling away and you suddenly put your hand on her ass, roughly pulling her against your body before you started sucking on her neck. Jennie was already worked up because of all the tension in the air, causing her to start moaning immediately, encouraging you even more to continue your treatment. You started massaging the flesh underneath your hands, making Jennie grind her hips into your lap. She tilted her head to the side, giving you more access to her neck which you accepted gladly. You started to leave kisses down her neck to her collarbone where you played with the collar of her shirt.

Jennie saw that you were pleadingly looking at her from below and she quickly pulled her shirt over her head, before laying down on the bed and letting you hover above her. Your hands ran smoothly across her skin causing shivers to follow your touch. Missing the feeling of your lips on hers, Jennie grabbed your neck to pull your face closer to hers, making it possible to capture your lips. She hummed into the kiss and you grabbed her leg to be able to place yourself between her thighs. Jennie immediately bucked her hips up in desperate need to give the pressure that had been building up inside of her a little release.

But suddenly you pulled back, kneeling in front of her and making her huff in frustration at the lack of contact. You chuckled at her impatience, only making Jennie even more worked up. Trying to appease her, you moved your hand to the button of her skinny jeans, opening it up to be able to get rid of the unnecessary clothing. Jennie could see your gaze wandering across her exposed body and she felt heat rising to her face. But when your hungry gaze met her eyes, the impatience took over again. She needed you.

Now.

Reaching for you hand, she pulled you down on top of her again, letting your mouths meet in a row of sloppy kisses before you kissed down her body until you reached her thighs. You nibbled on the sensitive skin on her inner thighs and Jennie had to hold herself back from whining. She knew you were only teasing her, but it completely worked.

“Y/N.”

Jennie choked out, only to be met with a smug smirk from you from between her thighs. She hated you in moments like this. Not feeling like you had teased your girlfriend enough, you left a cheeky peck on her throbbing core and Jennie’s breath hitched in her throat. She was about to complain again, when you suddenly started sucking on her clit roughly and a loud screaming sound left Jennie’s mouth. She tangled her hands in your hair immediately, guiding your mouth in her dripping folds. Jennie could feel herself being close to the edge without you even having entered her yet, so when you suddenly pumped two fingers into her, she threw her head back, feeling her eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Y/N.”

She moaned your name and you only increased the pace of your fingers.

“Cum for me baby.”

You said with a low voice before turning your attention to her clit again, and making her legs shake. Jennie could feel the knot in her stomach unwinding, making a wave of pure sensory overload crash over her body. You continued to move your fingers inside of her until Jennie’s legs felt like jelly, making her tug on your hair to pull you up. You followed her demand, kissing your way up to her mouth again where Jennie immediately invaded your mouth with her tongue, unable to express her feelings in any other way.

Something about your kisses had always been magic. They had always carried the power to express all the unspoken words between the two of you and make up for all the hurtful things that had been spoken. And in that moment Jennie knew the answer to your question from before.

Did she think you could work things out?

Yes, you could. Because she still loved you. Not being able to contain her feelings anymore, she quickly switched positions, laying you on your back to be able to straddle your hips. Knowingly she smirked to herself while looking down on you. You were laying there with disheveled her and your chest rising and falling in a quick pace, because you were probably already exactly as worked up as her. This was going to be a long night, because the two of you had a lot of making up to do, Jennie thought to herself before attacking your neck with kisses.

-

Jennie woke up to some rustling in the room, making her grumpily scrunch her nose, before she remembered last night. Her whole body felt sore, but she hadn’t felt so content in a long time now. A smile played on her lips and she opened her eyes, expecting your beautiful face resting next to her. But your spot was empty. Panicked she sat up, seeing you standing at the door with a big bag in your hand.

“W-what are you doing?”

She asked dumbfounded, taking in your clothed figure.

“We said one last time, Jennie.”

You answered emotionlessly, lingering your gaze a few seconds longer on her shocked expression before heading out the door.

Jennie motionlessly sat on the bed, trying to understand what just had happened. It must have been a dream. She shook her head, but she was still sitting alone in her bedroom, the faint smell of your perfume being the only remainder of you. Tears started to spring to Jennie’s eyes, and she placed her hand on her chest, feeling a crack shooting through her heart. She knew that it was impossible, but she could physically feel her heart breaking.

You were gone.

Jennie had wanted to work it out, but it was apparently not what you had in mind. For you, your relationship had been too broken to fix after all. But how was she supposed to go on now? You alone had been enough for her. She had never wanted to lose you this way. There were a billion questions shooting through Jennie’s mind.

Could she have saved your relationship if she had talked with you yesterday?

Tears started to stream down Jennie’s cheeks. She had thought, there was no end. But then why was she sitting in her bedroom all alone now? The realization of you having left her, suddenly dawned on her, making her lose all control.

She had really thought, the two of you could kiss and make up.

#jennie scenario #blackpink scenario #jennie imagine #blackpink imagine #girl group scenario #girl group #kpop scenario #kpop

[theundercovermarvelfan]

Whumptober 2020 - Day Five

Whumtober Challenge @whumptober2020

Where Do You Think You’re Going? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

His legs screamed in protest. The humid air pushed in heavily around him, threatening to strangle him. A hidden root in the underbrush sent him crashing to the ground, something that should have rocked him to his bones, but he barely registered it as he shoved himself back up to his feet. 

If he stopped, he’d be dead. So, Clint desperately sprinted on. 

There was no plan. Any sense of a plan had gone to complete shit hours ago. Right now the only thing that Clint could do was try and survive and hope the right people found him before the wrong people caught up. He was out of arrows and his bow had been lost. All he had left was his sidearm that had six bullets left in it. 

“Shit,�� Clint hissed as bullets tore through the trees around him. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the terrain in front of him -- another fall could be the end of him -- as he pointed his sidearm over his shoulder and squeezed off three shots. 

Three bullets left. 

The shots from behind him paused, as he had hopefully gained a little ground with his cover fire. He ran deeper into the jungle, the trees pushing in thicker around him. As he struggled to heave in humid air, he tried to concentrate more on his surroundings, trying to evaluate if he would be able to find a viable hiding place. Because he knew he couldn’t keep up this pace forever. But even if he did find a hiding spot, he needed enough space between him and the pursuing troops to be able to pull off an effective disappearing act. 

His attention was wrenched away from the task as bullets began flying away. Clint spent two more bullets before he felt white hot pain tearing across his side where a bullet clipped him. He stumbled slightly, but pushed forward on what was likely pure adrenaline at this point. 

One bullet left. 

He was running out of options and rapidly running out of time. He needed something -- anything -- to go his way if he wanted any kind of chance of coming out of this thing alive. 

However, that day it seemed like the universe was just out to spite him. He tore through a particularly thick line of trees and came out into what he thought was a clearing… until he suddenly came to a screeching halt on the edge of a sharp cliff, his arms windmilling frantically as he threw his weight backward to avoid tumbling over the edge. 

He had seconds to make a decision. He had glimpsed a river far down in the canyon below, but he had no idea the conditions of it. There was a pretty good chance the jump would kill him. But if he stayed where he was, there was a one hundred percent chance that the incoming hostile army would kill him. It really wasn’t much of a choice, especially when the bullets began tearing out of the jungle in his direction.

Clint turned toward the bullets just as the first couple men started to appear at the treeline. As he took several steps toward them, Clint fired his last bullet, making damn sure it hit a fatal mark, and then mostly just for shits he threw the empty sidearm at another hostile, striking him perfectly in the forehead with what Clint hoped was legal force. That unexpected attack gave him the few precious seconds he needed to get several steps away from the cliff. 

Then he sent up a prayer and ran full tilt, flinging himself out into empty air with no clue if this was going to be a survivable fall. 

Clint of course was trained in cliff diving. As the wind roared passed his ears he pinned his feet together and crossed his arms over his chest, controlling his fall into a classic pencil dive, which would hopefully give himself the highest chance of survival. 

The second his feet hit the water, it was like a hand grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him violently downcurrent, causing one arm to fling out at the abuse, tearing a yelp from him that sent water surging into his lungs as he went under. He wasn’t sure how long he was ripped around in the current of the whitewater, bouncing off of submerged rocks and trees as he desperately tried to claw his way to a surface that he wasn’t completely sure was still above him. 

Then suddenly without warning, Clint felt his hand break the surface into the precious air that still hung above him. Using the very last of his energy, he kicked desperately until suddenly he was gasping blessed oxygen into lungs that felt like they had been lit on fire. He coughed and wheezed, finding that the only reason he had been able to find the surface was because the current had slowed. 

The river had decided to spare him. 

The next order of business was getting the hell out of the river before a jungle predator decided to finish what the river itself had started. But as Clint tried to maneuver his arms through the water, a horrific pain shot up his right arm. 

“Shit, sonofabitch,” Clint gasped, coughing on more water. 

He had to rely on his legs as he slowly kicked his way to one side of the river. He had come out at an area where the river bank slowly sloped up in order to form a mostly flat beach area. There was still about an inch of water lapping underneath him when Clint collapsed onto his back. For a long time all he could do was lay there and focus on dragging sweet air into his lung as he continued to cough up water. 

As his breathing evened out marginally, he attempted to take stock of himself. Something was definitely broken in his right arm, likely from when he had entered the water at a bad angle because of the current. The bullet wound on his side was still bleeding freely, and he spotted another open bullet wound on his left leg that he hadn’t even felt before now. 

He knew he needed to get up and get completely clear of the water. He needed to address his wounds and at least try to stem the bleeding. He needed to take stock of his surroundings and figure out what he needed to do in order to survive the night. 

But… he was so tired. Maybe he had finally found his limit. 

His grasp on consciousness was slipping. His surroundings faded out and back in several times and he wasn’t sure if enough time had passed that the sun was going down or if his vision was dimming. A strange whirring noise crescendoed in his ears before fading again. He blinked heavily, hardly able to pull his eyes back open when the noise returned, this time remaining more consistent instead of fading away. The wind had picked up, disturbing the water underneath him and causing his still soaked body to begin to tremble. 

“Clint! Sonofabitch, Clint!” 

Clint blinked with confusion, slow to process what was happening and where that voice was coming from. Suddenly, Steve’s face appeared over him, looking haggard and terrified. 

“Cap?” Clint mumbled, confused. 

Steve let out a sigh of relief. “Damnit, Clint, you scared the shit out of us. When Natasha tracked you to that cliff we thought...” He sighed again as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Though’ it wasa… was a good day f’r a swim,” Clint murmured hoarsely. 

Steve let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “C’mon. Let’s get you the hell out of here.”

Steve leaned down and slid a hand behind Clint’s back as he carefully pulled him up into a sitting position, Clint hissing in the renewed pain the movement caused. He glanced around and finally spotted what he was missing before. The whirring noise and the sudden wind wasn’t a figment of his growing blood loss or a product of the jungle surrounding him. The Quinjet hovered above them, a gurney already being lowered from it. 

They had found him. They were getting him out of here. Despite everything, he had survived yet again. And with that knowledge, he couldn’t help the smile that tug at his lips. His own will may have run out, but his team’s hadn’t. 

The Avengers would always come through for each other. 

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #where do you think you're going #on the run #rescue #Avengers #fic #blood tw #gun tw #drowning tw #clint barton #hawkeye #fanfiction #whump

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  Breaking the Curse

Chapter 10: Unexpected Wrongs

Given the circumstances, the last person he expected to hear calling out "hello" in his shop was David Nolan.

It had been well over a week since his little chat with Dove, and since that moment, the bird had been a wealth of information. He'd informed him that David's physical therapy had been complete, and he was due to return home yesterday. This information was apparently quite easy to obtain as there was a "welcome home" party planned for David with nearly everyone in town who meant something involved. But Dove had gone above and beyond to provide him with proper information. He'd wandered into the party on his own. It wasn't difficult, he'd told him in a message. With so many people coming and going and with the guest of honor having no memories of who was and wasn't a friend, no one seemed to notice Dove when he crashed it. Emma Swan and her son were attending. It seemed he'd learned his lesson as he admitted that going allowed him to keep an eye on Emma at the same time he did David.

But it was the oddest thing, he'd told him later that night. He hadn't seen David at the party. Not at all. By all accounts, he'd certainly been there at one point, but he'd left by the time that Dove had arrived. Where to? No one seemed to know. He hadn't returned, and his wife, Kathryn, appeared to have not made much of the sudden disappearance. Throughout the day today, the reason why seemed to be obvious. Word on the street was that David had left his wife. Rumors seemed to swirl as they always did in this small town. Some people said that without his memories, he was having a difficult time adjusting and had left her, spent the night at Granny's. Others said that he was only pretending not to remember because he always had wanted to leave Kathryn. There was even one that stated that he had been seen with none other than Mary Margaret throughout last night and today. That particular rumor was his favorite. But with no evidence to back it up, he had no reason to believe it was any more believable than the other rumors.

He went about his day as he normally would, as Mr. Gold normally would, getting messages from Dove about Emma and questioning him on David when he could. It was evening, close to closing time when he heard his shop door open and close, and to his shock, the voice of one David the Shepherd turned False Prince James turned David Nolan call out "hello." He felt his heart jump. David was here. In his shop. Again. Of course, if he did his job right all those years ago, he shouldn't remember that last part, at least not right now. He shouldn't be able to remember the way he'd stormed in here years earlier demanding his daughter. He shouldn't remember stealing his own sword or waking him up after the first time. But of course, if Regina had done her job right, he also shouldn't be completely without memories.

He didn't know what he thought of all that. He had his own theories surrounding David's lack of memories, theories just like everyone else seemed to have; some of them thought he was faking, but he didn't believe it for a second. He was convinced it was part of the Curse breaking, Regina's mistake, or simply a fluke. He had theories galore but no way to prove any of them. He should have had something. So, who had done their job wrong? It was his first interaction with him for well over a decade. He was curious. He was curious about a number of things, and he wondered if it was possible to discern anything for himself.

"Hello?" he heard the False Prince call out again. The sound of it made him sigh in relief. The real David wouldn't have been so polite with him as to call out gently or even wait in the front. He'd done his job right. Regina…he didn't know what David's lack of memories meant. He also didn't know what would drive the Savior's father in here, to begin with. With that in mind, he palmed his cane and shuffled out to the front of his shop.

David didn't notice him enter. He was too busy noticing something else. The tiny glass unicorn mobile. He was staring at it as though mesmerized. It unsettled him. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that he recognized it from somewhere. Interesting. As David reached his hand out to touch it, he took a deep breath and held his ground, prepared to find out once and for all what he knew.

"Charming," he called.

David pulled his hand away and glanced over at him.

For a second, his breath hitched as he looked into his eyes to see if the look he saw was a response to his name. But closer examination proved there was genuine confusion in his eyes at the word.

"I'm sorry?" Charming…the word meant nothing to him. Which meant he returned to his original conclusion. He didn't remember the first time they'd met.

"The mobile. Isn't it charming?" he explained, using Mr. Gold's salesmanship to cover the test. "Exquisitely designed, masterly crafted… I can get it down, if you like."

"No, no. I mean, it's…it's very nice," he explained, coming over to him with a face of complete innocence. He didn't bother trying to feign being hurt. He'd known from the beginning, whether it was Prince Charming or David, that he didn't want to buy anything. "But actually, I'm looking for the Toll Bridge. The Mayor said there was a fork in the road by your shop, but-"

"It seems Miss Mills has led you astray." The question was why. Where was he going? Did she know something he didn't? He had Dove watching Emma; perhaps he needed to get one of his cousins to keep an eye on David.

"Yeah, yeah, you would think the Mayor would know her own town."

He smirked. What Regina didn't know about this place and how they'd all gotten here…he could fill entire volumes of books with that information. "One would think…out of the door, turn right, two blocks you'll find a trail. Can't miss it."

David smiled. "Thank you!" Without uttering a good-bye, David turned, but he hadn't made it to the door before something had stopped him in his tracks, caught him off guard. He swallowed as he followed David's gaze. The windmill. He was looking at an old wooden windmill. He was staring at it. Intently.

"See something you like?"

David took a step closer to it. "Where did you get that?"

"That old thing?" he managed to ask quietly, even if his heart was thudding wildly in his chest. "That's been gathering dust for…forever." Or just the last twenty-eight years. It was one of those things he'd acquired in the Curse, something that Mr. Gold had memories of purchasing, but he knew the memory was false. That wasn't a big deal. Most of the items in this shop had that kind of history. What was making him nervous, however, was the memory that went with that particular item.

David took another step forward and spun the windmill around, watching the blades of the fan turn and turn, nearly as mesmerized with it as he had been with the mobile. "I think…this belonged to me."

"Really?" he swallowed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes…I remember."

Fuck.

He'd seen so much good since Emma Swan arrived, so many promising signs that the Curse was breaking and all was going the way he planned. And then, right before his eyes, it had happened. A step in the wrong direction. A less than promising development. The windmill David had spotted, he knew its history. It's false history, of course. But David hadn't known it. He shouldn't have known it. And yet, something about that windmill caught his attention. It drew him forward it urged him to reach out his hand and twirl the old wooden blades around, staring at it like it was some sort of hypnotist's tool. A part of him had been tempted to interrupt, had recognized he was getting somewhere, and distract him before anything could come of it.

But before he could put a stop to it, David declared, "After I bought our house, I hated this windmill, my wife sold it to you…Kathryn." David had turned to face him then, his eyes round and filled with tears but not tears of joy. They were tears of regret. "I'm right, aren't I?" he asked almost sadly.

Sadly…where exactly had he been going tonight? He had his suspicions. And if those suspicions were correct, he would much rather have told him that he was wrong. But that was dangerous. Regina was close to this situation, befriending Kathryn, encouraging David in the wrong direction, he could lie, and it would be all too easy to trace it back to him, and then what? He'd have no reason for doing it other than wanting David to continue spending time with Mary Margaret, and everyone knew that Mr. Gold did not goad on relationships. Lying was too risky. Which meant…

Fuck.

He grit his teeth together as he went to the place he kept his inventory cards. After looking through them for a moment, he pulled one out, but it was just for show. The card he'd pulled out was actually for a diamond ring. He didn't need to read the one that belonged to that windmill to know it was true. His false memories told him all he needed to know.

"Amish made wooden windmill, late twentieth century, weathered but otherwise good condition. Recommend repainting. Purchase cost fifty dollars store credit, estimated value once repaired, eighty dollars. Original seller…Kathryn Nolan."

David swallowed, his throat bobbed with obvious emotion. Which emotion and why, he wondered. "It's true," he sighed, looking back at the windmill. "Ah…" after a few seconds, David reached up to wipe at his eyes. Now there was no denying that he was crying.

Fuck.

"Toll bridge is two blocks and to the right, you said…there's a path?"

"Can't miss it," he confirmed. And just like that, David Nolan left his shop, turned right just outside the door, and walked away. He slammed his hand down onto the glass case in front of him, anger ripping through him, urging him to hit something, destroy, break, smash. But again, he resisted. He'd only just barely finished having his back door repaired, and this time there would be no way to explain that kind of reaction or the damage from it. All he could do was brace himself, finish his work, go home…and do a lot of internal cursing.

Fuck!

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #David Nolan #mary margaret blanchard #Snow White #Snowing #ouat #ouat fanfict #fanfiction

[chaptersinprogress]

demolition lovers  |  7

“Need a ride?”

Ting smirked as she stood, "Sorry darling, where I'm going, you need an exclusive invite. Big girls only."

Sliding off the stool, Prae walked up to Ting and tucked a loose curl of hair behind her ear, then murmured lowly, "Good thing you have me then."

Rating: T

Warnings: detailed descriptions of violence and a spot of murder

Pairings: Prae/Ting

Prae pulled up in the middle of the empty street, the roar of the bike's engine cutting off. In the dead of night within the industrial area, the silence pressed in around them almost oppressively. Unfazed, Ting unclasped her helmet and dismounted from the bike, shoving the protective gear at Prae.

"Thanks for the ride darling, I'll take it from here."

Prae cocked her head, idly running her fingers over the smooth plastic of the helmet she'd been handed. "Oh? How were you planning to get back then?"

"I'll probably call someone to pick me up," Ting said, shrugging.

"And leave you wandering these streets alone in the middle of the night? That's just asking for trouble."

As if summoned by the very thought, a group of teens stepped out of the shadows ahead. Bandannas and masks concealing their identities, they slowly advanced, carrying an assortment of weapons - glittering machetes, baseball bats, poles. Prae would bet her inheritance on a few switchblades being concealed on their persons.

"Well I'm trouble with a capital T, darling. This is my playground," Ting tossed over her shoulder with a smirk as she began walking towards the group. "You better leave while you still can."

Prae's lips curled into an amused smile. As if she could be swayed with a "warning" like that. Resting the helmet on the bike engine, she sat back and took the time to admire the vision that was Ting. The street lights glinted off her ebony hair, a braided scorpion tail with its swaying tip highlighting the provocative open back of her white blouse.

Eyes trailing downwards, Prae took in the toned legs in a forest green pleated skirt paired with black high-top Converse. Ting looked every inch of a college girl ready for a night out with friends, not like someone who went around getting into fights. But the self-assurance with which she went to face off her opponents spoke greatly of her intimacy with violence.

Definitely not your average girl-next-door.

Though it looked like Prae herself would be getting her hands dirty tonight. Ting would have greatly under-estimated her if she thought that Prae hadn't noticed the bikes following them as they'd made their way to their current location. And from the way their riders remained hidden as they crept forward to where she was seated, they certainly weren't planning on making friends.

Prae dismounted with a sigh. She liked a good challenge every now and then, but this was proving to be more of an annoyance. There were far more interesting things she could be doing instead - like watching Ting wipe the floor with her opponents, and convincing her that they should get to know each other more intimately.

"Alright, boys," Prae called out, pulling out her favourite garrote from where it had been concealed in her jacket. "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Her challengers slunk out of the shadows. Three male teens, still baby-faced and soft around the edges. Two of them had sneers decorating their faces, a self-absorbed swagger in their steps as they twirled their baseball bats in an attempt to look intimidating. The last kid looked a couple of years younger, and had probably never been in a fight before if the way he desperately clutched the pipe in his hand was an indicator.

Prae scoffed, leaning against her bike. "Really? You're my opponents? You're not even worth my time."

Their leader sneered, a nasty curl to his lips. "Just wait till we start breaking your bones, bitch. You'll wish you'd kept your mouth shut."

Prae laughed. She slipped on her knuckle dusters and let the garrote hang in loose coils around her wrist instead. "Bring it, fucker" she taunted.

"Fuck you," the teen's companion spat and lunged, swinging his bat at her ribs.

Prae ducked under the swing and stepped forward, smashing her metal covered fingers into his jaw. The teen's head snapped back, teeth audibly clacking together. Then he crumpled to the floor, clutching his jaw and shrieking loudly through tightly-pressed lips, down for the count.

The other two stared at their friend's curled-up body for a second in disbelief, before turning back to Prae. Anger and astonishment painted the leader's face. He couldn't seem to believe that she had broken his friend's jaw so casually. His younger companion shrunk into himself, his pipe held in front of him like a warding talisman.

Prae gave them a feral smile. "Not so tough are you?"

"You fucking bitch!"

Leaping back, Prae dodged the bat by a hair's breadth, the force of the swing ruffling her hair. She slipped her garrote into her jacket pocket. The weapon was unnecessary. No need to risk accidentally severing her own hand by leaving it around her wrist.

The teen rushed at her again with a yell, the metal bat aiming for her abdomen, arms and ribs. Prae danced out of the reach of every swing, a wide grin almost splitting her face. Her body tingled with the adrenaline rush of just barely avoiding each hit.

The other's face twisted in an enraged snarl as he failed over and over again to win their high-stakes game of whack a mole, getting sloppier with each miss. He finally came to a halt - the realisation that he wouldn't be able to come close to landing a blow on her sinking in.

"For fuck's sake!" he panted, staring at her incredulously while clutching his bat so hard his knuckles were white. "Stay still and let me hit you dammit!"

Prae almost choked laughing at the ridiculous demand. What nerve! She hoped he wasn't actually expecting her to comply. She sighed.

"Alright kiddo, playtime's over."

And lunged. The teen's eyes widened as he raised the bat. But Prae had already slipped past his guard. One hand wrapped itself around his neck, the other was braced on his shoulder. Her knee drove into his stomach. His ribs. His side.

Pinned in place, the other could only take the hits, breath rushing out of him as each connected. The bat fell from his hand with a clatter, forgotten. Gasping, the teen twisted and turned in Prae's hold, desperately trying to escape.

She slammed an elbow into his face. As his head snapped to the side, she released him and lashed out with her foot. Her boot connected heavily with his chest.

The blow sent him stumbling backwards, arms windmilling. The male barely caught himself in time to avoid a broken nose as he collapsed face-first onto the asphalt. Body trembling, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

Prae picked up the bat and spun it, getting a feel of its weight and motion. Then sauntered over to the leader's side.

As her shadow fell over him, he looked up at her, wheezing. She smiled down at him. And slammed the bat viciously across his shoulder blades. The teen crumpled with a groan, and made no further attempts to get up.

Prae turned to face her youngest opponent. Resting the bat casually on her shoulder, she took a step in his direction. The metal pipe he'd held clattered loudly as it fell to the floor as he immediately raised his arms in surrender. Not that he had to worry. Prae didn't particularly care for beating up people weaker than her.

Unless they came at her first of course. Then she was very happy to put them back in their place, where they belonged.

Under her feet.

She gestured dramatically to the side with her free hand, very clearly giving the boy an out. The kid gave her a weak, terrified grin in thanks and began scooting away sideways. Then his gaze, which till then had been very firmly kept on her face, flickered to a spot just behind her.

Prae spun, bat swinging. It crashed against the crowbar that had been about to come down on her head, redirecting it past her shoulder. The force sent vibrations down her forearms, deep into her bones. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Prae retreated, keeping a few feet between her and the wielder.

The man, in his late 20s perhaps, cocked his head just the slightest. A slow, cruel smirk grew on his face.

On the other hand, any and all amusement had left Prae. If that blow had connected, there was a good chance her skull would've been split open like a watermelon. This wasn't a street brawl any longer.

She surreptitiously searched for Ting. Prae had assumed that this was some school gang conflict, especially given the age and inexperience of those she'd thought were involved. Worry crept into her as she failed to catch any sign of the other girl.

Either something had gone wrong, or her assumption was fatally flawed.

Prae turned her attention back to the more immediate problem. "Who are you?" she asked coolly.

"Doesn't matter," replied the man. "You'll still be dead."

Prae gave the man a considering look and nodded once. Puzzled, the man raised an eyebrow at her apparent agreement. She beamed at him, dropped the bat, and took off.

The unexpected action gave her a few seconds of a head-start. But her pursuer caught on quickly and soon started to gain on her.

Prae tore down the maze of streets, ears straining to hear the sound she was searching for until… there! Skidding into the narrow alley between two warehouses, she leapt. Her right foot slammed into the wall, muscles coiling like a spring.

Pivoting, she launched herself off the side, fingers grasping for the top of the lower AC unit on the opposite wall. The blast of hot air from the massive machine sent her hair flying into her face as she hung mid-air. Spitting out the strands, she pulled herself up, ignoring the searing pain in her fingers from clinging to the heated metal.

Her gaze fell onto the fire escape just a few inches above and to the right of her head. Reaching for the lowest rung, she smothered a scream as her burns came into contact with the cool metal. Scaling the ladder, she clambered onto the upper AC unit, a good three and a half meters off the ground.

Sitting slumped against the wall it was attached to and breathing harshly, Prae took stock of the situation. The shadows and the din from the machines provided her adequate cover. And while the noise, heat and vibrations from the units made her choice of seat highly uncomfortable, it suited her purposes.

Her fingers however…

She studied the digits in what little light there was. Judging the burns to be inconsequential, Prae pushed the pain from her fingers to the back of her mind. Retrieving her garrote from her pocket, she let the weapon hang loosely in her hands. And then she waited.

Not that she had to wait long.

Pounding footsteps which could barely be heard over the noise of the AC units heralded the man’s arrival. Thrown by his target's sudden disappearance, he came to a halt, just outside the alley. He spun on the spot slowly - searching for any hint of movement.

Nothing.

He stared down the narrow street for a moment in consideration. And then took cautious steps inside, methodically scanning the area as he ventured deeper.

Exactly as Prae intended.

Keeping sharp movements to a minimum, she scooted closer to the edge of her perch, silently swinging her legs over the side and bracing her feet against the grill. Muscles coiled in anticipation, she watched the man approach the AC units unsuspectingly.

And as he passed below her, she pushed herself off.

The man let out a startled yell as Prae crashed into his back, her elbows hooking onto his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist. He stumbled forward under their combined weight, arms thrown out for balance.

Lightning-quick, Prae slipped her garrote around his throat and pulled. Jerking her torso backwards, she let her body weight draw the wire taunt. A choked off gurgle escaped the man and he frantically scrabbled at the wire. Staggering upright, he threw himself back, slamming the both of them into the wall.

Prae grunted loudly as the impact sending pain radiating though her body. Gritting her teeth, she inhaled sharply and twisted the garrote tighter, refusing to loosen her grip even a millimetre.

Panicking as his oxygen supply dwindled rapidly, the man kept ramming them against the concrete, desperately trying to dislodge Prae. She took the blows unflinchingly, even as her back grew numb and her burns flared with agony. His attempts grew more and more sluggish.

Then his body finally gave out.

Prae barely managed to disentangle herself in time as he slumped in a heap, catching herself above him. When she was certain that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon, she unwrapped her garrote from his throat and straightened up. 

And let out a groan as the aches and pains from the scuffle made itself known. Shaking her muscles out, she pulled her knuckle-dusters off and shoved her weapons back into her pockets carelessly.

"Well don't you look peachy," came the wry voice from behind her.

Prae nearly jumped out of her skin. "Fucking hell!" she yelped as she spun.

Ting raised an eyebrow at her from where she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, at the entrance of the alley. Pushing herself off, she walked over to Prae and looked her over once, before dropping to one knee to study the man at her feet.

"Turn on your phone's flashlight, will you?"

Prae obliged, illuminating the duo. Grabbing a fistful of hair, Ting yanked the man's head up. And immediately let out a noise of displeasure. Prae watched as Ting took in the vivid bruising and indentations encircling the man's neck.

Ting sighed, annoyance marring her features. Flicking out a switchblade, she slit the man's throat, angling herself away from the arterial spray. Wiping the blade clean on the man's shirt, she looked up at Prae, expression carefully blank as she anticipated her reaction.

"Did you have to?" asked Prae curiously.

Surprise flashed across Ting's face before she stood up.

"It's practically an act of mercy after what you did," she said coolly. "His windpipe was crushed; he'd have asphyxiated eventually. You didn't have to be so particularly cruel."

Prae shrugged carelessly. "I supposed that's the difference between us. You're interested in a clean kill. My only aim is to incapacitate anyone after me. Whether it leaves them alive, disabled or dead, I couldn't care less."

Ting observed her for a moment. "Interesting," she finally said. "I hadn't expected you to be so caviler about it. Do you usually find yourself in such situations?"

"It happens every once in a while, yes."

Ting hummed before casually walking past Prae. "Ok. Let's go."

Prae glanced down at the body lying in a pool of blood before jogging after the other girl. "What about the clean-up?" she asked, catching up to Ting.

"Ram's handling it," she replied. "He should be on his way already."

Prae grabbed Ting's wrist, bring them both to a standstill even as she bit down on the instinctive flinch from putting pressure on her burns. "So what was that all about?"

Ting turned to face her. "Take a guess."

"Chao Pho," stated Prae. "I'd originally assumed rival school gangs but things didn't add up. It would explain why you and Ram are always around Duen, and the way his father behaved at the fundraiser as well. They're high up in the group, aren't they?"

Ting’s lips quirked up. "That's right. The question is, what are you gonna do with that info?"

Prae blinked before huffing a laugh. "Why would I do something? It doesn't really change anything." Her gaze sharpened. "But if Bohn or King get hurt, there'll be hell to pay, I assure you, mafia or not."

"You can try," said Ting, amused.

She tilted her head and stepped closer, her free hand trailing over the front of Prae's jacket before resting at her waist. "You know," she said, voice dropping to a breathy whisper. "Confidence is a good look on you. You look fucking hot when you threaten people."

Prae’s eyes darkened and she let her gaze drop to Ting’s mouth.

"Mmm, is that so?" she asked, her voice matching Ting's. She moved forward, forcing them back until Ting gently bumped into one of the buildings' walls. Releasing her wrist, Prae wrapped an arm around Ting while her other palm hovered above her hip.

Ducking her head, she murmured into the other girl's ear, "What do you plan to do about it?"

Ting smiled coyly and tangled her fingers in Prae's hair. "First,” she breathed out. “I'm going to take a look at those burns you're not mentioning."

Prae jerked back. "How did you…"

"I felt them when you grabbed my wrist, darling. It wasn't particularly difficult to tell."

"Right, you're a medical student," remembered Prae. "Well then. Are you going to kiss them better, doctor?"

Ting draped her arms around Prae's shoulders. "If you're good, we can do more than that," she teased.

Prae stared at her for a moment then laughed, the bright sound ringing through the air. "I'm going to hold you to it then," she whispered.

And dragged Ting close to kiss the satisfied smirk off her face.

#chaptersinprogress #my engineer #my engineer the series #prae #ting #prae x ting #fanfic #fanfiction #demolition lovers #super duper long update #please comment #or leave an ask #tell me your thoughts #feedback is appreciated

[kaiser-dracon]

Chapter I: Welcome to Midgand, Mr.? (New Version)

The night was utterly still, silent like a held breath. The ageless moon glimmered brightly as "Sanguine", the crimson longship of the far-continent was sailing in the calm waters of Midgand. The ocean’s surface glowed with sea sparkle in bright blue light. A lone man let out a prolonged sigh as he gazed over the sea from his cabin on the ship.

He picked up a leatherbound journal from the nightstand beside his bed and seated behind a nearby table. He flipped the journal open. Smelling the salt in the air and feeling the boat creaked under his foot were his daily experiences since his journey began a few months ago. He turned the screw on the lantern that was near the table, turning it on. His features glowed visibly by the light; The lush, blond hair was coiffed over his shoulders to perfection. His eyes were pale green, like the hue of spring, bright and soft all at once. But a deep and distant gloom waved behind them.

He dipped his pen in ink, starting to write on a blank page. 

“From the Veritable and Staunch Accounts of Sir Avernus Diphda, valiant Knight of the Hyland Empire.” He stopped as a sudden rumble shook the ship for a moment, eyes darting around the room. “...I have been sailing the ocean for two months before I finally arrived at Midgand waters. If lady fortune smiles at me, maybe I…”

"Having trouble sleeping, your majesty?" Avernus was interrupted by the captain of the ship who was standing in the door frame, an older man, long gray beard, wearing a blue and gold outfit of the Hyland navy, holding a bottle of rum in his hand. His tired eyes sank into his sockets. “We’re already there. Although, I have a bad feeling about this, child.”

Avernus pinned his pen in ink. “Yeah. You and me both, captain. Besides, I can’t stop thinking about home.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glancing back at the ocean over the window. “I hope I can find something in Midgand, otherwise…”

Avernus trailed off into the distance, thoughts hazing by a deep sadness. A sadness that he carried from the far-continent deep in his heart. The captain cast an appraising eye over his equipment beside him; A long silver scepter that was leaned against the wall, an ornamented wooden chest, and two daggers in their sheathes. He favored Avernus with a nod of approval.

“Aye. It seems you’ve come prepared, young lad. Your foresight will serve you well.”

With that, Avernus noticed gray clouds slid in to cover the moon. Another rumbled rocked the ship. Suddenly dread tightened in his stomach. “Something is not right…” 

The captain took off toward the deck, and Avernus followed, picking up his scepter and darted out of his cabin.

"Report!" Captain yelled.

Suddenly they found themselves amid a brewing storm. Shouts filled the air as men rush about the deck. 

Avernus felt the air getting thicked by malevolence; the corruption that took form emanating from the daemons; hellish creatures that roamed the earth, searching to kill and feast on humans and malakhims.

Captain gestured at the front mast as it appeared to be damaged. “Look to the prow! If we don’t fix her up, we’ll be feeding the fishes!”

A violent gust of wind swept across the deck, throwing the sailors and slamming some into the mast and wooden walls. Avernus braced himself against the railing and raised his hand. “I don’t have a malak with me, but I’ll be damned if I die here.” A red, glowing sigil of magic circulated his wrist like a crimson bracelet. It scratched his cuff, and the blood that came out turned into a sliver trickle of mana. “Heaven Bright!”

Rainbow-like magic raced out of his fingers and spread above the ship. The churning sea grew still for a second, but it didn’t last. The whole boat lurched on the choppy waters again. Avernus slammed his arte into his surroundings again, trying to blast the clouds and winds away. “Can you just, like, chill?!”

Suddenly, the vessel listed starboard. Avernus thought it was from a gust of wind, but then a glistening tentacle, wide around as an oak, came hunting upon the deck from the dark depth of the ocean.

"Kraken!” the captain screamed.

The tentacle smashed a group of sailors against the deck, throwing their bodies away like used toys and sending shock waves over the deck. The rest caught up in the surge and fell from the ship. Avernus hit his back to the railing. As he slumped on the ground, he saw the captain dashing at the tentacle and slashed it away with his cuttles. 

The tentacle withdrew, slithering back into the briny waters. Avernus sprang to his feet. Captain waved at him from a few feet away. “I need your help, lad, or we won’t be able to get out of here alive!”

Salt spray mingled with the relentless lash of rain whipped against Avernus’ cheeks as he raised his staff, and the weapon extended itself from the top and bottom. He clenched his jaw in fury. “Show your foul face, if you dare! And I hope you dare!”

The surface water broke with a splashing sound several giant tentacles began rising from seawater, each nearly as long as the ship's mast.

"Ready the cannons, men!" The captain desperately cried as the seawater rained down on them from the tentacles.

"They are going to crash on us!" one of the sailors shouted in fear. Avernus scoped the enormous tentacles that were surrounding them, " No fire, no earth. Only wind and water. My choice is clear then,"

The sigils whirled around his wrists and sucked the blood out of his veins, turning it into mana. "Whirlwind Slash!" 

Wind solidified into sharp mana and flew at super speed at the tentacles. The scales on the monster's skin was too tight, but the arte managed to cut some of the arms. The beast shrieked in pain and started hammering the deck. Avernus dodged the attacks, diving left and right until his second arte charge up, rushing to his hands. "Aqua Sphere!"

A large circular warding shield was appearing above the deck, stopping most of the tentacles in their tracks.

His arms shuddered. "I can't hold them for too long, go to the cannons and fire!" Avernus yelled at the sailors as he held the tremendous force of the Kraken's tentacle at bay. The remaining crew managed to reach the cannons, lighting the fuses.

"Ready... Fire!" 

First, the port side cannons fired, and then the starboard side emptied their ammunition on the tentacles. The steel canon balls drilled into the flesh of limbs, tearing and burning them away. The large chunks of rotten meat fell into the sea.

"We got them! Yeah!" The sound of cheering filled the air as the tentacles began disappearing beneath the dark water.

For long moments, the sea churned only of its own volition, frothing and foaming like a horse’s lather. Avernus probed the surface but saw nothing stirring beneath the angry spume.

"It's not over! Re-arm the cannons, men!" The captain ordered again.

Then, with a tremendous roar like a hundred thousand death knells ringing as one, the colossal daemon broke the surface. Avernus brandished his weapon and whipped it at the monster as it stared with its pale yellow eyes.

"Wind Lance!" Avernus attacked the Kraken with swarms of wind arrows, targeting its eyes. The elemental bolts pierced the monster's right eye, but it lifted a massive tentacle, crusty barnacles clinging to its suckers, readying to strike.

Having no choice as his arte hasn’t recharged in time, Avernus dropped to one knew, teeth clenched, bracing for the daemon’s blow. The Kraken brought its mighty tentacle down upon the deck, showering them with slime and fragments of shattered wood.

Sanguine heaved upon the colossal impact, listing madly to and front.

Amidst the shakings, Avernus saw the captain challenging the beast, running at it with his sword drawn. “Get out of my ship, you ugly piece of sh--!”

Avernus watched in horror as the Kraken brought down an arm and smashed the captain with ease as if he was a little mosquito.

Avernus scrambled to his feet, rage cutting across his face. "Whirl…"

Before he could finish his arte, another tentacle batted him from behind, flooring him against the deck. A surge of burning anguish enveloped his body. Just as he was tried to move, he saw yet another one of the tentacles grab the captain’s wounded body and pulled him off the deck as he was cursing something unintelligible at the monster. Avernus crawled but immediately winced in the pain of his broken ribs, coughing up blood. The Kraken’s mouth yawned, and the body of captain disappeared inside of that infinite blackness, beneath a ring of thousand sharp teeth.

The Kraken reared up, fixing Avernus in its gleaming, beady gaze. It windmilled its flailing arms, beating them upon the angry water. Unbowed by its fury, Avernus blinked away the sting of sea and rain and staggered to his feet.

His body was numbed to the pain. "Abomination... I will show you what real pain is." Avernus raised his arms and clawed his hands. “For all the dreams that are lost!” The sky above them turned red. His breathing intensified. A new weight was pushed into his soul from beyond. “You will come to know my fury, beast, and you will learn to fear it!”

Rumbling, the Kraken surged forward and tangled its limbs all around the vessel. The deck quaked and bucked beneath Avernus’ feet. Its grotesque head loomed ever closer, blotting out the lightning-riven sky so near that Avernus could see himself reflected in the glassy, fearsome orbs of its eyes.

Two dark, purple sigils appeared in front of Avernus, and he pushed his hands into them. “May my face be the last thing you ever see! Begone! Celestial Crush!”

A pair of giant, dragon-like claws tore through the air and grabbed the Kraken’s head and crushed his eyes, pointy thumbs drilling into them. It thrashed its colossal head back and forth, clear ichor seeping beneath the claws that dug deep into its eyes. The Kraken shrieked in a piercing cry, seeking to unknot itself from the hull. But it was grasped onto Sanguine too tightly and couldn’t free itself. Avernus twitched his hands, and the summoned dragon hands mimicked his movement perfectly. 

The rest of his stamina left his body as Avernus put the last of his endurance into one final movement twist of his hands, pressuring them and crushing the Kraken’s skull with a bone-crunching sound. The monster’s large body slumped and began to sink into the sea, pulling down the ship with its lifeless arms.

A massive wave of water hit Avernus, and his consciousness washed into the darkness as his senses blackened.

But as fate would have it, he eluded the hands of death for now.

Among his silent dream, Avernus sensed someone talking to him from a distance. The voice kept getting closer and closer.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." A young and eager voice called to him, kicking his legs.

Avernus slowly opened his eyes. An enormous pain engulfed his skull as the light entered his sight. He raised his head to glance at the man; A skinny, short man with a missing front tooth was smiling at him. His ragged and vagrant outfit screamed one word: Pirate.

 "Great. Thieves." Avernus observed, mumbling.

The pirate smirked. "Boss, the pretty boy is awake!" He exited the room in a rush. Avernus grunted in anguish and tried to move his body, but ropes tied his hands and legs. Destroying his bindings was an easy task for him, but what could he do in the middle of nowhere with pirates?

Another much taller and friendlier figure entered the cabin and opened his arms. "Welcome to the Midgand, traveler." 

The man was wearing a purple coat with a purple hat and a pointy beard. Avernus sneered at his clothing. "Nice outfit. For a pirate."

The pirate turned to his subordinate in surprise. Avernus’ gall seemed to spark some interest.

"Benwick, look! Our man can bark!” He chuckled and turned to Avernus. “Such audacity! Wounded, broken, and tied up, and yet you do not beg for your life." The pirate crouched near him, shaking his head. “You are one interesting fish.”

“Shame you can’t differentiate between a shark and a fish.” Avernus mocked him, glaring from behind his messy hair.

"Even sharks are nothing but herrings in my grasp." The pirate clapped his hands. "Bring in the good stuff!"

Two pirates entered the room, carrying Avernus’ wooden chest and his scepter. Then another tall blond man followed them and sat on a nearby crate behind on the far side of the room. His attire consisted of tailored black trousers tightened with two belts and brown boots and gloves. He also wore an orange shirt, a loose white shirt, and a black waistcoat finished off by the long-dark business type jacket. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it in the air.

Avernus’ frowned eyes widened as the sensation of earth affinity washed over him alarmingly. The blond guy gaze suddenly fell upon Avernus, and they stared into each other’s eyes. A sense of imminent danger and dread pierced Avernus’ heart. That man had the eyes of death as the reaper himself was digging into his soul. The pirate leader followed Avernus’ gaze. As an average human, he couldn’t see the man, but he chuckled instantly.

"So you can see our ghost. That means you're a special one, pretty boy. Like one of those exorcists! This must be our lucky day, Benwick!"

The blond guy, now identified by Avernus as a malak, quickly took off and exited the room.

The young man shook his head at this coincidence. “Give me a break.”

The pirate captain picked his scepter and swept an endorsing gaze over it. "It's a lovely staff you got there, gold with ruby stones engraved in it. It is yours, I presume?"

"Maybe," Avernus replied in an indifferent tone and maintained his icy demeanor.

"You know I like something about you, and I don't know if it's the bravery or the foolishness.” The pirate captain reached his coat and pulled out a gray and silver pistol.

Avernus sighed at the sight of the gun. "An anti-dragon weapon in a pirate's hand, who would have thought…"

The pirate placed the barrel under his bloody and dirty chin, raising it. "You see, I'm aware of your handicrafts, and I have to say, your weapons are magnificent pieces of art!"

After staring for a few seconds, the pirate smirked and withdrew the gun. "I'm looking forward to adding this beauty of a staff and whatever you stashed in that chest to my collection. So until you can open your mouth and tell me how to use this weapon and the magic password for that chest, you are staying here as our guest."

With the pirates laughing out load, Avernus was left alone, broken and wounded in the dank corner of his cell. But little did they know what a sorcerer was capable of doing. Even without a malakhim bound to his spirit, he had some tricks up his sleeve. The mana that he had built up started to travel through his veins, fractured bones, and beaten muscles.

A day had passed. On the next midnight, the healing spell cured most of his wounds. Avernus conjured a minor fire arte and burned his binding. He raised on his feet and took a glimpse of the shore from the small window. He decided to put his escape plan in motion before the pirate’s ship distanced itself from the coast. Avernus silently trashed the cell's lock, breaking it.

He peeked over the wall: Two pirates were playing cards, oblivious to the fact that their prisoner was now on the loose. Avernus crept up behind them and quickly bashed their heads against the table, knocking them out cold. Avernus spotted his chest near their table, but his weapon was nowhere to be found, although he didn't need to know its location. After all, his weapon was bound to him. Avernus picked up the chest and moved outside. 

Avernus was stopped in his track as he saw the blond malak in black, sitting on the top of large crates, playing with his strange coin, and waiting for him.

"Can't get a night of sleep?" the malak asked, stoically in a threatening tone.

The sorcerer sneered, treating it as a joke, "Nah, didn't like the hospitality nor the smell. Also, it is too boring for me here, and I crave for action, malak."

The malakhim jumped down to the deck in a quick move. "That's a shame, but you are not going anywhere." He bumped his fist together, gazing threateningly at Avernus, "Get back to your room nicely, and I won't have to break your fingers and your nose."

Avernus rolled his eyes and let out a sigh before leveling a challenging stare at him. "Stand aside, malak. I'm not in the mood to play games. Besides, why do you care? They can’t even see you."

“You know nothing, stranger. They are an interesting bunch, and to me, they’re important.”

The Benwick guy ran outside of the crew quarters, watching Avernus standing there on the deck, alone. "What?! The prisoner has escaped!"

Avernus turned uncaringly toward the pirate. He knew that to them. It probably looked as if he was talking to himself.

"Last warning." The malak threatened, prompting Avernus to turn back to him.

Avernus shifted into his battle stance. "Alright, let's dance, malak."

He raised his arm and opened his hand. "Dreamshadow, come to me!"

A thundering sound roared from the captain's quarters. The malak, fully aware of what was happening, rushed and pulled his arm, ready to slam Avernus with his clenched fist. The great staff broke through the wooden walls, twirling like a windmill, it flew back and reached Avernus in time to block the malak’s punch. The force of malak’s fist connecting with the protective ward boomed around the deck. Avernus slid a few feet back.

"Damn it!" the malak gritted his teeth and pinned Avernus under his reaper’s gaze.

The malak threw another punch, and Avernus dodged it in time. Then, a solution crossed his mind.

"He’s powerful, but he is also an earth malak on the sea, which means…” Avernus grinned. 

"Bad mistake, my friend."

The young man's eyes started to glow bright white as magic waved through his body. "Colossal Surge!"

Suddenly, a massive wave towered over the ship and dived onto the deck, causing both Avernus and the malak to fall into the sea. Avernus quickly whipped his staff, and the water solidified under his feet. He turned back, only to see the malak paddling in the water for his dear life.  "Have a nice swim, you stupid malak!”

After a few more minutes of surfing, his mana ran out, in time for him to crash into the shore. His exhausted body couldn’t do more. After rolling over on the sand, he turned on his back and gazed into the sky.

"Welcome to Midgand, Mr. Diphda …" he said to himself, breathy.

Another day had passed—a day of non-stop walking into unknown jungles. With no map and no clue of where he was, Avernus desperately probed the area for any signs of civilization. During mid-day, he came across a small river, flowing with clear water. He dropped to his knees and dipped his filthy face into it. He pulled his head and ran a finger over his messy long hair.

"Water… I wished I had time to bathe myself, but I've wasted enough time already.”

His hearing picked up footsteps nearby. Avernus raised his head and scanned the area. To his surprise, he spotted a small blond girl, wearing white attire and holding a strange umbrella, was standing on the other side of the river, looking at him with a stony face. She glared, her eyes checking his body. 

Again, the vibes of another earth affinity malakhim radiated from her. Avernus squinted his eyes at her. “Is that another malakhim?”

She turned her back to him, looking like she shrugged him off coldly, and with slight disgust, she vanished into the jungle.

"Hey! You! Wait!" Avernus stood up, raising his arm, but it was already too late. As he picked up his chest, a wooden sign close to the river grabbed his attention.

“The village of Aball.” As he read the sign, a glimmer of hope sparked in him. “It seems lady luck is smiling on me--”

A supernatural howl pulled him out of his little comfort. His ears alarmed to an enemy that he fought its kind for the last six years of his life. Six years of untold responsibility would crush man’s soul. 

“A werewolf!” Avernus whirled his head toward the sound and sprinted in haste. He pushed away from the bushes widely to the side and jumped into a wide clearing. He suddenly found himself between several broken pieces of bottles and shattered crates. A traveling merchant had lost their stash.  Avernus raised his head only to lay eyes on a man, appeared to be the merchant himself, twitching and wincing, howling: His breathing became quick and ragged, his eyes turning red. Hooked claws burst through his fingers, dark fur rippling over his skin. Moments later, an enormous, jet-black wolf bared its teeth, howling a challenge toward Avernus.

Avernus stared at the Lycan’s long, vicious fangs. He dropped his chest and readied his staff. Duty called to him once more. He had no malak, and no blood was left in that pale body to fuel his mana. But he wasn’t a man to back down. Never.

His fingers fumbled around the middle of his staff, and the top extended with a metallic bang, and a pair of transparent scythe blades came out in parallel. Their surface was crystal clear and radiated with extreme magic built into it. “This is not a normal staff that any shepherd can wield. This is a gift from a malak.” Avernus heaved a heavy breath. “I shall grant you the eternal rest, poor soul.”

Avernus squared off against the daemon, catching his breath. “Come and meet your salvation!”

The werewolf stamped a gargantuan paw then charged forward, howling. Avernus pulled his long scythe-staff away and lunged to meet his opponent. The beast threw a clawed hand at him. Avernus shifted his body to the side, dodging its attack. Then sprang forward, slashing open the Lycan’s chest. The beast bellowed, blood gushing from two deep wounds. 

Avernus’ heart pounded furiously. Suddenly his sight hazed. His exhaustion finally took its toll on his broken body. He stumbled back. Avernus struggled to control his balance. But he barely caught a glimpse of a young village girl watching the fight from afar. Avernus whipped his arm violently. “Go! Get out of here!” 

Taking advantage of Avernus’ disorientation, the werewolf landed a solid punch on his chest, bowling him over. Avernus slid into the dirt and his body snapped against a rock, and his head cracked against the stone. Another pain surged in his back as he cried in agony. The daemon jumped on him and hammered viciously at his guard, landing blow after blow.

He was sensing his stamina flushing away. Avernus focused a sliver of his blood and streamed it into his weapon. The magic lit up his staff and enveloped it in a beam of light that blinded the daemon. “Veil’s Edge!”

His staff fired up his arte as a rainbow storm into the werewolf’s body. The daemon flew off of Avernus and slammed into the side of a tree, causing it to buckle outward. Avernus pulled stood up, his eyelids heavy and obscured by blood trickling from his forehead. Both adversaries, wounded and out of energy, prepared themselves for final showdown. The forest surrounded their warcries and howls for battle. Avernus launched himself at the daemon and slashed a full cut to the daemon’s stomach. 

They both stood still for a moment, locked into their fighting pose, before the daemon went limp, falling to the ground with a crash that shook the jungle beneath Avernus’ feet.

His staff fell as the blades retracted and disappeared. Avernus’ crippled body faltered, stumbling to the front as the last of his stamina escaped him. The world stilled, and once more and the darkness was his host. His senseless body crumpled to the ground.

Again, he floated in darkness. There was nothing, no light, no ground to stand on. Then, as if a dam had split open, several voices flooded him. He sensed a golden light flaring to life a few feet away. The light grew closer, swelling outward to form a scene. Avernus reached out to the light as it dimmed.

For a mere second, he was taken back to his body. He opened his eyes to see a pair of blazing eyes watching over him. A kind hand put a wet cloth on his forehead. He squinted his eyes at that shining face. “You need to rest, mister.” The warm voice soothed his mind, but he passed out again from the pain.

In the infinite darkness, Avernus looked for that fiery gaze, and his hand desperately reached to the light, to that warm, kind voice before dark consumed him once more.

#fanfiction #my writing #talesofberseria #talesof #VelvetCrowe #eizen (tob) #alternative berseria the x