#sure lets have pages of songs about water and trees and roads

[dapper-wings]

Sometimes I get a little annoyed by comments like ‘well if the eagles just took them to mordor everything would’ve been over so much faster’

but then I read the books and realize I’m this far through Fellowship and Frodo, Merry, Sam, and Pippin have literally just left the Shire and they haven’t even meet Aragorn yet and then I have just the tiniest bit of understanding for those comments. 

Just the tiniest, mind you. I still wouldn’t change a thing about this series. 

#lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #fellowship of the ring #look #the guy likes his landscape descriptions #songs #and characterizations okay #sure lets have pages of songs about water and trees and roads #and what the forest looks like in rain and dew and sunlight #why not #enjoy the little things #and that's really what matters #even if we still haven't left the shire #at least we're looking at the borders of bree #we're moving #and it doesn't really matter how fast

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #arranged marriage au #my writing

[crimefightingspiderguy]

marry me

Summary: Shang-Chi and (Y/N) are best friends, but it's not enough. They want to be more, but can they be more?

Warnings: Angst? No spoilers for Shang-Chi and the Legend of the the Ten Rings, just one reference to the movie but it's not a spoiler.

Pairings: Shang-Chi x platonic!reader

Word Count: approx. 2,423

A/N: I based this off the song Marry Me by Thomas Rhett. Go give it a listen, it's a great song! I want to make more fics for Shang-Chi that aren't as angsty as this, but I wanna wait until more people have seen Shang-Chi so I can include scenes from the movie. Hope you enjoy this ❤️

“She wants to get married; she wants it perfect”

“So, when are you two getting married?” Your grandmother asked as she pointed between you and Shang-Chi.

You spit up your water, “Nana, we’ve been over this. Shaun and I are just friends.”

“Then why do you have a scrapbook in your room titled ‘My Dream Wedding’ if you don’t plan on getting married.” She sassed her granddaughter.

This isn’t the first time she had asked us if we were together. Every time (Y/N) just brushed it off as her being old and stuck in her ways. But this is the first time that I’ve heard of this scrapbook. “A scrapbook? This I have to see.” I grinned at (Y/N), her faced flushed and you could basically see the wheels in her mind working up an excuse as to why her nana had said that. But she couldn’t think of any.

“Nana, what did I tell you about snooping?” (Y/N) turned to scold her.

“What? I’m old and have nothing better to do. It has some very beautiful ideas. Have to both worked out the details or are they all your plans dear?”

(Y/N)’s face turned a deep red as I burst out in laughter. “Come on (Y/N), I have to see this” I held out her hand to bring her to her bedroom.

“Look, I’ve been planning my wedding since I was little, okay? I just want to let you know this isn’t some creepy shrine for you and me or something like that.” She said as she hesitantly took the book down from her top shelf above her bed frame.

“Oh, don’t worry, I KNOW this is a dedication to me and our love. You don’t have to hide it.” I chuckled as she punched my arm and gave me a threatening look.

“So basically, I have pictures that I’ve cut out from magazines or printed off from TV shows that I watch with my Nana that I think would go well with my overall theme.”

“She wants her granddaddy preach in the service”

“I originally was going to have my Papa do the service, but that was before he passed last year.” She looked down at the picture of him that she cut out and tapped down at the end of a poorly drawn alter. She put on a sad smile and sighed, “Hopefully by the time I do get married Nana is still around and I can get her ordained online. Then she can speak for both of them.”

“I’m sure she would love that.” I put a hand on her back to sooth her. She was the closest with her grandfather. Since her parents passed away in a car accident when she was young, they were all she had and he spoiled her rotten. Nana warned him not to let her turn too spoiled, they didn’t want her being a brat. But he assured her that he was just showering her with love. I couldn’t help but understand now why her grandfather would go through such trouble to make sure she felt loved. She is worth it.

“And she wants magnolias out in the country”

“I want to have the ceremony outside, have the alter be surrounded by magnolia trees.” She turned the page to pictures of roads and sidewalks lined with magnolia trees, beautiful shades of pink and white blooming across the page.

“Why magnolias?” I remember her telling me years ago that her favorite flower was a white rose, so I thought that she would for sure have those.

“They were my mother’s favorite.” She smiled, “If I’m going to have a ceremony where I’m bringing someone into my family, I want them all there. Even if it’s just in spirit.” She chuckled as she pointed to the single picture of her mother with a crown of magnolias on her head, spinning around in the sun. “I would always make her flower crowns of them, and I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

“I think that her seeing you on your wedding day would’ve made her even happier.” I say, hoping to reassure her. I never met her mother or father. They were gone before I even came to the US. But when I met her, she had this spark in her still, I imagine that it’s the spark she got from her mother. The same spark she seems to have in this photo.

“Not too many people, save her daddy some money”

“So, how are you planning on paying for all this? I mean, realistically a job valeting cars won’t get you far.” I was hoping to try to get her to change the subject so she wouldn’t get too upset looking through this book.

“My daddy left me his savings in his will. My Nana and Papa saved it for when I went to college, but I got enough scholarships I didn’t need it. So, I figured I’d save it for my wedding or buying a house.” She shrugged, “Like I said, I want all the people important to me with me that day. But I will have to have a smaller ceremony because it’s not that much money he’s left. I think I’d invite family and the few close friends that are like family.”

“She got it all planned out. I can see it all right now. I’ll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back.”

“Of course, I’ve made sure you’ll be on the guestlist.” She flipped the next page and pointed to the picture of me and her on prom night our senior year. I’m in a black suit and tie, she had a soft blush pink dress that flowed down to the floor with white magnolias in her pinned-up hair. This was the first time I was able to really picture it all. Not just looking at pictures, but what it would look like as I walked around the place myself. I can see myself hiding in the back as we get ready for the ceremony to start, making some last-minute adjustments to my suit. Making sure my hair looked okay.

“I’ll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without crying, so nobody sees.”

I’d probably have to take a shot to ease my nerves. I wonder if I’d be one of those people who would cry as soon as she walked down the aisle.

“This is the dress that I want.” Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts, she showed me a dress that would fit her perfect. It was flowing but puffy. She had a long train and lace accents all over. She would look like a princess. I can see her perfectly in the dress, and not just because she cut a photo of her head out and taped it over the model of the dress, but because I think it is exactly the type of dress, I would expect her to wear. This answers my question, I would definitely be the first one to cry as I saw her walking down the aisle.

“It’s perfect. You’ll look perfect.” I whisper to her. I could see her holding onto my every word. Like she wanted to hear nothing more than those words. I slowly moved my hand from her back up to her cheek and cupped her face. “Everything is perfect.” I tell her. Her skin lights up under my touch, as if it’s a flame setting fire to her body.

“Yeah, she wanna get married. But she don’t wanna marry me. I remember the night when I almost kissed her. I kinda freaked out, we’ve been friends for forever. And I’d always wonder if she felt the same way.”

I’ve never wanted to kiss her more than right now. I’ve thought about it before, but never needed it like I do right now. She started to lean in, eyes fluttering shut. It’s now or never. But something stopped me. I don’t know if it was my nerves, or if it was just too much all at once, imagining us get married, but I just couldn’t do it. She felt me pull away and stopped herself, she shot her eyes open and realized that she read the situation wrong. But she didn’t read it wrong, I just chickened out. I’ve wanted this since the day I met her, but it was just too scary. What if we ended up breaking up and hating each other? She was too important for me to lose.

She just cleared her throat and acted as if nothing happened, turning the next page of her scrapbook.

“When I got the invite, I knew it was too late. And I know, her daddy’s been dreadin’ this day. Although he don’t know he ain’t the only one givin’ her away.”

I woke up to the sound of my alarm, turning over to shut it off I felt the paper I had cried over last night. An invite to (Y/N)’s dream wedding. After the night when she showed me her scrapbook, she seemed to become distant. I don’t know if it’s because we almost kissed and I seemed to reject her, or if she just got too busy with her new boyfriend, but it broke my heart more and more every day until I was just numb. That was 3 years ago, now she had moved on and found someone who wasn’t afraid to grow up and commit to her.

I’d been to see her Nana a couple times after she had started dating him and she scolded me just as I had scolded myself.

“You know, I was really hoping it would’ve been you. You would’ve been perfect together.” She shook her head in disappointment as I helped her in the kitchen while (Y/N) and her boyfriend set the table in the dining room. “I don’t like him as much as I like you.” She sighed and went back to chopping her tomatoes.

“No one’s more disappointed than I am Nana.” I looked down at my hands, feeling empty without hers in them.

“I’ll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back. I’ll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without cryin’ so nobody sees. Yeah, she wanna get married, but she don’t wanna marry me.”

“Hey, did you get the invite?” (Y/N) called me shortly after I’d woken up, knowing when my alarm was set for.

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I know that we haven’t been… the closest lately… but I hope you’ll still come. Afterall you’re in the scrapbook.” She chuckled, hoping she could bring me around to the idea of going. She still didn’t know why I’d distanced myself from her all these years. I can imagine I’ve hurt her, but I only hurt myself every time I see her with him, so I had to do it. “I asked Sam if he’d be willing to make you a best man, since I can’t have you as a bridesmaid. He said of course you could be. It really would mean the world to me if you would.”

While I wanted to be nowhere near Sam, helping him celebrate his wedding day with the love of my life, I wanted nothing more than to be there for her. No matter how she wanted me there.

“Of course, I’ll be a best man. I wouldn’t miss your wedding if the world was ending.” I smiled through the phone, knowing she wouldn’t see just how broken it was.

“Ah! Yay! I was hoping you’d say yes! I can’t wait to tell him. I’ll talk to you later, love you.”

I hung up before I could say anything back.

The day of her wedding came sooner than I’d hoped. It was a beautiful spring wedding with the pink magnolias surrounding the alter in full bloom. I was in a black suit and tie with a flask of whiskey hidden in my coat pocket. I was in the back helping Sam make his last preparations when I saw her.

“But she got on her dress now, welcomin’ the guests now. I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now.”

She was stunning. The sun shining off her in the most perfect way. She was out greeting guests before the ceremony started, in her reception gown, saving the real gown for later when no one would see. Even in this substitute dress I couldn’t help dropping my jaw when she turned my way. She came over to me and threw her arms around me. “I know I’m supposed to be getting ready, but I couldn’t wait to see you.” She whispered in my ear. God did I miss her.

“(Y/N), there’s something I want to tell you.” I start to work up the courage. It was now or never.

“But I ain’t gonna mess this up, so I wish her the best now. I’m in my black suit, black tie and out in the back. Doin’ a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without cryin’ so nobody sees. Yeah, she wanna get married. But she don’t wanna marry me.”

“Yeah Shang-Chi?” She looked up at me as she pulled away from me. She looked so perfect. I just wanted to tell her everything on my chest and run away from all this with her. Live happily ever after. But this is real life, this is a wedding she’s planned out since she was a kid. She wants it to be perfect. I can’t take that from her.

“Everything is perfect. You look perfect.” I force a smile as she grins and giggles at me.

“You’re so dramatic, but I love that about you.” She kissed my cheek and told me she’d save me a dance as she went back to her dressing room to finish getting ready.

I pulled the flask out of my jacket and took a strong swig. Sam was calling me over to get in line at the altar.

Bridesmaids one through four walked down the aisle carrying bouquets of pink magnolias. She followed them up in her beautiful gown, straight out of her scrapbook. A bouquet of white roses with pink magnolias blossomed out of her hands. She absolutely took my breath away, but it wasn’t me she was marching towards.

Find more of my work here.

My work is exclusively posted on Tumblr by me, on this blog. If you see my work posted elsewhere, please reach out to me.

Thank you, xx.

#shang chi x reader #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #shang chi #shang chi fanfic #mcu x reader #marvel fanfiction

[especially-obsessed]

Sunset Whiskey

Summary: Dean and Cass go out on some angel business, so you and Sam take the impala on a vamp case. After a long day on the road with Sam, you realize something. You have to talk about it with Sam, nervous about what his reaction will be.

Requested: Yes

Warnings: fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

**Requests are open!**

“Cass!” Dean's yell was answered with silence. The tips of his ears were turning a shade of crimson red, and it was obvious he was getting fed up with the angel's tardiness. Dean huffed and started pacing around the bunker, his boots clomping on the floor as he took five steps towards the door, five steps back to the table, where you sat.

“Damn it Cass,” Dean grumbled. “What good does praying do if you don’t answer?”

“Can’t help noticing the irony in that,” you snorted. Dean tilted his head towards you, and you had to turn your face away from him to hide your smirk. Anything said now would only add to the fire. Damn Cass for ruining Dean’s perfectly good mood today.

You glanced down at the book sitting on the table in front of you. A random page thrown open to make it look like you had read up to that point. The book was something about angels, or demons. Angel demons? You couldn’t remember. Whatever Sam wanted you to read today was not as important as watching Dean about to lose his cool over the fact that Cass wasn’t showing up or answering his prayers. Cass had asked for Dean’s help with finding rogue angels when he stopped by the day before to check in with the three of you. Dean sighed loudly and closed his eyes.

“Castiel, please get your feathered ass down here,” he said in a calm voice. After a few seconds, he opened one eye, as if Cass was going to be standing right in front of him. “Oh, what the f-”

There was a slight rush of air and the sound of flapping wings, and Cass was standing right behind Dean. Dean just rolled his eyes and turned around, scrutinizing Cass for being late. You listened to their conversation, but heard another set of footsteps heading down the hall. The footsteps grew closer to you, and stopped behind where you sat. You smiled, breathing in the smell of sandalwood and fresh honey crisp. Sam wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled, squirming at the feel of his stubble on your cheek and neck.

“How’s the lore?” he asked.

“Painfully boring,” you sighed. Sam laughed and pulled away from you. You shivered at the loss of his warmth, wishing he would come back and hug you again. He moved swiftly to the other side of the table and set his computer on the table. He walked into the kitchen and past Dean and Cass, who were still talking about what they needed to do on their ‘angel recon’, as Dean was putting it.

Sam walked back into the room with a bowl in his hand. “Are you guys okay if (y/n) and I go on a case?” he asked, placing the bowl in front of you. Watermelon. You could already feel your mouth watering.

“We’ll call you if we need anything,” Dean replied calmly. Cass put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and just like that, they were gone.

“What’s the case?”

“Couple of bodies have popped up in Colorado, drained.” Sam started typing on his computer.

“Vampires? Find the nest, easy,” you said, sitting up from your chair. Sam looked up at you with bright eyes. “Be ready in five?”

“Make it ten,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at you as he stood up and closed his laptop. You knew that look well, and all but ran to your room with Sam hot on your heels.

Trees, trees, and, oh wait, more trees. That’s all there was on the twisting and turning road you and Sam were on. When Sam said you were going to Colorado, you got excited. Little did you expect there to be a seven and a half hour drive there. Sam tried to reassure you, saying that the closer to the motel they got, the better the views would be, but six hours in and you still only saw the dull brown and green of the trees.

“I can’t even see the sunset from here,” you rested your head on the window, looking up at the sky, seeing it start to turn from blue to purple.

“Give it a minute,” Sam looked over at you, and rested his hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “The trees will clear soon enough.”

“You said that thirty minutes ago.”

“Well, this time I know there’s a clearing coming up.”

You quickly sat up in your seat and looked at the road ahead of you. In the distance, as far as the horizon would let you see, there was the top of an orange mountain range. You looked around and could tell the trees were becoming less congested and you could see farther into the woods. You squirmed in your seat anticipating the view coming up. Sam squeezed your thigh again. Almost . . . there.

The impala was bathed in sunshine. It wasn’t warm like a normal sunny day, but the glow gave you a happy feeling that swam throughout your body. You looked past Sam and saw the sun, surrounded by brilliant shades of red and orange. The horizon was smokey, and the clouds held an eternal yellow. Tranquil, gorgeous. The silhouettes of the mountain tops added a darkness to the sunset that made you smile. Could that even be considered irony?

Your eyes met Sam’s, his golden-brown eyes watching you, flitting back to the road every few seconds. His eyes reminded you of the afternoon sun shining through a glass of whiskey; warm and smooth. He smiled and reached for your hand, which you happily took. Your hands fit together perfectly, his enveloping yours. Like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit.

“We’re almost there. We should be able to check into the motel by nightfall.” Sam dropped his hand and rested it back on your thigh, squeezing it enough to make you giggle. You scooted closer to him in the seat and took in another deep breath of . . . him. Sam let out a content sigh like he could read your mind and was thinking the same thing as you. He raised his hand from your thigh and flipped on the radio, a preset station from Dean playing classic rock. He wouldn’t dare admit this in front of his brother, but Sam did enjoy this type of music from time to time. The song that was playing ended, and the man on the radio introduced the next song.

“This one goes out to all of the love birds on an afternoon drive . . .” his raspy voice cut off as the music started to play.

“Young Love by Sonny James!” you exclaimed.

“How did you even get that so quickly?” Sam asked, chuckling at your excitement. “Can this even be considered classic rock? It’s not very . . . rock-ish.”

“It was when it first came out. Now shut your cakehole.” Sam only rolled his eyes at that. You looked down and could see that he started tapping his left song with the beat. The chorus was coming up and you took a deep breath.

“Young Love, first love!”

“Filled with true devotion!” Sam sang next to you. You could barely control your smile.

The two of you continued singing along with the radio all the way to the motel. The ride into town from where you saw the sunset only took two or three songs, but it felt like you had been sitting in the Impala with Sam for hours. And Sam was spot on with his estimate of getting to the motel by nightfall. The sun was just setting behind the trees when Sam parked the impala and walked up to the front desk. You got out and went to the back, pulling out your duffle bag and Sam’s. You made sure to place your knife and gun back securely on your waist.

Once inside the motel room, you made quick work of changing your clothes. Sam suggested going after the nest tonight once they found where it was. You would rather be dressed and prepared to leave once Sam figured it out. Dean was right, he was a wizard with a keyboard once it came to research. You had already done some in the car on the way here, but it would be easy for Sam to connect the dots of all of the vics locations and relationships.

“Alright Mr. Winchester, whatcha got?”

“That was . . . rough,” you said, walking through the open door of the motel. The air conditioning all but slapped you in the face. It clung to your sweat-soaked skin.

“Yeah, no kiddin’,” Sam plopped down on the bed and let out a loud sigh. You set your gun down on the table and plopped down next to him. You instinctively started to curl into his side. After a few seconds, he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around you.

“You did good today,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

“Not too bad yourself, Winchester.” You looked up at him and smiled softly. There was a pit at the bottom of your stomach, eating away at you slowly. Sam must’ve noticed the look on your face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His voice flooded with concern. You moved away from him, just far enough that you could look at him without craning your neck and so that his arm still held you. You reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in your hands.

“You know I love you, right?” you asked him.

“Of course. I love you too. Wh-,” He swallowed, thinking about what he wanted to say. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you ever think we could leave this life?” you asked, holding your breath as you waited for Sam’s answer. You watched his face as he thought over the question. He only nodded at you. You smiled. “Sam, I love you very much. More than I think you’ll ever know. But I’ve been thinking lately . . . I don’t want to do this anymore. Hunting I mean. I want a normal life. I want to live in a house with big windows and cook dinner at home for a family and-”

“I want that too,” Sam said quietly. You sucked in a deep breath.

“Really?”

“Of course I do. I want a family and a normal life. And I want that with you.”

“You would leave this life to start a new one with me?” you asked, trying to hide your disbelief. You never would have imagined that Sam would want that after trying numerous times and getting sucked back into hunting. Or even leaving Dean behind.

“I would go with you anywhere. I know why you got into this life, and if you’re ready to get out, I’ll go with you. I love you, (y/n).” You looked into his sunset whiskey eyes. You could see the love and the hope, swirling together.

“I love you too, Sam.” He pulled you closer to him and kissed you on the forehead. You snuggled further into him, admiring his familiar scent. The sounds of someday lulled the two of you to sleep. You were home.

--

Requested by Anon

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’m so very sorry this request took so long. Thank you to whoever requested this, I love the concept!

As always, likes, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated (:

**Requests are open! Please submit your request to my inbox here (:**

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert #Sam Winchester request #supernatural #spn x reader #spn famdom #spn fic #spn #dean winchester #castiel #cass #destiel #winchester boys #winchester brothers #especially obsessed

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Mature, not smutty but it is a bit gory

Trigger Warnings: Blood and Gore, descriptions of physical violence, nothing worse than on the show, but it’s there all the same. Also some Shirakumo related spoilers. 

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 13/16 (all chapters)

16-ISH YEARS AGO

“This is a terrible idea, just so you know.”

Shouta hugged his arms around his body, turning to look at the path behind him. His eyes were still growing accustomed to the dark and he had been almost entirely reliant on Shirakumo and Hizashi to guide him through the undergrowth, along a path tucked away by several layers of branches.

He had no idea where they were going, only that it was long after curfew.

“You worry too much,” said Hizashi. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it!”

Shouta pursed his lips together, more than a little conscious of how new he was to class 1-A. More specifically, how any wrong move could realistically end in him being returned to general studies.

He hadn’t wanted to go to the summer training camp, but ultimately the pros far outweighed the cons. Sure, he’d have to eat bad curry and share a room with students he barely knew, but missing out on the opportunity to master his quirk wasn’t something to be taken lightly. His presence there alone was a test, unofficially or not.

He had been exhausted when he finally rested his head, only to spend hours staring at the ceiling. In a matter of hours, he would have to push himself harder than ever and that knowledge alone made him nervous. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before either, instead stealing glances at the packed bag by his bedroom door. The more he tried to sleep, the more nervous he got, a vicious cycle he knew all too well.

He was still awake at light’s out; still awake when the majority of the other guys tucked themselves into bed and began to snore. He was still awake when Shirakumo and Yamada got up to leave.

He knew them from class, of course. If he had to label them anything, and was loath to do so, they were the closest thing he had to friends on the hero course. Yamada had offered up one of his earphones on the bus ride over to show him the song he’d been obsessed with, while Shirakumo frowned into the other. Shirakumo had nudged Shouta with a wink before dropping so many chilli flakes into the curry that it shone an angry shade of red. Shouta had no idea what his ultimate goal had been, only that the two members of class 1-A who finished their dinner did it on a dare.

Shouta knew they were up to no good the second he saw them tiptoeing across the room, dodging the arms and legs of their sleeping classmates. Whatever they were up to would almost certainly get him into trouble if caught. Even so, he followed them when they motioned for him to.

“We found it earlier,” said Shirakumo, crouching down beside a fallen tree and linking his hands to give Yamada a boost over the top.

Yamada whined as he climbed up and slid down onto the other side, far from pleased at having to touch the tree bark in so little light. Shirakumo turned to him and held out his hands, leaving Shouta grateful for the darkness. In this light, no one could see him blush.

He set his foot down into Shirakumo’s hands and put a hand on his shoulder for balance. He took a deep breath as Shirakumo boosted him, planting both hands down on the damp bark and pulling himself up. He was still much slower than they were, regardless of how long he spent running laps or doing pull ups. He landed on the other side without any sort of grace, stumbling on his ankle and grazing his hands across the floor. In any other setting it would have hurt, but the grass was soft and incredibly forgiving.

“Man,” said Yamada, who was still checking himself for bugs, “I’m going to itch for a week.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Shirakumo, landing softly. “C’mon, it’s this way!”

He raced on ahead, no longer concerned about waking up any of the professors. Shouta turned to Yamada, who grinned back and reached for his hand.

“C’mon!”

He squeezed tightly and followed suit, Shouta trailing behind and staring at their linked hands. It was so intimate and yet so casual and he didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to think about it for long, as they reached a gap in the trees and Yamada let him go. Shouta stumbled to a stop, jaw dropping as he took in their new surroundings.

They had arrived at the base of a waterfall, its waters twinkling in a near perfect imitation of the stars overhead. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Yamada and Shirakumo weren’t nearly as overwhelmed as he was, already in the process of settling down on the grass. Shouta followed suit, wishing he had a dozen or more heads just to take in every detail.

“It’s good, right?!” Shirakumo said as he and Yamada flopped back into the grass.

Shouta laid back far more slowly, taking care to listen to the whisper of the water and cool night breeze. He made sure to smell the flowers that crowned their heads.

“I…” he said, closing his eyes.

He wanted to say it was beautiful, that he was happy they had shared this secret with him.

He wanted to say how grateful he was to have such welcoming classmates who hadn’t hesitated to welcome him into their class.

In the end, though, he merely shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

~~~~

PRESENT

“What do you mean you can’t come? I need you to chaperone the girls.”

“Eraser, be more sympathetic,” wailed Nemuri. “I’ve never had such bad cramps before! I feel like I’ve swallowed a chainsaw.”

Shouta leaned against the bus, rubbing his temples and toeing the gravel.

He had hated summer training camps as a teenager and he definitely hated them now.

Shouta was sick of planning the summer camp. He was tired of so much as hearing about it. It was necessary, he knew that, but this one seemed to have been doomed from the beginning.

The last thing he needed was to have to replace a chaperone at the last minute, especially so early on into summer vacation.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just take an aspirin.”

“I don't have any!”

“I do. Now hurry up, we’re leaving soon.”

He hung up before she could protest, only for his phone to start ringing again almost immediately.

“I already organised a replacement,” said Nemuri the moment he picked up. “A little last minute, but she’s definitely qualified!”

“What are you tal-“

He never got the chance to reply, for you strolled around the corner, rucksack strapped to your back and sunglasses perched on top of your head. You waved the moment you saw him and came rushing over, completely oblivious to the conflict playing out in front of you.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, hanging up on Nemuri for a second time.

She had a point and he knew it. You were the only member of the faculty who didn’t have lessons to plan and papers to grade. Even so, it made him nervous and he told himself it had nothing at all to do with the cutoffs you had on.

“(Name),” he said, “you…”

“Did you speak to Nemuri? Is she okay?”

Shouta slipped his phone back into his pocket, wondering exactly how much she had told you.

“She’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m sorry to put you out like this.”

“No, no,” you said, waving away his concerns, “I was already packed for Yamanashi. It’s not putting me out at all!”

It was just like you and he sighed, cursing Nemuri. He wanted to tell you to go home, but he didn’t know who else he could call in on such short notice and, given the current climate, it was important to keep as few people in the know about where you were going as humanly possible. Even if he called Recovery Girl or Thirteen, it was unlikely either of them would be packed and ready on time and he didn’t like the idea of having them arrive at the camp later, putting more vehicles on the road for the League of Villains to follow.

“We’re taking separate routes,” he said, against his better judgement. “You should travel with 1-B. They’re taking the shorter path.”

He pointed out the second bus, where Vlad was checking over his student rosters.

“Okay,” you said with a wide smile, “I’ll go and tell him about the change of plans.”

He watched as you left, all but bouncing on your heels. He knew you hadn’t experienced much close contact with heroes until recently and your excitement was only natural. Even so, he had a bad feeling about bringing you along, one that he wouldn’t put his finger on until it was too late.

~~~~

Your friends had laughed at you for packing your bags so early. The trip to Yamanashi was weeks away and you had more free time than usual thanks to summer break. Nemuri’s early morning phone call was satisfying in more ways than one. You didn’t need to worry about buying bug spray or picking out walking shoes. All you had to do was throw on some clothes and grab your bag on the way out.

You spent the bus ride turning the pages of a suspense novel, so absorbed in the action that you barely noticed where you were going or how much time had passed. You were almost a quarter of the way through when the bus finally came to a stop and the students pushed their faces to the windows.

“Everyone, calm down,” said Vlad, “back in your seats. You’ll have plenty of time to explore later.”

They groaned, but obeyed, prompting you to giggle and slip a bookmark between the pages of your novel. You were used to dealing with the chaos of 1-A. It was almost a relief to spend time with 1-B.

You and Vlad were the first ones off the bus and you gazed in awe at your forest surroundings. There were trees and mountains as far as the eye could see, wild and unapologetically untamed. You turned on the spot, wishing you could see everything all at once, only to find yourself on the receiving end of a bone breaking handshake.

“Good morning, good morning,” said the stranger. “Welcome to The Beast’s Forest.”

You took in the stranger’s enormous form; his broad shoulders and kitten paw gloves.

“I...um...thank you…”

“The Wild Wild Pussycats are helping us out with the training camp this year,” said Vlad, taking a moment to look away as the students filed off the bus. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s our pleasure,” said the stranger. “I’m Tiger and this is Ragdoll!”

He gestured to the woman beside him, who had on a matching set of kitten paw gloves.

“Pleased to meet you,” she cried out, hopping on the spot. “We’re so happy you chose to come here and train with us!”

“We’ll show you to your rooms,” followed up Tiger.

“1-B,” said Vlad, turning to the students, who by then had started to huddle round you. “Grab your things and get ready to unpack. We have a lot to do today, so no goofing off!”

~~~~

After everyone had unpacked, Vlad and Ragdoll left to take the students on a short hike. You stayed behind to help Tiger prepare dinner, as well as to help the girls from 1-A unpack and settle in once they finally arrived.

By all accounts it didn’t make sense. 1-A had set off before you, yet still hadn’t arrived. You thought about it as you washed and peeled vegetables, wondering if Shouta had done so deliberately as part of a training exercise.

They trailed out of the forest and through the doors at sundown, filthy, exhausted and starving.

“What on earth happened?” you asked, guiding them to the dorms while Pixie Bob and Mandalay finished up the food.

You didn’t get much of an answer, just whimpers of despair.

You watched as they trailed into their room, dragging their legs and clutching their hands over their stomachs, wondering what kinds of tortures they had endured in the forest.

As expected of UA , you considered. This isn’t even day one.

~~~~~~~

After dinner, the students took a dip in the hot springs and retired to bed, exhausted from the day’s events and anticipating an early start. You checked in on them before leaving the dorms, meaning to explore the grounds a little. You weren’t sure how much time you would have to yourself once the training actually started and wanted to make the most of it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a break outside of the city. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been away from the city at all. Akira had always promised that one day you would take a week away in a cabin somewhere, though he had always been too busy for one reason or another to follow through. You had told yourself you thrived in the city, but the peaceful night air was proof enough of how wrong you had been.

The air was clean here; the silence broken only by the cry of cicadas in the distance. You had never seen the stars so clearly before and, now that they glimmered above you, you never wanted to stop looking at them.

At that moment, all you could think about was Hizashi. You remembered how it had felt to explore Musutafu with his hand in yours, so caught up in the beauty of your surroundings that you forgot how it felt to be sad.

What movie are we in?

You pulled your phone from your pocket and scrolled through your own songs as you walked, following the dirt path to an exposed area of grass framed by trees. You gave each tree an appraising look, trying to figure out which one would give you the best view, only to flop down in the middle and gaze up at the sky. You had never seen such a clear view of the summer triangle before: Orihime and Hikoboshi reunited in the stars.

Their story had always been one of your favourites, which proved fortunate, as it was your mother’s favourite too. She liked to sit you and your brother down and recite the story of the beautiful princess and her humble lover as a cautionary tale, meant to remind you of the importance of contributing to society, as opposed to childish fleets of fancy. Your brother, ever the dutiful son, had nodded along to her words and condemned the lovers for their passion, but you had always been something of a romantic. You often slipped up and said how happy you were that the lovers were reunited, to which your mother would pinch your cheeks. She liked to remind you that they would not have been separated in the first place if they hadn’t been selfish, nor would they have been reunited without the generosity of Orihime’s father.

Your mother was the only person you had ever met who spent Tanabata wishing for a rainstorm.

You hadn’t talked to either of your parents for well over a year. You hadn’t told them about the break up, nor mentioned your change in career. You weren’t naive enough to think they didn’t know. Your brother was still the obedient one and had texted you on the night of the USJ incident.

You wondered what your mother would say if she saw you now; if she knew Akira proposed to you and you had turned him down. She would probably faint if she knew you had slept with two of your coworkers, one of which had been a complete stranger at the time.

You gazed up at the sky and the summer triangle, finally understanding that you had always wished for Orihime’s happiness because you saw yourself in her. Perhaps your mother did too and that was why she pinched your cheeks so much.

You reached up to touch your own cheek and smiled, thinking of Hizashi and Shouta.

Hizashi was just as much of a romantic as you were and Shouta’s passions ran deeper than you’d ever presume to understand.

You couldn’t choose between them and never wanted to.

You were ready to be selfish and chase the stars.

~~~~

You weren’t the only one watching the stars that night.

Shouta perched in the branches of a tall tree several feet away, hiding in the summer foliage and watching the dorms for any signs of students breaking curfew. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He had reached for his capture weapon the moment he heard the front door, only to loosen his grip when he saw who was coming.

He had watched you lay down in the grass to watch the stars; had watched you reach out to touch your cheek. He was reminded of a different summer camp at a different time; a time when he too laid his head in the grass to look up at the sky.

He lifted his hand and examined it in the moonlight. This was the hand that Hizashi had taken all of that time ago and, even though the skin had hardened and formed calluses, still tingled at the memory. He could jump fallen trees faster than Hizashi now; could navigate the dark without even trying. Even so, he still thought of hands in his and didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to go back to the waterfall from all those summers ago; wanted to link his hand in Hizashi’s again and lay back to watch the stars with your lap for a pillow.

He wanted to tell you that you were beautiful; that if anyone was to make him feel so illogical, he was glad it was you.

The more things changed, though, the more they stayed the same. He touched his fingers to his lips, tracing the spaces you had kissed even as you got back up to your feet and headed to the dorms, an expression of determination on your face.

He wanted to go after you, but his legs wouldn’t move.

He wanted to whisper the truth of his complicated feelings in your ear, but couldn’t say a word.

He was taller and stronger, yet still no different to the boy from all of those years ago. Now, just like then, he told himself that you were better off not knowing; that one day he would be brave enough to say his feelings out loud, but it wasn’t this one.

He had no idea how far the parallels ran. Now, just like then, he was running out of time.

~~~~~~

On a day to day basis, Vlad didn’t spend too much time with Aizawa or the students of 1-A. He definitely didn’t spend much time with you . 1-B hadn’t experienced as many traumas as 1-A. The only motivation he might have had to stop by your office unexpectedly was to make conversation, though you always seemed to be busy whenever he passed. When you weren’t chatting with students or rearranging the notice board outside of your office, you were chatting with Kayama and Yamada and sometimes even Aizawa.

He had been surprised when you came over to him the previous morning, sheepishly admitting that you had come to join them in Midnight’s stead, but he hadn’t questioned it.

The night before, though, he had definitely started to question some things.

He had drifted out of sleep to the sound of a soft tapping outside of his bedroom door. It was too faint to be his own door, though the idea that it might be a student bothered him. He got up and opened his own door by a sliver and peered out into the darkness.

Aizawa’s room was a little further down the corridor and you were standing in front of it, softly tapping at the wood and shifting on the spot.

“Everything okay?” he had asked, prompting you to jump in surprise.

“I...I um,” you had said, glancing from him to Aizawa’s door. “Everything’s fine, I just needed to…”

You had waved almost frantically, a blush peppering your cheeks.

“It’s nothing...I’m sorry I disturbed you!”

He had watched you scurry out of the men’s dorms, chancing glances over your shoulder at him and shooting awkward smiles.

It was strange to say the least, and he wondered about it long into the night. It still played on his mind as he took a seat at the breakfast table. The students were still in the process of getting up and only you, Aizawa and Vlad himself were around, helping yourselves to bowls of rice and cups of coffee. Vlad picked at his own food, still curious about the night before. He watched as you shot second and third glances at Aizawa, visibly gathering your nerves. He saw you get to your feet the second Aizawa did and follow him to the buffet table. He listened in as you began to speak in nervous whispers.

“Shouta,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder, “I need to talk to you.”

“You’re talking to me now.”

“I mean...I need to talk to you... alone .”

Vlad dropped his gaze as you looked in his direction and shovelled food into his mouth to disguise the fact that he had been eavesdropping.

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are the students okay?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Aizawa, lowering his cup. “We can talk about it later.”

“But…”

“Later.”

Aizawa left you at the breakfast buffet with no further room for argument, slipping back down into his seat on Vlad’s left as if nothing had happened. You followed, flopping down into your own seat on Vlad’s right, all three of you eating in silence. Vlad’s eyes darted from his left to his right, as intrigued by this new development as he was annoyed.

~~~~~

“It’s okay, deep breaths, deep breaths!”

You patted Uraraka on the back, holding her hair back from her face as she wretched. She clasped her hands over her mouth, self conscious about throwing up in front of her classmates, but too wobbly on her feet to reach the portable toilet nearby.

“Come on,” you said, easing her arm over your shoulders and guiding her to her feet. “Slow steps.”

You guided her to the toilet, only letting go as she shut the door behind her and taking the chance to look around at your surroundings. The sun was up and training well underway. 1-A and 1-B had been assigned individual training exercises to improve their quirks and the result was organised chaos.

You didn’t have any sort of combat training, so settled for weaving your way through the crowds, offering up sips of water, pats to the back and encouraging words. It was something, at least, and gave you ample opportunities to try and get Shouta alone.

You had decided to tell him everything, from your night with Hizashi to your realisations about yourself and your own feelings. You had to be honest with him, even if it meant being rejected. You knew he had some kind of feelings for you. You knew that he wanted you on some level. You needed him to see your side of things, though so far had been unsuccessful. Every time you got closer, he found somewhere else to be.

It was disheartening, to say the least. You wondered if telling him the truth was a mistake, though shrugged off the idea almost immediately. If you never told him the truth, you’d never know his reaction.

You knew that the moment you returned home, back to your house and regular job, you would lose all of your confidence. You’d not only go back to your regular bed, but your regular demons as well.

You thought you knew better than anyone that you were running out of time and the clock was ticking, but had no idea that the end was much sooner than you thought.

You thought you had until the end of the week.

In reality, you had about 36 hours.

35:48:32

~~~~

23:59:47

“So what’s the story with you and Eraserhead?”

Your eyes bulged.

“W-what do you mean?”

You switched off the showerhead and turned back towards the onsen, realising too late that you were on the receiving end of not one but three sets of eyes.

You had tried to get Shouta’s attention again at dinner, but he had announced plans for extra lessons with the underperformers in his class. Whatever it was you had to say to him could wait until later.

You had been more than a little depressed at this development, though nowhere near as upset as Kaminari and Ashido, both of whom had begged for you to rescue them.  

You must have looked unhappy as you stepped outside, for you were almost immediately jumped by Pixie Bob, Ragdoll and Mandalay, who invited you to take a soak in the hot springs with them. Maybe it was the prospect of girl talk or the fact that they reminded you so much of your own trio of girlfriends, but you took them up on it.

You hadn't expected them to ask your love life so directly.

“I...I...uh…haha, Eraserhead? Eraserhead and me?”

They grinned at that and you didn’t blame them. In their position you wouldn’t have been convinced either.

You sighed, setting aside the showerhead and getting to your feet.

“We had sex,” you said, sinking into the water. “Twice.”

“I knew it,” said Pixie Bob, nudging Mandalay. “See? I told you. I always know when people are sleeping together.”

“Oh, we’re not sleeping together anym-“

“But you’d like to?!” Ragdoll asked, tilting her head to one side.

“I…I…”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” Pixie Bob continued, seeming not to notice. “A second quirk, if you will.”

“ Sure going to come in handy during a rescue mission,” sighed Mandalay.

“Don’t be so dismissive! We could...I could,” Pixie Bob scratched her chin until inspiration struck. “If someone had heavy blood loss, I could ask their lover for their blood type!”

“What kind of guys have you been hooking up with? Vampires?”

Pixie Bob looked offended at the very idea, though Ragdoll only smiled.

“Does Eraserhead know your blood type, (Name)?” she asked, returning you to the center of attention.

“Honestly? Probably.”

It wouldn’t surprise you, all things considered. You were still convinced he’d read your staff dossier during your first few weeks at UA.

“See,” said Pixie Bob. “Sixth sense. Incredibly useful.”

Mandalay sighed and rubbed her temples.

“You must think we’re crazy.”

“I work for UA,” you laughed, “I can handle crazy.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Pixie Bob, with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows that made Mandalay groan. “Seriously, though, what’s the story with you two? How’d you end up... knowing each other’s blood types?”

You weighed up the pros and cons of telling them, before ultimately throwing caution to the wind. You hadn’t even gotten around to telling your friends the full story, much less about your intentions to confess to Shouta. Hizashi and Nemuri didn’t know about the night at Ego ; it had always seemed inappropriate to tell them.

It was a relief to finally have the whole story off your chest and, for the first time since your arrival, all three of the Pussycats were silent, all pondering the same thing.

It was Mandalay who spoke first.

“We’ll help.”

“H-huh?!”

“Yes,” said Ragdoll, giggling with glee. “We’ll take care of everything. ”

To their credit, they really did have everything worked out.

The following evening, once training was complete, they planned to host a ghost walk, pitting class A against class B. While the walk took place, the teachers would host remedial classes with their underperforming students, just as they were doing now.

Unbeknownst to any of the students, however, they also planned to have a barbecue once the ghost walk was finished. Both Vlad and Shouta had agreed to take a break from the remedial classes around that time in the hopes of restoring the morale of the underperformers, giving them at least one good memory of summer camp.

While the students gathered around the campfire, the Pussycats would send you and Shouta back into the woods to double check all of them had returned. It was the perfect opportunity to have a private conversation and you could hardly wait.

You returned to your room on a high, both so anxious and excited that you could barely concentrate on your book.

Your fingers trembled. You wondered what you would say. You had originally planned to make it up as you went along, but having a deadline gave you more of an incentive to think it through.

You rested your head against your pillows and laid your book down on your chest.

You had a feeling the next day was going to be eventful, though had no idea how right you really were.

~~~~

17:30:24

Remedial classes went about as well as was to be expected. By the time he escorted them back to the dorms, they were in varying states of despair.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said, “it takes dedication to be heroes. If you fall apart at every hurdle, your career won’t last very long.”

He dropped Mina off at the girls’ dorms last of all, waiting for her to close the door behind her before continuing up the corridor and back out towards the entrance. He paused midway, noticing that your bedroom door was open by a sliver and the light still on.

He remembered what you had said to him at breakfast; how nervous you had been. He felt a little guilty for keeping his distance, but had a feeling whatever it was you had to say to him was something that would require one hundred percent of his attention and time, which at that moment he was unable to give.

He knocked at your door before stepping inside, a soft smile creeping across his face at what greeted him. You had fallen asleep reading, a book resting over your face and cell phone in your hand. He could hear you snoring underneath it and took a couple of silent steps forward, just until he was close enough to pick up the front and back covers between his thumb and forefingers and peel it off your face. He slipped your bookmark between the pages and rested the book down on your bedside table, finally reaching across to try and slip the phone out from your hand.

You had starfished your body across the bed and it wasn’t difficult to loosen your grip on the phone. For one nerve wracking second, Shouta thought he’d woken you, for you crumpled up your face and rolled over onto your side to face him, murmuring in your sleep.

“...fair,” you said. “Sh...fair.”

He looked down at the hand closest to him, palm upwards across the bed. His own fingers twitched at the sight. He remembered how it had felt to hold your hand at Ego ; how you had trembled as you followed him through the club. At the time he had dismissed it as excitement, but now that he knew you better he understood it was nerves.

“Shouta,” you murmured, eyes closed and words slurred from sleep.

“I’m here,” he said, putting your phone down on top of your book.

“Sh…” you said again. “...un.”

He pulled the blanket across your body and you snuggled into it, a peaceful smile breaking out across your face. He wanted so badly to wake you up, but couldn't bring himself to. He knew he’d regret it later, though had no idea how much.

“Sleep tight,” he said, stepping back out of your room and switching off the light.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back towards the entrance, oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

Mina Ashido had gone into the washroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair and noticed your open door on the way back. Initially she had wandered over to wish you goodnight, but froze on the spot when she saw Aizawa tucking you in.

She clasped her hands over her mouth as he walked out of the door, pressing herself against the corner of the wall to remain out of sight. She was curious, yes, but not so curious that she was willing to risk even more remedial classes.

She rushed into the girls’ dorm room the moment he was gone and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Everyone,” she hissed, as the others groaned and rubbed their eyes, far from impressed at the early morning interruption. “Wake up! You’re not going to believe this!”

~~~~~~

14:42:45

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know what I saw!”

News of your late night interlude with Aizawa was the talk of the 1-A breakfast table, even if everyone was divided. While Aizawa’s presence in your room definitely raised questions, there was no evidence it had been anything other than innocent. Mina had seen him tucking you into bed and nothing more, leaving the events of that night up to personal interpretation, of which there were many.

“I’m telling you,” said Mina, “he was smiling . It was weird.”

“She could have told him a really good joke,” shrugged Kaminari.

“In her sleep ?”

“Remember that time I told Professor Aizawa a knock knock joke?” Sero said, grimly. “He made me do laps.”

“It was a pretty bad joke,” chuckled Tsuyu.

“You’re all wrong,” said Hagakure. “She’s dating Present Mic!”

“Present Mic?” said Uraraka, sounding more than a little confused.

“They do seem to get along well on his radio show,” said Deku. “That doesn’t mean they’re a couple, though.”

“Maybe she’s dating both of them,” shrugged Kirishima, to which everyone began to chatter in uproar.

“In any case,” said Iida, bellowing over everyone as he lowered his orange juice, “it’s inappropriate to speculate on the private lives of our teachers.”

“But that’s what makes it fun ,” said Mina, who was more than a little put out that people still didn’t believe her.

She glanced over at the teacher’s table, where you and the Pussycats were deep in discussion and Aizawa and Vlad compared notes on their lesson planning.

She knew what she had seen, but had no idea how to prove it.

~~~~~

1:24:21

The third day of training passed just as quickly as the first. You rushed around the grounds, handing over bottles of water and offering words of reassurance. It felt like a workout even though you weren’t the one training and you breathed a sigh of relief when it finally came to a close.

You mopped your brow and peered out over the horizon, taking in the golden sunset.

It was almost time.

~~~~~

00:24:12

Shouta...I’ve been thinking…

We need to be honest with ourselves. You aren’t Hizashi and Hizashi’s not you. You aren’t each other’s substitute and it’s unfair to everyone to pretend you are.

You frowned as you took a sip of soda.

You’d been lost in thought ever since you’d arrived at the midpoint with Ragdoll, going over and over everything you wanted to say to Shouta. In many respects you felt guilty, for you knew you weren’t paying as much attention to the ghost walk as you should.

You didn’t notice the thump of heavy footsteps nearby until Ragdoll herself hopped to her feet to listen.

“What...is that…”

“Is it a student?”

Ragdoll squinted and moved closer to the trees. The footsteps had slowed, but were still audible in the distance. You got up yourself, but she motioned for you to stay where you were.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said with a smile. “Maybe Pixie Bob made one of her earth creatures for extra scares.”

She walked towards the trees, disappearing into the shadows and out of sight. It made you nervous, though you didn’t know why. You tapped your foot against the ground and chewed your bottom lip, listening as both Ragdoll’s footsteps and the heavy ones fell silent.

It lasted only for a second, though it felt like years. You reached for the satchel of extra gear the two of you had packed and rummaged inside of it for a torch. You knew you shouldn’t leave your post, but you wanted to feel just a little safer.

“R-Ragdoll?” you called out, fiddling with the switch. “Are you-“

The footsteps started again and you froze in place, watching as something emerged from the trees. You dropped the torch and it flashed on when it hit the ground, illuminating the enormous creature stumbling towards you.

Your heart froze in your chest and you took a step backwards, insides turning to water.

You recognised this sort of creature from Tsukauchi’s investigation of the events of USJ, though had only ever seen them in photos. You shivered as you took in its exposed brain and dead, fishlike eyes, watching helplessly as Ragdoll thrashed in its grip.

“Get out of here, (Name),” she called out, the creature squeezing her body until the radio fell from her head. “Tell the others!”

You knew that you should obey her, but you were frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as two other figures emerged from the trees. One was a young man with a patchworked face; the other wore a black and white costume that hid any identifying features from view.

The man with the patchworked face glanced from the creature to you, examining you from head to toe as if coming to a decision.

“Hmmm,” he said. “You aren’t on the list.”

You had no idea what list he was talking about, nor why you weren’t on it. You wondered if he was talking about the list of attendees to the summer camp, though prayed you were wrong. The camp’s location was a secret, or rather, was supposed to be one.

“Run!” Ragdoll screamed again and this time you obeyed, sprinting away along the dirt track and back towards camp.

The patchwork-faced man turned languidly to face his companion and shrugged.

“Twice,” he said, “make a copy. We can’t have her alert the others.”

“Right away! Just leave it to me!”

“Honestly, we only just got here and already you’re telling me what to do.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see two identical men with patchwork faces, one of which was beginning to follow you.

Shit, shit, shit.

You ran away, reaching into your pocket for your phone. You needed to warn the others, you needed to-

Shit

You stumbled over an uneven spot in the floor, phone soaring out of your hand and into the trees as your mouth filled with blood.

You rolled over onto your back and crawled over to reach for it, though the tumble had slowed you down significantly. The second patchwork man strolled towards you at a leisurely pace as if you hadn’t bothered to run from him at all. You pushed yourself up onto your feet, but your ankle throbbed and caved in, leaving you crashing back to the ground.

“Ow,” you muttered, shuffling back towards the trees and out of danger, though not remotely fast enough to get away.

“They said I’m not s’posed to hurt you,” he said, taking a step closer, “just scare you a little.”

He smirked, taking in your burst lip and grazed knees; your frantic rummaging through the bag of supplies.

“Looks like my job’s already been done for m-“

He inched backwards as you dragged out the thing you’d been looking for: a flare gun, packed in case of emergencies. It was harmless, of course, but in the darkness looked just like the real thing.

“Tell me,” you said, “are you a clone?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, conflict visibly playing out across his face at the activation of your quirk.

“I am,” he said.

“Tell me,” you said again, far more forcefully, “do you share memories? Will you both remember this conversation?”

“I share his memories. He doesn't share mine.”

You didn’t know if the clone shared the original’s quirk as well as his memories and were more than a little aware that you only had a short window before he figured out you weren’t holding a real gun.

“ Tell me ,” you said. “Where is the league of villains? Where do they gather?”

He squeezed his hands together, blue flames rippling across his skin as he recited an address. You committed it to memory and then pulled the trigger, limping off into the trees as he dodged the red sparks.

You limped as fast as your legs would carry you, finally collapsing behind a tree to catch your breath. You reached for your phone with shaking hands, writing out the address in a message to Shouta and cursing under your breath when it failed to send.  

“Come on, come on, come on,” you said, tapping ‘resend’ over and over to no avail. You had to warn them, had to tell them.

You gave up on sending the message and used the tree as a guide to get back up onto your feet, wincing as almost every inch of your body ached in protest.

Come on , you willed yourself. Come on, (Name), you can do this.

You weren’t a hero, but none of the kids were yet. You had joined UA to guide and protect them and cuts and bruises didn’t change that obligation.

You froze in place at the sound of footsteps, clapping a hand over your nose and mouth, eyes darting around at your surroundings. The trees swayed in the evening breeze, the stars shone brightly overhead, seemingly oblivious to what was happening within the forest. You squeezed your eyes shut, heart pounding and skin clammy.

Why had the villains come here?

What was their goal?

You wished you had asked the patchwork faced man while you still had a chance.

The footsteps faded, their owner retreating in the opposite direction. You breathed a steady sigh of relief and peeped out behind you at the path you would need to take to get back to the main path. It would probably be faster to go through the woodland and you turned back to get your bearings, heart stopping as you found yourself looking into the mouth of another stranger, one who was currently dangling from the branch above you and grinning widely, revealing a set of shining teeth.

“M...meat,” he said, dropping to the floor and leaning back, one of his canines stretching from his mouth and slicing open your arm. “Fresh meat.”

You knew this villain. You remembered his court case; your father led the prosecution and landed him on death row.

Moonfish

You remembered going for coffee with your brother, who at the time was interning at your father’s law firm. It was his first real case and it affected him deeply. He refused to talk about it, even now that years had passed.

After seeing the villain in the flesh, you thought you understood why. He moved with inhuman dexterity, landing in front of you before you could so much as move.

You saw the blade coming. You heard it pierce the tree.

You didn’t, however, feel it go through your body, not until he jerked his head back in an attempt to free his tooth from the tree bark. You screamed in pain, the wound burning every time he moved.

“Show me,” he said, yanking his head, “show me how you look on the inside.”

His tooth snapped and he stumbled backwards, leaving you to flop forward, blood soaking through your shirt.

“Show me,” said Moonfish, stumbling forwards. “Let me taste your flesh.”

You opened your mouth to protest, ears ringing.

You didn’t know what you meant to say to him, only that you never got the chance. He stepped forwards to land the finishing blow, only to hear a noise in the distance. You heard it, too, eyes bulging in realisation.

The students still didn’t know about the attack and were continuing on the ghost walk. A pair of them were nearby, discussing the possible tactics of 1-B.

You searched your brain for the order, though struggling to settle on a single thought, skin prickling as Moonfish retracted his teeth and disappeared into the night, far more interested in a different sort of prey.

You tried to move, only to cry out in pain. The broken tooth seemed to have gone right through not only you, but the tree. If you tried to pull it out, you would almost certainly bleed to death far faster, but if you stayed there it wouldn’t just be you who bled.

You snatched up your phone and frantically dialled everyone in your phone book, blood soaking through your shirt and shorts.

You dialled Shouta to no avail.

You dialled Hizashi, who was in the middle of recording his radio show.

You dialled Nemuri, who was filming an interview on a late night television show.

“Someone,” you murmured, vision going dark and limbs going floppy. “Someone…”

You looked up towards the sky, taking in the bright stars with a bitter smile.

You knew it was impossible, and she was far away, but you could feel your mother pinching your cheeks.

~~~~~

00:05:20

Of all of the heroes in all of the world, Eraserhead was perhaps the most mysterious. What few people knew of his existence knew even less about the man. He was a shadow, venturing out of the darkness only to ambush would be criminals and vanish just as quickly as he came.

He worked best after dark where he could travel unseen. Ironic, therefore, that on this night in particular he stumbled over his feet. He sprinted through the undergrowth, phone pressed to his ear.

Hello, this is (Name). I’m not around at the moment, please leave a message!

“Come on,” he hissed, coming to an abrupt halt and dialling again.

Shouta glanced around at his surroundings, entirely in his element, yet powerless to act.

After returning Kota to the lodge, his phone had exploded with missed calls and messages.

“What is it?” Vlad had asked, noticing the blood drain from his face.

“I’m forwarding an address,” he said, copying one of your messages. “Pass it onto the police when they get here.”

“An address? What-”

“Just pass it onto them! It’s important!”

He had no idea why it was important, of course, only that you wouldn’t have sent it to him so many times if it wasn’t.

Your phone went through to voicemail again and he swore under his breath,

“Idiot,” he hissed. “What did I tell you about facing unknown villains?”

He remembered the night you got him with pepper spray.

Why would you try and confront a villain without help? You could have gotten yourself killed.

“You better not have done anything stupid,” he said, dialling your number again to distract himself from the fact that if you had gotten that information by using your quirk, you must have gotten close to a villain.

“Over here!” Tiger yelled nearby. Shouta followed the sound of his voice, arriving at what had previously been the midpoint.

His ears began to ring when he saw what remained of it: an abandoned table, soaked with blood, an abandoned torch flickering on the ground.

“This...this is Ragdoll’s radio,” said Tiger, lifting it up from the floor. “Oh my god…this...this is blood!”

“This blood’s cold,” said Shouta, dipping his pinky finger into it and glancing across at the radio in Tiger’s hands, “most likely hers.”

“There’s so much,” said Tiger, voice breaking, “that idiot...her quirk isn’t suitable for combat. She knows that.”

Shouta crouched down to pick up the abandoned torch.

“There’s no blood on this,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Whoever dropped it wasn’t injured.” He fiddled with the on switch and turned to face the table, where Tiger had picked up Ragdoll’s abandoned radio. “They were frightened, though.”

“(Name),” said Tiger, picking up his train of thought. “Ragdoll...she must have told her to run.”

Shouta cursed and followed the dirt track, dialling your number as he went. He froze on the spot when he spotted an abandoned flare in the mud.

“This way,” he called out, rushing over and crouching down to examine it.

By then, it had largely burned out, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Generally speaking, people fired flare guns into the sky. This one had pretty clearly ricocheted off a tree. Whoever fired it had done so in self defense, as a distraction.

“Did you find anything?”

Shouta glanced over his shoulder to see Vlad arriving from the opposite direction.

“Did you see anyone on your route here?” he asked, stomach churning at the head shake he got in response.

“They’ve sent out a helicopter to track down any stragglers,” said Vlad, pointing to the sky. “We’ll soon have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“There’s not enough time,” said Shouta, dialling your number.

He had a pretty good idea of the sequence of events so far and didn’t like it one bit. You and Ragdoll had likely been ambushed by multiple villains. Ragdoll had almost certainly told you to run, not only because you were a civilian, but to raise the alarm. Someone had followed you to this spot, but what had happened next?

He got his answer a few seconds later, for somewhere to his left a phone started to ring.

“That way,” he said, sprinting in that direction, Vlad not far behind.

He couldn’t seem to move fast enough; his legs felt heavy, as if he was wading through water.

He followed the sound to its source and froze on the spot at what greeted him.

It was you, impaled by a long, jagged piece of metal that ran all of the way through the tree behind you. Your hands, lips and clothes were covered in blood, cell phone still ringing in your lifeless hand.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t say a thing, not even as Vlad arrived behind him.

“(Name),” said Vlad, dropping to the ground and examining your wounds. “(Name)...”

He turned to Shouta, ready to tell him that you were still warm, only to fall silent at the sight of him standing there. His mouth opened and closed helplessly, an expression of unspeakable horror and dread across his face.

He clasped a hand over his mouth and turned away from the scene, the scent of blood and smoke making him retch. He remembered every time you had asked to talk to him; every time he had chickened out of saying how he really felt.

Vlad was calling out to him, but he couldn’t make out a word, too lost in memories to be at all coherent.

He remembered you tapping a wet cloth to his face so many months ago. He had been furious then, though it all felt meaningless now.

You need to be more rational in these things. Running head on into danger gets people killed.

Good job I had a big, strong Eraserhead around to protect me.

“Aizawa,” said Vlad, “Aizawa...she’s…”

He didn’t get an answer, though, just a yell as Aizawa dropped onto his hands and knees.

They were in the forest, but all he could hear was rubble crashing to the floor, silently taking Shirakumo with it.

To this day, he still wasn’t fast enough.

Vlad turned back to you and tucked your hair behind your ear, face dropping at the muffled mumbling coming from your lips, intertwined with the muffled sobs coming from Aizawa that he would later pretend he didn’t hear.

“Shouta...it’s unfair...unfair...un...fair.”

00:00:00

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #there is some like #references to #yamada hizashi x reader #but this chapter is mainly aizawa x reader #habanero

[nikki-writes-stuff]

A Stolen Choice (Alpha!Nomad!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader)

Summary: When your aunt dies and leaves you everything she owns in her will, you find yourself travelling to the mountains of North Carolina to her cabin in the middle of nowhere to sort through her belongings. But you also quickly find yourself helpless against the desires of a mysterious alpha who’s decided to claim you as his... 

A/N: Hello! I wrote this fic for one of my ko-fi readers! Click here if you’d be interested in donating. There’s no pressure to whatsoever, but everyone who donates will be able to request any type of fic they’re interested in. Message me if you have any questions! In the meantime, enjoy this fic! Be warned: it contains rape, dub-con, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, and nomad!Steve. Enjoy!

You hadn’t really even known your aunt very well; you’d met her three, maybe four times over the course of your life, and while she’d always been incredibly sweet, she’d never really stood out in your mind as one of your closest relatives. Therefore, you were surprised to say the least when you were informed, after her death, that she’d left all of her worldly possessions to you in her will.

“Wait, there… There must be some kind of mistake,” you’d told the banker, shaking your head. “I wasn’t even that close to my aunt. I don’t understand…”

“I can send you a copy of her will, if you would like to see for herself,” he’d told you in a disinterested tone. “She also had a letter she wanted you to read; perhaps that can shed some light on the matter for you.”

The letter, as it turned out, did manage to enlighten you; it arrived at your apartment about a week after you’d first learned about your inheritance, and it revealed more about your aunt in just a few sentences than you’d ever known about her over the course of your life.

To my niece:

If you’re reading this, then it means my cancer finally got the best of me. It was a long fight, but rest assured that I’m glad it’s over; I’m a tough woman, always have been, but cancer is even tougher, and I’ve been tired of my uphill battle with it for a long, long time.

I know we never got to know each other well, hon. But you always stood out to me – you’re stronger than people give you credit for. I know most of our family’s judged you for being an omega; hell, I’d even made assumptions about you before meeting you. But you managed to prove me wrong, and for that I love you.

Don’t stop being yourself, and don’t let the family get you down. The only thing you need in life is you. But I’m sure the twenty grand I’ve saved up won’t hurt, either.

Her signature was scrawled across the bottom half of the page, and you found tears in your eyes as you read the letter for a second time; no one, not even your parents, had been that accepting of you after you presented. Your entire family was made up of alphas and betas, with only one or two omegas popping up along the way. And while they’d all still loved you, their disappointment upon learning of your status as an omega had still been loud and clear.

But your aunt evidently had believed you to be strong, and you felt more determined than ever to prove her right.

And so, here you were, navigating the treacherous, narrow roads of western North Carolina, your knuckles white as they gripped your steering wheel and your nerves frayed from the lack of guard rails, fences, or really any kind of separation between the road and the twenty foot ravine sloping down along its length.

“Ok,” you breathed, focusing your eyes straight ahead. “It’s fine; everything is fine. We are not going to go over the side; we are almost there. We can do this.”

Along with the twenty thousand now resting in your savings account, your aunt had left you a cabin she and her late wife had built about ten years ago. Ever since your aunt’s wife died in a car accident, she’d lived in their home in the middle of nowhere, and no one in your family had ever been to visit. Everyone had joked about her being a hermit, and while you’d never laughed along with them, you’d had to agree that she only seemed to come to family gatherings if they coincided with a funeral or a wedding. But now, as you made your slow, steady climb up to the address of what was now your cabin, you couldn’t help but wish she’d decided to be a hermit somewhere else.

“You couldn’t have chosen a beach house,” you huffed. “Or a sensible condo in the city. You had to live up in the boonies with black bears, coyotes, and the ghosts of lost hikers.”

But finally, after a long and tumultuous journey, you were able to see the outline of a building from between the trees. A grin spread over your face and a triumphant exclamation escaped your lips, and as soon as you found yourself parked in front of your aunt’s former home, you threw yourself out of your car and threw your arms up.

“Finally!”

You languidly stretched your limbs, touching your toes and then bouncing a bit on your heels before stiffly retrieving your suitcase from your trunk; you’d been stuck behind that wheel for several hours, and if you ever drove again, it would be too soon.

You had to admit, though, that the property was lovely. Your aunt had lived in a charming little A-frame cabin with a green tin roof, and if the chimney was any indication, a cute fireplace would be waiting for you inside. It was currently right in the middle of spring, and the trees sang with the songs of birds and cicadas. Honeysuckle grew in thick bushes along the side of the driveway, and little patches of wildflowers were dotted along the plush green grass.

“No one will be able to hear me scream all the way out here,” you mused to yourself as you walked towards the front door. “But at least it’s pretty.”

You fit the key into the lock and gave it an experimental twist, and the sound of the lock clicking almost drowned out the snap of a twig from somewhere close by. Almost.

Feeling the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, you turned around, scanning the forest for the source of the sound. You suddenly felt, distinctly, as if you were being watched, and you set your suitcase down before taking a step forward.

“…Hello?”

You didn’t receive an answer, and your ears strained to pick up on any other suspicious noise. But, after waiting for several seconds, your shoulders finally slumped, and you turned back towards the door.

“Must’ve been a squirrel or something…”

After nudging the door open, you struggled to pick up your heavy suitcase, oblivious to the pair of blue eyes watching your every movement. Your admirer closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a waft of your scent on the breeze as you finally managed to shove your case passed the open doorway. A quiet growl escaped his chest as he opened his eyes once more, just in time to see you turn and close the door behind you. His ears registered the sound of the lock sliding back into place, but he knew that it wouldn’t be able to keep him out.

It never had been able to before.

______

You didn’t even know where to begin. You knew that you were supposed to go through everything of your aunt’s and decide whether or not you were going to sell it, but you hadn’t expected the act to feel so…wrong. Even though she was long gone and had left everything to you, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were throwing away someone else’s things without their permission.

And so you put it off; instead, you spent your first day simply taking inventory, going through the house and trying to learn more about your aunt in the process. You sorted through her storage room, finding old, dusty boardgames and random little trinkets lining her bookshelves. Your favorite things were the pictures, though – she had so many hanging up on the walls of every room in the cabin, all of them containing photos of her, her wife, and their families. You were shocked to see your high school graduation photo among their ranks; you’d had no idea she’d even been sent a copy.

After your little self-guided tour, you went through her refrigerator and threw everything within it out, plugging your nose as you did; she’d been dead for only two weeks, but the food your aunt had left behind had already, for the most part, spoiled. The only things that were still in date were a half pack of bacon, six eggs, and a few frozen pizzas tucked into the freezer. From there, you went upstairs to the loft-style bedroom and washed the sheets on her bed, and then you unpacked your things until the sky started to turn the pink and orange hues of a sunset.

Luckily, your aunt had a huge supply of canned goods, and so after opening and microwaving a can of Chef Boyardee, you retreated to perhaps your favorite part of the entire cabin – the back deck.

Your aunt had built her house on a piece of land that sloped steadily downwards from the driveway, and so the deck was situated on stilts that allowed it to overlook the ravine several feet below. It gave you a panoramic view of the forest, with the sloping peaks of the Appalachian Mountains rising in the distance. Down at the bottom of the valley, a creek trickled by, and the soft sound of its babbling served as soothing background noise for your evening meal.

After you were finished with your pasta, you sat back and closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. There was something blooming nearby that smelled intoxicating – like cedar and sandalwood and musk. Your mouth watered at its sweet, masculine scent, and you found yourself wishing that you had a candle that smelled like it.

You jumped when, once again, you heard a twig snap, followed by the sound of bushes rustling from somewhere close. You sat up, peering over the deck’s fence to try and pinpoint its source.

“Hello?”

Setting your empty bowl to the side, you stood up and walked closer to the edge, peering out over the woods. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; maybe it had been a possum. Or a skunk. Or…whatever else that lived in the mountains of North Carolina.

You were ready to turn away when you saw it – a flash of movement to your left. Frowning, you leaned over the side of the rail, and your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of blue from between a patch of brambles.

“Hey! Hey, are you ok?”

You watched as whoever it was froze in place, and you glanced back towards the sky; you could just make out the outline of the moon, and the pinks and oranges had faded to red and violet.

“Hey, are you lost? It’s starting to get dark out; I would head back if I were you.”

Slowly, the person stood up and picked their way out of the brush, and when they turned towards you, you realized that it was a man. A very tall man. A very tall man with a beard, a gun strapped to his belt, and two very impressive biceps.

Shit.

“Uh… Hi,” you called out once again, this time sounding significantly less sure about yourself.

“Hi,” he called back, raising his hand in a wave.

“Um… Whatcha doing over there?”

“Oh, I was, uh… I was hiking,” he explained. “But I think I got lost somewhere along the way. Could I borrow your phone?”

You hesitated, watching as the man started making his way up the hill, covering a large amount of ground with each of his long, confident strides.

“Mine died a while ago,” he went on, lowering his voice as he grew closer. “I was debating whether or not to disturb you; I know meeting a strange man in the woods probably isn’t what you were hoping to do this evening.”

Finally, he was standing directly in front of you, though the ground was about six feet beneath the floor of the deck. You looked down at him and chewed your lip, debating whether or not to help him. He looked nice enough, and he sounded genuine, but you’d said it yourself earlier – no one would hear you scream this far out.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but that was when it hit you – the smell from earlier. This time, it was much stronger, and it was then that you realized why the scent had hints of musk in it.

It was the scent of an alpha – an alpha about to start a rut.

Your blood ran cold, and you backed away from the deck’s fence as if it had burned you.

“You need to go,” you told him, watching as his smile abruptly faded away. “Right now. Or I’ll call the police.”

“Look,” he sighed, holding his hands up. “I know that this looks like; but I promise I don’t wanna hurt-“

“I don’t believe you,” you interrupted, and a cold flash of annoyance crossed his handsome, somehow familiar features. “Please, just go. I don’t want any trouble. But I will call the cops.”

The alpha sighed, setting his hands on his hips, and for a long moment the two of you were silent. The sound of the crickets that pervaded the forest seemed to rise up in a crescendo as he studied your face, but his voice seemed to drown them out as he spoke next.

“I wonder how long it’d take the police to get all the way out here.”

Your eyes widened at that, and you stumbled backwards when he suddenly jumped, pulling himself up onto the deck as if it were the easiest thing in the world. You let out a squeak and turned around, dashing to the door and yanking it open. You were just barely able to get the door shut and locked behind you before the stranger was standing in front of it. Your heart sank as you stared at him through the glass, and he arched an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against it as he stared you down.

“This doesn’t have to be hard,” he called out, his voice muffled but just loud enough to make out. “I really don’t want to hurt you. Just let me in and we can talk – I promise.”

“Is it really that surprising that I don’t believe you?” you yelled back. “Please, just leave. My alpha will be here any minute!”

You knew that was a lie – you’d never even had sex before, and you definitely didn’t have an alpha in your life. But maybe this man didn’t know that; maybe he wouldn’t call your bluff.

But all hopes of that flew out the window when he let out a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re a horrible liar,” he remarked. “You’ve never even been with an alpha before; I’d be able to smell your innocence from a mile away.”

Your cheeks burned and you turned away, reaching into your pocket for your phone.

“Last warning, shithead,” you called out. “I’m calling the cops right now.”

Finally, the smile dropped off of his face, and he let out a deep sigh. Holding his hands up in surrender, he took a step back from the door, bowing his head in mock-respect.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Alright; I guess I’ll go ride this rut out with a more receptive omega.”

His eyes flashed as he turned away, and you watched as he walked to the other side of the deck. He leaned over the rail despite the fifteen foot drop just beneath it, and you watched as he turned towards you over his shoulder.

‘See you soon,’ he mouthed, and then he threw himself off the deck.

With a surprised cry, you stared blankly at the spot he’d just been standing in, and after a pregnant pause you tentatively opened the screen door, stepping out cautiously. You had 911 pulled up on your phone with your thumb hovering over the dial as you stalked towards the fence, and after swallowing thickly, you leaned over its side, searching the forest floor for any signs of the creepy alpha.

But there was nothing – he wasn’t, as you’d suspected, laying there with two broken legs from the fall. No, in fact the only sign that he’d ever been there at all was the frantic beating of your heart and the lingering scent of his oncoming rut.

__________

You woke up three times during the night. The first time, it had been right before midnight, and it had been for no reason at all. No sound had awoken you, nor had a bad dream. After several minutes, you’d gone back to sleep, tossing and turning until waking up a second time.

It had been around 1:30 in the morning at that point, and it had taken you over an hour to sleep again. You kept thinking that you’d heard something from downstairs, but your late night paranoia told you not to go down and investigate.

The third time you woke up, it was a few minutes before 5, and you immediately knew that you weren’t alone. You felt a presence leaning over you, could hear his soft breathing. You froze, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to keep breathing at the same pace you had been while sleeping, but then you heard a soft, gravelly chuckle from close by.

“I know you’re awake, omega.”

Fuck.

You already knew that it was the alpha from before, but still you opened your eyes and sat up, clutching the covers to your chest as you looked up at him.

He was wearing the same clothes from before, except his gun holster was nowhere to be seen. Your phone, too, was gone from its usual perch on your nightstand, and your blood went cold as you breathed in his warm, overpowering scent.

“…Please,” you heard yourself whisper. “Please, don’t do this. I-“

“You shouldn’t have been so rude earlier,” he remarked, lowering himself down to sit on the side of the bed. “I would’ve rather not had to break in, but you left me no choice.”

You swallowed, tensing up even more when his eyes flashed down to your throat to track the movement. He looked so familiar now that you were so close to him; you just couldn’t put your finger on where you’d seen him before.

“Who are you?” you asked, and at first you thought that he hadn’t heard you. He made no reaction, and you opened your mouth to voice your question once more.

“I said who-“

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted you. “That’s all you need to know.”

You bit your lip and nodded, glancing over to the stairs, and then to the window. You knew, though, that you had no chance of running. He was standing between you and the staircase, and the window wasn’t even open. By the time you’d be able to pry it up, it would be too late; he’d be on you in a matter of seconds.

“Listen, Steve,” you started, forcing yourself to make and maintain eye contact with him. “I… I know this probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but… you were right earlier. I’ve never…been with anyone. And I don’t have an alpha. I’ve been waiting to find the right one for so…so long. Please, I’m begging you, don’t take that choice from me. I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you, and I won’t make any trouble. Just…please don’t do this.”

He seemed to consider your words, and for a few moments you felt a spark of hope rise up in you. He tilted his head as he regarded you, and you silently willed him to leave you alone, to forget any of this happened.

“I didn’t think there were women like you around anymore,” he eventually murmured. “Some omegas these days don’t even settle down with an alpha, which was unheard of back in my day. And if I had a dollar for every time a cockhungry bitch in heat had thrown herself at me only to leave once she’d had her fill, well. I’d never have to work another day in my life.

“But then you show up in my life – innocent, pure, and loyal to an alpha you haven’t even met yet.”

Your eyes widened when he leaned towards you, and you squeezed the sheets as he cupped your cheek.

“I can see so much potential in you,” he breathed. “You could be such a good girl.”

He leaned toward even further, and you realized that he was going to kiss you. For a moment, all you could do was watch as his face got closer and closer, frozen by your fear and his suffocating scent, but as soon as his lips touched yours, your body leapt into action.

You threw yourself away from him as if he were on fire and scrambled to the stairs, your feet stumbling as you ran down them. Towards the last step, your ankle twisted beneath your weight, sending you crumpling to the ground.  You cried out as your head hit the banister hard, but you ignored the ringing in your ears, forcing yourself to stand up again.

Movement caught your attention out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped dead in your tracks as you watched Steve calmly approach the staircase. Instead of starting to walk down, though, he hoisted himself over the rail and dropped to the first floor, landing in a crouch before standing up and sauntering over to you.

And that was when you realized why he looked so familiar. No normal person would be able to just do shit like that. And if you were to take away the beard, he would have the exact same face you’d seen in museums, textbooks, and newspapers throughout your entire life.

“…Captain America?”

Steve rolled his eyes and marched towards you, and you were so surprised that you didn’t even try to retreat.

“I used to be, doll,” he growled. “But I’m way past trying to be a hero for a world that doesn’t even want to be saved.”

You finally began to struggle when he set his hands on your hips, but he ignored your protests as he effortlessly picked you up.

“I understand,” he huffed, starting to carry you once more up the stairs. “Really, I do. You’re scared, and I’m a stranger.”

He dropped you onto the bed before shucking off his shirt, and you clambered backwards when he started to crawl over your body.

“But I’ve made my decision; you are my omega.”

The sound of fabric ripping coaxed a startle cry past your lips, and you tried to cover your chest when Steve tore your shirt away.

“Please-“

“Quit with the complaining, doll,” he huffed. “I’ll treat you right if you just let me-“

A sob escaped you when he took hold of your wrists and pinned them to either side of your head. Tears were running down your cheeks, and Steve’s knee between your thighs made it impossible to close your legs no matter how hard you tried to. For a moment, both of you simply looked at one another, one with terror in their eyes, the other with pure lust.

Steve’s nose skimmed your neck as he leaned down, inhaling your scent and nuzzling your mating gland. The sound that he made could only be described as a purr as he drank in your essence, and his hips started to lazily grind down against you.

“Fuck, you smell so sweet,” he groaned. “How haven’t you been mated yet?”

His tongue darted out, tracing the gland languidly. Shocks of pleasure coursed down from your neck to your spine, and you found yourself arching up of your own accord; you’d thought that it was a myth that more nerve endings existed in a person’s mating gland, but Steve was proving that theory wrong despite how much you didn’t want this.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he breathed. “Imagine how good it’ll be when I fuckin’ sink my teeth into you.”

“N-no-“

Your voice cut off into a stuttering moan when he nipped at the skin, not hard enough to pierce it but enough to make your hips buck upwards of their own accord.

“That’s my girl,” he praised. “Let yourself feel this; you deserve it. You’ve waited so long for a good, strong alpha to take care of you, haven’t you? My good little omega…”

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve preened under his praise, ever the stereotypical, eager-to-please omega, and you fought against the urge to lean into his touch. His scent had an almost dizzying effect on you, and your struggles were slowly growing weaker and weaker.

“I’ve heard that an alpha’s rut can sent their omega into an early heat,” he mused, letting one of his hands trail up to cup your breast. “I think we should test that theory.”

You whined when his thumb started circling your nipple, and an amused grin overtook his features.

“Good girl,” he praised, and you momentarily had enough clarity to glare at him from under your lashes.

“Fuck you,” you grunted, but he only chuckled.

“Well that’s the idea, sweetheart,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you felt the world spin around you, and suddenly you were on your belly.

“But if you use that language with me again,” he purred against your ear, “I’ll fuck your throat until I knot in that dirty little mouth of yours. Are we clear?”

Hurriedly, you nodded your head yes, and Steve’s hand slid down the curve of your spine.

“Good.”

You gasped when his arm snaked under your hips, pulling up on them until you were on your knees and elbows. You felt as if your cheeks were burning when he spread your ass cheeks, and you squirmed as you tried to close your legs.

“You’re already wet for me, omega,” he noted. “Your body wants this; why can’t you just give in?”

Despite his earlier threat, you were about to say something along the lines of ‘because fuck you, you star spangled asshole’, but then something cool and wet licked upwards from your clit to your entrance, and all of your thoughts faded to white noise.

Steve’s tongue slid into you slowly, stretching your hole in ways that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and the groan he let out at your taste was pornographic. At a slow, even pace, he started tongue fucking you, and you couldn’t control the moans that were spilling out of your lips. You reached out, gripping the nearest pillow and digging your nails into it as pleasure started flowing through you.

You whined when, all too soon, he pulled his tongue out, but when he slid it over your clit and started tracing quick, tight circles against your bud, you nearly screamed. A finger slid inside of you as your hips started rocking; it was obscene, and wrong, and humiliating, but you’d never felt anything like this before. Steve’s moans urged you on, and despite your fear, your hatred, of him, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your climax.

“S-steve,” you squeaked, “w-wait, fuck-“

You buried your face in the pillow as, all of a sudden, your orgasm came over you, but Steve’s free hand snapped up to your head and pulled it back by a handful of your hair, making you arch your back as you screamed his name. His finger curled inside of you as your pussy clenched around it, and he was murmuring soft words of encouragement as you came down from your high.

“There you go,” he purred. “You did so good for me. See how good your alpha takes care of you?”

Your head was still spinning when Steve pulled away, but your eyes snapped open when you heard the slide of fabric against skin. You looked over your shoulder and felt your blood ran cold when you saw him toss his jeans to the side, and immediately you looked down at his cock, already fully hard and leaking a bead of precum.

"N-no," you gasped, trying to crawl away. “Steve, no, please-“

But he only gripped your hips and pulled you back to him until you felt his hardness grind against your ass.

“Calm down, baby,” he murmured. “It’ll only hurt for a second.”

Before you could beg him anymore, he started pushing into you, and nothing could have prepared you for the stretch. It burned, so bad that all you could do was bite down on your hand and trying to hold back your tears as he impaled you.

“Fu-uck,” he groaned. “Oh, my god, baby. So good, so fucking good-“

He paused only when his head pushed painfully against your cervix, and for a long moment he stayed still, allowing you the small kindness of adjusting to his thickness.

“Shh, it’s ok,” he cooed, pressing his chest flush to your back. “The worst part is over, baby. We can take our time from here.”

He nuzzled your mating gland and cupped your tits, rolling them in his palms as he pressed kisses over the curve of your shoulder.

“This is the tightest little pussy I’ve ever felt,” he whispered. “You’re making your alpha feel so good, doll.”

And as twisted as it was, as much as you hated it, his words actually helped. Slowly, you let your muscles relax, and he rewarded you with an open-mouthed kiss to that sensitive spot in your neck. One of his hands snaked its way beneath your body and began toying with your still-sensitive clit, rubbing it until your hips squirmed against him.

He took your movements as a sign to move, and a surprised moan escaped your lips when he pulled back, nearly pulling out completely before thrusting forward. Your pussy made an embarrassingly loud squelching noise, but you found yourself grateful that you were wet enough to make the stretch that much more bearable.

Steve slowly began to find an easy rhythm, and despite his rough treatment of you, he was gentle as he took you. At least, as gentle as rape could be. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself; despite every sweet word that left his lips and despite every moan he managed to pull from yours, you still didn’t want this. You didn’t want him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had…”

You whined as he kept rubbing your clit, matching the rhythm of his fingers to the rhythm of his hips. Your body betrayed you as it started aching for more, and as he started speeding up you found yourself moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. Steve’s moans grew louder, and you heard a loud crack as his palm smacked your ass.

“Good girl-“ he panted. “Taking your alpha’s cock so well…”

Suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and dripping and wanting, and you felt him shift upwards onto his knees. Roughly, he shoved your knees further apart and entered you again, immediately snapping his hips at a hard, brutal pace. Every thrust drew a moan out of your parted lips, and your arm and leg muscles were starting to shake.

The bed beneath you creaked loudly as he fucked you into the mattress, and your scents had mingled into something heady and warm and intoxicating. The founds of skin slapping skin was as intimate as it was erotic, and your moans became deeper, throatier as his pace suddenly shifted, slowing down as he bucked his hips harder. Each movement drew a strangled moan from your throat, and Steve’s fingers found your clit once again.

This was somehow even worse than the erratic, frantic claiming. This had somehow become more intimate, less frenzied, but the pleasure dulling your senses remained the same.

“Knew it from the first moment I smelled you,” Steve whispered, his voice strained and husky. “I knew that you were gonna be mine. ‘ve never met anyone like you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together and you let out a low whine as the head of his cock brushed against a sensitive, delicious spot inside of you. Without thinking, you pushed back against him, silently urging him to move faster.

“Oh? Right there?” You nodded your head, mewling as he hit your g-spot again. “Right there, little omega?”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, resting your forehead against your arms. “Please…”

“Please what, little one?” he grunted, slowing down until he was only just barely grinding his hips. “Tell me what you want.”

You whined, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head; you wouldn’t say it out loud – your pride wouldn’t allow you to.

“Say it,” Steve urged. “I won’t give it to you until you do.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the fluttering in your pussy, urging Steve’s cock in deeper, but after a few seconds you snapped. With tears in your eyes, you looked over your shoulder at him, taking in the rapid rising and falling of his hips, the way his lips were parted as he watched you.

“…Fuck me,” you finally whispered, bowing your head as your defeat washed over you. “Please, fuck me…”

Your eyes widened when he pulled out of you completely, but you understood when he flipped you over onto your back. You stared up at him as he positioned himself at your entrance once again, and your back arched up as if you’d been electrocuted when he shoved himself inside of you once more.

His pace was no longer kind nor was it unhurried as he fucked you; you were both so tantalizingly close to your release, and now it was just a matter of chasing it. His moans escaped from behind clenched teeth as he gripped your thigh in one hand, hoisting it up and bending it until your knee was almost touching your chest. But from this angle, you felt him so deep inside of you that you didn’t care; you laid back and took it, clawing at his biceps as you got closer and closer.

All too soon, your body tensed up, your pussy clenching as you came. White exploded behind your eyes as the pleasure overtook you, and not even the ringing in your ears could drown out Steve’s names as you screamed it. You glanced up through your lashes to find the alpha’s eyes already gazing into your own, until he grit his teeth and threw his head back.

Your name was a prayer on his lips as he grew closer and closer, until he lunged forward with a growl. His tongue lapped at your mating gland in ways that had your pussy fluttering even after your release, but time seemed to stand still when you felt his teeth sink into your flesh.

You were vaguely aware of the heat of Steve’s cum as it painted your walls, and even your own, second, orgasm faded into the background. Your eyes were unseeing, your body unfeeling; the only thing you could focus on was your mating gland being bitten, being claimed, by Steve Rogers. It was a permanent mark of who you belonged to; a milky white scar would forever be left behind, as would the memory of who put it there.

A broken, distressed moan escaped your lips when he pulled away, but you immediately understood what he wanted when he bared his neck to you in a rare sign of submission, especially from an alpha like himself. As his knot swelled inside you, locking you in place, you leaned forward, licking your lips.

Later, you would blame it on your hormones, on your body’s natural instinct as an omega who had just been claimed. But whatever the true reason was for your actions, you latched onto his neck and bit his mating gland in return. The piercing of teeth against skin felt amazing in an explainable, primal way, and you both moaned as you marked Steve in the same, permanent way he’d marked you.

You stayed there until you’d both caught your breaths, reveling in your ability to hurt him, to wield control over him in the way he’d forcibly done to you. When you finally tasted his blood on your tongue, you let go, licking it off of your lips and wincing at how far his knot had stretched you.

Looking up into his blue eyes, the reality of it all came crashing down onto you; you’d been raped, claimed, by a total stranger. You knew of him only from history books and news reports, and now he was inside you, the mark on your neck a permanent part of him that would follow you for the rest of your days.

A sob wracked your shoulders, and your hands flew up to cover your face. A sad, almost pitying look swept across Steve’s features, and he gathered you into his arms as he rolled you onto your sides.

“Shhh, it’s ok,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair. “I know, I know… It’s ok, omega. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to throw your fists against his chest; you wanted to slap the pitiful look off of his face. You wanted to throw yourself off of the deck just as he’d done hours earlier.

But instead you closed your eyes and let him whisper empty words of comfort to you until sleep finally, finally, came.

_____________

If it weren’t for the soreness that had spread all over your body, you would’ve thought it had all been a dream.

You woke up with the sheets neatly tucked around you. You were still naked, but your clothes from last night had been tucked away into the laundry hamper in the corner. You heard faint noises coming from the kitchen – the occasional clang of two plates clinking together, the sizzling of something on the stove – but there was nothing out of place in the bedroom.

Wincing, you pushed the covers back and stood up swaying unsteadily on your feet. You glanced in the mirror, feeling your blood run cold at the sight that greeted you. Your reflection was covered in bruises and bitemarks; you hadn’t even been aware of Steve biting you that much during last night’s activities. Your hair was a mess, but there was no dried cum along the inside of your thighs. He must have cleaned you up after his knot allowed the two of you to separate.

Gulping, you tilted your head and leaned forward, feeling a fresh wave of tears sting your eyes when you saw the red, irritated bitemark on your mating gland. Soon enough, the puffy flesh would calm down, and the crimson would be replaced by a silvery scar that would remain there for the rest of your life. Every look in the mirror would be a fresh reminder of what Steve had done to you.

Clearing your throat, you arranged your hair until it covered over the mark, and you reached into the dresser to pull out a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You didn’t really think that you could escape the famous Captain America, but you still crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones you’d discovered yesterday as you made your slow descent.

Upon reaching the first floor, your eyes focused on the side table next to the front door, but your keys weren’t resting on it like you’d left them yesterday. A disappointed sigh left your lips, and you tiptoed closer to the door. Maybe you could make it on foot-

“I made breakfast,” you suddenly heard Steve call from the kitchen. “Come and get it before it gets cold.”

Your heart sank, and you immediately knew that there would be no use in trying to leave now. Squaring your shoulders, you cautiously made your way to him, your abused pussy aching with every step you took.

Steve was standing over the sink, washing a pan and wearing only a pair of sweatpants. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten them; you doubted he could have fit into any of your aunt’s clothes.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” he instructed you, not looking up from the pan. “I’ll bring over our plates. Do you like coffee?”

You bit your lip and did as he said, lowering yourself into the seat with a wince. Steve finally looked up when he heard your sharp inhalation, and guilt flashed across his face.

“I’ll get you some pain killers,” he said. “Can you take ibuprofen?”

You looked down at the table, wringing your hands in your lap.

“…I’d prefer Tylenol,” you murmured. “And yes, I like coffee.”

The alpha nodded, and you continued resolutely staring at the table, even when he set down a plate of steaming eggs and bacon, a mug of coffee, and a bottle of pain killers. You mechanically took four of the pills, washing them down with the black coffee. You jumped when Steve settled down into the chair across from yours, but you refused to look up at him as he began devouring his meal.

“…You should eat something,” he remarked, but you ignored him, only taking another sip of your coffee. With a sigh, he set down his fork, swallowing a bit of eggs before addressing you again.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “I haven’t even started my rut yet; you’ll need the strength.”

A tear slipped out of your eyes, and you looked down at your food. With shaking fingers, you picked up a slab of bacon, but when its smell hit you, you felt bile rise up in your throat. You immediately dropped it, taking another gulp of coffee to help push down your nausea.

“Hon,” Steve huffed. “C’mon. At least try.”

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered.

“Just one bite, then,” he persisted. “Please.”

You shot him a glare from beneath your lashes, but he only raised his eyebrows expectantly. You stared until you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and your resolve crumbled as you finally looked down. Picking up your fork, you shoveled a bite of scrambled egg into your mouth, not tasting it as you chewed and then swallowed.

“There,” you grumbled. “Happy?’

Steve once again sighed through his nose, but he only shook his head and went back to eating. For a long moment, the two of you were silent, until he finished his plate and slid yours over towards himself.

“So,” he started, picking up the piece of bacon you hadn’t been able to stomach. “You obviously don’t live here. Who does? A relative – sister, maybe? Is she the one in all the photos?”

You didn’t answer him, and with a frustrated grunt he reached over, grabbing your hand.

“I know that you probably hate me,” he mumbled. “And I can understand why. But we’re together now; you might as well make the most of it. Tell me about yourself.”

Your chest ached with unshed tears, and you looked down at his massive palm as it engulfed yours.

“…I always dreamed about falling in love,” you finally spoke. “I didn’t care who it was with – an alpha or a beta. I just knew that I wanted to love the person I shared my first time with. They didn’t have to be my mate, and I never expected it to be perfect. But I wanted it to mean something.”

You looked up, clenching your jaw as you pulled your hair away, showing him the bonding mark still fresh on your neck.

“You…took that from me,” you growled. “And you stole so much more than just my virginity. You took my choice; you made the years that I’d waited for someone special mean nothing. And I’ll never be able to forget it because of this fucking scar you left behind. So no, I’m not going to make the most out of a shitty situation, because no matter how nice we play, no matter how much I try, it will always and forever be a shitty thing that you did.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and you flinched when he abruptly stood up from his chair. You pressed yourself against the back of the chair as he towered over for you, and you feared the worst when you saw his hands clench into fists at his side.

“…I’m going out,” he growled. “If you try to run, I’ll find you.”

With that, he stormed out, nearly yanking the front door off its hinges and letting it slam shut behind him. For the next several seconds, the only sounds in the room were the muffled birdsong from outside and the ticking of a clock from the hallway.

Eventually, you stood up, bringing your still-full plate into the kitchen and scraping its contents into the trash can. Your mating gland throbbed, but inside you felt nothing but numbness as you went about your cleaning.

After everything was spotless, you futilely searched for your keys, but Steve must have taken them with him. And despite your earlier desire to try and flee on foot, a gut instinct told you that he’d meant it when he said he would find you. You were miles away from a road that wasn’t made of dirt or gravel, and even the nearest highway was even more miles from any signs of civilization. You were well and truly stuck here.

Not knowing what else to do, you went outside onto the back deck, where it had all started. You sat out there until the sun was high in the sky, and it must have been hours until you heard the screen door open. You kept your eyes focused on the forest around you as Steve sat down next to you, and you remained still as a statue even as you felt his eyes baring into you.

“…I first came here two weeks ago,” he started. “No one was here, so I used it as a safehouse. I’ve been on the run since…since the Avengers split apart.”

The only response you gave him was a nod, and he took that as a sign to continue on.

“It had been a while for me. Since I’d…been with anyone. Ever since I was given the serum, my ruts have been more intense. At first, I tried to ignore them, fight ‘em off, but eventually that just stopped working.

“When I first saw you, smelled you, I knew that I wanted you,” he sighed. “Everything else kind of…faded into the background. Your scent was enough to send me spiraling towards a rut. Hell, I haven’t even started it yet, but it’s gonna be one of my most intense ones yet.

“I’m not saying that I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Because I know we’re way past that. And I’m not gonna say I’m not gonna do it again, cuz even now it’s taking all of my willpower not to bend you over the side of the balcony. But I guess I’m saying that… I get what I’ve done to you. I know it’s…heinous. And a younger me would’ve been disgusted with it. But now that we’re bonded to each other, I’m going to make this work.”

You turned to him, feeling your blood go cold at how determined he sounded.

“Make this… Steve, this can’t… There’s no future for us,” you stammered. “We don’t know each other; you, you raped me. There is no ‘making this work’.”

“Yes, there is,” he insisted. “I waited for someone special too, you know. I let the only woman I ever loved slip out of my fingers; when I woke up after the ice, I knew I wasn’t gonna just spend the rest of my life with anybody. And even if we don’t know each other, it doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. We can learn-“

“I don’t want to learn!” you exclaimed, rushing to your feet. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you! If you’re bound and determined to ride out the rest of your rut with me, then fine. I’ll hate it, but I’ll get it. Use me like a glorified sex doll like you did last night. But don’t turn this into something it’s not. Just leave me the fuck alone once you’ve had your fun.”

“No.”

Steve stood up, towering over you, and you stumbled backwards as he advanced towards you.

“You don’t want me to be your alpha? Well tough shit,” he spat. “You should’ve thought about that before you bit me back.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but then your eyes fell onto the side of his neck, and your mouth snapped shut. It was a perfect mirror of your own scar, and you gulped when Steve tilted his head to the side so he could get a better view of it. Your teeth were perfectly imprinted in red right over his gland, and sick shame washed over you as you stared at it.

“I’m going to carry around a piece of you for the rest of my life,” he continued, starting to walk towards you again. “So you’d better be damned sure that I’m not going to let you go anywhere.”

A gasp escaped your parted lips when you felt your ass press against the deck’s railing, and you looked over your shoulder to see a fifteen foot drop just on its other side. Gulping, you turned back around, and once again Steve was towering over you, his scent wafting to your nostrils as he caged you in.

“I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, sugar,” he growled. “I’d get used to it if I were you.”

One of his hands tangled in your hair, and then, before you knew it, he was pressing his lips to yours, His other hand trailed up the side of your neck, tracing his bitemark with his fingertips in ways that shot tingles all the way down your spine, to your toes, and back up again. Your whole body twitched at the sensation, and a laugh that sounded more like a purr sounded from his chest.

“I’ll always love how responsive you are,” he murmured. “And eventually, one day, I’ll love the rest of you. Even that bratty little mouth of yours.”

You whimpered when his hands moved down to your hips, picking you up and setting you on the rail. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders, leaning towards him and away from the drop behind you.

“Steve!” you exclaimed. “Wait, I don’t-“

“I’m tired of waiting,” he interrupted. “You’ve been walking around in those tiny shorts all fucking day. I’ve held back for long enough.”

He reached down and roughly yanked your shirt up, tearing it down your arms and tossing it behind him. Your nipples pebbled as your breasts were exposed to the slight chill in the spring air, and goosebumps rose up all over your torso.

“I fucking love your tits,” he growled, dipping his head down to suck on one of your nipples. His hand roughly rolled and groped your other breast, and you fought not to arch your back, already feeling off balance as you tried to remain seated on the thin rail.

“Steve, can we please go inside-“

“No, baby,” he grunted. “I need you right here, right now.”

He did, however, pull you forward, and you let out a huff of relief when your feet met solid ground once again. Your relief was short-lived, however, as he turned you around and pushed you forward with a hand between your shoulder blades. You bent down, clutching the top of the low fence and staring at the forest floor below as he ground his erection against your ass. He was already half-hard, growing harder by the second as he rubbed himself against you.

“At least I chose the best pussy I’ve ever felt,” he mused, and you whined when two fingers suddenly plunged into you.

Your slick sounds were obscenely loud, and despite the cabin’s isolation, you felt a fleeting stab of fear that someone would hear him as he fingered you. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the top of the rail, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your moan when Steve’s thumb found your clit.

“No, no, no,” he chided. “I want to hear you, little one. Let me hear those cute little noises you make.”

He reached down and grabbed your wrist, pulling it away as his thumb traced quick, tight circles against your bud. All the while, he was still grinding his clothed erection against the curve of your ass, and your thoughts swam as he added a third finger inside of you.

“I did make you feel good last night,” he breathed. “Didn’t I? You came…I think it was three times? Fuck, I think you were just as desperate as I was.”

He chuckled, pulling his hand away.

“But who am I kidding? I’m still desperate for you.”

Without warning, he spun you around and sat you on the rail once again, shoving his sweatpants down before lining his cock up with your entrance. It all happened so fast; you had no time to prepare yourself as he slid into you in one fluid, fast motion.

“Oh, god-“ you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders. “Steve, please, it hurts-“

“It’s gonna hurt these first couple of times, babygirl,” he sighed, as if he were an exasperated teacher trying to explain a difficult problem to you. “But if you just, fuck-“

He was cut off by his own moan as he started thrusting, not pausing to give you any time to adjust before starting to pump his hips forward.

“If you just relax,” he continued, “then it’ll feel better.”

You clung to him as he started pounding into you, letting your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. There was nothing else you could do as he snapped his hips; you were powerless against him as he used you for his own pleasure.

Oh, and you’re not getting anything out of this? A treacherous voice whispered to you in the back of your mind, and as you started to feel the same pleasure as you had last night, it grew louder and louder. He’s right – it does feel good. Just give in; it would be so easy to just enjoy it.

You couldn’t bite back a moan as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot, just as it had last night, and Steve rewarded you by snaking a hand between your bodies and rubbing your clit with his thumb once more. The stimulation to your bud made your thighs tremble, and you found your hips rolling forward as you felt that familiar knot start to tighten in your belly.

Your eyes opened, and you found yourself face to face with your bite mark. In your pleasure-addled mind, you couldn’t help but admire the impression that now marked his flesh; you thought back to how it had felt to bite him, to sink your teeth into him as he’d made you cum a second time with his cock buried deep inside of you.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve leaned downwards, and you cried out when he fit his teeth into your fresh scar once again. It hurt like a bitch, but it also felt perfect, as if a puzzle piece you hadn’t realized you were missing had finally found its rightful place in your body. You let your instincts guide you as you opened your mouth, first licking at Steve’s mating gland before sinking your own teeth into his bond mark.

Steve’s hips stilled, and you felt him growl as he pulled you tighter against him. He removed his teeth from you and squeezed your ass, picking you up.

“Keep biting me,” he commanded, his voice huskier than you’d ever heard it. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

You whined and nodded, biting harder as he pressed your back against the screen door. Once again, he started pounding into you, starting out at a punishing rhythm as he held you aloft. You could tell he was close, and you weren’t far behind him.

“I’m gonna fill you up again, omega,” he grunted. “Gonna make your belly round and – fuck – and swollen with my child. Gonna cum in you again and again and again, just like I know you need.”

A moan escaped your throat, and you let go of his neck to let your head fall back against the glass. Your eyes met his pleadingly, captured by those intense, terrifying blue irises as you both approached your peak.

“You gonna cum?” he murmured, and you nodded wordlessly, whimpers and groans spilling out of your open mouth as he snapped his hips harder.

He thrust one, two more times before you both snapped, and your screams of release mingled together as you came. His knot pushed past your entrance, swelling inside of you as his cum filled your pussy, and you let out a low groan at the strange sensation. Your nails were biting into his biceps, but neither of you cared as you rode out the aftershocks.

Last night, you’d been able to find respite in falling asleep, in not having to deal with the immediate consequences of what Steve had done to you and of what you’d done to him in return. But now, you were wide awake, watching in horror as the alpha, your alpha, caught his breath.

“…How long does it take for your knot to go away?” you asked in a quiet, almost timid voice.

“Um…” Steve thought about it. “Typically about twenty minutes.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“You know, now would be a good time for us to talk, since you refused to earlier.”

You shot Steve a withering glare, and he only chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not like any of the other omegas I’ve met,” he murmured.

“If you’re seriously going to tell me I’m not like other girls,” you quipped, “I’m going to throw both of us off this balcony.”

Steve chuckled again, tightening his grip on you and walking you over to the outdoor couch. You were feeling a medley of confusing, conflicting emotions, and you looked away as you fought to process all of them. It was true, what they said – you did feel more vulnerable after having sex with Steve. You refused to cry, though. You’d wasted enough time and energy on tears.

“I meant what I said, you know,” the alpha suddenly said. You pulled back enough to meet his eyes, arching an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“When I said I wanted to get you pregnant,” he clarified. “You would look beautiful with my child growing inside of you.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and you had to look away.

“I… I’m not ready to have kids,” was all you said, and Steve nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m not really in a position to have them, either,” he sighed, letting his head fall back. “I’m still on the run from Tony until everything blows over. It’s not a situation to bring a child up in.

“But one day, omega,” he said, his voice dipping low in its timber as he grew more serious, “I’m going to fuck a baby into you. I don’t want to hear any lip about it, either.”

You bit your trembling lip at the thought of being pregnant with this man’s child; if that ever were to happen, you really would be well and truly stuck with him.

You couldn’t think about that, though. You wouldn’t let yourself think about it. As Steve rubbed your back, waiting until his knot released you, the only thing you could think about was getting from one moment to the next. You didn’t know how or when you would manage to do it, but one thing was for certain.

One day, you would find a way to escape Steve Rogers. After all, it was like your aunt had said in her letter – you were strong. Even stronger than Captain America. And the only thing in life you needed was you.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve rogers #alpha!steve #omega!reader

[everyonesannoyedwithme]

you said forever

ok so for the first jatp fic i am EVER POSTING ON THIS WEBSITE ofc it had to be something angsty 😈 and after listening to olivia rodrigo’s new song drivers license i was feeling mega inspired so… here we go i guess! also its kinda short but oh well im pretty proud of it so you can deal with its length

summary: the boys crossed over more than a year ago, but julie’s still mourning. she just got her driver’s license, and a memory comes flooding back (i’m not exaggerating when i say i legitimately listened to drivers license on repeat while writing this).

word count: 1,257

Julie wanted to cry. No, not wanted - needed. She needed to cry, to show some kind of emotion, to stop bottling it up, but she just couldn't. She needed to be strong more than she needed to cry, and what would her dad think if he walked in on her in her room, crying? He didn’t know what had happened. No one did but her and Flynn, and Julie had already spent too many hours crying on Flynn’s shoulder. 

It was a good thing, she reminded herself, a good thing that the boys crossed over after the Orpheum performance. They could be at peace now. They were with her mom now.

But, God, did she want them back. When they left, Alex, Luke, and Reggie had left behind a cosmic ache in her chest, a hole that could never be filled. Alex, with his dry comments and comforting words and dance moves. Reggie, with his honesty and loyalty and joy. And Luke, oh God, Luke. Luke with his passion and his love and his stupid, stupid smile. Some days, Julie missed her boys so much she wanted to just curl up in bed with Flynn and not move. 

Going into her mom’s studio had become a whole new level of hard. Seeing their instruments and clothes on top of her mom’s things? The mere thought of doing that made her want to cry. Julie was strong, but even she couldn't bear losing four people in less than two years. She had barely known them, time-wise, at least, but she loved them. Julie loved her boys with everything she had, and now they were gone.

Of course, it’s not like she could show it.

It’s not like she could just stop playing music again.

Not that they'd want that, anyway.

So Julie had kept going. She had gone on with regular life, acting like everything was normal when in actuality, she felt like she had shattered into a thousand pieces.

She had continued on with her life, and as most teenagers do, Julie had just gotten her driver’s license. The glossy card had a picture of her, wearing Alex’s pink shirt and Reggie’s leather jacket and Luke’s wallet chain. And as the seventeen year old looked at her name printed on the license, she couldn't help slipping into a memory.

Julie and Luke sat next to each other on the sidewalk. It was growing dark, the sun disappearing over the tops of the palm trees, and Julie was getting nervous. In a few minutes, Flynn would get there and they’d have to go inside to perform their song, Finally Free, for a café of record execs. Reggie and Alex were already inside, watching the other bands, but Julie couldn’t bring herself to go in and Luke stayed with her.

As a car sped past the two of them, a question popped into Julie’s mind.

“Did you ever get your driver’s license?” She asked the boy next to her. “While you were alive, I mean.”

“Yeah. Me an’ Reggie got ours on the same day.” Luke responded, a smile on his face as he remembered the day. “Why?”

“Just curious. I’ve had my permit for a couple of months.”

“You like driving?”

“I’m not sure yet. It’s kind of stressful.”

“Yeah, I get that. Alex is the same way with it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like driving.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love it. My parents could never afford to get me my own car, so I usually drove my dad’s or Bobby’s car.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I dunno. The freedom, mostly, I guess. And you're stalling, by the way.”

Julie blinked innocently at Luke, finally tearing her gaze away from the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said.

“It’s okay, Jules. I got you. Me an’ the boys, we've got you. You’re a star, you’ll do great out there.” Luke said, looking as if he wished desperately to be able to reach out to her.

“You got me?”

“I got you. Forever.”

Julie smiled slightly at her new band mate, before looking back out at the road and spotting Flynn walking towards her. She hauled herself to her feet, whispering a small “thanks” that Luke just barely caught, and walked over to meet Flynn.

“I got my driver’s license today, Luke. Just like we talked about.” Julie said softly, leaning back onto the headboard of her bed. A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another one, and another one, until they were flowing freely.

“I drove through the suburbs, and I pictured I was driving home to you.” She said, hoping he could hear her somehow. “I saw the sidewalks we crossed. I still hear your voice in the traffic.” 

She could still see the boys in her room, poking around in her dream box and looking at all her pictures. She could still hear Reggie’s laugh, still see Alex’s pacing, still feel Luke’s hands on her cheeks that last moment before he left her.

“Forever, Luke. You said forever.”

Julie let her head fall to the side as the tears slowed and spotted a familiar notebook next to her dream box. She wiped the last of her tears away, got up off her bed, standing on shaky legs, and got up on her toes to reach it. As Julie walked back to her bed, she opened it, almost scared of what she would see in it.

The songbook was filled to the brim; songs, poems, and miscellaneous thoughts, lyrics, and melody snippets. Julie’s smile grew every time she came across a Julie and the Phantoms song or Trevor Wilson song, but when she got to the most recent page, her smile fell.

It wasn’t a full song. It was just a title, melody, and a few lyrics, but she swore her heart stopped when she read what was scrawled across the top of the page in what was unmistakably Luke’s handwriting.

My Star.

It’s what he used to call her. A star. His star.

She sat there, holding that journal in shock, for what felt like centuries, before her brother’s voice sliced through her thoughts.

“Julie!” Carlos called from downstairs.

“Yeah?” Julie yelled back after a moment.

“Dinner!” Her little brother responded.

“Okay! Be there in a sec’!” Julie said before going back to the songbook.

She looked at that title again, needing to know it was real. Once Julie could confirm she wasn’t seeing what she wanted, she scrambled to read the few lyrics he had written, desperate to feel like he was still there. “I know we’re not perfect but I’ve never felt this way for no one. And I just can’t imagine how I’ll be okay once I’m gone.” Twenty-six words. He had written a measly twenty-six words, but it was more than she needed. Julie fumbled around on her bedside table for a pencil, the lyrics flowing from her like water in a stream. All she had to do was imagine his face, his eyes, his smile, the way he acted with the other boys, and she was filled with inspiration. Julie remembered the looks they shared while performing, the way she felt after he came to visit her at school, the way she felt that night outside the café and soon she had a new song. 

It was a sad song, a heartbroken song, but it was the last song she’d ever write with Luke. Her Luke.

Even when he was gone they made each other better.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fic #jatp fic #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #palina #alex mercer #reggie peters #angst #olivia rodrigo #drivers license

[azaffranist]

Frozen 2 deleted/early content

On the road to F2 there were tons of leaks and I saved as many of them as I could in the fear that Disney would delete them (because they loved to shut down whole websites because of that back in the day). As a result I have a lot of pictures saved on my phone and looking back on them... some don’t sound quite right because it’s definitely not what I saw in the movie. So here’s everythinggg I have. I did my best to organize stuff a bit but there are so many things it was... hard. Feel free to add more stuff in reblogs, replies and such!

Something to note is that we won’t take into account the “officially” released deleted content, which would include everything that’s in the Blu-ray, because basically everyone already saw that (Home, I Seek the Truth, Get This Right, Unmeltable Me, the Secret Room scene, Hard Nokks, etc). Generally, we won’t be analyzing deleted scenes from the official trailers, either, because of this very reason. Something “official” that we will consider, though, are the deleted clips animators have been releasing on Instagram and other sites, because those aren’t that popular.

Before starting here’s the link to all the deleted F2 lines I could find as well as some other additions. The post itself has even more links to other posts containing deleted content so have fun clicking on links. 

Last thing to mention, none of the merch photos here are taken by me. I got most of them from the leaks channel of the Arendelle Kingdom server during 2019. If any image in this post belongs to someone here and you want to be credited please let me know and I’ll edit the post.

This post is long. Like really, really, lagging-my-browser-as-I’m-writing-it long. So grab some popcorn and get comfortable or just take a look at what interests you.

So without further ado, let’s get started!

Deleted Artbook Content

One of the most exciting leaks we got were definitely these sample artbook excerpts. None of these pages made it into the final artbook, though.

This piece definitely belongs in Iduna and Agnarr’s backstory, in which the Northuldra leader wasn’t an ordinary man but a shapeshifter.

The biggest picture in this page points to yet another version of Iduna and Agnarr’s backstory. It’s possible to deduce Bruni hadn’t been fully developed yet or created at all since the fire isn’t pink.

The one on the bottom right seems to be an earlier version of the “forest freed” scene in the final movie, or maybe it happened in another moment altogether.

The most interesting of the three, though, is this one. Nothing in the movie points to the existence of a place like this. It’s interesting to note that this peculiar house looks very similar to Iceland’s “elf houses”, tied to the myth of the Huldufólk, “hidden people”, who were said to be small and live in a parallel world, being able to make themselves visible at will.

These are definitely the inhabitants of the Enchanted Lands, who look completely different than in the final movie with their long cloaks, hoods and staves. They look like mages. Were these the very first concepts of the Northuldra, or another group of characters altogether that ended up being scrapped? Only Ahtohallan knows...

Even though the tree and the vegetation illustration is in the book, there’s one missing and that one is the bottom left. One of the most popular theories in the fandom regarding that illustration is that it was an Arendellian military camp tied to the expedition to the Enchanted Lands. I think what we got in the movie is a watered down version of a much more violent and sinister endeavor to invade the Northuldra. The above mentioned deleted scene of the battle of Arendellians agains Northuldrans is proof of that.

This one shows the Arendellian gang and most likely Mattias looking at the walls of a cave with drawings on it depicting the Nokk among other things that I can’t quite make out. I’ve heard people say that an earlier version of F2 involved the gang encountering Mattias in a volcanic cave and that’s where this scene would go, but I don’t know if those are rumors or there’s an actual source. If someone happens to have knowledge on this topic in particular please let me know and I’ll update the post.

_________________________

Incomplete Frozen Fan Fest books and their alternate scenes

As I’ve mentioned in another post, Frozen Fan Fest happened on October 4th, 2019, and it was the official release of the movie’s first merchandise. We were all super excited to look at the storybooks and read the ending!

Except there was no ending and the books ended abruptly right before Olaf’s death, completely skipping over Show Yourself.

You hear that? “Elsa bravely dives into the Dark Sea”. We know the Dark Sea scene was shortened and that’s more proof.

This section of a Frozen 2 storybook explains how it went a bit better. After Elsa was defeated twice by the ferocious waves she climbed up some giant rocks and dove back in. Only Ahtohallan knows how that would be effective in this situation and not a waste of strength, but hey, I’m sure it looked super cool and I’d be down to see it.

”Elsa trudged through terrible winds and thick snow”... um... she didn’t? This might’ve been created when Show Yourself wasn’t a thing yet and her path through Ahtohallan was just that, trudging through terrible winds and snow, and not an inspiring song about self-love and finding yourself. I wonder how that scene would’ve looked.

Maybe we can find something relating to that “unused” section of Ahtohallan in a book called “Anna, Elsa and the Secret River”. Basically Iduna tells them that there’s a secret river out there and after the lullaby Elsa and Anna go nuts and try to look for the river outside. Seems like it was all a shared acid trip because next morning they seriously consider it was a dream.

Maybe here they didn’t realize they were in front of a river, because “Glaciers are rivers of ice” and this is what that Ahtohallan Elsa ventured into originally would’ve looked like? The white river doesn’t know...

This is by far one of my favorite ones. I wouldn’t exactly describe post-Show Yourself as a moment of calm and peace. Maybe peace but definitely not calm. Then it says that the signal meant that “she managed to cross the sea”. That’s a really weird way to describe “horrifying ice statue of colonialist grandpa killing an innocent native man”. I don’t know if they’re hiding the actual plot here of if they hadn’t yet worked out all the details of SY and the moment Elsa found the truth.

Anna has her cloak on as she finds the truth. Readers have no idea what this enlightening truth is because the ice statue is indistinguishable.

As it shows here, the original Iduna being Northuldra reveal was going to happen in a different way. I’m glad we got that final version... Because wow, Elsa and Anna are completely unable to connect the dots here. Anna was smart enough to figure out what to do after receiving Elsa’s message, c’mon! This should’ve been piece of cake...

 Iduna called Elsa “Little Snow”. This points to an alternate All is Found scene and we’ll talk about that more in depth later.

Same scene. Translation is: 

“While tucking the little princesses in, Queen Iduna sang them a lullaby about a far-away river called Ahtohallan, which holds all the answers about the past.

“Does Ahtohallan know why I have powers?” asked Elsa her mother.

“If it exists, it definitely knows that and much more,” answered the Queen.

So in this earlier version, Elsa has always asked herself if Ahtohallan had the answer to her powers... Doesn’t this make Show Yourself work even better? Here she always looked for that answer and she’d learn that she is the answer. I wonder why they took it out because it makes a lot of sense and would give buildup to Show Yourself.

Here what really matters are the squares with text. Olaf never ran through moss or became covered in it. Olaf never looks down a brook to be met by Nokk’s gaze from below. Maybe it’s an alternate When I’m Older?

And relating to that particular piece of merch:

Seems like in an earlier version, the Nokk was associated with waterfalls.

Everyone shut up there’s SWORD ANNA here. Found in a coloring book. I don’t speak Italian but Google Translate says: 

“Anna is a brave one: she does not hesitate to draw her sword to defend her sister Elsa and her friends from any new threat.”

GOOD FOR HER! This is definitely from the version we were shown in the teaser, when Anna wielding an actual sword and slicing someone with it was still a thing. Man, how I wanted that to happen...

_________________________

Alternate fully animated scenes found in animators’ posts

After the release of Frozen 2, animators started to post scenes they had worked on and showing the process behind them. Some of them were deleted, are different in the final movie, or have a completely different score accompanying them.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Adam Green (@agreenster) on Apr 6, 2020 at 5:31pm PDT

A completely different dialogue during the boat scene. Pretty heartbreaking and it’s even more buildup for TNRT, when Anna was left by literally everyone she loved in the planet.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Trent Correy (@trentanimation) on Apr 14, 2020 at 8:50am PDT

Apparently, for whatever reason, Gale was going to appear in the castle first.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Trent Correy (@trentanimation) on Mar 29, 2020 at 10:51am PDT

Olaf’s revival was going to be way different, and this implies that his death might’ve been different, too. Maybe his snow just dissipated and didn’t go anywhere? Maybe instead of being neatly placed by a waterfall, it fell all over the Enchanted Lands? I have no idea.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mariusz Furmanczyk (@mariofurmanczyk) on Mar 21, 2020 at 7:11pm PDT

I absolutely LOVE this one, okay, and I have no idea why they’d leave it out. Turn your sound on and listen to the much more tragic alternate score. But more importantly, pay attention when she turns to solid ice: just like in F1 with Anna, her last breath is visible. Beautiful parallels, poetic cinema, and I’m hurt and confused and I want it in the movie. Excuse me while I call the police.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Mariusz Furmanczyk (@mariofurmanczyk) on Feb 26, 2020 at 5:47pm PST

Here the only change is the different score as she unfreezes. I love it so much. It’s so tragic, heavy and powerful. You can basically hear the fragility of Elsa’s fate as the ice breaks and she falls. Help. Here, here, and here, you can see other glimpses of this beautiful alternate score. Once again I’m calling the police and telling them Disney hurt my feelings by leaving this out.

I’ve hit the 5 videos limit already, but here is a link to an animation by jdublish. The change isn’t the scene itself but the completely different siren call Elsa hears. Much more ominous and creepy and I also love it, even though I have to admit the final siren call sounds catchier and more iconic. Also, kids under five won’t start crying of fear when they hear it.

Then there were also plenty of changes in the Elsa vs Nokk scene and we got to see one. Thanks to @justlookatthosesausages for pointing this out and letting me use her gif! The original video was set to private for some reason so I can’t post a Youtube link, but this is @justlookatthosesausages‘ gif:

Elsa struggled way more in the original version. Go to her post to see a comparison with the final version.

And now the awaited All is Found alternate scene! Thanks a lot to @lovewillthaw-j who helped me collect all the scenes. 

First two scenes from the trailers: the Official one, Elsa looks up and Iduna gazes at the northern lights.

The Japanese one, in which Iduna kisses Elsa’s hands. @catloafs pointed that out after F2′s release so thanks!

And the last two were found by @antoineharrakblog, so thanks for that! Here and here.

BUT there’s no need to click a bazillion links because @lovewillthaw-j‘s post reconstructs in a single video what the original scene would’ve been like. Go watch it!

UPDATE: Additions by @antoineharrakblog​. Thanks a lot!

Here we can see that originally, as the elements fled and Kristoff held Olaf, he yelled, “Wow, you’re heavy!”. Don’t know why this would be removed. Maybe they wanted to keep the scene serious? Maybe they needed to shorten the movie so that it didn’t exceed 100 minutes and cut little jokes like that?

 And here, showing Elsa seeing how Iduna saved her father, there’s some deleted dialogue: “Get the prince out of here!” “King Runeard, what did you decide?” in addition to a much more tense score in general.

_________________________

UPDATE: Screencaps of deleted/alternate scenes

Thanks a lot to @antoineharrakblog for bringing all of these pictures to my attention! Multiples screencaps have appeared in different magazines or books that clearly didn’t make it to the movie.

Anna never makes that movement in the final movie. There’s more proof of an alternate/extended “Elsa and Anna talk” scene.

This is another one. There exists a lower quality version of this picture which I can’t find right now, but it shows that Anna and Elsa are sharing kransekake in this particular scene (the particular food that we can see at the beginning of OFA).

These are all part of the All is Found scene we’ve been talking about. In the final movie we can see that All is Found serves as a sort of “bridge” between the past and the present, as it transitions from Iduna singing the song to Elsa to Elsa in the castle, reminiscing. But originally, Iduna finished singing All is Found in the past. There’s proof of this here. 

_________________________

UPDATE: Novelization deleted content

This information was provided by @theupsidedownpyramid​ so thanks a lot! There are some really interesting deleted scenes in the novelization.

In this one, Elsa felt the urge to release her magic after hearing the voice at the end of All is Found.

In the novelization Mattias and Yelena’s (or Yelana? Disney will never decide) relationship was a lot deeper than what was shown in the movie.

For more information and a more thorough analysis, read @theupsidedownpyramid​‘s reblog!

_________________________

Miscellaneous

So there’s only one image in this section but believe me, it’s so worth it. 

An animator casually mentioned that there was going to be a head kiss scene. Process it. Can’t? I can’t either.

_________________________

Wow I’m TIRED. I must’ve missed something but that’s all my brain can handle as of now. Thank quarantine for giving me the opportunity to work on this post all day.

Disney committed war crimes when they deleted some of these scenes. I have only one question: Why in the world would they do that? And more information might see the light of day in the future. I’ll never get tired of trying to piece together the convoluted puzzle that is the original Frozen 2.

I will update this post if I remember something else or if someone else has more content to share. Let’s reconstruct F2 together to visualize that movie Disney deemed too cool for us!

UPDATE: Into the Unknown: the Making of Frozen 2 Documentary finally has a concrete release date, June 26th. Let’s hope we can see more stuff then!

#frozen 2 #frozen #elsa #anna #frozen analysis #frozen 2 analysis #kristoff #sven #olaf #frozen 2 deleted content #disney

[rice-pudding-slaps]

demelurina for the disny meme

Demelurina my beloved,,,,

is no secret i have about 3 different Little Mermaid AUS. But I think it would fit quite too well

As always. Canon can kiss my ass.

FAIR WARNING: This post is kilometric. And I did not proofread any of this because that's how I roll baby

Anyways

So, we start with Bombalurina. A very well known mermaid (mercat? you decide) who's voice can be heard sometimes on the shore. She is a kind and curious soul. And both the kingdom and the sea creatures absolutely adore her.

Old Deuteronomy, the mermaids (mercats?) king, treats her like a daughter. And she is presented with the higher honours.

But she is also fond of the surface. Of the magnificent and glorious surface. Oh, what music has she heard. She has collected every jewelry, painting, and little knick knack that ever fell from a boat. She watches the humans with curiosity. With wonder. There is just too much too know, out of her reach.

So one day she gets an idea. She is going to talk to the humans (cats?). Not only is she going to talk to them, she is gonna ask all her questions. And ask how can she join them, if she ever can.

So when the boat of a princess on her way back from a travel passes through, she takes the opportunity inmediately. She watches with wonder while they dance and sing, and cannot help but notice how absolutely gorgeous the princess is.

And the boat hits a storm. She helps however she can. And she sees the princess fall into ice cold water. She is not letting her die. So she brings her to chore. And quietly sings to her to wake her up. She is the most beautiful thing that ever fell in the sea... She is so ready to ask her hundreds of questions. But a scream startles her and she gets back where she came from. And the princess can't help but listen to that song in her mind...

Bomba gets to safety. And explains to her friend Tantomille what just happened. She is a very powerful mermaid (mercat?). And offers to check whatever she got from that trainwreck go make sure the princess is ok.

Bomba scatters her things. And she gives Tanto a notebook, the pages are absolutely irrecognizable, but it used to be full of drawings. Tanto uses her magic to tell her she is ok. She tells her she is a princess and about to be the ruler of her kingdom, after her mother sadly passed away. She tells her how she is lonely. And how she repeats Bomba's song to feel calm, like a spell itself.

Bomba asks if she will answer her questions. Tanto says she's not sure. But warns her of meddling with the human world. "Their ways are different than ours. We aren't meant to meet yet"

"Then when"

"I don't know

"Well, I can't wait"

She swims as fast as she can far, far away. There is a solution to this problem... a dangerous one, but absolutely deserving of a chance.

Macavity, a magical being feared both in land and sea. Capable of anything, the legend says. But never found in a place twice. You have to give him an offering to make him appear. And she does. She goes to the place the legend talks about. And offers him some of the most valuable jewels of the kingdom that she took from the palace. Out come two mermaids (mercats?) on perfect syncrony. They let her inside a cave.

And there he is. Macavity. Imponent. Warm like fire, but under the water.

She asks for a way to go on the surface. She has to meet that princess. Macavity laughs at her. And offers a change: Her voice, for a pair of legs. They will last a week. She must be back by then. Or she will turn into sea foam. If she wants to keep her legs, then a human shall offer her their heart. Is well known that mermaids don't have a soul, the only thing they can give is their heart. And they take it very seriously. So this is high stakes.

She hesitates. But she agrees. And Macavity breaks her in half. She gives her legs. And she takes away her voice. She is rushed to the surface. And she finds herself alone. And hurting. The legs hurt as if her tail was still there, just broken. She can't ask for help. And she stays on shore for a while. Sure that she will not make it...

"Oh, gods, are you ok?"

A sweet voice wakes her up. And the sudden embrace of strongs arms taking her up. She is not exactly aware of what's happening. She only smells a sweet perfume. So different of the shore...

"Don't worry, we'll get you some help"

She wakes up in a soft surface. And the sweet perfume around her. She's lost until she finds by her side a surprised face. A warm and calm face welcomes her. And her words come out of her mouth like honey.

"You're awake! Hi. My name is Demeter. How did you end up on the shore?"

She tries to explain herself, but she has no way how. But Demeter is patient. And she tries her best to understand whatever sign is Bomba throwing at her. It might be hard to communicate, but she is not giving up. And the smiles and nods that Bomba gives her are very much welcomed.

They spend a day getting Bomba back to shape. And Demeter cannot help but find in that smile a familiar charm. Like something she was meant to see. And that she has seen before... In another time...

That's not important.

She has a brilliant idea.

An old lord has a daughter that might help them. And she asks Bomba if she might want to go and try to find a way. She inmediately agrees. And finds herself enchanted with everything in the surface. The trees, the roads, the horses, the people, the dances, the music the arts. She stops wide eyed at everything. Is everything she could've ask and more. And Demeter feeds into that curiosity. She takes the time to tell her the name of every plant and animal. Retells all the stories of the kingdom. She makes sure every time Bomba stops to look at something, she gets new information. She is specially throughout about art. And they make a one day trip into two and a half.

When they meet the old lord, he introduces his children as Victoria and Mistoffelees. Victoria is mute, and she is more than happy to teach Bomba to sign. Bomba is ecstatic. And they spend the next days teaching her. Not only to sign, but also they show her new dances, new food, new textures and fabrics. New everything.

And Demeter is there in the middle. She is everything that the human world could ever be. Her voice is soft and her hands are warm. She has the prettiest smile and she dances like the world is not watching her. Her embrace is delicate and she smells like fruit and flowers... Demeter is everything she ever dreamt about the human world and more.

And Deme finds in Bomba excitement and happiness. She is confident and curious and adventurous. And her laugh is contageous and her embrace is like a sunset at the beach. She doesn't let her feel lonely. Bomba is a new fire in her heart.

And the days pass... and a week comes. And the last day, Bomba has learnt to sign a little. Or at least to communicate with Demeter. And she urges them to come back. She can't explain. She just has to go back. Demeter is heart broken. Why? Why must she leave? Isn't she happy?

She practically escapes. Trying to make it to shore. And Deme follows her. Desperate. Because she doesn't want to lose her. Bomba just runs and stops at the nearest beach. She is so hesitant. The sun is going down. Is it worth it? Does she really want to go back? To a life in the sea? Apart of everything she loves? Apart from Demeter?

Demeter finds her. Pleads her to stop. To come back. She assures them whatever is worrying her, is going to be fine.

But a storm comes. And with that, a tall, imponent, figure.

Macavity.

He comes. Demeter falls down. Looking at the legend come true. He laughs. Bomba runs to Demeter. Trying to tell her to stop. But her scream comes from a small shell on Macavity's neck.

He explains that "This beauty changed her voice... for a chance up here. And her time is up."

In front of a paralyzed Demeter, he hypnotizes Bomba. He makes a puppet out of her. And starts to slowly make her walk into the sea. Her legs losing balance as she goes. Turning into foam as she touches the water.

Until Demeter runs at her. Tries so hard to pull her out. And shouts that she loves her. That he can't take her away.

"YOU CAN'T TAKE MY HEART AWAY FROM ME."

And as she says that, Bomba falls. But her legs are back. They hear a crack. And as the shell breaks, Macavity is gone. The voice goes up. And joins the moans in the wind.

But who cares?

Bomba is there. Deme is there.

And they kiss and live happily ever after :D

Thanks for the ask! i am SO SORRY it took so long.

And I am so sorry for this kilometric post.....

#rice answers #rice au soup #cats the musical #demelurina #bombalurina #demeter cats

[malumsmermaid]

Sweet Dream or a Beautiful Nightmare?

Happy Halloween everyone! This is the halloween event fic for the collab discord!

I chose the prompt of “Person A sells their soul to Person B, a crossroads demon,” for Mashton.

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Demon Michael x Ashton

Description: So I made this an alternate timeline. 5SOS is still 5SOS, but, they don’t really take off until after Ashton is already 18, and Ashton joins the band much earlier than Michael does, for the sake of the prompt and my plans.

Warnings: Demons, mentions of death

Event Masterlist        My Masterlist       Buy Me a Ko-Fi

Ashton took a deep breath, giving the book and bag of supplies sitting in his passenger seat an anxious glance. He’d bought the spell book from a local used bookstore months ago, assuring his two friends that it was just as a joke. This week however, curiosity and desperation took over, leading him to dig through his closet until he found the note-laden spell book, still in the bag it was placed in the day it was purchased. 

He steeled himself, grabbing the book and bag and turning off his car, climbing out and taking sure steps towards the intersection of the streets. He grabbed chalk from the plastic bag, trying not to look too long at the other ingredients for the summoning. He set the book next to him on the ground, shivering as it fell open to the exact page he needed. “Okay Ash,” he breathed, “get yourself together and let’s do it, for the boys. Six guitarists in six months is fucking ridiculous.” 

He dug in the cloth bag for the box of chalk, taking a piece out and walking to the center of the intersection. He kneeled on the pavement, focusing on the crossroads he was at mentally as he drew out the symbol illustrated in the spell book. He knew that Luke, Calum and himself had a great fit for their band, the only thing they were lacking in their balance was the right guitarist. He had a feeling that if they didn’t find another guitarist soon, and if this seventh guitarist wasn’t the missing piece they’d been searching for, the two younger boys may lose hope and give up. He maintained focus on his goal as he meticulously followed the instructions laid out in the book.

Everything completed he took a step back, eyes closed as he focused on what he needed. When he opened his eyes again, there was a cloaked figure in front of him, orange glowing eyes showing from beneath a hood. Ashton stood his ground, even with the lit candles flickering out, staring the orange eyes down as he waited for the crossroads demon to speak. Ashton thought he could make out a smirk on the demon’s lips as he sized up the eighteen year old in front of him.

“Was this just some dare from your friends or do you actually need me for something, kid?” The demon’s voice was low, almost bored.

Ashton squared his shoulders, standing up straighter and sticking his chin out, pushing down even the slightest bit of fear. “I truly believe my band has a good chance of making it in our field, we just are failing desperately at finding the right guitarist.”

The demon blinked, “You’re willing to sell your soul to a demon...for a guitarist. Not the success of the band, just the guitarist.”

Ashton nodded, sighing, “We’ve been through six guitarists in as many months. I’m here for the perfect guitarist for our band. The success will follow from that.”

“Are you sure about that?” the demon asked, fingers fiddling with the large sleeves of the cloak. “This is really what you want to sell your soul for, no little extra guarantee that it will actually work out on top of this guitarist?”

Ashton looked at the ground, silent for a moment, before looking up into the glowing eyes through his fringe, “It really is. I think my bandmates may give up if this next guitarist doesn’t work out, and I don’t want that to happen. Besides, if it had been one of their ideas, I would’ve made sure I was the one to do it. They don’t deserve that.”

“And you do?” The demon retorted, though his voice took on a concerned note.

Ashton paused, eyebrows pulling together before shaking his head. He reached his hand across the sigil he’d drawn in the road, “Do we have a deal?”

The demon took in Ashton’s unwavering position, his refusal to back down, convinced that this was the measure he had to take for his friends. “Deal.” The demon responded, grasping Ashton’s hand in his own. “Guitarist lucky number seven will be at your next rehearsal,” he stated before turning around and getting ready to disappear back into the darkness, “Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.” He muttered to himself.

Ashton gathered what remained of his ingredients, taking them to the car and grabbing his thermos full of water, rinsing the chalk off of the roadway before finally getting back in his car and going home.

~~~~~

Two days later Ashton was setting up his drum kit in Luke’s house. He was anxiously tightening a wing nut to a cymbal when the doorbell rang. Luke frowned, putting his guitar down and going to answer the door. Ashton could hear Luke talking to someone and hummed, continuing his set up. Soon Luke returned, another boy following behind him. “This is Michael,” the blonde started, getting both Ashton and Calum’s attention. “He told me that he heard from a friend that we were looking for another guitarist?”

Luke’s blue eyes were questioning, wondering if his other two bandmates had spoken to anyone about the recent opening. Calum looked just as confused as Luke and Ashton whirred through some excuse he could make up. “I uh, may have mentioned it to one of the people at the barbecue I went to after practice the other night. Didn’t think they’d actually know someone looking for a band though, guess I was wrong.”

Luke simply shrugged and nodded, turning back to Michael, still hanging behind him. Ashton caught the guitarist’s eye and...did he just wink at him? No, he had to have imagined it. Michael’s brown hair fell in his face and he crouched on the floor, pulling his guitar out of the case and tuning it, knowing that the band would need to hear him play before anything was decided.

Ashton finished setting up his kit and took a seat in front of the Hemmings’ Christmas tree. Calum was on one side of him, fidgeting with the shoulders of his tank top, Luke on the other looking at Michael. He’d pulled his guitar strap over his shoulder, guitar hanging on his back as he fidgeted with the strands of his hair before stepping up to Calum’s keyboard. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves before he started playing the opening notes to Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold. He swung his guitar around and began to play. He leaned into the microphone and began singing the lyrics as well and Ashton thought he caught another furtive glance and a smirk from him. 

Luke got to his feet halfway through the song, stopping Michael. “Dude, if you can get along with the three of us as well as you can play guitar, I’d say you’re in. What do you guys think?”

Calum spoke up from his spot, “Yeah, hang out with us some after practice today and same at the next and if we’re all getting along, I’d say it’s going to work out.”

Ashton simply nodded his agreement with the other two boys and got to his feet, going to settle behind his drum set, ready to start practice. Michael was beaming as he moved to the other side of the living room stage, looking at the tabs Luke was showing him for one of the original songs that he wanted to work on today.

~~~~~~~

Michael blended into the group with ease, Ashton and Calum welcoming him in before the first rehearsal with the new guitarist was even over. Ashton brushed off his apprehension about the looks that Michael had been giving him, he was a nice guy and there was no way he could know about the deal the drummer had made. By his third rehearsal, Michael had come up with a name for the group, the other three boys having been struggling with that for a long time, especially with the more pressing issue of keeping a guitarist on the forefront of their minds. 

Soon, 5 Seconds of Summer were posting more videos to Luke’s youtube channel and playing more local shows. With Michael fitting in so well with the group they were now working harder than ever before. After a few months, they finally got a call from a label. They worked out the details with their parents and began touring around the country, and then across the world. 

The years went on and the band’s success continued to grow, multiple albums debuting at number 1 and playing larger and larger venues. During one tour Ashton dyed his hair black, posting a picture in front of a window, captioning it “feeling like a demon again.” Michael was in another room, and he let out a low chuckle when he read the caption, double tapping the photo and carrying on.

It was coming up on ten years since Michael joined the band, ten years since Ashton made a deal with the crossroads demon. He wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate his 28th birthday when it came along, knowing in five months, he would no longer be himself, if he was even still here. They finished recording their sixth album and Ashton went back to Australia for a month, spending time with his family. When he got back to LA in mid-September he began pulling away from his friends, only responding to band related texts immediately, sometimes taking three days to reply to even Calum when he tried to check in. He tried to say that he was working on a second solo album during the lull before they had to start promoting the new record, but he knew that would only hold them off for so long.

By October Ashton’s nightmares of the orange-eyed demon he’d been having from time to time since they met were now nightly. The first week of November he just gave up on sleeping entirely, throat raw from waking up screaming as the cloaked demon dragged him out of bed and down through his bedroom floor into darkness. 

At the end of the week without sleep, Ashton once again found himself spending the whole day sitting on his couch, staring intently at a blank page of his journal. The room grew dark around him as the sun sank in the sky. The last few golden rays travelled through the windows when he recognized the sound of Michael knocking on his door. Before he could get up or even respond to the sound, the door opened, Michael walking straight in. Ashton wearily raised his head, looking at his friend standing in the doorway to the living room. “You look soulless.” Michael said, “Trust me, I would know.”

Ashton shook his head, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his head on his hands. “What do you need Mike?”

“I know why you’ve been avoiding us, pushing everyone away.”

Ashton let out a dark chuckle. “Sure. Take a guess.” He muttered, keeping his head down.

Michael stepped further into the room, boot stomping on the hardwood. “Ashton. Look at me.”

There was something different to Michael’s voice, and Ashton found himself unable to disobey. He sat up, turning to look at the blonde and gasped. The same glowing orange eyes that had been haunting his nightmares were staring straight at him, coming from Michael’s face. Ashton scrambled backwards until his back was against the far arm of the sofa, the guitar that had been next to him dropping to the floor. Michael frowned, stepping forward, picking up the instrument from the ground, checking it and carefully beginning to tune it again while Ashton searched for words. 

“Y-you!” He choked out, “Get out of Michael!”

The demon sighed, eyes fading back to green as he fiddled with the guitar. He snapped his fingers, turning on some lamps. “Ashton,” he said, voice soft, “I’ve been Michael the whole time, from before you came forth to make the deal to now.”

Ashton shook his head, “So I wasn’t being paranoid about the looks you were giving me when you tried out for the band.”

Michael chuckled, nodding. “I was sort of hoping you’d notice much sooner. I was just drawn in by your confidence that all you needed was a guitarist. And you were right.”

Ashton was still pressed against the arm of the sofa, so Michael stayed where he was, tenderly cradling Ashton’s guitar, letting him set his boundaries, letting him figure out how he felt. Finally, Ashton shifted, actually looking at Michael, no longer pinning himself to the end of the couch. When he spoke, his voice was raw, “It’s just...god, Michael. I’ve trusted you with things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. I’ve been vulnerable with you...I--I’m in fucking love with you.” Ashton’s scoff turned into a disbelieving laugh. “I would fall in love with a demon, makes so much more sense now.”

“Hey now,” Michael said, voice soft as he moved to sit next to Ashton, hand resting on the drummer’s thigh. Ashton didn’t pull away and Michael carried on, “I gave up my original job out of curiosity after we met. The past ten years I’ve spent with you...and the band...I’ve been closer to my old mortal life, old feelings, than I have been in centuries.”

“What do you mean?” Ashton asked, hazel eyes meeting green.

“I mean, I wasn’t always a crossroads demon, if that’s what you’re asking. In my old life I was a travelling minstrel, and one day, I performed the same ceremony you did, summoned the demon who would be my master in order to make a deal.”

Ashton tilted his head, understanding crashing over him and he nodded, curls bouncing. “Did you make the deal you expected me to make? Asking for success and fame?”

Michael chuckled, “No, Ashton, I assumed that’s where you were going because I’ve been a crossroads demon for four hundred years. The number of times I’ve heard that request in the past fifty years alone...it’s not a hard assumption to make.” 

Ashton nodded, quietly waiting to hear Michael’s story. Michael hummed, leaning back into the couch as he began. “It was a festival, celebrating the arrival of spring. We were playing in the market square and a boy caught my eye. I later learned he was the son of the lord and lady of that region and doubted I had much chance. But I had to have him. So, that night, I made a deal and within the next fortnight, I was a regular in his bed. 

His parents knew nothing of the matter and within two years he was married to the daughter of some duchess, but we had an understanding with her. She had little interest in lying with her husband anyway, her heart laid with one of the maids who helped her dress.

Much too soon my time came and I became a demon. I stopped aging, learned my trade, and began my work. I still spent nights with my beloved, but he continued aging, and soon, at least to me, it became clear that he couldn’t keep up with me anymore. I held his hand as he crossed over. He and his wife never had children, even for the sake of appearances, and so their line ended with their deaths. He chose to be reborn, I check in on him once every century, but I always miss when he would be my apparent age. The two times that I caught him in his later years, his soul recognized me for who I was and we had long talks when I came by, but nothing more.”

Ashton stared, nodding as he listened to Michael’s century’s old tale, of who he had been before Ashton was even a thought. “H-have you found him in this century?” He voiced.

Michael chuckled, “Yes, I have. As much as you remind me of him, you aren’t him. No, he’s the man you’ve known as my dad the past few years. Hate that I had to put that sort of spell on him, but I needed a cover. But, like I said, my timing has been off, probably the curse of being a demon, can’t keep up with the man I loved.”

Ashton nodded slowly. “But you know why I can’t tell anyone why I’ve been pulling away. Luke and Calum wouldn’t understand. I...I don’t want to hurt them.”

Michael hummed, pulling Ashton to rest on his chest. “I know, but I have a plan. I’ll get us both out of this. But first you need to get some sleep.”

Ashton wanted to protest, to explain his nightmares, but the warmth of Michael’s body and the song beginning to fill his ears were making his limbs heavy, eyelids drooping.

~~~~~~

Ashton awoke in his dark room, feeling more rested than he had in months. He was dimly aware of the other body in his bed, but opted to continue to lay still, see if sleep would claim him again, unsure how long he had been out. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Michael murmured, shifting to face Ashton.

Ashton didn’t jump, he wasn’t as foggy as he would normally expect upon waking up. He still remembered his conversation with Michael before he’d fallen asleep, and he still felt comforted by Michael’s presence, despite now knowing the truth. “How long was I out?” He hummed, turning to look at Michael’s silhouette.

Michael shifted, picking up his phone to check the time. “So it was like almost 7pm when you fell asleep the other night, then all of yesterday, I cleaned up the house by the way, and now it’s 5am the next day. Thought you were gonna wake up a few times during the day, but you just rolled over after mumbling something.”

Ashton blinked as he tried to take that in. He didn’t think that he’d ever slept that long, even at his most jet-lagged or exhausted following a long tour. “Makes sense, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten any sleep, since I’ve slept without any nightmares.”

Michael nodded, tentatively reaching out. Ashton moved closer, letting Michael place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Looked up tickets, got us a flight home tomorrow afternoon, figured you’d be awake by then. Do you wanna get Luke and Calum together for lunch or dinner today and just have a boy’s night, have a heart to heart?”

“But we can’t really tell them all of it, can we?”

“Up to you, I don’t mind them knowing, my plan includes shrugging off my old job, getting rid of these guys.”

Even knowing the truth, the sight of Michael’s glowing orange eyes still made Ashton flinch. “Let’s just plan getting together today, and decide what we’re going to tell them when we get there. I’m going to go do some yoga, stretch out after being in bed so long.” Ashton got out of bed after Michael nodded, stretching out his back as he walked around the bed. “How about dinner? Then we can come back here and talk more.”

Michael agreed, “I’ll send them a text later to get everything planned, doubt they’d appreciate a 5am text.”

~~~~~~

Ashton ended up deciding against telling Luke and Calum the full story, since it sounded like Michael was planning on no longer being a demon by the end of the week, and he still wasn’t sure he wanted to explain how Michael had really become part of the band, by Ashton making a deal with the demon. They’d been nothing but supportive, reminding him that they’re always there if he needs to talk. Michael was sitting next to him, occasionally giving him gentle touches and reassuring looks as he explained some of what he’d been going through. 

Ashton slept the whole flight back to Australia the next day, only waking during a spot of turbulence to find Michael had rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder, also asleep. Once they’d landed, Michael rented a car and they went to get dinner before checking into the hotel. “Let’s get some rest,” Michael said after he set his bag down, taking a seat on the bed. “Then tomorrow night we’ll go back to where we first met and get this reversed, neither of us will have anything to worry about anymore.”

Ashton nodded, and both men took turns getting ready for bed. There were two beds in the room, but Ashton looked over at Michael anxiously. “Can I sleep next to you? I...I don’t want to be alone in a bed again.”

Michael nodded and Ashton flipped off the lamp by the bed he’d originally claimed, crawling in next to Michael. He moved close to him, scared to be touching him, still not entirely sure where they stood. Michael however, closed the distance after he turned off the lamp, pressing his body closer and throwing an arm over Ashton’s shoulder.

The pair slept soundly through the night, spending the day laying low, having lunch and dinner out at quieter local cafes. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, full moon rising higher in the sky, Michael drove out to the crossroads where Ashton had summoned him just a month shy of ten years ago. He pulled over, reaching into the backseat for the bag he’d brought with him. Ashton followed him to the center of the intersection, watching as Michael began the summoning ceremony Ashton had followed, but in reverse order. The asphalt swallowed up the ingredients as Michael threw them down, the demon chanting in an ancient language as he circled the ground. He traced glowing orange runes into the road. 

Once there was a glowing circle surrounding the runes, Michael stepped back, arms open wide as he continued chanting, Ashton hesitantly stepping forward to stand at his side. Michael fell silent as before them appeared a figure far more terrifying than anything Ashton’s nightmares had conjured. Ashton was petrified, rooted to the spot. Michael gave him a glance before looking back at the entity before them. “Hey Cain, been a minute. Could you do human form, for the sake of my best friend here?”

The figure began to shrink, swirling shadows of dark fog turning to flesh and animal skin clothing, terrifying features morphing to human. “Cain?” Ashton squeaked, “Like Cain and Abel, Cain? Like…”

Michael simply nodded, “Told him about 150 years ago that he owed me a massive favor, now I’m cashing in.”

Cain snorted, now fully human, leaning on a wooden club. “I have existed for millenia, young minstrel, that may as well have been yesterday.”

Michael simply rolled his eyes, carrying on. “Look, you owe me big time and that’s what matters. Ash owes me his soul and his day is coming up, but I don’t want it anymore. I’ve spent the last ten years with Ashton and our bandmates and I’ve been more in touch with my mortal side than I’ve been since my beloved died the first time. After watching him die that first time, and then several times after that, I’m done. I have a new love and I can’t go through that again, watch him age and die. And none of that redemption myth stuff that goes around. I want to be mortal, I want to grow old for the first time in my entire existence, and I want to do that with Ashton.”

Ashton blinked, staring at Michael before he turned to look at Cain, who was deep in thought over Michael’s request. “That definitely is well within your right to request, and fills my debt to you without leaving you in debt to me...well thought out, minstrel.”

Michael’s face remained neutral and Cain held his hands out on either side of him. In his right hand, a scroll with what Ashton recognized as his signature at the bottom, in his left, a glowing ball of light. Cain released the ball of light, which began to float toward Michael as the scroll tore in two and burst into flame. “The deal is complete.” Cain stated, disappearing into shadow as the ball of light reached Michael, floating into his chest.

As soon as the light touched Michael’s chest, he collapsed onto the pavement, Ashton gasping and rushing to his side. Shadows poured from Michael’s eyes, nose, mouth and ears, sinking into the ground. Ashton crouched on the road, holding Michael’s head in his lap as the last of the shadows trickled out and faded away. The blonde’s eyelids slowly fluttered, finally blinking open fully. Ashton stared down at him, an extra glimmer of life showing in Michael’s green eyes that Ashton didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “Ash,” Michael croaked, trying to push himself up, but Ashton firmly pushed his shoulders back down.

“You just got blasted back by that bright thing, you need to chill for a moment.” He stated, hands staying on Michael’s shoulders.

Michael remained still, smiling up at Ashton. “It was my soul, my original soul, the one I signed over,” Michael whispered, “I can feel it.” He paused, then his eyes widened, “Do I look fucking ancient now?” He gasped.

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head, “No, you look like Michael, the same Michael I’ve known for the past ten years, just a little more soul behind your eyes.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the joke before looking up at the stars. “I meant it, when I said I wanted to grow old with you.”

“I know. I do too, I’m glad we have that option now.”

Michael smiled and they sat there quietly until Ashton felt that Michael had recovered, finally getting to their feet and driving back to the hotel. They spent the rest of the week in Australia, Cain’s deal hadn’t undone Michael’s spell on his parents, and both he and Ashton were glad of that, visiting with both their families while they were there. 

Once they were back in LA, Michael began moving his things into Ashton’s house. They had dinner with Luke and Calum, and the other two men could tell that something had changed between their friends, but didn’t push it. They knew that they’d be told when Michael and Ashton were ready.

Months later, Michael and Ashton were in their garden, sitting around the fire pit. They’d told Calum and Luke about their relationship at New Years, to which Luke yelled “Finally!” They’d all laughed and hugged before staring into the sky as fireworks exploded across the city, well ahead of midnight. 

Tonight was the last night of peace before they were set to go back into the studio. Ashton cuddled closer to Michael on the bench, lazily poking at the burning logs with the hook. “Y’know,” he whispered, “I feel like, if we were both human the whole time we’ve known each other, I’d still offer you my soul.”

Michael glanced at him, green eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Ashton giggled, dropping the metal rod to the grass and leaning up and giving Michael a kiss.

“Like in the I’m totally in love with you way, you worry wart.” He said. “I trust you with my heart and every bit of my being. I know that you won’t hurt me.”

Michael hummed, smiling at Ashton, watching the flames dance in his hazel eyes. “You know what?” He said after a couple of minutes, “I’d give you my soul too.” Michael tore his gaze from Ashton for a moment, sticking his skewer into the flames, watching the marshmallow goo that was still stuck to the metal blacken and drip into the fire. “Feels a lot better this way.” He observed, “With my first love I signed over my soul to get it, but to you, I’d give it freely.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Ashton whispered.

Michael nodded, dipping his head for another kiss. “I love you Ashton Irwin.”

“And I you, Michael Clifford.”

Tag List: @irwinkitten @calpops @goth5sos @wildflowergrae @talkfastromance4 @maluminspace @notinthesameguey @superbloomirwin @sexgodashton @castaway-cashton @treatallwithkindness @theyorthemrecords @another-lonely-heart @ghostofmashton @opheliaaurora23 @loxerofmine @youngblood199456 @megz1985 @strawberriesonsummer

Slash Tag List: @tigerteeff

Want to be added?

#michael clifford #ashton irwin #mashton #michael clifford angst #ashton irwin angst #demon!michael #mashton angst #michael clifford 5 seconds of summer #michael clifford 5sos #ashton irwin 5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin 5sos #michael 5 seconds of summer #ashton 5 seconds of summer #michael 5sos #ashton 5sos #michael clifford fluff #ashton irwin fluff #mashton fluff

[bibliocratic]

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion.  He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively  as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully.  He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion. 

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights.  On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma #prompt fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #soulmates au #sort of #episode 160 minor spoilers i guess

[wendimydarling]

Can’t Help Falling in Love with You (Sound)

Title: Can’t Help Falling in Love

Summary:  Sight | Scent | Sound | Touch | Taste

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 795

A/N: I am attempting the senses challenge that @viking-raider​ just completed not too long ago. Find her work here! I’m doing it a little differently, each snippet will add a new filter to the same scene instead of lengthening it, if that makes sense. I live for comments, let me know your favorite part!

~~~~~~~~ Sound ~~~~~~~~

The leaves in the branches brushed each other quietly in the breeze, creating a soft, ambient, background track to the scene laid out before us. I could hear the long draw of cicadas, indicating the peak of summer. A couple of birds were flitting above us, chattering animatedly about something or other. Henry’s steady breaths entered my ear as he lay next to me; every now and then his throat would constrict and the air from his lungs would stroke his vocal chords in such a way that a small, endearing grunt would pass his lips. Further away, I could hear the waves from the lake crashing against the dock and it reminded me of our swim. 

Henry had wrestled me into the water, laughing at my screeches of protest. His laugh was otherworldly, deep and rich and full of life. It was infectious; once you heard it you couldn’t help but laugh with him. All my cares seemed to melt away at the melody of his mirth, and I made it my mission to hear that sound whenever I could. We were alone; our playful banter bounced off the blue expanse of the lake, uninhibited by other residents.

“No, Henry, No!”

“You’re going in, love… the moment I catch you!”

“Oh my god, Hank, I swear. You throw me in and you can walk hoooooooome!”

He’d swung me over his shoulders and beaten, I was unceremoniously thrown off the dock, that beautiful laugh the last thing I heard before being submersed. All sound was severed as my body was baptized, and the world around me took on a completely different wavelength; I closed my eyes to listen. I heard the muffled splash of Henry following me, the rush of water as his hands pushed against its resistance, and his chuckle resonated through my insides as the surrounding liquid magnified the sound. The momentary pause in time was broken as I surfaced, normalcy of life returning to my ears. Water against water, water against skin, skin against skin; this was war.

Drying off under the tree, I had soft music playing on my phone, and time seemed to stand still as we lay there reading. The rustle of my book pages as I flipped through them reminded me of ASMR, and I shivered as goosebumps crawled over my arms. The song changed, an old romantic croon given a modern take by a newer artist. I sang along quietly, my soft soprano floating into the air like gentle spirals of smoke. 

“Like the river flows surely to the sea,  Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be.”

“Here, you dog-earred this one,” Henry says, and I stop singing to look at him. The book he’s reading is my collection of poems by Robert Frost that he likes to borrow when he’s visiting. He begins to read, and instantly his baritone draws me in.

“The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,     The road is forlorn all day,  Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,     And the hoof-prints vanish away.  The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,     Expend their bloom in vain.  Come over the hills and far with me,     And be my love in the rain.”

I could immerse myself in that voice for hours. The same as his laugh, it’s deep and full and round. If he discusses anything he’s passionate about, it becomes very animated and the pitch changes rapidly, but there’s also a steady calmness about it that never fluctuates. When I’m anxious or I’ve had a bad day, I’ll snuggle in close and ask him to teach me about something. His voice is low, with a gravelly undertone, and is instantly relaxing. When he discovered that I have trouble at night when he’s gone and I listen to online interviews of his in order to sleep, he recorded my favorite book on tape so that I wouldn’t have to deal with commercials or other people interrupting. His kindness knows no bounds.

Henry finished the poem and I audibly hummed in appreciation, causing him to look my way. He catches me staring at his body and grins.

“Like what you see?” he teases, humor in his tone.

“Shut up,” I sass back before leaning down to kiss him. The tiny pip of soft lips meeting evolves slowly into the erotic smack of mouth on mouth, it’s steady beat blending with soft moans and heavy sighs to create an enchanting aria of happiness, of peace. Breathless gasps replace the song as we pull away, contented expressions on both our faces. I hear the dull thump of his hand connecting with my back as I return to my book, the score of summer once again lulling me into a euphoric state of mind.

~~~~~~~~

Fan Club: @littlefreya​ @sciapod​ @thiccgeralt​ @fucking-hell-cavill​ @brexrif​ @peakygroupie​ @viking-raider​ @constip8merm8​ @daniig95​ @elinalfrida​ @hell1129-blog​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @agniavateira​ @dearlybelovedluke​ @sofiebstar​ @wanderinglunarnights​ @mary-ann84​ @onceiwasanun​ @luclittlepond​ @thekingstachemademedoit​ @onceiwasanun​ @iloveyouyen​ @lestersglitterglue​ @funnygirlthatgab​ @wondersofdreaming​

#henry cavill #henrycavill #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #writing prompt #writing prompts #writing exercise #writing challenge #senses challenge #senses #sound

[tcstu]

February’s Honorable Mentions

This month, there are three Honorable Mentions for the contest. Each piece creates a completely different interpretation of the featured art work. If you like one of the stories below, I hope you’ll reach out to the writer and let them know. I’m sure they would love to hear from you!

As a reminder, this month’s contest features a piece titled, “An Encounter” created by Alfa @the-upper-shelf​​. In addition to being on Tumblr, this artist has an incredible amount of work on Deviant Art, so if you like the picture below, make sure to check out her page to see more of her incredible pieces!

Note: The stories below are listed in the order they were received and do not reflect any system of ranking.

Untitled

Written By: @emilyelizabethfowl​

“You know,” Aspen said, shifting his grip on the buckets, trying to keep the handles from digging into his palms, “When mom said you should be following in my footsteps, I’m pretty sure that’s not what she meant, Nina.”

With a flop of her ears, Nina tapped the ground with her foot.

“You were taking too long,” she shot in rapid-fire morse. “I came to help.”

“Yes, I’m sure the fact that Katie lives right by the Fairy Pond had nothing to do with that decision,” Aspen rolled his eyes.

In a blink of an eye, Nina shifted. Her long, white hair and soft ears flew freely from under her hat, tangling slightly into her fuzzy coat.

“Why don’t you just fly?” She signed before jumping to take one of the buckets off of Aspen’s hands.

“I’m not strong enough for that, as you very well know,” Aspen said, jogging up to his sister. That girl just wouldn’t stay still. “I can barely get myself an inch off the ground.”

Nina snorted, flipping her floppy ear back. “Practice makes perfect,” she signed loftily.

“Yeah, not everyone can be a prodigy,” he grumbled under his nose. “Just because you could do a full shift before you could walk doesn’t mean everyone’s got their priorities in that order.”

Rolling her eyes, Nina skipped a few steps ahead. They could already see their house from there.

“What does mom want the fairy water for?” Nina turned around long enough to sign.

“Her potions, what else,” Aspen shrugged. “Winter’s approaching, we’re gonna need them.”

Putting her bucket down by the wall, Nina grabbed one of the empty ones from the nearby stack.

“I’m going to bring some more, then,” she signed cheerfully.

“Preparing the dry ingredients would be more helpful!” Aspen yelled after her, but she was already gone.

Somehow, he doubted Nina would bring any water back. They’d be lucky if she remembered the bucket itself.

“Sometime After The Fall”

Written by: @evanthenerd83​

They froze, staring at each other. Floppy ears twitched. Jaundiced eyes narrowed in suspicion. The woods had gone quiet.

A light breeze blew through trees. Wings fluttered. Stubby tail wobbled.

The grigori stood up straight, buckets swaying. Sparkling water sloshed. The wabbit tilted its head. Thunder rolled across an empty sky.

Pale lips pursed. Anger thrummed the air. “Go. Now.”

They moved, forgetting about each other. Small body propelled. Agonizing prison driven by a withering, pitiful will. The woods resumed its song.

Fuel for Questions

Written by: @winterrose42​

Finding a wild, white hair running out of the woods wasn’t an odd occurrence on its own. The woods were thick and had plenty of burrows that no doubt had hundreds of such rabbits if one cared enough to find them. What was odd, however, was the distinct lack of oddities whatsoever.

This world had long since evolved from the Old Ages. Humans and animals alike had evolved and adapted to the changing environment and kept on living just like any other sensible creature would. At least, that’s what he had been told by those who had the patience to answer such obvious questions. There were old books on the subject detailing specifics, pointing out which changes were natural and which were man made to make the survival rate higher than it would have been otherwise. He always remembered the creatures in those books looking so plain…and small. Fewer limbs, rarely did any of them that weren’t avian possess the ability to fly, usually only one set of teeth and a fragile set at that. The subject was fascinating- and when he discovered that he wouldn’t have had his wings or hooves or tail back then, pointed ears rounded and a far inferior sense of smell he was instantly hooked on the subject…much to the exasperation of his parents.

So when the white hare dashed out from under a bush and stopped in an instant, ears twitching as it decided whether he was a threat or not, he knew what it was. Lepus timidus, as ridiculous as the old scientific name sounded it was clear that’s what it was. Just an old world mountain hare, much smaller than its current descendants but seemingly just as bold for it barely flinched as he locked eyes with it. No claws, no hard armored back, no antlers or spikes to speak of that were common across the species now. Even its tail was simply a soft puff of fluff that twitched gently back and forth, not a barb in sight.

HOw, he thought with fascination, had such a soft creature escaped evolving along with everyone else? And if it had, and it had survived this long, that meant either it was very old indeed or it was a descendant of its own line of unevolved hare. Which meant that whatever direction it had come from there may well be a borrow housing a countless number of these Old World creatures that had somehow remained hidden from both common folk and the scientific community for thousands of years. Was he the first to see one? Was this in fact the only one?

Mesmerized, he walked forward only a step but it proved to be enough to send the old creature running, disappearing into the thick woods on the other side of the road. The weight of the buckets reminded him of the task he was neglecting and he turned back, lost in thought over the encounter that only fueled his need for answers.

#February 2021 #writingcontest #writeblr #writing community #February's Honorable Mentions #February writing #ekphrastic ficiton contest #ekphrastic fiction

[problamaticparagraph]

The old hunter:

Fanciful notions never appealed to Boris.

He much preferred what was in front of his face.

Up to now anyway.

The snow collected on his cloak, making it heavy and hard to move his shoulders.

There was a time he would have cared about that, the time when at a moment’s notice- he’d need to heft the weight of his sword.

But not now.

Now he was an old man and now monsters where more frequent, but impossible to fight.

Boris sat by his smouldering campfire, watching the flames. Occasionally he’d throw a lump of wood on the embers that would catch and prolong his only source of warmth. Boris liked fire, it hurt of cause. If you were stupid with it. Then again if you were smart it could cook a meal or dive away wolves or light the way. Boris liked fire.

He didn’t speak. There was no one to speak to, so he didn’t but Boris enjoyed the sound the bards sometimes made. So, he hummed a tune. Short and simple sounds that didn’t really have much of a structure, but it made the landscape feel less lonely.

He’d make it to a town in the morning, he’d have to see people and if no other option presented itself, talk to them.

Boris didn’t like people, they… where difficult but for now Boris had the evening. The howl of the wind made Boris think of the cry of yetis, how guttural they were, the power, the violence. Boris took a deep breath and for a moment could almost smell the stench of their hide.

That night, he happily slept under the vail of the stars dreaming of frost covered beast trying to tear him limb from limb.

----

He woke with the sun in his eyes and about a foot of snow around his body, his louche warm flesh left unfrozen by the layers of furs from rare creatures.

Begrudgingly Boris gets to his feet and begins walking toward the distant coeloms of cooking fires.

As he strides through the deep snow, after about thirty meters from is buried camp, the cracking of ice comes from under Boris’s feet.

“River… Fuck…”

The icy water closed over Boris’s head, for a moment he imagined massive pair of jaws about to close over him.

No churning water. No razor teeth. Just freezing water and the bed of the river lit by dull grey sunlight through the ice.

Holding his breath, Boris sawm under the ice to the far bank, drew is well aged sword, and plunged it into the ice, carving a hole that could accommodate his bulk.

Should anyone have been watching the frozen over river bank, which no one was but if they had been they would have seen a section of snow covered ice sink out of sight and then followed a large blank faced man lumbering out of the freezing water as if this near death experience was more boring than tax filings.

Ice formed in Boris’s hair and in the pelts covering his body as he entered the small town. People watched in confusion as this massive man covered in ice tracked ice onto the cleared area of snow. This man was clearly a barbarian but he wasn’t screaming for drink and women, nor money. He just walked into town and asked where the nearest inn was in an old language.

After several people not understanding him, one old man was able to point him in the right direction.

Then Boris sat at the bar, the man behind it took some time before asking but inevitably asked if he wanted a drink. Boris, his furs steaming gently in yhe warmth looked confused and mined chugging an invisible glass, the barman nods. Boris shook his head and reaches to a coin pouch, placing three of its coins on the counter.

Boris bit his lip and tried out this new language, “SSStories.”

The barman raised an eyebrow.

Boris try’s a further faze, “Bar, Hear, Everything.”

The barman looked around the empty room and starts rambling about various rumours. Boris let him talk without really listening until the man got to a word he knew. He raised a quieting hand, “Say, Again.”

The word repeated but covered with other drivel.

“Grateful.” Boris sits up and leaves the Inn.

Boris made his way to a leafless tree at a small way from the town, far enough that they were unlikely to try and talk to him but close enough to not be inconvenienced should he need return.

Boris sat at the base of the tree and pondered about the word.

“Dragon.”

It was an old word, older than him and that was something. He’d seen them, great hulking things, swarming like wasps and tearing at towns like they’re great walls were made of sand. He hadn’t fought them though. Not once.

Everything else yes. Trolls, defiantly. Ogres, sure. Gorgons, difficult but yes. Leviathan, with enough planning.  Fay, one or two. Giant spiders, absolutely. Orcs, by the dozen but never a dragon, not one drake. Monsters where getting fewer and further between. The last thing he’d slain had been an elk. The last vagally interesting thing was a damn nymph. Hardly a challenge for a dagger, let alone his well-honed blade.

The man had mentioned the new name for a distant peek, a foolish thing; no Drake ever dwelt there.

Nevertheless, hope burned is Boris’s soul. Hope that perhaps this tall tale was true. That perhaps he could finally find a Darke, that he could find a path forward, away from all this strangeness.

----

Boris sat under the tree for a long time. After a few hours a woman from the town came and tried to ask Boris something. He gave her an impassive look and tried to deduce what she was talking about.

“Need. No. Food.” He concluded waving a dismissive hand. After some time spent with her standing passively.

The woman looked confused and repeated her question.

Boris’s brow creased. “No. Roof. Have many pelts.”

The woman repeated herself again.

Boris stood up in mounting confusion. “Not. Understand.”

The woman reached into a bag at her side and withdrew a piece of parchment and a quill.

Boris took a step back, his eyes locked on the paper.

The woman tentatively stepped forward and tried to press the evil fiddley tools into Boris’s hands.

Boris in a moment of shock took them and found himself staring at the page.

Perspiration pored of Boris’s brow as he looked uncomprehendingly at the first line. Then those areas around it, decorative. Completely unnecessary. After a moment even colder than the snow, Boris whipped his face on his sleeve and quietly handed the two items back. “Have no use for such things.”

Boris left after that.

He’d considered buying some food before going but this place was too odd and there would be wolves on the way, he had made a plan now anyway.

That page really bothered Boris. The strange curly things inscribed there on, Nothing like that of his mother Tung. He could read, not very well it was true. Not very fast either, but at least in the old days people wouldn’t thrust sheets of paper at people clearly minding their own busyness.

The snow started falling again a few kilometres. Somehow that was comforting. It showed that at some level the world was still working. Tung’s change, people change, everything changes but snow will always fall.

Boris wore many skins. They were trophies of his kills, marks of pride but Boris liked the cold; it remined him how good warmth was.

That made him think about dragons. Most of them couldn’t breathe fire but they all loved the stuff. Polished there scales up really good, everyone knew they were vain as cats.

Some people said they hadn’t died, simply- left. Gone somewhere else, some far undiscovered land.

Boris didn’t know where he stood on that. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t.

Boris went over the horizon in pursuit of this supposed peek. Headed west.

After days of snow, ice and old dreams of fighting in-human evils. Boris spotted a coelom of smoke.

As Boris neared it, music flowed over the snow.

Boris stopped, listening. It was an old song. Played amateurishly but Boris had though it good enough to insight some nostalgia.

And then a discord. Nostalgia died. The wind blew cold.

In the same tune, the same key something new echoed out over the snow.

Boris Approved the small lodge, the familiar feeling of twigs raking over his skin making him think of great Ents trying to smash him into the dirt. He stopped and waited in the lee of a great pine; it’s needles reminiscent of spines in Boris’s mind.

After some time, listening Boris approached the tiny log hut. He loomed as the approached, the music faultered into silence.

“Song. Change. Why?”

The young man opened and closed his mouth in panic. Boris looked at him for some time. After a while the boy seemed much paler than when Boris hard first seen him.

“WHY?” Boris repeated.

The boy’s flute fell from his shaking hands. He ran inside his tiny shack and slammed the door behind him.

Boris stood as the bolts of the door shot home.

“Rude…”

Boris left after that, there was still a smouldering fire but he didn’t want to scare the man anymore then he already had.

----

The remainder of Boris’s journey was largely uneventful up until his destination, funnily enough people don’t tend to question a six-foot six man with a great sword on his back.

He’d had wolf the previous night, they were mostly genital creatures and he’d felt bad about killing it, but winter was reaching its peak and hunger drove them to hunt anything that moved. That and waste had no place on the road, he’d buried the bones properly after his meal; as a thank you.

Boris traipsed up the side of the mountain. His stride slightly diminished then from the start of his journey.

He neared the mouth of the cave and stood, outlined against the white of the snow; a clear target to anything within.

The snow blew.

Boris drew his sword.

The snow started to collect on it.

For a several minutes, Boris waited for something to happen.

The wind howled.

Boris sagged.

And sheathed his sword, turning his back.

“What do you want, little ape?” The voice was alien, old and rumbling, it was deep and regal. It was that of a beast of imagination.

Boris’s eyes lit up. Slowly, as to not insight hostility, he turned.

A black mussel protruded from the darkness of the cave, two meters from Boris; above its scaly black maw two blue-gold eyes shone in the shadows.

Boris very calmly, sat on the snow looking up at the thing.

“You are a warrior? You desire gold, I have none. You desire maidens, none are here. What for have you come? To slay me. You may try.” The drakes voice booms with gargantuan menace.

Boris pats his knee as he thinks.

“I want no gold, no women, no men, no blood. I come for other reasons.” Boris says thankful to be speaking to someone versed in his old language.

“Then why, ape? Answer.” The dragon withdraws slightly, as if preparing for something.

“Your people where evil but you only sought dominion. To rule all you saw. There is a new evil, more oppressive then you ever could be.” Boris says with uncharacteristic splendour.

“Taxes.” Boris says flatly.

There is a moment in which the dragon weighs its options. It cupped is jaw in its massive hands, “Tell me of these, ‘Taxes’.”

“Tithe. Penance. With no gods or kings. Can run from gods, can run from kings; cannot run from taxes.” Boris spits at the dirt.

“This evil has many allies, more than gods and kings?” Asked the dragon visibly intrigued.

“There minions have many names, ‘Secretary’, ‘Deputy of Hace RRR’, ‘Dave from accounting’…” Boris trailed into silence.

The dragon ponders for a few moments, “Some men with slips of paper came by a few months ago. Apparently, some lord owns this mountain now, they said I was… I believe ‘evicted’ is the word they used. Whatever they wanted I ate them on general principle. A few weeks later some other men collapsed part of my cave. It took days to dig my way out and when I did my gold was gone. It would seem these ‘Taxes’ can over-power even a drake. Perhaps I will burn them to the ground.”

Boris crosses his arms, “No. No blood. No more. We are both of the old world, the world before taxes and paperwork.”

The dragon cresses its scaly brow, “So? That makes us what? Obsolete?”

“Allies.” Boris reached behind him and allowed snow to collect on his hand. Then brought it around so the fresh snow was under the dragon’s nose. “We are of the same time,” closing his palm forcing the snow to melt and drip to the ground; “We no longer fit.”

The dragon’s voice emotes it rising boredom, “And what do you suggest?”

Boris wipes the damp from his palm, “I have travelled much, even with raiders in my youth. They had ships, good ships. I have seen distant lands, places that resist the grasp of taxes and building permits. No ‘Census’, no ‘most recent address in the last five years’; a place with no more ‘sir, ‘cave’ is not a recognised street address’.”

The dragon huffs hot steam in Boris’s face, “Interesting. How do you suppose we get there?”

“You can fly yes?” Boris says standing with a wide grin on his face.

The dragon stretched like a cat that weighed fourteen tones. “You intrigue me ape, very well; let us find this land.”

And they flew.

#dragon #parody #short story #fiction #fantasy #tax evaders #tax evasion #be gay do crimes #yes I 100% ship the dragon and Boris #times change

[esabri]

German in English wie as ich I seine his dass that er he war was für for auf on sind are mit with sie they sein be bei at ein one haben have dies this aus from durch by heiß hot Wort word aber but was what einige some ist is es it Sie you oder or hatte had die the von of zu to und and ein a bei in wir we können can aus out andere other waren were die which tun do ihre their Zeit time wenn if werden will wie how sagte said ein an jeder each sagen tell tut does Satz set drei three wollen want Luft air gut well auch also spielen play klein small Ende end setzen put Zuhause home lesen read seits hand Hafen port groß large buchstabieren spell hinzufügen add auch even Lande land hier here muss must groß big hoch high so such folgen follow Akt act warum why fragen ask Männer men Veränderung change ging went Licht light Art kind aus off müssen need Haus house Bild picture versuchen try uns us wieder again Tier animal Punkt point Mutter mother Welt world in der Nähe von near bauen build selbst self Erde earth Vater father jeder any neu new Arbeit work Teil part nehmen take erhalten get Ort place gemacht made leben live wo where nach after zurück back wenig little nur only Runde round Mann man Jahr year kam came zeigen show jeder every gut good mir me geben give unsere our unter under Name name sehr very durch through nur just Formular form Satz sentence groß great denken think sagen say Hilfe help niedrig low Linie line abweichen differ wiederum turn Ursache cause viel much bedeuten mean vor before Umzug move Recht right Junge boy alt old zu too gleich same sie she alle all da there wenn when nach oben up Verwendung use Ihre your Weg way über about viele many dann then sie them schreiben write würde would wie like so so diese these sie her lange long machen make Sache thing sehen see ihm him zwei two hat has suchen look mehr more Tag day könnte could gehen go kommen come tat did Anzahl number klingen sound nicht no am meisten most Menschen people meine my über over wissen know Wasser water als than Anruf call erste first die who können may nach unten down Seite side gewesen been jetzt now finden find Kopf head stehen stand besitzen own Seite page sollte should Land country gefunden found Antwort answer Schule school wachsen grow Studie study noch still lernen learn Anlage plant Abdeckung cover Lebensmittel food Sonne sun vier four zwischen between Zustand state halten keep Auge eye nie never letzte last lassen let Gedanken thought Stadt city Baum tree überqueren cross Bauernhof farm schwer hard Beginn start Macht might Geschichte story Säge saw weit far Meer sea ziehen draw links left spät late laufen run unterlassen Sie don’t während while Presse press Schließen close Nacht night realen real Leben life wenige few Norden north Buch book tragen carry nahm took Wissenschaft science essen eat Zimmer room Freund friend begann began Idee idea Fisch fish berg mountain Stopp stop einmal once Basis base hören hear Pferd horse Schnitt cut sicher sure beobachten watch Farbe color Gesicht face Holz wood Haupt- main geöffnet open scheinen seem zusammen together nächste next weiß white Kinder children Start begin bekam got gehen walk Beispiel example erleichtern ease Papier paper Gruppe group immer always Musik music diejenigen those beide both Marke mark oft often Schreiben letter bis until Meile mile Fluss river Auto car Füße feet Pflege care zweite second genug enough Ebene plain Mädchen girl üblich usual jung young bereit ready oben above je ever rot red Liste list obwohl though fühlen feel Vortrag talk Vogel bird bald soon Körper body Hund dog Familie family direkt direct Pose pose verlassen leave Lied song messen measure Tür door Produkt product schwarz black kurz short Zahl numeral Klasse class Wind wind Frage question passieren happen vollständig complete Schiff ship Bereich area Hälfte half Stein rock bestellen order Feuer fire Süden south Problem problem Stück piece sagte told wusste knew passieren pass seit since obere top ganze whole König king Straße street Zoll inch multiplizieren multiply nichts nothing Kurs course bleiben stay Rad wheel voll full Kraft force blau blue Objekt object entscheiden decide Oberfläche surface tief deep Mond moon Insel island Fuß foot System system beschäftigt busy Prüfung test Rekord record Boot boat gemeinsam common goldenen gold möglich possible Flugzeug plane statt stead trocken dry Wunder wonder Lachen laugh tausend thousand vor ago lief ran überprüfen check Spiel game Form shape gleichsetzen equate heiß hot Fehl miss gebracht brought Wärme heat Schnee snow Reifen tire bringen bring ja yes entfernt distant füllen fill Osten east malen paint Sprache language unter among Einheit unit Macht power Stadt town fein fine sicher certain fliegen fly fallen fall führen lead Schrei cry dunkel dark Maschine machine note note warten wait Plan plan Abbildung figure Stern star Kasten box Nomen noun Feld field Rest rest richtig correct fähig able Pfund pound getan done Schönheit beauty Antriebs drive stand stood enthalten contain Front front lehren teach Woche week Finale final gab gave grün green oh oh schnell quick entwickeln develop Ozean ocean warme warm kostenlos free Minute minute stark strong besondere special Geist mind hinter behind klar clear Schwanz tail produzieren produce Tatsache fact Raum space gehört heard beste best Stunde hour besser better wahr true während during hundert hundred fünf five merken remember Schritt step früh early halten hold Westen west Boden ground Interesse interest erreichen reach schnell fast Verbum verb singen sing hören listen sechs six Tabelle table Reise travel weniger less Morgen morning zehn ten einfach simple mehrere several Vokal vowel auf toward Krieg war legen lay gegen against Muster pattern schleppend slow Zentrum center Liebe love Person person Geld money dienen serve erscheinen appear Straße road Karte map regen rain Regel rule regieren govern ziehen pull Kälte cold Hinweis notice Stimme voice Energie energy Jagd hunt wahrscheinlich probable Bett bed Bruder brother Ei egg Fahrt ride Zelle cell glauben believe vielleicht perhaps pflücken pick plötzlich sudden zählen count Platz square Grund reason Dauer length vertreten represent Kunst art Thema subject Region region Größe size variieren vary regeln settle sprechen speak Gewicht weight allgemein general Eis ice Materie matter Kreis circle Paar pair umfassen include Kluft divide Silbe syllable Filz felt groß grand Kugel ball noch yet Welle wave fallen drop Herz heart Uhr am vorhanden present schwer heavy Tanz dance Motor engine Position position Arm arm breit wide Segel sail Material material Fraktion fraction Wald forest sitzen sit Rennen race Fenster window Speicher store Sommer summer Zug train Schlaf sleep beweisen prove einsam lone Bein leg Übung exercise Wand wall Fang catch Berg mount wünschen wish Himmel sky Board board Freude joy Winter winter sa sat geschrieben written wilden wild Instrument instrument gehalten kept Glas glass Gras grass Kuh cow Arbeit job Rand edge Zeichen sign Besuch visit Vergangenheit past weich soft Spaß fun hell bright Gases gas Wetter weather Monat month Million million tragen bear Finish finish glücklich happy hoffen hope blume flower kleiden clothe seltsam strange Vorbei gone Handel trade Melodie melody Reise trip Büro office empfangen receive Reihe row Mund mouth genau exact Zeichen symbol sterben die am wenigsten least Ärger trouble Schrei shout außer except schrieb wrote Samen seed Ton tone beitreten join vorschlagen suggest sauber clean Pause break Dame lady Hof yard steigen rise schlecht bad Schlag blow Öl oil Blut blood berühren touch wuchs grew Cent cent mischen mix Mannschaft team Draht wire Kosten cost verloren lost braun brown tragen wear Garten garden gleich equal gesendet sent wählen choose fiel fell passen fit fließen flow Messe fair Bank bank sammeln collect sparen save Kontrolle control dezimal decimal Ohr ear sonst else ganz quite pleite broke Fall case Mitte middle töten kill Sohn son See lake Moment moment Maßstab scale laut loud Frühling spring beobachten observe Kind child gerade straight Konsonant consonant Nation nation Wörterbuch dictionary milch milk Geschwindigkeit speed Verfahren method Orgel organ zahlen pay Alter age Abschnitt section Kleid dress Wolke cloud Überraschung surprise ruhig quiet Stein stone winzig tiny Aufstieg climb kühlen cool Entwurf design arm poor Menge lot Versuch experiment Boden bottom Schlüssel key Eisen iron Einzel single Stick stick Wohnung flat zwanzig twenty Haut skin Lächeln smile Falte crease Loch hole springen jump Kind baby acht eight Dorf village treffen meet Wurzel root kaufen buy erhöhen raise lösen solve Metall metal ob whether drücken push sieben seven Absatz paragraph dritte third wird shall Hand held Haar hair beschreiben describe Koch cook Boden floor entweder either Ergebnis result brennen burn Hügel hill sicher safe Katze cat Jahrhundert century betrachten consider Typ type Gesetz law Bit bit Küste coast Kopie copy Ausdruck phrase still silent hoch tall Sand sand Boden soil Rolle roll Temperatur temperature Finger finger Industrie industry Wert value Kampf fight Lüge lie schlagen beat begeistern excite natürlich natural Blick view Sinn sense Hauptstadt capital wird nicht won’t Stuhl chair Achtung danger Obst fruit reich rich dick thick Soldat soldier Prozess process betreiben operate Praxis practice trennen separate schwierig difficult Arzt doctor Bitte please schützen protect Mittag noon Ernte crop modernen modern Elementes element treffen hit Schüler student Ecke corner Partei party Versorgung supply deren whose lokalisieren locate Rings ring Charakter character insekt insect gefangen caught Zeit period zeigen indicate Funk radio Speiche spoke Atom atom Mensch human Geschichte history Wirkung effect elektrisch electric erwarten expect Knochen bone Schiene rail vorstellen imagine bieten provide zustimmen agree so thus sanft gentle Frau woman Kapitän captain erraten guess erforderlich necessary scharf sharp Flügel wing schaffen create Nachbar neighbor Wasch wash Fledermaus bat eher rather Menge crowd mais corn vergleichen compare Gedicht poem Schnur string Glocke bell abhängen depend Fleisch meat einreiben rub Rohr tube berühmt famous Dollar dollar Strom stream Angst fear Blick sight dünn thin Dreieck triangle Erde planet Eile hurry Chef chief Kolonie colony Uhr clock Mine mine Krawatte tie eingeben enter Dur major frisch fresh Suche search senden send gelb yellow Pistole gun erlauben allow Druck print tot dead Stelle spot Wüste desert Anzug suit Strom current Aufzug lift stiegen rose ankommen arrive Stamm master Spur track Elternteil parent Ufer shore Teilung division Blatt sheet Substanz substance begünstigen favor verbinden connect nach post verbringen spend Akkord chord Fett fat froh glad Original original Aktie share Station station Papa dad Brot bread aufladen charge richtig proper Leiste bar Angebot offer Segment segment Sklave slave ente duck Augenblick instant Markt market Grad degree besiedeln populate küken chick liebe dear Feind enemy antworten reply Getränk drink auftreten occur Unterstützung support Rede speech Natur nature Angebot range Dampf steam Bewegung motion Weg path Flüssigkeit liquid protokollieren log gemeint meant Quotient quotient Gebiss teeth Schale shell Hals neck Sauerstoff oxygen Zucker sugar Tod death ziemlich pretty Geschicklichkeit skill Frauen women Saison season Lösung solution Magnet magnet Silber silver danken thank Zweig branch Spiel match Suffix suffix insbesondere especially Feige fig ängstlich afraid riesig huge Schwester sister Stahl steel diskutieren discuss vorwärts forward ähnlich similar führen guide Erfahrung experience Partitur score apfel apple gekauft bought geführt led Tonhöhe pitch Mantel coat Masse mass Karte card Band band Seil rope Rutsch slip gewinnen win träumen dream Abend evening Zustand condition Futtermittel feed Werkzeug tool gesamt total Basis basic Geruch smell Tal valley noch nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

[matildainmotion]

Extreme Times, Transitions and Your Extreme Powers for 2021

This time last year I wrote a piece entitled ‘An Encouraging Blog about Despair’ – this was in early January, before the pandemic. My son loves that moment in a story when someone says, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse,” and then, right on cue, a whole lot of worse-ness happens. This year I am not going to attempt to be encouraging – I think we need something else, to match the gravity and uncertainty of the times, that recognises all the worse-ness that has happened. But what? Right now I am not sure. Let me see if I can write my way to find it.

The thing that has saved my sanity through the year has been the working on and writing of a novel. It has kept me sane but also driven me mad, but at least it has been my madness, of my own making as opposed to the world’s. It has been astonishingly difficult. Often, I have felt more articulate about the toughness of the process, than about the story I am trying to tell. The images I have used to describe it have included marathon running, mountaineering, white-water rafting and tightrope walking. I am struck by the extremity of these metaphors. I have done none of these things in real life, and yet I have had a visceral sense of their accuracy. Most of my writing has taken place where I am now, crouched on the children’s bedroom floor. I do not look like I am engaged in anything wild or dangerous, but I like the idea that both my making and my mothering – activities that are often seen as domestic, docile – are in fact extreme sports. 

Photo credit: Viola Depcik, as part of the online exhibition: Portraits in Motherhood and Making during lockdown.

For now, I have come off the mountain of the book. Come January I will set about editing it – an attempt to turn the manuscript into something someone might actually want to read. This morning, I am in a moment of transition. What to write in the dark bedroom, before the children wake? Christmas wish lists and new year’s resolutions are the traditional seasonal texts, but I notice I have two counter impulses to these – two very different lists I want to write. 

The first is not a wish list, but a list of the unwished-for. A backwards-looking list of some of the worse-ness of the year, not as a plea for sympathy, empathy, not out of a need to confess, or because I am looking for advice, but because it feels important to name it. In these last months, on those precious trips out of the house, I have had many two-metres-apart exchanges of the “How are you doing?” kind. “Okay. We’re surviving,” I reply, and then come away, with my groceries in hand, my mask hanging round my neck, feeling desolate, surprised that I should feel it so deeply, when I was not expecting any more from the exchange. I think it is because I want to lay bare the utter ugliness of the year, like when you pull the fridge out and expose the amazing accumulation of dirt underneath. I know that we have been lucky, so when I list some of our un-wished for times, I do it in full recognition that others have had it worse, much worse. 

Here is a selection of my unwished-for list:

Easter – everyone in the house either shouting or crying or both. Still ill. My husband and son red in the face. My mother and daughter, white. 

Then the times – more than one -when my son, who is on the autistic spectrum, needed a play fight, to channel the aggression he displays when he feels threatened (and a threat may be as slight as a joke he did not understand, a small change of plan). I offer to fight him, and as I face him, hold his wrists, the energy in his body, but also in mine, is far from playful. 

A recent one - a double meltdown – my daughter screaming whilst we are Xmas shopping because she and I cannot remember something I said three days ago about her and a bauble she was hanging on the tree. Meanwhile it is raining. She is refusing to wear a coat. She runs away from me, up the pavement, beside a busy road, whilst my son, who cannot bear loud noise, lays down on the concrete and puts his hands over his ears. I am caught between the two of them – one on the run, the other on the ground. Masked people watching me, the rain coming down, the dark coming on. 

Three in the morning and no one is screaming or sobbing but me – the children are sleeping peacefully, and I am not. 

There is an edge to this – it is allowed to be hard, but it feels dangerous to expose the difficult details. It has not all been like this, but I do not want to sweep these times aside and hurry on. So I set them down, one by one, on the page. Then I can begin list number two. 

This is a list not of changes I resolve to make in the new year, but ones that came on their own, and are ongoing, unresolved. A list of the transitions already underway. Because these arrive unbidden, this is a list of the moments when I understood that change is happening:

When I find I cannot read the instructions on the side of the ‘stuffing mix’ and I realise I need reading glasses. 

When my period is two weeks late one month, and two weeks early the next. The skin on my eyelids grows dry. I read this too can be a symptom of the perimenopause.

When my daughter is at last weening (shhhh, don’t tell her, or she will object) and her favourite game is to play at being a ‘dumb baby’ who cannot remember where its mummy’s boobies are. She runs about the room, looking behind bookshelves and under covers, until eventually the baby realises that the boobies and the milk are on its mother’s chest. She does not want the milk now, she wants to play at being the silly baby, because she is turning into such a competent ‘medium big girl’ (her current definition of her size).

When my mother (granny) no longer wants to cook meals for us, but would rather that I cook for her. 

When my son starts to grow a greater awareness of his separateness to me and I find him in tears one night because earlier in the day he heard The Beatles song “She’s Leaving Home” and grew afraid that this might happen to him – that he would leave one day, leaving only a note behind.

When my husband and I realise we are going to need to move again, find somewhere we both want to be, to settle, where we can grow older.

When the children wait for snow, go out keen to find the ice on top of puddles to crack and splinter, but the winter stays mild, wet. 

And then there is the ‘transition period’ the whole of the UK is supposed to be undergoing, moving out of the EU, whether we like it or not. Lorries, stationary, but in long lines of transit, waiting to cross the border. And then there are the transitions- endless- from one tier to another to try to control the virus. 

I think of others’ transitions too, of friends, and friends of friends: people waiting for a baby to be born; waiting for a loved one to recover, or die; transitions of age, gender, status. 

What to do in response to these unchosen changes? I almost admire my daughter’s wish to fight them. Her maxim is not ‘to keep calm and carry on,’ but rather to keep screaming, whilst being carried. I am impressed by the volume of rage in her four-year-old frame as she attempts to stop things:

“You have to stop the car now,” she cries from the back seat, when we are in the middle of the road, “Right now. You have to do it. You have to, you have to, you have to…Mummy stop! Now! You have to stop!” It is a work-out of the will that can go on for hours and which leaves us both exhausted. It is extreme, and it makes me think back to the extreme metaphors for which I found myself reaching in trying to describe my writing process with the novel. 

I counsel her in acceptance, but I recognise my own desire to scream against the times, to stop the world. Perhaps I need to flip things round - to harness the power of the scream, even as I accept the ways things are. Often I think of acceptance as passive, equanimity as cool and quiet. But I am not sure balance, as figured in this way, is the right metaphor for our times. The feat of balancing required now is that done by the tightrope walker, cliff face climber, white-water rafter – an athletic equanimity, a muscular form of acceptance that takes all our might, all our will. 

Maybe it is time to reclaim the male image of the superhero. I like the way in the film of The Incredibles, the superheroic is recognised as a form of divergence from the norm, a daring difference, how the super ability can become a disability if the surrounding culture judges it as such. The image helps me to see my differences as potential superpowers. 

A third and final list then comes to mind, a forwards-looking one, that might support me through the transitions of this time, and on into 2021 – a list of my extreme powers. If it comes to needing to grow food, hunt, light fires – wilderness survival skills – I will be useless, but I can do the following:

I can survive on little sleep. 

I can hold onto the thread of a creative project or conversation through multiple interupptions and across many days.

I can imagine disaster, very fast, in almost any situation.

I can mother two intense children, both often awake till midnight.

I can name the elephant in any room. 

I can write a novel in the hour per day when my children are watching TV (this is a slight exaggeration - when school was happening I had a little more time, but on a list like this you are allowed to exaggerate). 

That’s it for now. I do not think we need to know or understand how our superpowers, our athletic abilities, can be put to good use. I do not think it is our job to calculate this, but rather only to keep in training. Ready. Skills honed. And also to notice, name and honour one another’s skills. I think I should write a list of my children’s superpowers too. As I write this, the children have woken and my husband is now showing my daughter the trailer for the latest Wonder Woman movie. My daughter likes her outfits, especially the golden bracelets. A glittering dress sense will be on my daughter’s list of wondrous powers. 

The other day my husband shared with me a quote, from a Hopi leader in the year 2000, which seems relevant to my three lists as 2021 begins:

“There is a river flowing now very fast.  It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.  They will try to hold on to the shore…..The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water.  And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.”

Writing a novel has felt like white water rafting, but actually being alive right now feels like that too. This year I offer, not encouragement amidst despair, but something more extreme - a call to arms, to your arms, my arms, arms that can carry children, stir soups, make stories - superhero arms strong enough, not to grip, but to let go of the shore. Mid river as we are, I want to celebrate each other’s extreme, extraordinary abilities. So, tell me your lists: the list of things you did not wish for, the list of changes underway, unresolved, and then the list of the superpowers you are hiding, honing, as we are swept along. What powers, however ordinary, bizarre, or seemingly superfluous, do you have to offer?