#they could have been adapting the fucking spark notes and done better

[voluptuarian]

I’ll forever be haunted by the fact that Benioff and Weiss really thought it was imperative to “scale back the fantasy” when adapting a fantasy series in which the major world-ending conflict comes down to dragons vs. ice fairies. 

#also letting the major element of resource management #and the delicate hold on life people in Westeros have against nature #just fllyyyy right over their heads #bangup job adapting the material boys #'haha the characters say cock' #'haha people die' #they could have been adapting the fucking spark notes and done better #a song of ice and fire #a song of blood and mud and magic

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Do you think they would actually enjoy the modern world? Or would they want to stay in their current time period?

Hm, well, I think that may vary depending on each suitor if I’m honest! (I’ll be excluding Sebastian from this one, only because he is a modern man and I wager he would want to stay in the mansion in order to finish his thesis) 

Under a cut bc it’s a long boi:

I think for people like Arthur and Theo, for instance--who always seem to live in the fast lane--it might not really prove much of a problem. They would continue enjoying the night life and move with their busy schedules. Tl;dr: (For them? Same shit, different day)

Vincent would likely be doing just fine given how Theo often provides assistance in places where he struggles; to promote his art, to spark intrigue in the general public and benefactors. He might be a little overwhelmed by the influx of stimuli that comes with the modern era, constant noise and interaction and movement--perhaps worry that people are losing their ability to live in the moment. (Not to mention what’s being done to the environment...) There might be a learning curve/adjustment, but I think Theo would help him ease in. Plus, it would be a little easier to promote his art given the less stringent restrictions on public exhibitions. He’d still have to work for his fame, but at least the van Goghs wouldn’t have to live in constant unease in the proximity of the cutthroat academy.  Tl;dr: (Mixed feelings, but tries to stay positive about modern times)

Dazai is more familiar with this kind of life of quick turmoil and breakneck speed, if anything he falls back into his old coping mechanisms--hello writing, drinking, and smoking. An overwhelming influx of information and suffering would probably be hard for him to manage, despite how expertly he hides it. I think I would be worried he would lose himself in the dismal reality of diminished connection with other people. Yes I’m shoving him into therapy, I want him to start living for himself and taking care of himself ffs

That isn’t to say there aren’t happy possibilities for him, just that I think he really needs to heal first. I could see him very happy in a kind of writer’s circle with people he loves and trusts; less expending his energy in a desperate attempt to fill the void and please others, more cultivating his own happiness... Tl;dr: (Positive potential, but honestly part of me thinks the past quieter/simple/rural life suits him better...he still loves meme culture tho, he finds it so expansive and creative)

Isaac is in a similar boat as Dazai, I think! He has wonderful potential as a mentor and professor, and living in a world that has a little more patience and respect for genius might help encourage him to put himself out there. That being said, I think the pace of life would exhaust him though--he is very much the kind of person that prefers to keep to himself and just puzzle and tinker. Baby boy just wants to do equations, build little inventions, and read up on the recent discoveries in astrophysics (BRUH WHEN THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK HOLE CAME OUT HE FORGOT HOW TO B R E A T H E) Napoleon is the only reason he eats anything healthy or on any kind of regular schedule s m h. Tl;dr: (Not a lot changes, honestly? He was reclusive then, he still is now--he just has more toys/academic resources. If anything he might get a little too lost in his work because of it, somebody please make sure he’s eating/sleeping/socializing;;;)

Poor Jeanne is SUFFERING. Please release him from this nightmare he is begging. Jk jk, I don’t think it would be too bad for him--but I do think that he would have the aforementioned problem of too many stimuli and too much interaction. I think he would ease into it a little with Mozart’s help; he would just be awkward and wooden until he got the hang of it. Most people just find him quirky in an amusing way, and don’t think too hard about it. I’d wager he’d probably become literate at this point because of the abundance of resources and necessity to read/write (okay but imagine this baby with a little kid workbook iM GONNA CRY!!! TAKE ALL MY CRAYONS JEANNE). 

Can you imagine this mofo at a Starbucks??? Tall and stoic, dark and debonair (EVERYONE IS S W O O N I N G), and he just asks in a light tenor “can I have a mocha with eight shots of expresso” with a completely straight face. “Sir, that could kill you” “Don’t worry, I’ve been dead a long time” And he just moves to wait for his order. 11/10 cryptid I could watch an entire show just about his daily adventures

He works with Napoleon a lot given their similar skillsets. They coach kids at high schools that have fencing teams (it’s really REALLY cute bc if they’re on the younger side, Jeanne will very dramatically lose bc he wants to encourage them and the kids are delighted--but the parents are INCHES from laughing so hard they’re in tears). Otherwise, he mostly takes up gigs as a security worker/bodyguard, only really works for the money. He prefers to spend his time in ways that feel meaningful if he can, so don’t be surprised if you see him in foster homes and in social working spaces. He has an uncanny understanding about him, a kind of silence/patience that doesn’t stifle; it makes the kids/teens calm down in milliseconds. They really listen when he does talk, and he sets good and clear boundaries--he knows how to be firm when it’s required. He gives them the structure and placid grounding they’ve never had, and really pays attention to what’s important to them. Brings them little things he notices; brings flowers to the one that likes to draw, brings CDs (he is bad with technology, but they usually only have access to older/outdated stuff anyway) to the one the one that struggles to write with white noise in the house, brings little plushies to the ones that lose theirs. He’s simple but solid, and he finds a lot of meaning in helping kids overcome the similar kind of struggles he faced.  Tl;dr: (Steep learning curve, but he just sees it as all the same really--just more work to be done with the literacy requirement and adjustment to technology. Will be resistant at first, but when he gets accustomed and starts finding people who are important to him, he wouldn’t want to change anything/go back. But will admit there are some days he just wants to go to the most remote place he can access and just live there for a month with no human interaction whatsoever; people are inefficient and insufferable sometimes)

Mozart’s life honestly doesn’t change much? I feel like he would easily be able to keep composing and continue releasing his work as per usual. Given his quick capacity to schmooze and say what people want to hear when he must, he’d be more than able to network his way into success. I think the only thing he might struggle with now and again is inspiration, given the world operates on a very surface level in the modern era sometimes. Profound insight and depth are not quite as cultivated in many ways, and he can struggle to find something that just sparks motivation/novelty in his mind, makes him start composing at breakneck speed. He reads a lot and watches some TV shows/movies when he’s at really low inspiration levels, the kind of guy that sneers at Game of Thrones--but finds things like BBC’s Sherlock more passable (wants intrigue and complexity, doesn’t much enjoy the sensationalized drivel). When Arthur finds out he loves ATLA he about falls off his seat. “It’s a children’s show.” “Yes it is, with a remarkable level of depth and craftsmanship, what are you trying to say?” He begins to find a kind of rhythm in his composing, and Jeanne and Dazai often drop by with so many crazy stories he finds himself filled with music anyway LMAO Tl;dr: (Same as Isaac, really just keeps doing his thing without being impeded, and he enjoys the luxuries/conveniences of the modern era. Will be slightly resistant at first because of how alien some of the changes are, but will fall into the habits/customs slowly and surely. Fine with it, will whine a bit at the growing pains tho)

Leonardo actually canonically owns a bar, and does that really surprise anyone? He really enjoys the excitement of meeting new people and hearing about their myriad histories, the influx of cultures/languages/experiences. It’s a nice but lowkey place, people stop for a drink, listen to some good music--chat amiably and relax after a long day’s work--before heading out. There are regulars and people that just stop for that single day; tourists, vacationers, so on and so forth.

When asked, many people note a sleek black cat with sharp eyes that led them to the bar... Tl;dr: (Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Prequel, adapts well to the modern era because of centuries of experience but also...he’s so tired...somebody please hold him I can’t watch him live like this, lord jesus)

Optimally, I see Comte filling his time with myriad pursuits; ranging from philanthropy, indulging in art/music/theatre (often a benefactor as well), and keeping track of his chirren (they may exist more independently now, but he still worries about them ;-;). Otherwise nothing much changes for him, still goes to galas and fancy gatherings, still enjoys fashion and spoiling people, still seeks to occupy himself with social interaction and care-taking--if he doesn’t have a family of his own. He’s basically just that meme that’s like DON’T LET THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD SET-IN. DON’T LET IT SET-IN!!!!!!!!! Tl;dr: (Not to repeat myself but also Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Sequel, literally just desperately trying to fill the void please somebody help him he also just needs to be held fuck’s sake, I’m going to drag him kicking and screaming into happiness--but otherwise has no great trouble adjusting to the modern era. I feel like he would have a more minor form of what Dazai struggles with, maybe a lack of personable connection that he once had; fewer chances to be himself and relax. Also probably worried about the increasing unhappiness and turmoil building in the world in general...)

Napoleon is similar to Comte in that he often checks up on Isaac and Jeanne from time to time, and does the aforementioned fencing lessons with kids. He also takes a lot of basic security positions--for venues, concerts, museums--you name it. He dislikes the idea of sitting behind a desk a lot, so he prefers to do a lot of different things; he even cooks from time to time at the restaurants  that know him very well. One gig he particularly enjoys is battle choreography for movies/theatre! He tends to stay away from anything too historically close to his era of origin, but he has fun coming up with realistic (smaller scale) hand-to-hand combat scenarios and duels. Tl;dr: (This era doesn’t feel like too much of a change. It’s a little more intensive in terms of pace, but he manages to keep up pretty well, it just exhausts him from time to time--and he usually goes on trips or hikes to unwind when he needs to like Jeanne LOL they do not go to their happy place, they go to their high lonesome place).

Shakespeare also continues to do his drama thing, organizes troupes on tons of different levels--from community level to more intense, skilled groups that re-enact his own work. His life doesn’t change all that much beyond a new form of theatre logistics, and he adjusts to the technology fairly easily out of necessity. He’ll stop by Vincent’s place from time to time to show him recordings of his latest shows, but otherwise is almost always on the move. Tl;dr: (So long as he can keep following his greatest passion, he doesn’t really mind the changes in how theatre happens--he doesn’t have any sizable issues with the modern era.)

Ability with technology (phones mostly):

Arthur: more than capable, well-versed, loves to do everything on his phone no prob--maybe lives a little too much on his phone (Vine/TikTok/Youtube can kill his productivity RIP) also yes he has a fidget spinner on his desk, no I will not be taking any constructive criticism at this time

Theo: yes but with a lot of cursing at first, had to do it for work and now looks down on anyone that can’t keep up with him (except for Vincent)

Vincent: knows the basics, taking and sending pictures, writing things in notes for later, texting (tho sending emails is a little harder for him); he does his best but he can be slow. Really really enjoys the paint programs on his iPad for when he’s on public transit, but he starts setting alarms after he gets the hang of it (he’s missed his stops before because of it LMAO)

Leonardo: what kind of stupid question? Man knows how to pick them apart and put ‘em back together for crying out loud, uses it like a pro--comes to him naturally, and he’s the guy that keeps coming up with ways to jailbreak Apple products and thwart their money-grubbing tactics. Catch him playing Minish Cap on his emulator on the way to work, brah

Comte: just vibing, keeps up with the times easily since he’s been doing it for so long, much like Theo uses it to keep in touch with the people around him--he’s the “prefers to call instead of text” sorta guy though, he worries about losing emotional subtleties and he likes to hear people’s voices. Doesn’t do anything special on phones, more just a tool; will read/listen to podcasts/does have emulators (courtesy of Leo) and enjoys playing Pokemon when he’s bored

Jeanne: types one finger at a time, it will take a while--but he’ll get there (deleted all his contacts by accident once and Mozart was just. HOW.) He barely knows how to use a phone, and it’s a steep learning curve for him

Mozart: purely functional when it comes to his phone, refuses to rely on it beyond the necessities that only tech can do (for instance, sending emails or reading articles or uploading compositions) he still writes his music before making more polished digital copies. He will sometimes listen to pieces digitally, but prefers to play them in-person; he feels that a lot of the soul in a piece is lost despite the convenience

Dazai: you absolute fools. you baboons. why would you ever give him this kind of power. it is 3AM and he has been on a wikipedia trail spanning hours, started with Cleopatra being the seventh in her line with that name all the way to cotton candy being called “daddy’s beard” in French. please help him he hasn’t slept in years. Also probably binges anime and manga lbr. He’s the one making vine references every other second, always up to date on the memes^TM

Isaac: also mostly uses it as a tool for research and calculations; it’s a way to keep track of information. He also likes to play background music while he’s working, so he finds the device nice and convenient--plus less having to go around pestering people in-person. he does start to get interested in coding and tinkering with apps/programs eventually, too

Shakespeare: finds it a delightful little contraption, so useful because it lets him jot down ideas as they come to him quickly, and he can edit his texts much more easily with digital interfaces. also likes that performances can be recorded, because now he can analyze his staging more efficiently--it gives him a good sense of what needs to be adjusted, and encourages him to keep streamlining/try new concepts

Napoleon: likes it because he can keep in touch with people more easily, the kind of guy to drop a line before checking on a friend. he really likes to look up recipes and find out more about cooking techniques he’s never encountered before. Isaac starts making an Instagram account just to show Napoleon’s impeccable plating, and Napo gets quite the following without knowing for a while

#asks #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp theo #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp jean #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp dazai #aight so like idk why the format became headcannony but i hope you enjoy this response nonetheless?? #my head has been full of rocks this week no spoons only simp

[eutxrpe]

dense

hello! this was a request so @karmathedevil, i hope you like it! there’s no need to apologize, and if you don’t like it, feel free to request again. remember to send in prompts or ideas (aus included!) with that, continue to read! -sxn ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ dense pairing: todoroki x gender neutral!reader request: can you do a todoroki x reader who is jealous of camie because she is flirting with him, but todo doesn’t notice so camie thinks she’s succeeding? i just realized that was a buttload to say and i apologize. i just wanted to get all the details! word count: 1.2k words

warning: angst, fluff, swearing (bakugo’s in this, c’mon) ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

you sighed happily as you sat closer to todoroki’s side, his arm draped around your waist. the two of you haven’t been spending that much time together since you both had to study for the provisional license course. 

failing together strengthens your relationship, right? 

you were now on the bus with all might and present mic to the training location for that day. you rested your head on him, content and savoring his warmth. 

todoroki leaned down to whisper in your ear, “don’t fall asleep on me now, my love… you can’t leave me with bakugo!” you stifled a snort as the bus pulled in the parking lot and you all shuffled out. 

the three of you split ways with present mic and all might, who were going to watch from above in the stands. they warned you not to let personal affairs stop you from achieving anything and think things through. with that, you walked the halls to get to a dressing room to switch into your hero costumes. but… you ran into two shiketsu high school students. one was inasa yoarashi, a tall, well-defined boy who you had grown to like despite his love-hate relationship with your boyfriend. the other was a curvy, fawn-haired girl who licked her full lips as she scanned shoto. they both walked up to you three.

“hey, inasa.” you mumbled against his broad shoulder as he gave you a side hug in greeting. 

“(y/n)! bakugo! todoroki!” he shouted despite your close proximity. “hello u.a!”

camie stepped in between bakugo and shoto, looking at both of them (but mainly shoto, you noted) with glittering eyes and introduced herself.

“what’s this? two hot guys. that’s totally wild, fam. i’m so excited to be working with hot guys. i’m camie utsushimi!” as if she had suddenly realized your presence when you broke away from inasa, she added, “nice to meet you too!”

“shouldn’t you be focused on our training today?” you said, leaning into shoto for comfort and he laced his fingers in yours. camie didn’t have a chance to respond as inasa dragged her to shiketsu’s dressing room and waved goodbye. you felt your heart pang. 

camie utsushimi, what do you have planned? ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ you sighed as you got your hero suit on. your quirk wasn’t the most powerful in close-combat but it did the job with some support items that you used on the daily. you slipped on your shoes and went to the gymnasium where you waved to all might and present mic.

you turned your head to the people in front of you to see camie, once again, practically hanging off of shoto. who she had just met. shoto barely seemed to care either, continuing to talk to bakugo and glare at his dad.

this bitch does not know who she’s messing with- you were about to go over and snatch her by her dry-ass hair but gang orca and his task of ‘reaching the children’s heart’ stopped you.

after many attempts at trying to win over these kids while you had to separate camie, who had decided that she was going to steal your boyfriend right in front of you, and shoto, who had remained as dense as usual, you were utterly and completely done. you could have screamed at her when she not-so-subtly bent over in front of shoto, exposing her already-exposed cleavage. while shoto was faithful to you and didn’t care, he could have still told her that he was taken, right? 

is he really that neutral about our relationship? gritting your teeth in an attempt to stop your tears from falling, you announced an idea to everyone that would hopefully get you out of there shortly, so you could cry in peace.

“let’s use our quirks to dazzle them into silence. or obedience. whichever works.” bakugo grinned as he ran toward the children, palms sparking something fierce. inasa immediately scooped up two kids in his arms and used his wind to twirl. camie grabbed shoto’s arm and whispered in his ear. you desperately wished it was a way to adhere to your plan, but the way she smiled wickedly when you two made eye contact proved otherwise.

with bakugo’s fireworks in between inasa’s wind, todoroki made a makeshift ice castle with one of camie’s glamours. you ran around the building, hyping up the kids and adjusting the structures with your support items. the children whooped and cheered, and it went off without a hitch. afterwards, you smiled as they helped clean up the remains of your plan. a small, blue-haired girl even gave you a hug as she apologized for her and her classmates.

after you changed, you walked to the bus, talking about the next steps for getting your license with all might.

“you did well today, young (y/n). hone your skills and adapt to working with others, and you’ll be an amazing hero!”

“thank you, all might! i-” you saw red as camie waved goodbye to todoroki, shouting ‘call me!’ at him. the worst part? he nodded. “will you please excuse me?”

“of course.” you got onto the bus, absolutely torn between crying and punching camie. you used your quirk and blocked out everything and everyone, the world fading to black. you welcomed the silence and nothingness.

as you were in your pit of despair, bakugo slapped todoroki on the head. he was wondering why you were using your quirk to block him away, but instead he turned toward katsuki.

“icyhot, you fucked up. why did you accept mrs. illusion’s phone number?” bakugo said before shoto could ask why he hit him.

“she asked for my number. was there a problem with that?”

“you’re so dense. tch. idiot. she’s trying to fucking date you when you already have a partner.”

it was like a switch clicked in his head. 

“oh.” shoto almost instantly felt bad. he had been ignoring you and he didn’t even realize camie’s promiscuous desires to “getting to know him better.” the bus pulled up to heights alliance and you opened your eyes for shoto to see them void of happiness. using your quirk, you disappeared and teleported into your room. your quirk was shadowing: you could harbor, use, and hide in shadows for your own disposal. ⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆ not even an hour passed before your wallowing was interrupted by a knock on the door. you allowed the door’s shadow to manipulate itself to open and locked eyes with a sheepish shoto, carrying your favorite snacks. he set them down on your desk and sat down on your bed. rubbing your eyes to at least get some of the sadness off your face, you whispered, “what do you want, todoroki?”

his last name coming from your mouth caused tears to flow out his eyes as he gaped at you in disbelief. “it’s always shoto to you. and only you.”

“it didn’t seem like it at training!” you croaked, tears also welling up in your eyes for what seemed like the tenth time today.

“i’m so sorry, (y/n). i didn’t realize how it made you feel when i didn’t block her advances.” you saw sorrow in his eyes, but you still weren’t convinced.

“do you still want to be with me, shoto?” the brokenness in your eyes made shoto feel even more terrible as both of you cried.

“of course. you are the person who is the most special to me and i could never love another like i love you.” he wrapped you up in his arms, you leaning into his embrace as tears wet both of your shirts. todoroki -no- shoto pulled away slightly to kiss your forehead but pulled you back in, close enough to feel his racing heart.

“i’m all yours, love. i’m not going anywhere, because i only want you. and i will tell you as many times as it takes.”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #shoto todoroki imagines #shoto todoroki scenarios #todoroki imagines #todoroki scenarios #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader angst #bnha angst #bnha fluff #todoroki x reader fluff #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #shoto todoroki

[lakesandquarries]

Jump the Fence Part Two: Ghost Out Of His Grave

chapter one: ghost in your house

summary: Benrey and Gordon adapt to living together. Some days are better than others.

notes: series title from “jump the fence” by mother mother. this part and the chapters within it are named after “ghosting” by mother mother. this chpater may seem familiar! i technically posted it before but i’m reuploading since it’s now part of a series.

AO3 link

It’s early when Gordon wakes up. Or late, depending on how you look at it. The sky outside is dark, with a faint glow that means the sun is about to rise. When he looks at his alarm clock it reads just past 6:30

If he really wanted, he could go back to sleep. But Benrey was acting weird last night, and Gordon was a little... concerned. Benrey had only been living with Gordon for a few days but he had gotten a decent idea of what they were like. Last night, he’d been all...jumpy, distracted, quiet. He’d barely spoken to Gordon, hadn’t eaten, didn’t even seem interested in the Mario game he was playing. Gordon had watched him fail the same stage 4 times in a row. 

He’s not worried about them. It’s just, when your roommate is some kind of eldritch horror, you gotta pay attention when they seem off. 

Gordon stumbles out of his room with eyes still bleary, glasses clutched in one hand, and almost walks straight into Benrey. “You’re up early,” he says, rubbing his eyes until his vision comes into focus. Benrey looks slightly dazed, standing in the middle of the living room with...hold on. 

“Is that my backpack?”

“Uhhhhhhhh. Nope.”

“Don’t fuckin lie to me, man, that’s mine. What’re you doing with it?”

Benrey just keeps staring. Their pupils are huge in the dim lighting, round like a cats. They have the same weird glow, too. Gordon squints his eyes at them, folding his arms. Finally, they say, “I was just gonna leave.”

Oh, goddamnit. “Dude, it’s 6 am. Where exactly are you planning on going?”

“Uh. Y’know. Out.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Gordon says. He’s trying his best to keep his tone even, but he can’t help the bit of anger that slips out. What the fuck is Benrey playing at here?

Benrey sings a bubble of pale gray sweet voice, followed by an assortment of clear. Fuck, Gordon wishes he knew what that meant. He’ll have to ask Tommy later. Benrey is still quiet otherwise, and Gordon sighs. “Benrey,” he says, gentler. “What’s going on?”

Benrey huffs, looking away and adjusting his hat. “’m sick of waiting,” they mumble, barely intelligible. 

“W - Waiting for what?”

The perpetual shadow over his eyes seems to get darker, somehow. “Y’know,” they say again, and this time Gordon explodes.

“I don’t! I don’t know fucking anything because you won’t talk to me! All you do is sit around playing video games and being fucking cryptic and now you’re trying to sneak out at 6 in the goddamn morning!”  His fists have found their way into his hair, gripping tightly. 

More of those clear bubbles slip out, then black to a dark red. “I’m n - I’m not supposed to be here,” Benrey says, voice flat. “I’m - you killed me.”

Gordon winces at the reminder. “Yeah, well, you got my arm chopped off, so -”

“‘m not mad,” they add quickly. “‘s just how things had to go. But, uh, I’m not…” he trails off, making an obnoxious lip smacking noise. “I don’t have my passport for this area.”

Gordon sighs. “Since when do you care?”

“Mmb,” Benrey says. “Uhhhh.” More of the red bubbles. “Why’re you so mad about this?”

“Why am I mad about you trying to leave in the middle of the night?”

“Yeah. I thought you, uh, hated me and everything.”

“I -” Gordon sighs, rubbing his temples. Yelling’s not gonna help here, if he wants to understand what the hell is happening. He forces his voice to sound calm, or at least as calm as he can manage. Deep breaths, he thinks, his new mantra when dealing with Benrey. “It’s more complicated than that, man.” Honestly, he doesn’t hate Benrey as much as he used to. He doesn’t like him, but…he’s not the worst roommate, and he’s a lot less antagonistic now. He’s followed all of Gordon’s rules and been almost a non-presence in the house.  “I mean, we’ve never even talked about…everything.”

“I got your arm chopped off,” Benrey says. 

“Yeah, and I’m still pissed about that. But you haven’t done anything like that here.” 

“Sooo can I go now?”

“What? No!” God, he’s exhausting to talk to. “Why do you wanna leave?”

He smacks his lips again, looking at the floor. “‘s easier than waiting to get kicked out,” they say. 

Gordon rubs his temples again. “I’m not gonna kick you out -”

Benrey looks up at him, eyes narrowed. “You - I - you’re the, the main character. I’m the uh…the bad guy. Duh,” and then he starts humming what Gordon thinks is supposed to be Bad Guy by Billie Eilish. “Right? You beat me. Kill the bad guy, win the game. But now, uh…shit’s all fuck. Bad guy respawned.” He shoots Gordon a wry, tired smile. “So, game’s not over, right? Game, uh….new stage. But you, you’re still the good guy. Fucking, little plumber man Mario. Princess is in another castle, gotta beat Bowser again. Just cause it’s a new stage doesn’t mean Mario and Bowser are gonna be bros. Right?”

He’s about to yell at Benrey for not making any sense when it clicks. “Are - do you think I’m gonna try to kill you again?”

Benrey shrugs, looking away, pulling his hat down over his face.

“Benrey,” Gordon says, trying his best to sound gentle. “I’m not - I only killed you cause you were trying to kill me! I said I wasn’t gonna try to kill you again!”

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” Benrey mutters. He shoves his hands in his pockets, hunching over.

“Then why the hell were you shooting at me!” Gordon yells, nearly hitting himself with his wild gesturing.

Benrey lets out a snort, almost a laugh but too…tired. Almost sad, if that’s an emotion Benrey can actually feel. “Game’s gotta have a villain,” he says.

“Stop being fucking cryptic and just say what you mean for once,” Gordon demands. “You were trying to kill me. You got my arm cut off. Why?”

Benrey sighs. “Game’s gotta have a villain,” he repeats. “Doesn’t matter if...if Bowser wants to fuckin, uh, become a chef or something. He’s gotta kidnap the princess. Even if he spends the whole game hanging out with Mario, he’s still…he’s still the bad guy.”

It’s not really any more comprehensible, but, well, that's Benrey. Gordon doesn’t think it’s physically possible for him to be straightforward. The meaning is clear enough, anyway.

“”So you...didn’t wanna be the villain?”

They shrug, trying so hard to seem casual and uncaring, but their expression gives it away. There’s a glint in their eyes, a spark that’s usually missing. 

“So then what was with everything else? If you didnt wanna be the villain why were you such an asshole the whole time?”

“Thought it’d be easier.” Their shoulders tense up, eyes softening. Maybe sad is an emotion Benrey feels. Maybe Gordon’s been wrong all this time. “Be hard to kill someone you like, right? You’d do something stupid.”

“So, what, you got my arm cut off so I’d be mad at you? I was pissed before that.”

“I didn’t think they were gonna fuck you up that bad. And it wasn’t - it wasn’t s’pposed to be real.” Yellow eyes dart around, looking at anything but Gordon.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It was just a game. It wasn’t real. You’re just, you were just some dude playing a video game, right? When Mario gets punched it’s like, whatever. The guy playing doesn’t care. If he gets punched enough though maybe he’ll just like...give up. Bowser gets to, uh, release the princess and go fuck around. I didn’t...'s supposed to just be a game over when Mario gets beat up. Load save.”

“And what about the boss shit at the end? Where you were, y’know, trying to kill me?”

A flicker of emotion flashes over Benrey’s face, before he goes back to his usual deadpan stare. “Uhhhhhh. Bow -”

Gordon shakes his head, “No, no more of that fucking Mario metaphor. Just - can you just talk like a normal person for five minutes?”

“Nah.”

Gordon wants to tear his hair out. He pinches his nose, taking a deep breath, and then another, until he feels like he can speak without trying to beat the shit out of Benrey. “Just. Answer the question. Why did you try to kill me?”

“I don’t remember?”

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No!” Benrey says, something close to offense in his voice, like he's actually hurt Gordon doesn’t believe him, but then he drops right back into that tired tone he usually has. “It was all...fuzzy. TV static, but like, in my head? And nothing, uh, nothing was like….real. I just….” he shrugs, picking at his nails. “‘I’m just vibing, bro.” Gordon takes another deep breath, cleaning his fists and preparing to say something, but Benrey presses on. “I tried to turn back. Before we went in, I told you, we had to go back. You didn’t listen.”

“Of course I didn’t listen!” He throws his arms up in the air in sheer exasperation. “You’d been saying nothing but bullshit up until then! How do I know this isn’t more bullshit, huh? How do I know you’re not just - trying to get me to let my guard down, so you can actually kill me?”

Benrey makes a low noise, accompanied by a handful of brownish-blue bubbles. “‘m not,” he mutters. “I didn’t - I don’t wanna be bad.” The shadow over his eyes is black now, the yellow of his eyes unsettlingly dim. 

“Then why not fucking say something?”

“Couldn’t.” 

Gordon raises an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“It’s like - uh -” They smack their lips again. “Like a fucking, uh, dam. The thing beavers make. Beaver can’t get through.”

At least he’s dropped the Mario metaphor. “Okay. So. Let me recap. You…didn’t want to be the villain, you were trying to get me to...quit? And when that didn’t work, you intentionally pissed me off so I’d kill you at the end ‘cause you couldn’t actually say what was going on.”

“Basically, yeah.”

Well, fuck. When Gordon says it out loud like that it’s…actually kinda sad. 

No. No! He’s not gonna start feeling bad for fucking Benrey of all people. Gordon balls his fists, pushing down every stupidly sympathetic emotion he’s having. “Okay. Let’s backtrack a bit. Why are you telling me all this?”

Benrey shrugs. “Got tired of waiting for you to kill me.”

“I already said, I’m not -”

Benrey glitches. His face disappears for a second, replaced by a cracked and decayed skull, and then suddenly he’s normal again. A shriek tears its way out of Gordon as he backs away from them, almost slamming into the wall. For a second he’s back in Xen, watching Benrey’s massive form glitch and deform, and then he shakes his head and reminds himself that he’s in his apartment and Benrey is at least the size of a human being. “What the hell was that?”

“How come you don’t believe me but I’m supposed to believe you? Huh? Gordon got trust issues? Gordon skeptic man?”

“I think I’ve got more than enough reasons to have fucking trust issues, man!” He’s still pressed against the wall, hands curling into fists. 

“But Benrey’s gotta trust you. Benrey’s not allowed to be scared.”

“Are you saying you’re fucking afraid of me?”

Benrey’s Sweet Voice is high pitched and vaguely dark, like a bubble made of shadows. Gordon can’t translate, but it feels like a yes.

“You know what? I think I’m okay with that.” Gordon peels himself off the wall, stepping closer to Benrey, holding out his prosthetic hand. “Now you get how I felt the entire fucking time we were in Black Mesa.”

The bubbles get darker, a deep, almost dripping black. “‘m sorry,” Benrey mumbles.

Gordon blinks. “What?”

They repeat themself, louder this time. “I’m sorry. For. Uh. Everything?”

The only thing Gordon can think to say is, “What the fuck?”

“I’m tryna be nice!” Benrey says. He’s pouting. Like a little kid or some shit. “It’s called an apology, bro.”

“I know what a fucking apology is! I just wasn’t expecting one from you, of all people!”

“I don’t wanna be bad,” Benrey says quietly. “Can I go now?”

“What?” Fuck, with everything else they’ve been...arguing about, Gordon forgot this whole thing started because Benrey was trying to leave. “No!”

Benrey opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to say something, but all that comes out is Sweet Voice. A lot of Sweet Voice. Black to red, gray to clear, dripping black, translucent dark, swirling around him until Gordon can’t even see Benrey under all the bubbles. When they fade...Benrey’s still standing there, and he’s crying.

Gordon’s never seen him cry before.

“I don’t wanna be bad,” Benrey says again. “This was supposed to be my chance to be not bad.” They scrub at their eyes, turning away from Gordon. “This - this is sucks.”

Fuck.

He doesn’t want to feel bad. He doesn’t want to feel sympathetic. Benrey spent the entire time they were in Black Mesa trying to fuck with Gordon, and a few tears don’t erase that.

But.

“I believe you,” Gordon says. Benrey turns back around.

“Wha?”

“I believe you,” Gordon says again. “That you didn’t wanna...do everything that you did.” He pauses, closing his eyes for a second. “And - I’m sorry too.”

Benrey stares. Does not blink. Continues to not blink as the silence drags on, until Gordon feels like he has to say something else.

“I kinda...assumed you were a piece of shit from the beginning. Didn’t really give you a chance, I guess. So. I’m sorry for all of that, and for the whole, killing you thing.”

“You don’t gotta apologize for that,” Benrey mumbles. He’s still not blinking, eyes wide. “Uh. Thanks.” 

“And - if you really wanna leave…” Gordon sighs. He still doesn’t trust Benrey, not in the way he trusts Tommy and Dr. Coomer and even Bubby. But. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

“If I stay are you gonna…be less mad? Less Gordon Angy Momence?”

“I’ll - I’ll try.”

“I, uh. I think I’ll stay.”

“I’m gonna -” Fuck, he’d been planning on getting up before this. He’d been all ready to start his day. Yeah, fuck that. “I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

“Gordon sleepman,” Benrey says, nodding his head. He taps his fingers together. “Hey,” he says, holding his hands up. “You wanna. Uh. Hug?”

He’s not even gonna try to understand what’s happening now. “You know what? Sure.” He steps forward and lets Benrey wrap his arms around him, and after a moment, wraps his around them. It’s…not entirely unpleasant. Benrey is a good bit shorter than Gordon, so with them leaning in against his chest he ends up with his head perched on theirs, hat scratching his chin a bit. Benrey’s arms are thick and strong, and the way he’s holding Gordon should be terrifying but somehow it’s not.

He steps back after a minute, scrubbing at his face again. “Cool. Uh. Poggers,” Benrey says, and Gordon rolls his eyes but he’s smiling a little despite himself. 

“Good - well, it’s not night anymore, but. You get the idea. I’m gonna go pass out.”

“Cool,” Benrey says again. 

Gordon stumbles back into his room, collapsing into bed. It’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had since before Black Mesa.

sweet voice translations:

gray to clear: i shouldn’t be here

black to red: i should be dead

dirty blue: i don’t wanna hurt you

dark like the shade: i’m afraid

black and tarry: i’m sorry

#half live vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrai #gordon feetman #benrey #benry #cora writes #jump the fence #ghost out of his grave

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part One

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 1/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will....They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier. 

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful. 

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles​ @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins

Tom Hiddleston couldn’t seem to keep himself from pacing around the living room, couldn’t seem to get a lid on the anxiety that has been coursing through him for the better part of the last few days. In theory he’d known this was something that would happen and that it was, in fact, a good thing. But knowing that intellectually and understanding it emotionally were two vastly different things.

 The year and a half that had passed since he’d learned of Jaime brought such upheaval to the usual controlled chaos of his life. In the past eighteen months he’d lost the woman he knew he would always love permanently and in the same breath gained a child, their child. Jaime was a sturdy and curious lad, almost six now and so much like his mother.

 It was still difficult at times for Tom to watch him and see the spark he’d always loved shining through the boy. He’d made such a mess of things before, had missed out on so much. And that fear had plagued him each step of the way he’d taken to building a relationship with his son. For months he’d simply been “mummy’s friend Tom” or “Uncle Tom”. He spent as much time as he could with the boy, getting to know him and in turn letting the boy become comfortable. All under the watchful and hesitant eyes of Keira Michaelson.

 Jaime had taken to him quickly, curious about this new person that had stumbled into his life. But cautious, he watched Tom with wide eyes offering him the use of his toys and losing himself in the program on television. That first afternoon had been awkward and tense and wonderful. Jaime seemed both amused and wary of him and watched him as though he was someone he had seen before but couldn’t seem to place. Tom had done his best to keep his emotions in check, not wanting to scare the boy. He’d left that afternoon and called Luke from the relative safety of his hotel room.

 To say his publicist was shocked at this unexpected and potentially dangerous development in his client’s life would have been a major understatement. Luke had spent the better part of twenty minutes screaming and cursing at Tom while simultaneously demanding answers. It had been a tense, terse conversation and had it been anyone but Luke, he would have ended it abruptly and without question. But even in his confused, angry grief, Tom knew Luke was doing this for his benefit. The question of the validity of Eliza’s claim of paternity was shot down even before it had finished leaving Luke’s lips.

 “He is mine, Luke. There is absolutely no question about that.”

 “I’m glad you feel that way, Tom, but legally you need to know you have a leg to stand on should you want to take this farther.”

 He knew Luke was right and that it was the sensible thing to do, especially if he wanted to keep himself in Jaime’s life. If he had the paperwork to prove he was Jaime’s father, if there was irrefutable evidence, no one could dare question his involvement. Keira couldn’t keep the boy from him. Not that he thought she ever would…She may not like him, may never like him, but she wasn’t heartless. Careful and cautious, without question, but never heartless. But the idea of questioning whether or not the boy who’d already burrowed his way into Tom’s heart was his left a sour taste in his mouth.

 His conversation with his mother had been just as painful. Diana was a proud woman and loved her children fiercely. She’d taken the end of his relationship with Eliza hard, if only for the fact that she knew deep down it wasn’t what Tom had truly wanted. And she’d known, just as certainly, that her boy was stubborn as the day was long and nothing save his own doing would ever change his mind. Learning of not only Eliza’s passing but of the fact she had another grandchild she hadn’t known about had floored his usually unshakable mother. She had been torn between her own angry confusion and the pain of experiencing her only son’s devastating grief and being unable to do a thing to ease it.

 Once it became clear that Tom intended to be involved, as much as he was able, in the boy’s life, Diana had allowed herself to bombard him with question after question. How had this happened? Why hadn’t he known? Had he known but never said? What was the boy like? Did he know who Tom was to him?

 Tom had answered as honestly as he could with his head still swimming. There was still so much he didn’t know. So much he had to learn and it terrified him. At some point he had broken down and admitted just how scared he was. How terrified he was that he couldn’t be the kind of parent Jaime needed. How he barely had his own life together so how could he possibly expect to care for someone else who would need so much of him?

 “What if I’m not good enough, mum?”

 Diana had sighed. “Tom, my boy, that is what it means to be a parent. You are never going to feel ready, never going to be sure. But you will do it anyway because you have to. Because you can’t let yourself do anything but be the best parent you can be.”

 Things were rocky at first.

 At times Tom felt as though he were walking on eggshells around Jaime and around Keira. It was clear Jaime was close with his grandmother, especially now that his mother was gone, and while he had taken to Tom, it was obvious whose company he preferred. It had hurt at first, the knowledge that he was, for now, a side character in his son’s life. But he understood the rationale for it. Understood Keira’s hesitancy, even if it grated.

 But as they grew to know one another, Tom could see the trust blooming in Jaime’s eyes. He seemed to look forward to the afternoons Tom spent with him and later to the phone calls that became part of his nightly routine. The way Jaime’s face would light up when he walked through the door tugged at something deep inside of him. Something he doubted he would ever be able to put accurately into words.

 The real test came when life and obligation came calling. He had used all the bereavement leave he had and the studio began to breathe down his neck about returning. The film was half finished and though that shot around him as much as they were able, his presence on set was not only necessary but demanded. Tom had done his best to explain to Jaime but it hadn’t stopped the tears or the confusion. And then he’d been on a plane flying away from the one place he wanted to be.

 Jaime hadn’t understood why Tom missed their afternoon play date and why he hadn’t called before bed to wish Jaime goodnight. He’d been sullen and tearful when Tom had finally managed to settle nearly half a world away and call the following morning, asking if Uncle Tom was leaving him like mummy had. It had taken everything in Tom not to fall apart, not to pack up and fly back to the UK consequences and career be damned. Instead, he’d swallowed against the lump in his throat and explained as best he could that he was coming back, this was a temporary thing and that sometimes adults had to do things they didn’t want to do.  

 The following few days were a test. Jaime had initially refused the video calls Tom made and when he’d accepted them, spent most of his time with his head buried in his grandmother’s shirt. Tom could feel the tension radiating from Keira through the screen. And again and again he found himself questioning the right he had in Jaime’s life. How was it fair to try to form a bond with the boy when he couldn’t guarantee he’d be there?

 Guilt ate steadily at him and Tom found himself incredibly short with just about everyone on set. He snapped and snarked at any and every one, missing marks and flubbing lines he had known by rote just weeks before. It had taken the director pulling him to the side and telling him in no uncertain terms that his behavior was unprofessional and unacceptable and that if he could not get himself together this would be where they parted ways for Tom to see the damage he was inflicting. He’d asked for the rest of the day off to clear his head and had spent it in his hotel room trying desperately to gain control of himself.

 This wasn’t like him, wasn’t how he’d ever wanted to be. But fuck if he knew what to do to get himself back in check. Unable to stand the suffocating closeness of the hotel room, Tom found himself wandering the beach a few blocks down in a desperate attempt to clear his mind. It was unseasonably cool and the beach mostly empty. He’d taken to running along the beach in the mornings…Or had before his life had turned on its head.

 Running had always brought a sense of calm to him. Everything seemed easier somehow when his feet pounded against the earth. But with the way his mind had been, running was the last thing he could force himself to do. And without that outlet...

 God, maybe he was losing his mind. Thinking he could do this; could be what the world demanded of him and be what Jaime needed him to be. He’d spent so many years running full force at a goal that he never seemed to reach; always looking for the next challenge, the next role. And often to the determent of those around him and in some ways to himself. There were so many friends he’d lost touch with, so many simple things he’d missed (birthdays, weddings, holidays), so many things he’d let fall by the wayside in his quest to be better. To do more.

 He’d spent the better part of his adult life running that he was terrified he’d forgotten was it was like to stand still. He’d been a terrible friend, terrible brother, terrible son. How could he be anything but a terrible father? And didn’t Jaime deserve more? Deserve better?

 God, he didn’t know.

 Tom wasn’t certain how long he’d sat on that beach, staring at the ocean but seeing nothing. A light rain had started to fall, the shiver it sent through him shocking Tom back into himself. He pushed himself to his feet and began the slow trek back towards the hotel. The sun, which had been weak to begin with, had hidden itself behind the mass of roiling grey clouds. It would storm soon.

 He made it back to the hotel just as the storm broke and watched the sheets of rain soaking the car park as he made his way through the lobby and back to his room. The air con made him shiver and he knew that getting out of his damp clothes into something dry was a necessity if he didn’t want to add sick on top of his growing list of uncouth behavior.

 The first thing his eyes fell upon as he shoved the door to his room closed behind him was his mobile laying on the bed. He’d left it in his haste to simply get out and as the screen lit up to signal the arrival of a new message, Tom caught sight of a missed FaceTime call. A quick glance at his watch and a longer moment working the time difference out in his head, told him it was most likely Keira calling with Jaime. His nightly bedtime call and he’d missed it.

 He sank onto the bed, letting the guilt and self-loathing course through him. Another disappointment, another let down. He rubbed his eyes viciously with his hands, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of letting Jaime down once more. Of failing at the last thing Eliza had asked of him. Jaime deserved so much better.

 He nearly jumped out of his skin as the mobile by his side erupted in noise. Confused, it took Tom several moments to recognize the sound for what it was; an incoming FaceTime call. He sat bolt upright, grabbing the phone and answering the call without any conscious thought.

 A bleary-eyed Jaime filled his screen and Tom fought to control his breathing. “Hello, Jaime lad.”

 “Uncle Tom, you didn’t answer before. I thought you forgot.”

 Tom swallowed against the lump in his throat, his voice catching as he choked out. “I’m sorry, I was outside and like a silly bugger forgot to take the phone with me. I would never forget our nighttime call.”

 Jaime’s face brightened and for the first time in days he happily, but sleepily, recounted the fun he’d had that day. Tom listened in in rapture, greedily drinking in every detail the boy gave him. He asked for details about the new friend Jaime had made at the park and laughed when the boy recounted the funny joke he’d learned from his favorite show. A cautious, quiet hope took root in his chest as he watched his son fight his obvious exhaustion. Jaime was talking to him, seemed happy once more to be doing so.

 “Alright darling boy,” Tom heard Keira’s steady voice call. “It’s getting late and you need to be in your bed.”

 Jaime pouted, clearly unwilling to heed his grandmother’s instruction.

 “None of that now, Jaime lad,” Tom whispered. “You need sleep so you can have more fun tomorrow. And I will call you and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

 The boy nodded and reluctantly handed the phone to his grandmother. Tom forced a smile as her face came into view. “Thank you for calling back.”

 Keira nodded. “He missed you and I couldn’t have that. Good night, Tom.” And the screen went black.

 NEXT

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Becoming #original child character #fatherhood #guilt #questioning oneself #winterisakiller writes

[evoedbd]

Sleeping Dragons

Summery -  After a very bad shift over University Break Runa is ready to kill someone... until she sees the most adorable sight the cafe has to offer.

Just a pure fluffy piece with some very minor cannon bending/alterations.  

**************************************** She was done. Finished. Over it. Every other variation of “fed up” that could be imagined. If she had to deal with ONE more giant slug lecturing her on the finer points of cabbage preparation, she was going to be arrested again. For murder, this time, not a simple misdemeanour.

She announced this in the most nonverbal way possible whilst retaining her job. She attempted to drive her flats through the floor with every short, choppy stride she took. Every breath was punctuated with a loud huff, her best imitation of a dragon, one might conclude. A nymph blanched, raising the menu to hide her face as the Waitress passed. A centaur’s hooves clicked nervously against the floor. Emeril was intelligent enough to swerve the guests she was seating out of the Waitress’ way. Nobody was foolish enough to risk her wrath on the best of days, and this was far from a good day for one Runa Amberthorn.

 The day had begun with accidentally waking an unusually moody Rong. That encounter started with outrage, ended with flame and singed pink hair. Then, there was the delay in pastries during the morning rush. Finally, it was that damned Slug. If his lecture wasn’t bad enough, he’d then tossed his soup AT her. Said soup was currently dripping from the tip of her nose. She was positive she’d be smelling the potent spices Roman had used for a week.

“Runa!” A female voice cut above the din of the cafe. Of course, there was always one person who didn’t get the hint. This time, that person was Nysa. An impossibly tall, lanky young woman who looked up (figuratively) to Runa as a big sister.

“Not now!” Runa barked, foot already resting on the first stair. All she needed to do was storm up them and she’d finally be away from the pesky customers. Away from talking Plants and walking Catfish. From prissy Lions with too much mane gel, and haughty Faeries.

“Its just that Amber didn’t want t-” Nysa’s voice faded off uncertainly. Runa’s glare had effectively silenced the other waitress. Without heed, the Charm Magician turned and continued up the stairs. Nysa’s hushed words and frantically waving hands were ignored. An irritation at the corner of Runa’s vision. Whatever it was could wait. Runa knew Amber, how the recently awoken Rong would take every opportunity to speak directly. The absence of a binding spell was staggering to them both. A rug pulled from beneath their feet. A missing sense. Despite the spell having been broken, their bodies refused to obey. They remained highly attuned to one another, enough that their hearts skipped a beat when entering one another’s presence. Consciously or not. Living side by side, it was a feeling Runa was familiar with. A skipped heartbeat stopped her dead in her tracks when she reached the top of the stairs. There was a thud. Nysa had bumped into Runa. She caught herself, letting her sentence trail off.

“-Be woken up...”

 Strewn across the aged wooden coffee table were several books. The wings of a dragon spanned the sprawled open pages. Red stood out against the whites of paper clouds. Blue flames sparked between teeth. Two white mugs, rims covered with dried coco trails, sat beside the books, both emptied. These were only briefly noted by Runa. Her attention was stolen by the sight on the couch.

 Amber was simply beautiful. All delicate curves and a notably feminine gentleness wherever Runa’s eyes wandered. A mass of golden brown spilled over the arm of the couch, golden brown waves cascading from above smooth, relaxed brows down to the middle of her back. A delicate nose perched on her face, with just enough hinting of a curve to give the finest touch of regality. It was a nose that was always active, with thin nostrils flaring at every new scent. Long lashes kissed the tops of Amber’s cherub cheeks, which invited the gentlest caress to trace along the curve to her refined jaw. Upon her petite lips lingered traces of a content smile; a smile so infectious it seemed to cause the air itself to pulse with a sense of peace with every breath.

One leg flopped off the couch, leaving her bare foot placed solidly on the ground. Amber’s lithe torso was sheltered by her uniform jacket, along with the slumbering form of a small Toddler. Amber had put her own arm through the wrong hole of the jacket, using it to form a net to protect the boy from falling off of her chest. Her other arm wrapped over the bundle, cradling the child close to her petite breasts. The Toddler, Cy, snored happily, burrowing his chubby face into the safety of Amber’s warm neck. Runa knew the appeal, after all, she had sought refuge there many times. Sought, and found. The scene almost reminded of a mother dragon, folding her wing over her egg in an effort to shield her babe from the harsh world.

 “She really is amazing with him.” Nysa’s soft whisper wasn’t enough to tear Runa’s gaze away.

“Yeah. She is.” Runa agreed in a sweet whisper. It was enough to cause Nysa’s attention to snap to Charm Magician. A soft smile was birthed upon Runa’s lips as she watched the softly snoring woman and toddler. She couldn’t fight how her cheeks began to ache, nor the intense burning through her veins. Patches of heat lingered everywhere, warming her until she felt she may actually glow like an ember before it erupted into flame.

“She really is a fighter for the underdog.” Nysa noted with an awed tone. She stepped closer to Runa, watching the amusement flare across the Charm Magician’s face.

 Runa remembered the scene when Cy had first arrived at Sweet Enchantments, and it was not a pretty one. An exhausted toddler had stumbled in wearing clothing several sizes too small, torn and cut to “fit”. His shirt not only restricted the movement of his arms but failed to cover his thin belly. Dirty wee toes poked out of holes in worn little shoes. His torn trousers dis nothing to conceal his bruised knees, which were crusty with dried blood. The poor boy dragged a bag used for disposal, which was entirely too large for him. In it were all his old belongings, no toys and clothes too small to be from even the same year. Nysa had broken. The young woman had sobbed violently, pleading for help from the adoption worker. The suited Lion had the decency to look apologetic, at least, but beyond that provided no help. No acceptable reason for Cy’s condition. All the Lion could state was that the family had chosen not to adopt him once his magic had shown. Dark magic. Exactly like his lowlife father. Amber had descended like a storm of holy wrath. In a few seconds, the child was in her reassuring arms, bag hanging from her hands and the darkest scowl anyone had ever seen plastered across her usually sweet face.

What followed was a tirade of outrage; words so cutting and criticising that the entire cafe had frozen in horror to listen. The Rong was utterly ruthless, decimating every procedure related to Cy with violent head bobs towards his condition when appropriate. She demanded explanations for why a blind eye was turned to the very evident neglect. She expressed how utterly inept the screening process of adopting families if such a discriminatory family could get their hands on a vulnerable child. How disgusting the utter lack of support was for the mother, who clearly had no better options for her baby. Next, she turned her focus on the Lion himself. How he could be so clueless as to the system that he couldn’t even offer her a direction to look. How he couldn’t even offer a moment of compassion to clean the dirty boy. It was believed that Lions rarely cowered, however Amber had the seven-foot creature shaking in his expensive shoes with the power of her rage. Amber had gone further, outright disapproving of the classist society that would punish an innocent boy for something beyond his control. Her conclusion: anybody who approved of this had better get the fuck out of the cafe before she lost it.

Nysa had stood there gaping. Emeril had actually taken shelter behind her hostess podium. Lucien and Roman had both watched from the entrance to the kitchens. Zane had walked into the room with the guests at the bar; his jaw dropped in utter awe. Liora herself had been halfway down the stairs, her calm demeanour concealing hesitation to intervene. Plates dropped from Runa’s hands, the smash the only sound in the cafe save the snarling breaths from Amber. Then, the break in tension everyone needed. Cy had begun to laugh.

 There had never been a discussion over whether Cy was staying.  Not with the Government, not with the Adoption Agency and certainly not with Liora. Silently, everyone involved had decided it best not to tempt fate when a maternal, hormonal human dragon was involved. Adapting to Cy had proven rather easy. He was Nysa’s son, but Amber was his protector, the dragon encircling the slumbering prince.  He adored Emeril and her younger sisters, who came by frequently on the weekends.   Liora and Lucien had earned the titles of Nana, much to Lucien’s abrasive disapproval. Apparently, his apron was a dress, and his objections entertained the toddler immensely.  Roman was often called Braba, which the Chef took graciously. Zain, remarkably, had almost cried when Cy had timidly called him daddy for the first time.   What perhaps had been the biggest shock, however, was how he addressed Runa.  The Charm Magician was never given a family title, nor a role in the boy’s life that could be noted.  Instead, she received something far more possessive than anyone had anticipated.   Runa, to Cy, had become ine.   It didn’t take a genius to figure out he intended the name to begin with an M.   Runa had simply shrugged it off, assuming he had picked it up from Dante, or from Amber… honestly, the Charm Magican couldn’t quite tell.

 “Trust me.” Runa began gently, her lips twitching into one of her rarest smiles as she watched the peaceful pair. Nysa had been privy to the later days. Days where Amber stepped up and helped the new staff learn whilst Runa was buried under legal documents. Nysa had watched Amber’s dedication to seeing Runa achieve college, to keep driving the Charm Magician forwards through everything. Yet, Nysa had never seen the early days. The days where, even timid as a mouse, Amber’s eyes blazed with determination. The girl who thrived off arguments with Runa, then burned the cafe with her redirected focus. That girl who would take no bullshit and give no excuse. The girl who had faced down giant wolves and driven herself to a magical blackout JUST for the slimmest of chances to save her friend. Nysa had seen that drive, but Runa would argue only she had experienced EVERY side of Amber’s stubbornness. Runa had started out as an obstacle, then a petulant child throwing a tantrum. She’d thrown her own will against Amber’s, locked horns, expected to win. When Amber flowed into another tactic, Runa had lost her footing. Even now, she continued to slip and slide deeper under the Rong’s spell. Runa wasn’t sure when she’d decided to enjoy the ride instead of fighting the force of nature, only that it had seemed like her idea. Thinking on it, that was probably Amber’s working. The gentle, disarming kindness getting under Runa’s plating. Rusting her defence from the inside out.

“You really have no idea.” She concluded. Well, she guessed she shouldn’t be so surprised. Afterall, she did have a knack for picking up dragons.

#voltage lovestruck #runa amberthorne #sweet enchantments #sweet enchantments runa #runa x mc

[starfaring-princelotor]

Third Sight

Summary: Black Paladin Lotor shows you his universe.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★ 

Warnings: Blood, death, talk about slavery.

A/N: Tragna belongs to @legendofcarl

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three ___Part Four

“May I join you?

You couldn’t turn to look at him. Not yet, not when that voice ringing in your ears told you that he was asking you a question and you should answer like the respectable doctor you are. But...it wasn’t Lotor. He wasn’t the Lotor you knew, the one you struggled with, learned with, kissed. After a few seconds, you looked over your shoulder as eyes dragged up the length of his body, from his boots to his face, taking note of every miniscule different thing about him.

He was no longer dressed in his Black Paladin suit. Instead, he wore fine clothing dyed in the Empire’s colors, the bright blue and orange lining his physique sharply. You never realized that a cape would look quite fitting on him, but somehow, it made Lotor seem much more regal. Much more...royal. And wrapped around his cranium was a crown that you haven’t seen before, not even on Zarkon.

It glowed a faint purple with specks of black dotted on the diamonds. It was respect. Lotor radiated respect. And yet, that look in his eyes...the one he was giving you now, it was vastly contrasting his aura. He was...was he worried? Cautious? Unsure of how to approach you? Uncomfortable?

Yes. All the above.

He saw the disappointment in your eyes when you stared back at him. He wasn’t the man you were hoping for and, nonetheless, it must’ve been a slap in the face to see him standing before you now. Lotor knows this surprise was not one you were expecting and, after speaking to Kylan, it was no wonder you gave him the cold shoulder. No, not a cold shoulder. Just...not confident how you should see him, this other Lotor from a different reality.

“It’s a free universe,” you said, facing the endless stars once more, “For now.”

Better than a straight up rejection. He will take it.

Lotor folded his hands behind his back and took his place by your side, gazing out into the dark space. It was odd, now that he thought about it. This reality had similarities like his own. For one, the stars were the same. The ship he was standing in, the same he grew up in as a child. But he had to remember, this wasn’t his reality. He came here with a mission, with open hands hoping that Sven’s information would help them.

“Thank you,” he started, to which you only silently stared ahead, “for not opening fire on us considering what has transpired with your Paladins.”

“Peace first,” you responded with your arms crossing over your chest, “That’s what Kylan told me Alteans believe in.”

Lotor slowly nodded in agreement, “Yes, peace first, though I believe that may have a different meaning depending on who you talk to.”

Or, rather, do you really believe in peace first? Yes, you were angry when you saw those rainbow of colors on those suits. It’s been two years. Two years. It took two damn years to find results. From hiding, running, always looking over your back when you felt Haggar’s eyes haunting you, being overly cautious when a sound was out of place.

Voltron betrayed not just you, but the entire universe.

And how many innocent souls have perished in the blessed messiah’s absence? How many times did you teeter between numbness from stress and numbness from lack of care? You weren’t aware of yourself as much as you should have. And it showed. This was just you. How many other planets, other people, are experiencing the same trauma or worse?

And you hated Voltron for it. You were back on your bullshit grief because one war wasn’t enough for you to experience. Add another, but this time, do it alone. Peace first. Fucking liars. Never again. Peace was never an option, apparently. Not anymore, not when the Defenders of the Universe didn’t live up to their title.

“Freedom. I believe in freedom. Or as close as I can get to it,” you explained, forgoing peace in exchange for having free will.

What was the answer to ending war? Peace? Or freedom?

“Then we have a common goal in mind. The universe I came from has no freedom, no peace.” Lotor’s words were heavy, shoulders slumping slightly at the weight of them, “I came here seeking allies, and I found refuge with Kylan and those left from New Altea, though I see that the war here is faring no better.”

You remained silent. He and his crew have been here for a week now, discussing plans with Kylan about the war here, the war over there, and what can be done for both realities. It should have shocked you that other realities even existed, but after that fiasco with Allura and Hira? The excitement was short lived. Lotor arriving as he did, however, was wholly unexpected.

Partially because it was Lotor and partially because, with his arrival, that could only mean one thing. War was spreading, not just in his universe, but to this one, too. It meant that now you were facing a battle on both ends. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. It also didn't take a genius to know that you and the New Altea were severely lacking in defending themselves and others.

You haven't heard from the Coalition. Nor the Blades of Marmora. Then again, you weren't exactly reaching out to them in the first place. You can't imagine they would believe a word you say when they placed so much trust in Voltron, in the Princess. Considering they just started viewing the Empire as allies, the odds were already stacked against you if you arrived and told them what happened.

Well, which enemy would you want to be a prisoner of?

“Kylan told me that we would aid you with one condition,” your arms tightened, an act that did not go unforeseen by Lotor’s eyes, “You think you can really bring the Emperor back?”

“I can find him, yes. He and I have the same quintessence. With my command over magic and the science created here, the chances are good that my team will be able to return him to you.”

Yes. That was the plan, to use his own quintessence and the samples you stored from long ago to find Emperor Lotor. Now, whether he was alive or not...

“Would you tell me about your universe?”

Lotor let out a dry chuckle, “Are you asking about the universe or what side I am on?”

“I suppose both,” you admitted, “Everything that happened here, with the Galra and Alteans, Earth knows nothing about it. Yet, we were dragged into it anyways. Allura told us only half the truth, and that was after the lions chose their Paladins. And still, I feel like after all this time, I don't know the whole history. What side are we really on? What are we really getting ourselves into?”

Lotor turned his head to face your profile, taking note of your exhausted expression. You were cold. Tired, pushed beyond your limit and you didn't know where it ended. If it ended at all.

“If we’re getting involved in another war, I think we deserve to at least know how it started. Deserve to see the whole picture, not just one side.”

“I hear you, dear,” straightening up, he began unfastening his gloves, “And I agree. I have told Kylan of the situation, but it is only fair those fighting by our side knows, too. Come.”

Lotor held an arm out towards the seats, offering you to take first pick for the long session ahead. Memory sharing should have been a fantastic new tool, something you should have felt excited to learn about and command at your own fingertips, but lately that spark was gone. Now, you were just on edge with anything foreign to you. Lotor saw this nervousness flash over your face and, after the both of you sat besides each other, he offered you a comforting smile.

It looked genuine, almost too genuine compared to the man you served for a short amount of time.

“Are you ready, doctor?”

You nodded yet flinched just the slightest when Lotor shifted his hands up to your face. Calloused fingertips skimmed over your cheekbones before resting at the side of your temples. The touch, it burned, but you had a feeling that what you were going to see would be worth it.

“Relax,” Lotor whispered calmly, “Tell me to stop and I will do as you say.”

Seeing magic happen was completely different from feeling it. What looked like lightning bolts actually felt like cold water. Specks of light felt softer than a blade of grass. It varied by the user’s command. Right now? Lotor’s magic tickled your nerves with warmth, but not heat. Not like a fire. Rather, a comforting warmth. A sense of safety, one you have not felt in a long, long time.

Your eyes slid close the same time he shut his own.

It wasn’t like watching a movie. Or reflecting on your own thoughts. Right now, in the middle of space, you saw Lotor study your face from a mere foot away. Your eyes drifted away from him, more intrigued by the never-ending galaxy which surrounded you two. With Kylan, the only force you felt in your mind was a faint prodding pressure. Here, you felt like...yourself. Perhaps a little lighter on your feet. Floating with the stars would do that to a person.

“Where are we?”

“Is it not obvious?” Lotor asked, also taking the time to look around this marvelous place, “This is my mind space. Or rather, part of it. We are in the safer areas right now.”

The magic he learned, he adapted from his reality, must have been different than what Kylan had taught you. Lotor held out his hand, palm up in offering, to which you hesitantly laid yours on top. A gentle curve of his lips greeted you in thanks. It was inviting, enchanting, and had you met him in another lifetime, perhaps you wouldn’t feel conflicted about seeing such an honest expression on his face.

Lotor softly laid his other hand atop of yours, an act of reassurance, and the scenery around you two changed. Slowly, from the dark shades of deep space, to a sunny, almost utopia image of a world. Tall, silver, gleaming buildings towered over you. All around, there were Alteans and Galras gathered at what you assumed was the...was that the Castle of Lions? Was this…

“Citizens of Altea! What a joyous day it is! The Ancients have blessed us with the tools for a brighter future!”

You and Lotor were mingled within the crowd, but from the distance, even you could make out the form of King Alfor behind the podium. Besides him, there were 4 other people. Only one of them you knew, the Galra Emperor Zarkon. Except, here, he did not seem like the man you saw on the big screen. He seemed...kingly. Stoic, proud. Honored.

“Let us pay tribute those who perished by the comet by utilizing it to pave a road for peace and prosperity among the universe. With the help of the Galra Empire and my allies, we have the technology to leave a better life for you, your friends, and your family.”

At the word family, Zarkon’s gaze immediately fell upon Lotor. Or rather, a smaller Lotor. You two were behind him, watching this unfold from the outside. He was short, well-groomed, and bright eyed. It tugged at your heartstrings to see such innocence, something that was devoid of the Lotor you knew. And right besides him was a familiar princess.

Allura.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Lotor?” she smiled with inspiration radiating her features, “Your mother would be so happy.”

Yet, the young Prince’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The arrival of this miracle comet came way too late.

“I know you miss her. Just know that she loved you, Lotor,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, making him stiffen at the touch, “With all her heart.”

The surrounding changed then, everyone and everything falling into dust. A new scene appeared, this time with Lotor and his father. The Prince was older here, cheekbones more defined and no longer plump with baby fat. Both of them were eating a meal in privacy, no one else was around. But most importantly, they were smiling. They were happy.

It was surreal to witness.

“ - And that is when we formed Voltron for the first time. The Rift creatures were no match against our combined forces,” Zarkon ended the story with a flourished swing of his arm, as if showing Lotor exactly how the battle ended, “For now. I do not doubt there will be more, but with Voltron, Altea is protected.”

Zarkon gave his wife a final promise that he would do so. Protect Altea, protect part of Lotor’s home so that one day he can learn about his heritage. A child of two worlds, she said. And, his honor as a father, as an Emperor, he would do it. Uniting and ending the war between the other four kingdoms was the best decision he ever agreed to.

Lotor smirked then pushed aside the vegetables on the plate, “And the universe, no? King Alfor told me of the new title. ‘Defenders of the Universe’ does sound fetching, father.”

This. This Zarkon enjoyed. Bonding with his son, sharing stories of his battles, empowering his child to be strong. Or just...proud of himself, of where he came from. He was of the starfaring race. Whether his choice was to stay as a Prince or explore the unknown universe, Zarkon always wanted to make sure Lotor knew where home was. Discovery was in his parents blood, though on two entirely different areas.

“Mother would have liked seeing you with the Black Lion. Maybe even add a few upgrades to it herself,” the Prince dabbed his mouth with a napkin, making sure to mind his manners.

“She always did have a better eye for fashion than Alfor,” Zarkon grinned then paused in thought, “My son, why don’t you and I take a ride in the lion after dinner? We can go gather those stardust in jars that you love so much.”

“Father, please. I have not done that since I was but a child,” his cheeks flushed just a bit, much to his father’ amusement, “Besides, you are a Paladin now. The leader of Voltron.”

And the Galra Empire. Zarkon knew what he was truly asking. Do you even have time to waste on family cruises?

“Hm. You’re right. I am a busy man now,” the Emperor agreed with a nod, “But I will always have time to spend with my son. Let the officials note this as...a training exercise of sorts.”

Lotor chuckled then sliced a piece of tragna smoothly, handing one plate to his father then serving himself a slightly bigger piece. He cut one more and put it to where his mother would have been seated if she were alive. An odd Galra custom to believe that the deceased do not disappear into nothing. It was the memory of them that mattered, Zarkon said once.

The Prince stared at his piece, lost in his own mind, “Father. I have a...question. About my mother.”

Zarkon only gave a nod for him to continue.

“How did she die?”

Now, he had Lotor’s full attention. What a question to answer. And how does he even answer it? The truth will hurt him, but hiding it will hurt him even more down the road. Zarkon put his fork down, debating if he should hold his son’s hand or not. For a sensitive topic, he thinks yes, it would be best.

Zarkon was a father first before an Emperor. He can not protect him from everything, but he very will damn try.

He let out a heavy sigh then gently laid his hand over Lotor’s, “Son. Your mother was ill, long before we had you. That illness is what took her, not your birth. Do you understand?”

Lotor’s fingers remained still, thoughts fully comprehending what his father explained. He knows about how his mother died, from childbirth complications. But...there had to be more to it. Why was he the exception? He had friends who were of mixed races. Was he one of the rare few where his life started with the death of his mother? Was he one of the rare few who was born with silver hair rather than the dark blue of Honerva?

“Was it...Father, I must know. Was it the quintessence?”

The older Galra squeezed his son’s hand, shaking his head at how unbelievably perceptive he was, “Yes. Your mother was one of the smartest Alteans I’ve ever met. She never once backed down from what lied ahead. Always questioning why and why not. Seeing how far the magic of quintessence can be pushed. You know, she was also chosen by Oriande. She had the infinite power of knowledge hidden behind that beautiful face of hers.”

Now, Zarkon’s voice lowered just a bit in shame, “But sometimes, son, the pursuit of knowledge has its obstacles. As with anything in life, you must know when enough is enough. You must know what is truly important to you deep down.”

That left a bad taste in his mouth, but now, Lotor knew a bit more about his mother than he did before.

“Now. Come, help me finish this tragna. Narti made this, no? I shall send a worthy token of my gratitude tomorrow.”

You turned towards Lotor, watching the scene unfold with a bit of uneasiness stirring in your stomach. This was...intimate. A little too intimate, but necessary according to him. If you had to see this, then there is a good reason behind it. As innocent as it seems now, you couldn’t help but dread what his past foretold.

And that was where it started again.

“This is the 67th patient to arrive contaminated with the Rift creature’s essence,” Lotor passed the container restraining the small, black blob to Allura, “This is not normal. I thought Voltron was working on sealing the tear?”

“They have, though these creatures are arriving at an alarmingly fast rate,” Allura replied, “I’ve been doing a little research about these and those who arrive infected. Some of hosts are surprisingly able to tolerate the creature’s presence better than others. We have to find out why, for Altea’s sake.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to start evacuating those closest to the comet’s site. For their safety. I am sure my father would be willing to give refuge to your citizens until all of this has been resolved.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Lotor. With your mother’s research about quintessence and what we are learning about the Rift, the beings coming out of it, and with Voltron defending us for now, together we can find a way to peacefully cease this invasion,” she countered, making Lotor click his tongue, clearly unhappy with her answer.

“I implore you to reconsider. We may continue with the research only after those in danger have been relocated,” he placed a hand over the patient’s head, “Altea may not be able to weather this storm.”

“Is that doubt against my kingdom or my father’s fit to rule?”

Lotor recoiled slightly at that sudden icy venom directed at him, “No, Allura, it is neither. I am simply...concerned.”

“You needn’t worry about Altea. Our way of living is always peace first. We will persevere.”

She was a proud Princess. Strong for her people, just like King Alfor and Queen Melanor. And perhaps...just like Honerva. Allura’s eyes focused on the spasming essence floating in the capsule before walking out of the recovery wing, leaving Lotor alone with the comatose patient. Their face looked drained. Aged, like someone was sucking the very life force out of them.

It was an unsettling image to witness and you were glad your guide changed the scenery all together. Though, this was getting more and more morbid by the second. This time, when Lotor revealed to you a part of his history, you became overwhelmed with the sound of death and screaming all around. Your eyes widened in shock, heart pumping into overdrive as that traumatic stress urged you to hide. Get out of the line of fire. You are a battle medic.

War. This was war.

Bodies littered the ground, open wounded and watering the dirt with potent blood. You could hear it all. You could feel it all. You could...see it all. Emotionless Alteans firing upon civilians on Daibazaal, showing no mercy on any who fled for safety. Galra soldiers hollering battle cries as they mowed down foe by foe, lethal weapon obeying their masters orders. In the distance, ships were fleeing from the planet, hoping to make it out of the atmosphere before they became casualties.

“Capture as many as you can!”

That was when you realized all of this you were witnessing? This wasn’t an execution. This was an invasion. And leading that invasion was none other than Allura. She was in battle armor, similar to that of King Alfor’s, but the look on her face was one of dedication, of righteousness aimed to win a battle for the greater good, for vengeance. For her kingdom. You’ve seen that look before on both sides of the coin.

“Find Zarkon! He murdered King Alfor! I want him alive!”

Lotor stood watching from the balcony as his home burned in destruction and chaos. He saw Allura, he heard the orders, and the worry stirring in his stomach nearly made him want to puke. He was panicking as he rushed to his parent’s quarters, but he was abruptly yanked aside by a familiar man. 

Sendak, ever loyal Sendak. Zarkon’s top commander was wounded, fur matted with dried blood and an eye bleeding too profusely to be considered safe. Panic was clearly stricken over the Prince’s face, not only for himself, but for his father and now, for Sendak.

“What has happened? Sendak, I must - “ Lotor shook his head, trying to keep himself focused, “We must find my father and escape. Make haste before the castle becomes overrun - “

“Sire, I’m afraid we can’t do that. Your father has ordered me to take you to the Black Lion and flee,” he quickly explained, keeping a firm grip on Lotor’s elbow when he tried to wretch himself away, “My Prince, we have to go! Now!”

“I am NOT leaving my father!”

“He has been captured! Daibazaal has been conquered. We cannot save him with our current forces,” Sendak gripped both of Lotor’s shoulders, making him face the battle-worn Galra, “Listen to me. Zarkon would’ve wanted us to retreat for now. You know this.”

Prince Lotor stood stock still, his mind split between doing what he must and doing what he wanted. All he had left was his father. The Empire was going to be left in ruins. But he couldn’t leave his home like this. He couldn't leave without his remaining family. Painful tears welled up in his young eyes when he realized what he decided then and there.

“Lotor, I swore to your father I would protect you,” Sendak implored, the hidden meaning not going unseen by the prince, “Don’t make me do this.”

“You need not to,” Lotor blinked, the streak of wetness falling down his cheeks in finality, “To the hangar. Quickly.”

He escaped with the Black Lion and Sendak. The ships that made it off of Daibazaal fled to distant ally planets in hope to seek refuge there. Lotor didn’t hear from his friends again, not for a very long time. He would not see the radiance of his home until the war was over. And that day, under the weight of witnessing the destruction of the Galra Empire, of the scattered citizens depending on him, Lotor swore he would end the fighting.

And that was why the Black Lion chose him.

Then, everything faded to black. Everything was dark and you...you felt a wave of sadness wash over you. But it wasn’t your feelings, it was Lotor’s. He was staring into void, distant, and crying. Not a single sob escaped him, but you saw the tears stain his stoic face. When he felt your gaze on him, he cleared his throat to hide his open display of depression.

“My apologies. It is...still hard to think about. Seeing it all again,” Lotor took a deep breath, “It does not feel good.”

He didn't expect you to say anything. Nor did he expect to feel your pinky finger cautiously brush against his. It...tingled your skin, to be honest, like you were holding a troubled friend’s hand. You trusted him to bring you here, now he was to trust you to bear through it all again. It was the least he could do for now. Seeing his home, never getting to know what truly happened to his father, it all left him feeling a rush of emotions. Anger. Sadness. And yes, even cowardice.

Lotor refocused himself, threaded his fingers through yours, and willed his memories to surface once more. One last time, before he would return with you to reality. Now, you remember this chamber. The AI room, not at all dissimilar to the one Hunk and Pidge calibrated at the Galra headquarters. Only this time, it wasn’t you looking into the ocean. It was an image of Zarkon facing his son, Lotor.

Rather, Lotor dressed in Black Paladin armor. Zarkon was smiling in utmost pride.

“Narti is stable, for now,” the Paladin informed the hologram, which was glitching sporadically, successfully destroying the imagery of realism, “We managed to safely remove the hoktril and extract the Rift creature from her nervous system. Although...it came with a price I can not forgive myself for making her pay.”

“My son, you saved her life.”

“At the cost of her sight.”

Silence weighted heavily between the two. Of course, Prince Lotor was filling in very big shoes now and he wasn't sure if he was ready to wear that crown. He was no Emperor. Not yet. Not until he could reunite Voltron to its true title of Defenders of the Universe, starting with Daibazaal. Starting with all the enslaved planets forced to lose their free will by the evil abomination of the hoktril.

Lotor sighed despondently then sat on the imitation grassy fields of his home with Zarkon following suit, “Father...my mother’s research was about quintessence and the power it contains. I read it before, but if there was something buried, I need to know about it.”

His father remained silent, smile dropping slightly as he knew what his son was going to ask him.

“What did she really discover about quintessence?” Lotor whispered, partly dreading the answer from what he has witnessed on a first hand basis, “I need to know. I need to know so I can understand how to counter this...this poison the Rift creatures are leaving behind.”

“...Very well. You deserve to know,” Zarkon’s gaze fell to the single blooming moonflower at his feet,” Lotor, before anything, I want you to know I had intended to tell you this in person when the time was right. However...as time went on and as I raised you to cherish both worlds from which you came from, I cowardly kept delaying the inevitable. I realize now it was...it was wrong of me to do so.”

The Prince turned to face his father’s profile, waiting for him to continue.

“I am sorry. But if there’s anything I can do to help now, then let this information be the tool you need,” the AI plucked the flower from the ground, gazing upon it with a far-off look, “Honerva discovered one of the more darker qualities of quintessence. Although every living being has it within their body, Alteans specifically have a higher capacity to withhold the magical element for a certain amount of time. Does that capacity have a limit?”

Now, shame flashed over Zarkon’s face.

“Your mother was set to find out. King Alfor forbade her from using other Alteans to be her test subjects, resulting in her experimenting on herself. ‘For the best, most accurate results,’ she said. She did this for many years, before we even knew you were conceived. I allowed her to infuse herself with quintessence, infuse myself with it, as well. I was, dear me, Lotor, I loved your mother so much. I would do anything for her. Cross galaxies for her.”

He placed the flower back on the ground, letting it live the rest of its life on the Earth it was born in. All of this he was telling his son, he didn't realize how much it would affect him, fake AI or not.

“I became ill. We both did. I told her I didn’t want to continue. She stopped. I told her that she shouldn’t continue. She kept going for...for so long. I couldn’t stop her, my son. I loved your mother, but I couldn’t save her from herself. It wasn’t until she brought the news that she was pregnant with you did she quit her experiments, but by that time it was too late. She learned something new about quintessence.”

Zarkon placed a hand over his eyes, finding that words were becoming harder and harder to speak.

“The quintessence didn’t poison her. She reached her capacity. Her body was failing, unable to handle too much of the raw energy coursing through her veins. What she thought would make her stronger, keep her healthier, ended up exhausting her body to the point where she couldn't handle the overload of quintessence. Too much, it was too much for her, and I begged Alfor to save her, to save you. But the Ancients at Oriande are life givers, not life savers.”

Lotor had never seen his father cry before. Galra rarely cry, but this? This was not just crying. This was grieving. This was an Emperor who failed his wife and no amount of tears would be enough to resolve his pain.

“Alfor could only save one. You or your mother. I chose you. It was what Honerva would’ve wanted. The woman comatose in the bed was not the woman I fell in love with, I cherished, I dedicated my life to. By the time you were due, she was nothing but a ghost of the person I remembered. She was sick. Her mind disappeared along with her beauty. She wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence. The quintessence aged her and, ultimately, took her life.”

This was Zarkon’s greatest shame. Allowing his wife’s ambitions to steal her away from the future she had with him. The family she could have had with him. He knew this, Lotor knew this. And from his point of view, he...he did hate his father for hiding this from him for so long. What he thought was mere childbirth complications was something much more sinister. Now, however, now all the pieces seem to be falling into place. But he couldn’t help wonder...

Did his mother ever actually love him? Love the future she could have had with Zarkon? Would Lotor forgive his father for keeping this secret from him? Could Lotor forgive his father?

Maybe. But right now, he would have to find him in person and save the universe first.

“I did research on these Rift creatures for a bit with Allura. We learned that quintessence is essentially their main energy source. They rely on it. It goes without saying that they are attracted to places where a massive amount of quintessence is concentrated,” the Prince’s brows furrowed together, “Father, I know what Allura is doing. She is injecting people with quintessence and using the Rift creatures to do her bidding through the hoktril.”

Lotor stood up to his feet, the realization dawned on him that this is the entire reason why she wanted Voltron. Why she wanted that comet. Allura not only wanted to spread “peace” among their universe, but to every universe. To her, with the unlimited amount of quintessence in every living soul, this was her solution to achieving tranquility amongst all beings. And to do that, she needed to capture them.

But...Lotor had to wonder now, how many slaves couldn’t withstand the quintessence exposure? How many perished before truly losing their free will to the needle? And how much time did he have before Voltron would be cornered and forced to bend to her cruelty?

Prince Lotor needed help, he needed more than Voltron.

The feeling of being pulled out of water covered your senses. What was once a picture of Zarkon and Lotor sitting in a peaceful meadow of grass and flowers was now completely washed away. You were back to reality, Lotor’s chest close to your face, and your hands? Both were clasped tightly around his, hanging tight as if you were going to fall into a pit of darkness and never be able to return.

But from what you’ve seen? With your own two eyes? You might as well be plunged into the depths once again.

Body trying to realign itself and calm down from the horrors you just witnessed was taking longer than you expected. Sitting was too much. You slowly fell to the floor, Lotor following suit to simply tether you to the truth. Tether you to what was real. The question was answered, but now, that weight on your shoulders grew claws to embed deeply into your soul. This wasn’t just about Earth. About the Galra Empire. About the universe.

This was about your reality and every reality possible.

Lotor eased you to lean against his firm body while he slid his cloak over your shoulders to keep you warm. That’s what you needed, you needed something warm to keep you here. The galaxy, the stars behind you two, the universe. You couldn’t bear this alone. You couldn’t bear this now. And this man besides you wasn't your Lotor, but he was suffering the same unbearable responsibility on his heart.

“Bring him back.”

Lotor needed a few minutes to recover from his memories before fully hearing your demand.

“Please, you must bring him back.”

You were shaking.

#lotor x reader #anyways #fix it fic where haggar and the princess are evil cunts #and good dad zarkon trying his best but also fucks up unintentionally #spacestories

[parabellumrpg]

Congratulations, J! You’ve been accepted to play Jackson Sinclair. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

A/N: I loved the way you wrote about Jack being able to have a good home life and still be an amazing leader in a crime organization. All in all, I think you’ll make a great Jackson, and I loved seeing all the different sides of him in your para samples. Congratulations! 

IC INFORMATION —

CHARACTER DESIRED

Jackson Sinclair.

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS

Jack is a lot of things. He’s able to adapt to his surroundings. At home, he puts his work away and is just a father to his children and a husband to his wife. At work, he’s strong and intimidating. He knows not to lead with his feeling, instead he leads with his head. He is fiercely protective of his siblings, fiercely protective of his kids, but he does not act irrational. Every plan he has is carefully crafted. Everything he says to anyone is also carefully crafted. One probably wouldn’t suspect that he was a boss if they did not know already. He’s just that good at flipping his switch on and off.

Another important thing to note is that one of Jack’s goals is to not become his father. Right now he feels like he’s unfortunately following in his dad’s footsteps. He finds himself more at a breaking point than not because of Paityn’s disappearance. He’s beginning to wonder if it’s just in his genes to be ruthless. It’s not what he wants, his goal was to be better than his father.

I think it’s important to also talk about this kidnapping. Jack knew this was going to happen. And now he’s deadset that it was the Costello’s, which is only going to cause more of a rift in Chicago. Since he’s so focused on the Costello’s, the Aleman’s aren’t even on his radar. That is going to be a problem for him if they sneak up while he’s so distracted.

He partially feels like his sister getting kidnapped is his fault. If he could bring his sister back in any way, he could. He should’ve done more to stop the wedding. He could’ve done more now that he looks back on it.

WRITING SAMPLE

Sample 1

Gun TW, Violence TW, Death TW

Even though he was supposed to let those under him do the dirty work, Jackson liked doing it himself. And when someone almost tried to keep his weapons from him, he had to make an example out of him. “Please, c’mon you know I have two kids to feed at home,” The man in front of him said, begging on his knees. He understood where the guy was coming from, but he should’ve thought about that before pocketing Jackson’s arms dealings. That’s not how things worked around here.

“You should’ve thought about that before you tried to fuck me over. What were you expectin’? For me to just forget about it? That’s not how it works around here and you know it,” Jackson put his hand out, reaching for someone to give him a gun. In an instant, he shot him in the temple, walking away from the mess that he just created.

“Someone clean that up,” He commanded as he walked away.

Some things had to be done, even if they were hard. Sure he enjoyed this, it brought him back to his days in California, but this was more than that. He had to protect what his father built, what his family had built. Jack wiped his cheek where the blood spattered with his handkerchief. At least, he was still able to separate his work life from real life. This side of him only came out when he was working and he was able to put it right back inside of him. It truly was a gift.

Sample 2

Having Jackson Jr. waiting up for him was probably the highlight of his night. Jackson took off his coat, which protected from from the chilly Chicago winter.

“Daddy!” He exclaimed, causing the older blond to bend down and welcome his son into his arms.

“Hey buddy!” He shouted. All that he did didn’t matter once he got home, because he left his work at work. Here, he was just a loving father and husband. “I missed you so much!” Jackson kissed his son’s head. “Where’s your brother and sister?” He whispered.

“They sleeping, I needed to stay up for you!” His son insisted. Jackson looked forward to coming home and being with his family. It didn’t matter what he had done that day, all of that was wiped away when he walked into his home.

“Where’s mama?” He asked his son, and his son pointed to the living room. The way that Jackson grew up, with being underneath Johnny’s thumb, he never wanted it to be like that for any of his three kids. He vowed to never yell at his children, never to jump to conclusions with any of them.

Once he became a father, something inside of him sparked. It made him want to be a better man, better than he even was. His family grounded him. And it’s probably the only thing that’s keeping him from exploding at this very moment. Without Charlie and the kids, he probably would have collapsed, exploded even. But he’ll keep going for them.

Sample 3

“I can’t fucking believe her!” He raised his voice, raising his arms to look for something to hit. He knew the Costello’s, nothing was ever this simple for them. Luca had an agenda, he must have one. If anything, Jackson was a good people reader, you had to be in his line of work. “Does she know what they’ll do to her once she’s apart of their family? They’ll kill her. Or brainwash her, god dammit!”

He was glad that Charlie dragged him out of that room before he said something that he would regret. He wasn’t normally like this but when it came to his family, he didn’t play around. It was his job to protect his siblings, his job to make sure that everything went smoothly regarding his family. And now this? This was like a stab in the back from Paityn. He wasn’t mad at his little sister, though, he could never be mad at her. He was mad at the Costello’s for trying to insert themselves in her life. It wasn’t fair to Paityn, she was going to get her heart broken at some point or another. And it was up to him to stop it.

“I’m gonna make this go away. She cannot run off into the sunset with a fuckin’ Costello!” He wouldn’t let it happen under his watch. He just couldn’t. This was his baby sister they were talking about, after-all. The Costello’s had some fucking guts trying to ruin his family. His family was the one place that he felt they could never infiltrate on. Boy, was he wrong.

#accepted

[this-is-our-fandom]

Bucky Barnes: Because I Don’t Have One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Rating: PG (Mature audiences)

Warning: Mature themes

"Hey Bucky!" You wave at your boyfriend who jogs his way to you - him just finishing his daily sparring with Steve and Sam.

He grabs your left hand and kisses and back of it before holding it in his right one and hugging you. "Cute." Wanda smirks walking by.

You blush and lean into Bucky's side, instantly regretting it, "sweaty!" You whine and move away, only for Bucky to smirk. "Hope you're having a shower." You simply state.

"Have one with me?" He asks, flirtation lacing through his voice thick.

"In your dreams pretty boy." You say and wave him off before walking towards where Wanda went.

Wanda was sitting on a stool with Natasha and Sharon, "hey guys." You smile and out a glass and some orange juice. Wanda and Sharon don't say anything so you turn around and see them both smiling at you. "What? You both scare me when you do that." You take a seat next to Sharon and she starts to laugh, "what?! Do I have something on my face?"

"Oh honey, you are so oblivious to this whole situation, aren't you?" Wanda pats my back, I frown at her, what?

"Um-"

Sharon laughs, "it's Bucky!" I turn to her, "He favourites your left arm."

I take a sip of my orange juice, "he does?"

"Yes! Oh my gosh y/n, he does. He does it because he don't have a left arm for himself and because you do,  he treats it like it's made out of the finest glass." Sharon explains.

Now that I come to think of it, he does. Always when we're together he would grab my left hand and kiss it or if we were sleeping together, he'd sleep on my left side and lay his head on my shoulder.

I thought nothing of it until now.

"Wow," is the only thing that escaped my mouth.

Wanda laughs at me lightly, "it's cute though and you should feel lucky that you have an amazing, caring and loving boyfriend like that who can always be a deadly ass assassin when need be."

I blush at them, "so you should do something," Sharon suggests with a smile.

"And what is that?" I say, sipping at my orange juice again.

Sharon and Wanda exchange looks  before looking at me, "you treat his metal arm the same."

"I do that already." I say.

Wanda sighs, "no, we don't mean kiss his hand when he's feeling down, do what he does and hold it all the time, make him feel good that he has a metal arm... maybe if add in some sexual stuff he did to you with it."

I gasp and cover my mouth, "h- how do you know about that?"

"Please honey, I read everybody's mind."

I cringe and turn away, "gross."

"That's not what you thought last night about it." Both Wanda and Sharon laugh and I blush even harder.

"That's not what I meant." I whisper in embarrassment.

~

That night rolled around and I padded quietly to my bedroom, Bucky and I didn't share a room just yet because Bucky believed that if he woke up from a nightmare and wasn't himself, he would hurt me - I've told him many times before he wouldn't do that but he just couldn't bring himself to the thought of hurting me like that. Instead, he slept in the room across from me and if he ever needed me, he would just have to come over and not a long distance.

I shared a floor with Bucky, Natasha, Sam and Clint - that may sound like a lot of people but when you have a massive floor with a large kitchen, dining area, lounge, game room, 5 large master bedrooms with ensuite and walk in robe with 2 sun rooms that had one for the boys and one for the girls (but in this case, Natasha and I shared the sun room and made it our little escape place with the thing of a jungle with fake vines hanging from the ceiling before it branches off and out to the balcony where there was a mini spa. It had seats if you wanted to seat and enjoy the "jungle" and a whole wall was dedicated to books). The boys never used to sun room and instead the game room so that place is to put storage - even though we have a huge room dedicated for storage, it's more like their rubbish.

As I open my door, I'm shocked to see Bucky standing in the middle of my room. "God Bucky! You scared me!" I put my hand over my heart to calm my racing heartbeat.

"S- Sorry, I uh..." He trails off, scratching the back of his head, I frown slightly.

I walk to him and wrap my arms around his neck, "you okay?" I whisper against his neck.

"I- yeah, I'm fine. Um, just- yeah, I don't know." He nervously laughs.

~Flashback - In Bucky's POV~

After y/n left, I walk to the room to have my shower, "Buck, wait!" I hear Steve call as I was about to enter my room.

"Yeah, what's wrong?" I turn with a plain expression - all I wanted was just a shower and a hot cup of coffee and to have my best girl beside me, curled in my side as we read a book together or something.

"I've just noticed you a little anxious towards y/n before you go and meet her, are you and her all good?" Steve asks.

He simply didn't know that I wanted to ask her to marry me, she was the light of my life, made me happy when I was sad. She made me believe there was more for me to live for. I could go on but that would take beyond a million years to explain.

"I want to marry her Steve, I've been meaning to tell her since a while ago but I always chickened out." I mumble, running a hand through my sweaty hair.

Steve smiles, "you jerk, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Shut up, I'm nervous."

Steve looks at me dumbfounded, "oh my God, just tell her, she'll say yes. Whenever you aren't around I see her playing with her ring finger."

Maybe it was time to finally tell her what I've been meaning to tell her for the past 2 months.

~Flashback ended - back to first POV~

I look at Bucky weirdly, he was acting strange. "Bucky, if something was wrong you'd tell me, right?" I was worried that I did something wrong.

"Yeah, of course I would. Nothing is wrong, it's just that- shit," he curses and start to pace the room, I saw is real hand shaking with fright or nervousness.

"Hey, hey, calm down," I say and place my hand on his chest and his heart was beating rapidly under my touch, "sit down," I say lightly and take him to sit on my swing chair on the balcony. "What's wrong, did someone do something? Did... I do something?" I whisper quietly.

He laughs almost like I was oblivious to this whole thing, "no baby, of course it's not you. It's not anybody. I- I-"

I can tell he was hesitating, "you can tell me Buck, I don't bite."

"Okay," He takes a deep breath, "I love you with all my heart and nothing will change that, you have made me a better person and I can't thank you enough for everything you have done for me in these past 3 years. You came into my life when  thought that everything was just crumbling around me, I didn't know who I was,  I didn't know anybody or anything and all adding to this, I was trying to adapt to the new century I was living in, where shower were actually a thing but you, you helped me and I never asked you too. You were like an angel sent from heaven to rescue me from this hell of a life I was living and raised me up past the destruction until what I only ever saw was peaceful clouds. Even after I hurt you that time when I wasn't myself, you still continued to help me and try and make me better. I told myself I wasn't good enough to deserve somebody as perfect as you and pushed you away but the more I pushed you away, the more realized that you were exactly what I needed because everything turned black again. You were always there for me when I needed somebody,  and when I didn't. And that time that we were both just randomly tackling and tickling each other on the bed but then we just kind of stopped and looked into each other's eyes before kissing for the first time, that felt like sparks I've never felt before, and I wasn't used to it because after 70 years of pain and torture I had no idea what love was anymore. I remember the first night we shared our love together, it was sweet and I loved how you didn't rush anything and you actually let me create bruises on your shoulders where I tried to contain my strength and not hurt you. I knew you were the one for me as soon as you said that you wanted a real relationship with me before I needed that in my life. I love the way you laugh and the how you would just stop everything to come and see if I was alright when you heard my screams late at night from nightmares, I loved the way you would hold me until I fell asleep again and how you would leave little notes stuck with magnets on my arm the next morning. I just love you and I can never get enough of you. So, y/n y/l/n, will you do the honor and became my y/n Barnes?"

Tears were streaming down my cheeks and Bucky's to, his voice wavering twards the end. "Yes Bucky, yes, oh my God,  I love you so fucking much!" I cry, Bucky pulls a diamond ring from his pocket and places it on my finger. I dive forwards and attack him in a hug repeating that I loved him over and over again.

"I love you too baby, I always will."

#james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #the martian #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel smut #marvel x reader #fluff

[cowboy-canoodler]

A High Note Of Love: Part 4

(Ta-daa have fun, I finally gave the barman a name cause I got sick of using the same words lol. Say hello to Trevor. There will be more gang members from here on out so please bear with me while I still adapt to writing them all lmao)

Masterlist: http://cowboy-canoodler.tumblr.com/post/183094165570/a-high-note-of-love-master-list

(Trigger warnings: sexual assault, violence, drunken abuse)

You had just parted from Arthur, your body still warm from his embrace, adrenaline coursing though your veins from your orgasm, you couldn’t feel your knees and sweat was prominent on your brow, strands of hair fell over your face. You ran your hands through your hair; the words Arthur had said repeated in your mind “I ain’t a man who deserves to hear good things” You didn’t believe him, Arthur had been soft with you, he never once made you feel uneasy, he was kind, and charming... No, he is a good man.

You made your way downstairs through the saloon, a couple of lonely men were drunk by the bar slurring words to eachother, another patron drinking alone, it was early in the morning now and the piano player had gone home leaving a thick silence in the air and aura of melancholy radiating from the drunken patrons. Trevor, the barman, glanded at you as you passed.

“Everything alright here Trevor?” you asked as you passed another drunk patron. Trevor replied, staring intently at said patron, “I suppose, be better when I can close up” you gave a small chuckle and waved your hand as you passed into your room. 

The smell of lilies once again filling your nose, you were sweaty and dishevelled, not to mention exhausted after your session with Arthur. You missed him, the touches he gave you, the kisses on your neck, the feel of him close to you, this was a feeling you couldn’t explain. You’d only just met the man today, exchanged no more than two conversations, and here he was occupying your thoughts, his gruff voice ringing in your ears, doe eyes resonating in your mind. 

“Is this the beginning of love?” you whispered to yourself as you lowered your body onto the bed, a soft creak from the frame. Surely not? like you said you had only conversed twice before, one night of love making does not a relationship make, yet here you are. Alone, letting Arthur Morgan penetrate your thoughts.

She had left, the room was empty and cold, Arthur was alone with his thoughts and the thoughts she had left him with. (Y/N) knew nothing about him, and yet she deemed him a good man, honourable even, but Arthur knew himself and he wasn’t a good man. Arthur grabbed his satchel, pulled his journal from it, walked over to the desk in the corner, sat down, and proceeded to write an entry:

“I met a woman today, as beautiful as an angel and she sang like one too. Her name’s (Y/N), such a kind soul doesn’t deserve to spend her time with me, yet she shared a bed with me; it was wonderful. Should I be allowed to crave her touch again?” Arthur finished writing and started to draw a picture of her singing on the opposite page, she had imprinted herself on his mind enough that he didn’t even need to think about what she looked like as he drew.

An hour passed and Arthur looked at his drawing, it looked exactly like (Y/N), this made him crave her touch even more. She deserves better than you, you’re just outlaw scum, she’s classy and smart, fierce and bold. She’s better than you. Arthur shook his head to keep those thoughts away, these were the times he’d look for a distraction, except the only distraction he wanted right now was her.

An hour later and you couldn’t sleep, thoughts of Arthur swirling around your head patrons in the bar getting rowdy brought you from your thoughts, Trevor was doing his best to calm them down, alas to no avail.

“Is she back there, huh? Too good for the likes of me, Huh?!” A man shouted, very obviously drunk and out of his mind, was he talking about you? You sat up on your bed and drew a nearby shawl over your shoulders.

“You wanna calm down right now and get outta my bar!” Trevor shouted back, this was going to be bad if it wasn’t sorted out soon, “I said get out!”

“Fuck you!” You heard a punch land and ran towards the curtain, drawing it open. “Trevor!” Blood ran from the barmans nose, he was laying on the floor out cold, you rushed over to him but before you could help him a pair of hands grabbed your waist and pulled you away.

“There she is” the patron slurred into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist. “Get your hands off of me!” you shouted, trying to push his arms away, your legs flailing wildly to gain any kind of advantage over your assaulter.

“Hey now” He tightened his grip with his left arm and placed his right on your throat, “You wanna stay the fuck still sweetheart, or you’re gonna get hurt.” The fingers tightened slightly, and you felt your breath start to strain. No please, not again. “Stop it!” A strained shout came from your throat, your body still wriggling, trying to get free of his grasp but this only made him more adamant. His left hand was now on your breast, squeezing harshly.

No one was around to help you, Arthur was probably asleep, Trevor was knocked out, and you at this mans mercy, if he had any. “Please stop it!” Tears started spilling from your eyes as the man squeezed his hands even tighter, you could’t do anything to stop him, this was your fate. You squeezed your eyes shut and became ready to accept what you couldn’t fight back against.

“Hey!”  A flurry of footsteps, a blur, then before you knew it your abuser was on the floor, Arthur on top of him beating him senseless, “That’s no way to treat a lady!” A word between punches, Arthur kept going until the man was no longer recognisable and even then some. You couldn’t tell if the guy was still alive when Arthur finally stopped, you didn’t care the world suddenly came around you at once and you lost the will to stand. Knees buckled under you and you fell to the floor making an audible thump, this was the noise that brought Arthur out of his rage.

“Shit, (Y/N) are you alright?” Arthur looked you dead in the eye as slowly crawled towards you, he didn’t want to add to you current trauma, he brought a hand slowly to your shoulder careful to not startle you. As Arthurs hand made contact you instinctively flinched away from him, you were visibly shaking with wide eyes full of fear. “(Y/N)?”  Arthur asked again, softly.

“Arthur I-” You started crying again as you flung yourself into his arms, “thank you, thank you so fucking much.” Arthur started stroking your hair, holding you safe in his arms whispering sweet nothings and reassuring you that you were okay now.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N), I’m so fuckin’ sorry” Arthur pulled you away from him and looked you in the eye, “Are ya alright? Did he- Did he- y’know?” You shook your head, “No he didn’t do more than that but” you took a deep breath “that was enough” Arthur started pulling you up, steadying your shaking legs, all the while keeping you close to him.

“Come on, lets go back upstairs, away from him” Arthur spat at the body on the floor, and lead you up the stairs. You spent the rest of the night in his arms safe and sound.

A few weeks after the incident you had become yourself again, Arthur frequented the saloon you sang at and never missed a show. This week was different however, usually Arthur was here early to talk to you before you sang, and make sure that man wasn’t here to see you again, but Arthur wasn’t here this time and you had to sing without him. The rush wasn’t the same as when Arthur was here, you had gone out to perform and couldn’t feel the spark of joy, what had happened? Had the experience a few weeks prior affected you that much? You hardly every went outside of your room anymore, and if you did it was always with Arthur or an escort.

Alone you were sat in your room, facing your mirror whilst brushing through your hair humming a sweet tune as you lost yourself in your thoughts.

“So this is where you’ve been goin’ to then, eh Arthur?” You heard a loud voice ring over the bar, a very startling Irish accent accompanying it.

“Ah Shit, What the hell are you doin’ here?” A familiar voice rang out and you perked up. Arthur! Immediately you stood up and made your way to the curtain.

“I just wanted to know where you’ve been sneaking off to!” The voice said again.

“None of your damn business that’s what, get the hell away from here” Arthur sounded angry, was this a friend of his? Or maybe a family member? You pulled the curtain open and your face lit up at the sight of the familiar gruff cowboy.

“Arthur!” you smiled and waved at him as he looked your way, a soft expression coming over him as soon as he saw you.

“Hiya (Y/N)” You walked over to Arthur and gave him another smile, “Who’s your friend?” You gestured to the ginger Irishman and gave him your signature fake smile that you used while addressing an audience or performing.

“That’s-”

“Sean! Sean MacGuire! At your service my lady!” Sean took your hand and planted a firm kiss on him, earning him a disapproving look from Arthur. You giggled and curtsied to him, “I’m (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/LN).”

Arthur promptly stepped in, “And that’s all you need to know. Now get!” he waved his hands towards an un-moving Sean.

“No way Arthur! I wanna know the lady that has you on her string! Big grumpy Arthur suddenly humming music at camp? I have to see who done that to ya!” Sean laughed heartily as he teased Arthur, you couldn’t help but start laughing too.

“Have I had such an effect on you Arthur?” You turned to face Arthur, who had a slight blush over his cheeks. You signalled Trevor for three drinks and Trevor nodded in return. “So, Sean, about this humming?”

“What can I say? Arthur spends one night in town and suddenly he’s back at camp with a skip in his step and a smile on his face! We all thought we were still drunk from the night before y’know!” As Sean kept talking you looked over at Arthur who was staring back at you.

“You missed the show” Yous whispered to Arthur witch disappointment tugging at your voice.

“I know, I’m sorry” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, “I tried to get here in time but something came up”

“It’s fine Arthur” You looked down at your whiskey, “I missed you”

“I missed ya too (Y/N)” You both looked in each others eyes, unspoken words said it all.

“You should come and meet the family! They’d love ya!” Sean pulled you and Arthur away from your moment.

“What?” Arthur spat out, you were puzzled. Was he ashamed of you? Did he think you unworthy of them?

“I’d love to, but Arthur hasn’t brought it up” You were disappointed that Sean had asked you to go and meet Arthurs family before he had, you looked over to Arthur who was scowling at Sean. “Why haven’t you asked me to meet your family yet Arthur?”

“Because then you have to speak to people like him” Arthur nodded his head in Seans direction and Sean feigned an arrow to the heart and overdramatically replied.

“Oh you wound me Arthur!” Sean giggled, ���I’m not the worst person you could introduce (Y/N) to first. There’s Micah, Bill, Uncle”

“Yeah yeah” Arthur waved at Sean to shut him up. It was difficult keeping up with the both of them, Seans hyper personality and Arthurs grumpy antics.

“Well?” You asked.

“Look if ya” Arthur sighed. “If ya really wanna meet them, then I can’t say no but-” Arthur stopped talking and just nodded, “Naw you should meet them, I’m sure they will love you. Especially since you can handle that one” Arthur looked over Sean again who was smiling proudly.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Everyones gonna thank ya for gettin’ him to smile once in a while!” Both you and Sean laughed again, and Arthurs face got even more sour.

“Now now Arthur, You know I like you just the way you are” You placed a hand on Arthurs shoulder, and gave him a peck on the cheek, this earned you another blush and awkward cough.

“We can ride back together if you want! Right now! What’s better than riding there with one of us when you ride back with two?” Sean drank the rest of his drink and made his way outside, he gave a half arsed wave as the door closed.

The air was awkward between you and Arthur now, uneasy and cold. “I wanted ya to meet them but I was scared about what you’d think of them. Seeing you handle Sean means ya can handle any of ‘em” You placed your hand on his cheek and gave a reassuring smile.

“Arthur, I can’t wait to meet the people you consider family.” You walked over to the entrance of your room, “I’m just going to change into some travelling gear, I’ll be out shortly” You gave Arthur a cheeky wink, and blew him a kiss.

I hope they actually do like me. Fuck. What do I do if they don’t?

#A High Note of Love #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #RDR2 #RDR2 Fanfic #x reader #sean macguire #Arthur Morgan #Fanfic

[wetlaprasfanfiction]

Ghosts And Echoes - Chapter Eight

October is upon us, so I hope you enjoy my spooky musings!

Here’s chapter eight in time for the big day! More coming VERY soon!

Once Daryl was finished what he needed to do at the graves, he took Carol’s hand and motioned towards the house.

 Carol slipped her arm back around Daryl’s waist and they both began to walk back towards the house.

 When they got there, the whole place smelled of food cooking, for a moment, Daryl remembered the few times in his childhood when his mum had managed to save up enough money for a joint of meat and cooked a roast dinner.

 His father would wolf the food down with at least two beers and not utter so much as a thank you for the effort, a stony silence would permeate the air around the table, nobody dare speak for fear of igniting his rage.   Afterwards, when his father passed out on the sofa, Daryl would go to his mum and hug her, ‘thanks for the lovely dinner mum’ he’d always say.

 Daryl missed his mum. He knew she loved him but was terribly afraid to show it for fear of his father’s rage. His father forbid his mum from showing the two boys any affection, saying it would ‘make pussies of them’.

 After dinner, mum always said ‘run along now, go play’ urging Daryl to be elsewhere when his father woke up.

Daryl figured this upbringing was the universe’s way of preparing him for what was to come, it hadn’t been easy, but without this hardship, Daryl wondered if he would have survived like he had. His life was desolate before the dead began to walk, before the world ended. It was not that much of a shock to him and his brother, they adapted quickly. It was these well instilled instincts that had kept them alive in the early days of the apocalypse, kept them together and kept them strong.

  Dinner seemed like a quiet affair, small talk over planting vegetables and securing fences passed between everyone. Daryl chose to remain silent and the others respected that.

 He just didn’t feel like talking much, but heck he appreciated the dinner. Today was roast chicken day, and Daryl loved roast chicken day!

 ‘Mmm, this is damn good’ he grunted between mouthfuls of the delicious roasted bird, adorned with onions and peas and roasted potatoes, all from the garden courtesy mainly of Maggie.

 It had taken four chickens to feed everyone, and the birds sat in the middle of the table among the rest of the food.

 ‘Thanks so much for doing this wonderful dinner’ Carol spoke up.

 ‘It’s been a shitty week for some of us and we needed this’

‘Daryl, you take as much time as you need to recover from your latest injuries’ Rick told him, ‘please don’t worry about us, we’re all just fine’.

 Rick knew Daryl would be very upset about being out of action yet again. He was right, Daryl was pretty pissed about his injuries, and how he couldn’t do the things he felt so obliged to do.

 Daryl finished off his dinner, his only qualm is there wasn’t enough, he giggled silently inside his head.

 ‘Thank you, honestly thank you, this has made my day’ Daryl said, thanking everyone for the dinner he’d just enjoyed so much.

 ‘Mind if I excuse myself now? I’m hurting, think I’m going to go and lay down for a bit’ Daryl said to the group.

 ‘Not at all hun, hope you feel better later on’ Maggie assured him, knowing what he’d just been through.

 ‘I’ll be up in a while sweetie, just going to help with the dishes after everyone’s done eating’ Carol told him.

 ‘No worries, I’ll be in bed’ Daryl said back.

 ‘Goodnight Daryl’ Carl said as he bid Daryl farewell for the evening.

 Daryl was missing his friends, his family, he felt lonely. He felt lonely and angry that some of them had been stolen away in such a pointless way.

 Once he got to the bedroom, he got onto the bed, took two painkillers and took off his trousers and his shirt and got under the blanket, it was 8pm anyways, not that long till bedtime in a world with little to amuse oneself with at night.

 As he felt the painkillers begin to take effect, his sore ribs felt a little less sore, his breathing didn’t hurt quite so much, and his eyes began to feel heavy, his thoughts slowed as his body prepared to fall asleep.

 Next thing he knew, movement woke him he felt the bed move as if someone was sitting on it.

 ‘Carol?’ his quiet, still half asleep voice asked the darkness around him.

 ‘NOT QUITE!’ a demonic sounding voice boomed.

 Daryl looked up to see the bony face of Negan glowing ever so slightly in the darkness, his cold, stale scent flooded Daryl’s nostrils.

‘Oh shit not again’ his terrified mind raced as the demonic entity glared at him in the darkness.

‘Not here, please not here in the place where my family also live’ Daryl was frantic with fear, not so much for himself, but for the others here that he loved and cared about so much. 

He was alive because of these people, and now he had bought this demon into their lives. 

 ‘Hello again piggy!!!’ Negan boomed.

 ‘NO, FUCK, NOT AGAIN, LEAVE ME ALONE, LEAVE ME ALONE YOU SONOFABITCH!’ Daryl cried out, his body now pinned to to bed by the evil spirit.

 Negan laughed in the darkness as he straddled Daryl’s terrified form.

 ‘Just a fleeting visit piggy, just to let you know I am going to kill each and every one of you, one at a time, slowly, and last of all I will kill you, after you watch them all die! I will take your bitch first, what’s her name, oh, Carol, that’s it’.

Daryl was both livid and terrified that the demonic Negan had dared mention Carol’s name. Daryl would give his life for her, he’d trade places with her in all dangerous situations, often diving in first so she didn’t. 

He knew how to protect her from walkers and humans alike, he had the strength and skills to be able to do this, and he did it well. 

He could not protect her from this awful thing, and it made him feel so powerless and helpless.

 Then Negan vanished as quickly as he appeared.

 ‘NO NO NO’ Daryl cried out, the guy was in complete shock again, he was utterly terrified, he felt so helpless against such evil.

Negan may be gone, but the effects of his fleeting demonic visit were very real indeed. 

Daryl shook so violently he thought he was having some kind of seizure. He was paralyzed by fear, he could not move, he was frozen to the spot, his body in a state of shock. 

 From the landing, Carol, who had been making her way to bed with Maggie, suddenly heard Daryl crying out and they’d both run into the bedroom.

 Suddenly the door burst open and Carol and Maggie entered the room.

 They both sat on the bed next to a very scared, shaking and panting Daryl.

 Carol sat down next to him, he couldn’t or wouldn’t speak at this point, he was too terrified and utterly exhausted, but he uttered one word ‘Negan!’.

 Carol pulled him into her arms, Maggie held his hand and tried to reassure him.

 ‘It’s freezing in here’ Maggie commented.

 The two women believed Daryl and everyone else was slowly coming around to the idea too.

 Maggie took the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around Daryl.

 ‘There you go sweetie, it’s okay, you’re safe here with us’. Maggie stroked Daryl’s back as he lay against Carol, his body was shaking so much they could both feel it.

 Negan’s evil spirit terrified Daryl in ways nothing else ever could.

 He made Daryl feel so alone, so helpless and defenseless, just like he had during his unsettled childhood.

 ‘I should have come up here sooner, it’s 2am’.

 Carol had got carried away playing cards by candlelight after dinner, they’d played poker and Rummy, had a good laugh, something Carol felt she needed after recent events.

 Daryl would usually have totally been up for playing, but he’d needed to rest tonight.

 ‘Not again, not this again, no, he’s going to hurt you all, he said he is going to kill you and make me watch’ Daryl said, his terror filled voice breaking with every word.

 ‘No Daryl, NO he is certainly not going to do that, we’re all going to be fine!’ Maggie shot up.

 Carol held Daryl against her body, she kissed him on the forehead and told him he was safe, ‘nothing’s going to hurt any of us’.

 ‘I’m gonna leave you two alone now’ Maggie told them both, her hand still on Daryl’s trembling shoulder.

 ‘Stay strong Daryl’ she told him, ‘we will stop him once and for all’

 Daryl was amazed anyone believed him, I think what they’d all been through was so not normal that nothing phased any of them anymore. Maggie secretly believed that if Negan’s evil ghost was still around, then maybe Glen was somewhere better than this world.

 ‘It’s okay, you’re going to be okay sweetheart’ Carol reassured Daryl again as she helped him lay down next to her.

 Once they were both in bed, she quickly pulled the blankets round them both and held a now silent, calmer Daryl close to her body.

 He was exhausted, there was something about the encounters with Negan’s evil ghost that drained him of his life force. Daryl had sustained injuries in the past where he had lost a lot of blood, it felt like that, it felt like his body had nothing inside, his energy and spark drained away.

 He began to calm down, partly because he felt safe with Carol there, and partly because he was too exhausted to do much else.

 He gripped Carol’s hand that was draped over his back, through the crook of his arm and resting on his chest.

He could feel her warm body against his back, holding him tight.

 ‘Love you’ he murmured before his exhausted body fell into sleep, feeling Carol’s hand tighten ever so slightly around his, ‘love you too’ she replied.

 Once Daryl fell asleep, she gently laid him onto his pillow and adjusted herself for sleep, he didn’t wake up or even move.

  Carol began to wonder what could be done to stop this evil that was tormenting Daryl.

 Carol could just make out Daryl’s face as the orange glow of the candlelight danced around the room.

 He was peacefully asleep, no terror on his face, no ghosts, no torment, no pained look. His long hair slightly covered his still cut and bruised face. 

 On this note, Carol blew the candle out and tucked herself under the blanket.

 She felt the low warmth of Daryl’s body next to her, she would normally lay on his chest but couldn’t at the moment because his ribs really hurt.

 It wasn’t long before Carol was asleep. It had been a very tiring day.

  When Carol woke up, she reached over to Daryl’s side of the bed, hoping to find him and wrap herself around him, just for a few more minutes.

 She soon realized Daryl wasn’t in the bed.

 Perhaps he’d got up and let her sleep for a while, maybe he was downstairs.

 She slowly sat up and noticed a piece of paper on the bedside table next to her, it just read:

 ‘Carol, I love you, I have never ever loved anyone as much as I love you, please forgive me, this is for you too. I must protect you.

 I cannot let him hurt anyone else, if he wants me, he can have me.

 Please keep everyone safe

 Daryl’.

 Carol dropped the piece of paper in shock.

 In a panic, Carol jumped up out of bed, quickly got dressed, ran downstairs and asked everyone she met on the way if they’d seen Daryl leave.

 ‘No Carol, I haven’t seen him today’ Rick told her, ‘Why?’

 ‘He’s gone, he’s gone Rick, he left this’ and she showed him the piece of paper.

  ‘When I got up, his crossbow, boots and his other stuff were gone from where he keeps them in the cupboard in our room’.

 ‘Oh god, he’s gone back to the Sanctuary hasn’t he’ she said, her voice breaking with worry.

 ‘Maybe’ Rick said, ‘we can start by looking there, that’s where this all started’.

 ‘I’ll go get the truck’ Carol told Rick.

 Carol made sure she’d got her knife and rifle with her and jogged down to where the vehicles were parked.

 ‘I’ll go tell them to open the gates and I’ll meet you down there’ Rick told her, ‘lets keep this between us for now, everyone cares about Daryl, so lets not worry them, lets bring him back safe’.

 Down at the gates Dwight told them he had let Daryl through very early this morning on his bike.

 ‘He’s not my prisoner anymore, I can’t keep him here’ Dwight said, his voice laced with concern that he would be held to account for Daryl leaving.

 ‘Nah, it’s okay, he’s a law onto himself, we’re going to find him and bring him back safe.

 ‘I hope so’ Carol said back, she was visibly very upset.

 ‘He’s a very silly man, he’s still hurt, he’s had a really shitty few days’.

 Carol jumped into the truck and Rick ran down to the gates and told the guys who were on watch to open them and let them through before he jumped into the truck and the pair made their way to the sanctuary, hoping to find Daryl there and thwart his ill conceived plans.

Disclaimer: As usual, I don’t own any part of the Walking Dead, this is just me borrowing these guys for a few, I’ll put them back once I’m done :)

#ghost #halloween. #daryl dixon #Carol Peletier #maggie rhee #rick grimes #haunted #demon #negan #fanfiction #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction

[jinjikook]

you’ve stolen my right to relief (m)

🎃 word count: 3k

🎃 genre: smut ; thieves au

🎃 pairing: reader/jinjin

🎃 warning(s)/kink(s): edging, spanking, a little bit of dirty talk + some angry/hateful feelings

🎃 summary: a bet between you and your colleague leaves you faced down in a crap motel and a few fingers away from the edge of sanity.

🎃 requested by: anon - “edging / spanking with jinjin from astro for kinktober?”

🎃 music: ties - years & years + lose control - lay

🎃 masterlist + kinktober 2017

“I fucking hate you, what part of that don’t you get?” You spit, pushing the light haired boy away from you.

No matter how hard you tried, it seemed like your partner in crime didn’t quite understand how much you seriously despised him.

Keeping your volume down was crucial at the moment but Jinwoo seemed to have other plans as he continued to whisper in your ear, breathing his heavy breath over your neck and making you seethe with irritation.

“C’mon, if you can’t handle the heat: get the fuck out of the kitchen.” He drawled, eyes dragging down your body clad in tight, black clothes meant to conceal you in the dead of night but it only accentuated your curves further, to Jinwoo’s pleasure.

“It was one fucking time, I made it clear I wasn’t ever going to sleep with you again Jinwoo, so hop off my dick for once!” You turned to face Jinwoo, smirk still plastered across his clean cut face. Despite being the muscle in this operation, he was surprisingly compact and—as much as it pained you to admit—he had a pretty face that sold more scams than you’d initially assumed.

As you shuffled your hands in the far-too-fancy jewelry box you’d spotted upstairs earlier—in the middle of the “leak check-up” that’d been a part of the ruse this time around—Jinwoo chuckled louder than you liked at the sight of all the lavish rings and necklaces; too garish for every day wear but clearly something this woman kept for special nights.

You’d be able to flip it easily for a quick buck, easy money to toy with. A pawn shop or even just to a jeweler themselves, who’d take the gold bezels and smelt them down into custom pieces, completely unrecognizable to the police or the owners of the accessories.

“Could you shut your trap for more than two seconds? You have the worst ability to hold out, I swear.” You rolled your eyes and shoved the rest of the emeralds and rubies into the rucksack you’d sneaked onto your back, Jinwoo already brushing past you to head towards the nightstand where you assumed the husband slept next to.

He scavenged the drawers, pulling out some concealed cash and a few items that looked like they’d be worth something.

“Aha! Bingo,” Jinwoo ogled the piece of fine Italian craftsmanship dangling from his hand, the gold reflecting off moonlight like a lighthouse in the middle of a foggy night.

“For fuck’s sake, could you be any more obvious we’re casing a house?”

“You know, if you got that stick out of your ass for once, I could replace it with something more worthwhile,” He looked back and winked and you had half a mind to run out the front door and call the cops to arrest his ass. Unfortunately, he’d give you up in a heartbeat because your loyalties didn’t run that deep just yet.

It all started when you were down on your luck and your no good brother-in-law stole all the savings you had for a situation just like the one you were in at the time. He caused you to get evicted from your apartment and lose your scholarship for the school you worked so hard to get into.

Jinwoo was the one who helped you get back at him and you joined him in the robbery circuit, quickly adapting and learning to the lifestyle and even becoming his equal in the field. He was proud to call you his protégé but it didn’t stop him from always holding it over your head when it came to how much experience he had.

“You’re disgusting and I hope you trip and break your ankle on the way out of here.”

“It’s so cute how your threats are always so PG, you’d never really want anything to happen to me.” He grinned and blew you a kiss, to which you gagged in retaliation to. “Okay, what do we have left?” He turned to evaluate the room, checking for any missed items and while he busied himself with nooks and crannies, you slid open the closet door and pushed some clothes aside. To the untrained eye, it was a regular, normal closet filled with boring dress shirts and blouses, things a 40-year-old married couple would have hanging to be worn during their 9-5 day jobs.

But you knew better than to believe there was just what met the eye, shifting things around until a nearly hollow thump clacked against your knuckles through one the swipes of your hand. Moving a chiffon skirt and navy trench coat that was heavier than it looked, you were met with what your kind thought of as a gold mine.

“Hey Jin Jin! We got ourselves a safe!” You smiled menacingly and Jinwoo was at your side in an instant, rubbing his palms together like a predator ready to sink his teeth into his prey and have dinner.

“Let’s see, are you a mediocre lock or…” He trailed off, inspecting the hard box with gloved fingers, checking brand, label, age and condition.

“What’dya think, Jinwoo? Should we pick it, break it or take it back with us? We don’t have much time left.” You inquired, checking your phone to see that the Lee’s were due back from their son’s Open House Night in roughly twenty minutes, give or take some time depending on traffic and how much the mother gossips with the other PTA moms.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, humming as he weighed out his options.

“It’s a combination lock, what do you think they picked?”

“Their son’s birthday?” The first answer in your mind was a significant date like that, being an easy choice for a parent to put as a lock on their phone or in this case, a safe box. Jinwoo tried the numbers, easily nabbed from the calendar hanging next to the fridge downstairs.

“No luck, I’ll try the husband’s and wife’s.” As he fiddled some more with the numbers, you were struck with the small spark of knowledge you’d been told sometime during your start as a petty thief.

People were stupid, it was in their nature. Which is why they have trouble remembering combinations, numbers, dates and anything else of the like. Especially a couple as old as the Lee’s, they probably forgot things all the time if they didn’t write it down somewhere. It’s why they had a colorful calendar littered with notes and circled with dates, a small pad attached to the fridge with the grocery list and even a journal sat on the top of the wife’s nightstand; a dream journal of sorts.

You pushed Jinwoo aside, ignoring his noise of protest and you circled the safe and checked the back of it, just at the bottom. There, in sad silver Sharpie scrawl was a four-digit number: the code.

With a confident smile, you took Jinwoo’s place in front of the box and rolled the little black and white tiles until they all matched the numbers you just saw, clicking with the confirmation that you had unlatched the lock. Jinwoo grimaced at your expression and ability, simply tugging open the top. Digging in quickly, you were met with money in an envelope—emergency money you guessed—and a jar of dozens of coins labeled “Minhyuk’s MIT Funds”. You snickered at their preparation for something that they could never guarantee would happen.

Jinwoo snorted his own laugh and stuffed the jar and the few other items that looked like they were worth something before shutting the safe and bringing everything back to its original place.

“Jackpot.” You whispered and Jinwoo bumped your fist as you made your way quietly down the stairs, slinking around like a cat in the night. The two of you were the snakes in the grass, ready to strike but more willing to lay low and do your own business, afar from prying eyes.

It was in-and-out, an everyday sort of robbery. You were seated in the passenger seat of Jinwoo’s pick-up truck, counting the money that had been in the envelope and smelling the scent of crisp, unused bills.

Jinwoo looked over and whooped, feeling the high of a successful casing. Out of sheer impulse, he reached over the median and gripped your chin hard, pulling you towards him to press a hard kiss to your lips. It only partly caught you off guard, something that Jinwoo has done in the past but it was still not something he did often enough to become habit.

A few stops along the way—hitting a pawn shop, some old friends who could make use of the oddities you’d stolen and a liquor store later, you were back and holed up in another three star motel for the night.

Jinwoo took a swig of his bottle, cheap beer since you didn’t like wasting money on alcohol. You’d rather spend it on more worthwhile things like food or amenities.

“So, did you want to take a little twist in testing your theory from earlier?” Jinwoo spoke up from where he was sitting on a dining chair, legs up on the table even after you scolded him to get them off for the umpteenth time.

“Here we go with the drunken ramblings again…” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose before obliging the man and turning his way on the mattress you were comfortably seated on.

“I’m not drunk, Y/N, hear me out this time.” With a motion of your hand, Jinwoo continued. “You said I couldn’t last. But, what makes you think you can?” The quirk in his brow told you this was no longer about thievery, another sin coming in tow instead.

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the growing ache in between your legs. It had been a while since you last got laid, if you had to admit it.

“I was talking about your inability to shut up for more than two seconds at a time, not whatever dirty fantasy you’re conjuring up in that sick, twisted mind of yours.”

“Well, then maybe you’ll like this bet after all,” Despite acting indifferent, you were slightly intrigued, using the excuse that you were bored beyond belief now that the thrill of thievery was long gone and replaced with dull, stagnant cable television and cheap take out. “How’s this: if you can last a whole ten minutes without coming, I’ll spend the entire next stake out completely silent, unless I absolutely have to talk.”

“Wait, wait hold up, you’re a scammer for a reason. You always find a loophole and I’m not falling for one of your tricks; contrary to popular belief, I am smarter than the average bear. Now, out with it, what’s the catch?”

Jinwoo put his hands up defensively, finally sliding his feet off the table to sit up straight.

“No tricks, catch or gimmicks.” He crossed his heart and held up his right hand. “I swear, I’m just positive you won’t make it so I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Watch it, Park. That cockiness is gonna get you into more trouble than it already has,” You scrunched your nose and sat at the edge of the bed. “You’re on.” Shaking hands, Jinwoo got up to seat himself next to you on the bed, going over the “ground rules” per your request.

The bet was simple: Jinwoo would have you over his lap, only using his fingers in you and you’d set a timer on your phone. If you lasted the full ten minutes without having an orgasm, it’s your win and Jinwoo had to shut his trap and eat his words.

If you lost? Jinwoo asked simply to fuck your throat until he came all over your pretty face. His words, not yours.

For the sake of time and convenience, you changed into one of the pleated skirts you liked to use when you needed to distract someone; whether it was a victim or an officer, it always worked wonders. Of course, sans underwear since that’d be a just another unnecessary hurdle to get over. Jinwoo was more than pleased with this, leaning back on the bed and waiting patiently. His smug smirk was still fixed in place and it only made you grit your teeth harder, wanting to show him up once and for all.

You tried your best to keep things from getting awkward by just sliding over his lap, reaching for your phone and getting to the timer application. Jinwoo’s hands were warm as they held you in place and kept you from slipping off. In a way, it grounded you and you weren’t sure if you appreciated it or not just yet.

“Okay, timer’s on. Get on with it, I guess.”

Jinwoo chuckled at your monotone voice and wasted no time in bringing a hand down to caress your bare cheeks, feeling the firm flesh under his fingertips.

“Oh come on, doll. Lighten up! We both know this is gonna be just as good for you as it will be for me.” And with that, Jinwoo began to circle your damp entrance, feeling his way around the folds and teasing you for a second.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “If this is all you’re gonna do, these next ten minutes are gonna be a breeze.” His resolve tightened as he quickly inserted a finger without warning, rubbing at your walls while using an adjacent digit to press against your clit, already upping the ante.

It was a little bit of effort but you made sure to keep your breathing even, appearing unaffected to the other as he followed up with another finger, the stretch feeling more prominent around him. You could feel the beginnings of a bulge against your stomach, a growing hardness at your abdomen as Jinwoo pumped his fingers in and out of you languidly, like he had all day. It was wet and loud and he pulled your skirt up to get a good view of your ass as his fingers disappeared underneath you over and over again.

Around the five minute mark, Jinwoo had had enough of your lack of noise—obviously trying to keep still despite already being three fingers in and dripping wet.

To remedy the issue, he rose the hand that had been steadying you and brought it down hard against your ass cheek, the muscle jiggling at the motion. You yelped, not expecting the harsh treatment and that was the first of many as Jinwoo broke the metaphorical dam. He released relentless abuse on your rear, spanking you left and right, over and over again as his other hand refused to slow down, the wet squelch roaring in your ears.

You were panting like a dog, face down and whenever your eyes did open, all you caught sight of was the wrecked old fuzzy carpet of the motel room, covered in peculiar stains that were beyond questionable.

Losing all track of time, you whimpered a particularly desperate whine of Jinwoo’s name that had his fingers stuttering, just for a millisecond but enough of a hiccup that it made you realize just how close you were. Pushing away from his fingers, Jinwoo actually relented and slowed his ministrations down, just at the edge of your high and it was a bittersweet feeling. You were so close to coming and while the relief would’ve been great to feel but a harsh blow to your ego, not coming felt like it was the worst choice amongst the two.

It only lasted for a moment—a heartbeat—and Jinwoo’s fingers were back to pistoning into you again. A quick peek at the timer had him seeing that only about 3 or so minutes remained, and while he would enjoy the sweet taste of victory, watching you writhe in his lap was doing wonders to his filthy mind.

So he toyed with you some more, fingers picking up speed as he landed blow after blow and bringing you just up against the precipice again, your mind too far gone to even care at this point, and swiftly yanking you back and dousing you in ice cold water as he ripped away your orgasm once more.

It stung, both mentally and physically. You were sobbing at this point, begging for anything—nothing in specific, you were just a blubbering mess and Jinwoo was relishing every second of it.

“You want it? You wanna come, pretty baby?” Jinwoo’s gruff voice growled, a promise laced in his tone. You nodded vehemently, completely throwing the bet to the wind as you tried to grind back against the friction to your core.

Jinwoo had similar thoughts as yours, wanting nothing more than to see you come undone and he thrusted his fingers into you a few more times before you clenched around him, coming harder than you ever have in your entire life. It took some time for you to come down, Jinwoo patting you reassuringly and easing you up back onto the bed once you weren’t shaking anymore.

“Time?” You panted, barely understandable. Jinwoo reached for the phone and the smirk on his face told you everything, letting your head fall back onto the bed now that you were sure he’d won the damn bet.

“11 minutes and 14 seconds.”

You shot back up, a little disoriented but with determination you snatched the phone out of Jinwoo’s hand and read the numbers hastily, true to his word.

“Why are you so smug then?” With wide, dewy eyes, you looked up at the sandy haired boy. He shrugged his shoulders and smoothed his shirt down.

“Told you it’d be as good for you as it was for me.” A quick look down had you realizing that Jinwoo had come in his pants, probably around the same time as you had. Your laugh was airy, and Jinwoo chuckled along with you before suggesting a shower.

While lathering up, you turned to face Jinwoo, the spray hitting your back with medium velocity due to the motel’s shitty water pressure.

“Guess you’re gonna have to stay quiet the next heist.”

Jinwoo’s hands found purchase on your hips and tugged you closer, eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

“Double or nothing?”

#kreativewritersnet #astro #jinjin #jinwoo #park jinwoo #astro jinjin #jinjin imagines #jinjin scenarios #jinjin smut #jinjin fic #jinwoo imagines #jinwoo scenarios #jinwoo smut #jinwoo fic #astro smut #astro scenarios #astro imagines #kpop #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fic

[caffeinated-moonchild]

test of patience [min yoongi]

writer: michiko

genre: supernatural, short story, fan fiction, smut

synopsis: time is gold and can’t be paused…so talk.

character/s: min yoongi, raven [oc]

story:

Slender fingers moved across the keys as he played 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛’𝑠 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑒-𝐼𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑢 𝑂𝑝. 66—a piece that he had been fond of playing ever since 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢 appeared in the mansion. The piano room became his sanctuary whenever he was granted a free time from the hectic schedule of being a Warden to the host of 𝑊𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑹𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏.

The demon first appeared as an older woman named 𝐍𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚, who acted more like a governess with firm rules. But Yoongi has shown a different side as a Warden—a bit more quiet with a mischievous streak but easily upset. And Raven’s playful nature had not been helpful lately.

Every note danced in the air as the melody filled the empty spaces and corners of the piano room, as if sweeping off the dust that covered almost everything. The sliver of moonlight that peeked through the small gap between the velvet curtains made his pale skin glow.

The click and clack coming from an expensive pair of stilettos did not go unnoticed as Yoongi knew that sound like the back of his hand. He was well-aware that his peace would soon be disturbed and there was nothing he could do about it, as he was bound to stay as long as he is needed. The sound only got louder and louder, cutting through the music that he kept on playing.

❝I knew I’d find you here.❞ Her voice still had that childish tone, almost as if she was whining. And it was one of the things that Yoongi hated about the girl. The list goes on but her whiny tone was on top of the list. ❝I heard that you’re going to pick up Blaire. You know that you can’t do that.❞ Even without looking at her, Yoongi could hear the annoyance that was seeping through her words but it did not keep him from continuing the piece and not letting go of his momentum.

Skillful fingers worked its way across the keys as if he was running a marathon and the finish line was in sight. Frustration was etched on his face as he tried to deny that he felt something with the way her fingers traced the line of his arm, and her lips leaving feather kisses on his pale skin. He was already bitter and spiteful as he is only to be fueled by a mere host’s actions in a pathetic attempt to have power over him.

Finally accepting that he already lost his pace, he slammed both of his hands on the keys, a mess of uncoordinated notes echoing in the almost empty room. ❝Didn’t I tell you never to test my patience, Raven?❞ His voice sounded deeper than the usual tone that he used for Yoongi. There was an evident tinge of anger, frustration, and impatience.

The girl scoffed as she pressed her lips on the demon’s neck. ❝And what? Let you go to that minx just so you could fuck her?❞ She whispered, words passing through gritted teeth. A growl escaped her lips the moment she pulled away and turned on her heels to walk away from him. Her tanned fingers brushing through her raven hair as she huffed at the mere thought of Yoongi with the host of 𝐺𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑, 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞.

❝And why does that bother you?❞ He turned to the girl, his sharp eyes narrowing at the girl clad in a red dress matched with a pair of red stilettos. There was fire burning in his dark almost cat-like eyes, but no longer just anger but with a spark of something more. ❝Can’t a Warden look for fun while I’m stuck in this damned place?❞ He arched a brow at her as he stood up, heavy steps going towards her.

Her own dark eyes glared at the demon at the sound of the question that she wished she did not have to hear from him. ❝Are you fucking kidding me, Yoongi? You’re here to train me and not to screw one of the tenants!❞ she exclaimed, her patience starting to run empty. It had been a rough month of training and the new vessel that is her current body has still not grown accustomed to the intensity that it needed to adapt, in order to accomplish her future missions and tasks.

❝Exactly.❞ His voice was firm yet it dripped with an unfamiliar teasing tone, something he has not used before. ❝But us Wardens are stuck babysitting you brats. The least we can do is find something to entertain us.❞ He took one last step, leaving them with a couple of inches of space to breathe and to gather their hazy thoughts.  His hand went over to her hip, roughly pushing her against the wall. ❝If you don’t want me to look somewhere else, then that means you’ll be my source of entertainment.❞

Raven, the girl with flames in her eyes, found herself helpless in the hands of her Warden. Never did she think that she would be that close to the demon who torments her on the daily basis with rigorous training sessions that leave her body sore for days. She had a fear for the man who only showed up a month ago and yet has already managed to rattle her confidence.

Yoongi is a man of few words and so whenever he gets a little chatty, it was more than a miracle. But there were things better done that said, especially when it was with someone who he believed to be within his reach.

Leaning down, his lips pressed against her soft tan skin. Self-control was something he has never been good at and he was not about to start learning about it then, not when the girl’s hand was already gripping on his arm. ❝Yoongi,❞ she moaned his name as his kisses grew hungry against her skin, leaving a couple of bruises as a mark of her punishment. As much as he craved to leave more, he had nothing to prove to anyone as it was evident that the girl was wrapped around his finger.

As his fingers found the hem of her dress, he immediately pulled it off of her only to be blessed by her bare body. The corner of his lips tugged up to a smirk, not even hiding the fact that he found it interesting that the girl wore nothing underneath. A growl seeped through his gritted teeth, his hands roughly gripping on her hips as he finally closed in the gap by claiming her lips in his for a torrid kiss that spoke of his hunger. His hands wandered every crook and curve of her body while his lips explored every inch of her skin, leaving nothing untouched.

It was not long until Yoongi’s own clothes were thrown  across the room, leaving him just as bare and exposed. A string of messed-up notes echoed through the room when he accidentally set her down the keys rather than the bench. With that, a laugh escaped her red lips. ❝Never pegged you as the clumsy one, Min.❞ Her voice dripped of honey, her lips planting kisses on his bare chest and even leaving a mark right above where his heart would be if he had one.

Not that thrilled to be marked by the host, Yoongi tightly gripped on her hips with his thumb pressing her against the bench. Without any warning, he easily thrusted in with how her natural juices already dripped down her inner thighs. His movement was fueled by desire and unchained respect for rules. He did not care if he was only supposed to guard and train her because her velvet walls clenching around his entire length said that she did not mind, too.

Perfectly manicured nails dug through his skin, both pleading for control and begging for more. But he was only granting one of her requests.

With her slender legs wrapped around his waist, he sunk deeper into her core. Her hands travelled on his pale skin as she never thought she would see him in that kind of way. Groans and cusses slipped past his parted lips as his hips continued to move in his tasted pace. ❝Fuck.❞ He groaned, leaning forward to capture her lips once again. He winced when he felt her bite on his lower lip, making him pull away a little. Before his frustration erupted, the melodious sound of her moans and whimpers reached his ears. It was pure ecstasy.

❝As much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me, we have an early training tomorrow morning.❞ His voice was breathy as he stumbled on his words. His dark eyes scanned the mess that he made her to be and he could only be prouder once he sees her fall apart at the seams. His movements were still polished despite the roughness but  he could feel the familiar tension  that comes when he was almost at his peak, and the way her walls clenched around his length told him that she was just a thrust away from hers.

For the first time, Yoongi was glad that he was a demon with endless stamina. His eyes was glued to the masterpiece that he had created—her tan skin glowing with sweat, her eyes glistening with desire, her nails digging on his back, her lips singing his name.

When everything fell silent other than the sound of her uneven breathing, the haze in her mind slowly faded and it finally sunk in. Her lips trembled as it parted when she tried to say something but the man interrupted.

❝Don’t forget, five in the morning,❞ her firmly said as he buckled his belt. He looked around for his shirt before throwing it on. ❝And I don’t appreciate it if you are late.❞

With his words, the weariness faded. Her eyes widened as she just finished up putting on her dress and was in the process of collecting her stilettos from two different sides of the piano room. ❝Are you kidding me?❞ she exclaimed.

❝Do I look like I’m kidding?❞ He raised a brow at her as he opened the door, one foot out the door.

Her brows furrowed as she stomped her way towards him. ❝Fuck you,❞ she said through gritted teeth before she walked out of the room and to the direction of her bedroom which was at the end of the hall.

Seeing the girl on edge like that was a different kind of entertainment for Yoongi. Getting her agitated due to training is something but everything about her that night was better. ❝I’d like that some time, sweetheart!❞

#min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #bts yoongi fan fic #suga fanfic #suga fan fiction #bts x oc #original character #suga x oc #demon yoongi #supernatural bts #bts au #yoongi au #suga au #alternate universe fan fiction #au fanfic #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #wow many tags #so much tags #michiko writes #michiko

[agent-kentauris]

im really happy with how this WIP is going right now. it needs work especially with timeline-ing, but i’ll be offline for awhile and it will be a few weeks until i can come back to it, so im gonna put it here on tumblr for now, then probably ao3 once the whole thing is done.

[[WC 5000]]

This is how it feels to watch your best friend fall.

--

It starts simply.

One day you get a call.

It’s a professional interest.

Your IGNR talk - you were working on neural progenitors. I’ve found a way to control for the effect you mentioned. It goes like this. Can any of your people confirm?

Who is this?

David Sarif. We met at a conference last year.

You don’t remember.

You’ll always regret that.

--

It’s an academia thing. It isn’t obsession.

It’s late nights, because there is so much to do. He in America, you in England. Skype is a long way away, but Picus has experimental ways to talk, he in the air around you like the ideas, alive. Nano-scale artificial epidermis. Direct epiretinal enhancement. The implication of replication of optical illusions in eye prosthetics. There are things beyond the imagined.

It’s an academic thing. It’s early mornings, because the time difference exists. Though time, you say the first time an early morning effortlessly becomes a late night, time too is purely academic. An exercise in human imagination. Overclocking, he says. Hm? says you.

Overclocking biomechatronics for heat preservation in low temp environments. Read a study about it.

You look up, though he’s thousands of miles away, and smile, because you remember writing that one.

It’s an academic thing, though.

It’s an exchange of ideas.

The mutual pact of similarly minded people walking in the same academic field.

--

He admits that he was nervous. To call. The first time.

It’s astonishing. You can’t imagine him any less than he is – absolute.

Nervous? Him?

You’re the damn head of the field, he says.

It’s personal.

The academia is slipping.

Let’s not talk about this again, you say.

Alright.

Trick yourself into believing he sounds relieved.

--

It goes like this.

It’s academic.

It’s academic.

His struggling company goes public and you, with a handwave, get him a pass to Tai Yong’s first industry showcase. You owe Ru a favor. It’s a bad position to be in. You present your joint paper on nerve interfaces. He’s alive on stage in a way that captivates even the jaded. Nerve interfaces become unquantifiably fascinating, become the future, become something…with more potential than they possibly have. He paces and points and invites conversation and we are all, for the moment, involved. Way up there, are you beside him, or is he beside you? It doesn’t matter. You owe Ru a favor but you and he are side by side. These places your are at, they equalize.

The paper, you tell yourself, is academic.

The pride when Ru, without prompting, invites him back next year is...

Personal.

It’s a tradition. The start of a tradition. Every year. You and he, at the top of the new world order.

You’ll miss it when it’s gone.

--

It’s personal.

The integrated workspaces are a given, by now. There was a time when you could work alone, and there was a time when you wanted to, and there was a time when you didn’t. They’re all past. He is a given, outside any conscious choice. Sometimes, it is hours of silence and one typed out what do you think of this, and sometimes, it is a day and a half of discussion you don’t understand when you look back over your notes except one or two sparks of engineered brilliance. Sometimes you don’t take notes. Debate for the joy of it. Scholastic. There is something you missed about the theoretical. And so, the integrated workspaces become a given. The audiolinks. The shared screens. The general document access. A bloody security nightmare, says your IT team. A fucking security nightmare, says his.

But.

It’s acknowledged that you both work better together.

It’s acknowledged that it’s simple synergy.

It’s personal.

In those quiet moments when there is no work to talk about he mentions his family. His company is small enough that it is still a family. You don’t tell him that will change. It might not. Given the way he speaks of them…

You learn their names, slowly. Athene, Josie, Vasili.

You learn to know them as well as anything else you know.

They are an extension of his life, and so you extend a degree of interest towards them.

It’s a personal thing, nothing more.

--

Lies.

--

Lies.

It’s familial.

--

It’s familial.

He’s supposed to be there.

It’s a Nobel prize, for god’s sake.

Is the concern misplaced?

Likely.

Unlikely.

Likely.

I’d like to begin, you start.

Your aide enters the back of the room, panicked eyes. She waves.

Excuse me, you say, immediately, to the titans of the industry.

There’s been an incident, she says.

You are on the next flight.

Your titles and persuasions mean nothing to the doctor standing resilient in front of you. An obstacle unpersuaded by a final desperate do you know who I am?

He’s family, Athene says, squeezing past the doctor and through the door, gesturing, grabbing your arm.

You’ve never seen her in person, but you’d recognize her anywhere.

David’s done a good job bringing things to life, as always.

An assembly line accident, Athene says as you walk.

Will he survive? you ask.

There are several more of them sitting in the waiting room, heads in hands, half-asleep.

One looks up.

Maybe, he says, with a light Russian accent, and shrugs. Maybe not.

Your aide reminds you that the Nobel committee called while you were somewhere over the Atlantic.

They aren’t family.

They don’t matter anymore.

--

It’s industrial. David’s new arm. The first model. Nothing like the best available at the time, the most realistic, the most integrated, and yet…

You look at the schematics, and the plans, and the design philosophy and it is breathtakingly industrial. Conceptual. Its potential for adaptation far exceeds everything else. It isn’t designed to perform, it’s designed to change. Constantly. It is replicate of a living thing so closely that but for the presence of alloys and angles, you’d forget what you are looking at. It will be an industrial standard, if not today, then tomorrow.

He doesn’t look happy with it.

“I…” he says, trailing off. Two months of rehabilitation therapy and he still has difficulty lifting it. It is industrial, not intuitive. He’ll adapt. He’ll make it better.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he says. This was supposed to be yours first.

What? you say.

The schematics were for you.

He shows you. Months of work, kept off your shared workspaces. Biomechatronic prosthetics designed for you, designed for your leg, your knee.

The arm he created will become an industry standard. This, though…

This is science fiction.

He flexes his prosthetic fingers with difficulty. This is just an adaptation, he says. Not a good one, either. But that one…that’ll work.

--

It doesn’t.

--

They call it DDS.

--

He has several folders full of the research on your shared servers. Studies based on your DNA.

If you were more astute perhaps you would have noticed, then.

If you were less lost you might have noticed it then.

You could have saved him.

Stopped him.

One or the other.

--

It’s academic.

It has to be.

It’s all you can handle, at the moment.

The first year of recovering is hell. The migraines. The dizziness. The flashback imprinted memories of those first few days of seizures, the first sign that anything was truly wrong. You should be glad, people say without thinking, that it was only the control chip they implanted. The chip is one centimeter by one centimeter. You had it for twelve days. You can’t see straight for a month. You can’t leave the house without sunglasses for four months. Walking was never easy for you. You don’t recover enough of your balance to stand for half a year.

You miss the Tai Yong conference.

He presents a paper on rejection syndrome.

You can’t even listen to the audio recordings without the migraines getting bad enough to black your vision out.

You don’t hear from him for a year, because, you can’t.

The flashbacks lurk so quietly.

--

The things you ignore for the sake of your survival.

He’s shaking during a presentation in New York ten pm local, and another one in Berlin one am local. At home, in the dark, you leverage your connections to discover he took a Concord between both places.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Did you sleep? you wonder.

We’re getting there, he says in a BBC interview at seven am local. It’s all theoretical, but we’re doing genometric sequences. If we can find the right code, we can reverse DDS. Universal augmentations.

They’re taking questions from twitter.

You make a fake account.

Augmentations? you ask.

PR says it’ll be beyond prosthetics, he says, looking at the camera. There are lines under his eyes and he can’t hold steady but his voice is unwavering. I agree.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The new American Recession rippling out across all the Illuminati’s plans. One emergency council meeting after another. They call you to several. Why don’t you go?

Picus reports financial news. One day, SI is down fifty points. The next day it is not. The things you ignore. The council in intrigued. Ru is annoyed.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Find out what is going on, they instruct.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

It’s DARPA contracts, the council’s military insiders eventually discover. DARPA contracts and military money. They’ll be keeping an eye on him.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The Tai Yong conference gets moved from Shanghai to Hengsha. DI sends representatives. So does SI. Sarif himself is busy, it seems, working on personal projects.

Vasily comes to England for an official Darrow-Sarif Industries collaboration. No one tells you. You learn about it when the paper is published.

--

It’s a wake up call.

It goes like this.

Dowd says, in New York, then?

Morgan says, the new kids don’t take too well to old money.

Ru says, the new kids?

Lucius voice breaks in, commanding. Hengsha is the seat of our power in this regards, and you, Ru, our primary control mechanism on that sector. It will take place at TYM’s headquarters.

Rand says under his breath, if Hugh will leave London, that is.

The things you’ve ignored for your survival. None of them admonish Rand for his remark.

“Forgive me,” you say. The voice-scrambler controls for the way you struggle with the efforts of still being awake right now. “We’re discussing…?”

There is a moment of silence on the line.

Perhaps it’s disbelief.

Perhaps you don’t care.

David Sarif’s recruitment? Dowd says, a question in his tone.

Ru is far more blunt.

Are you with us? she asks.

“No,” you say. “When?”

There is another moment of silence on the line.

There is no room for sympathy at the top of the world.

Next week, Ru finally says. No one else says anything.

Ah, you say. Next week, then.

It’s a wake-up call.

It’s four a.m. in David’s part of America.

s’David, he answers, slurred in the middle of a yawn.

“Tai Yong is going to ask you to meet with them in one week. Don’t say yes, David.” Urgency infects the speed at which you speak, making it less likely that he will understand. You can’t slow yourself.

Hugh? he says, sleepy, surprised, in shock. Is that you?

“David, listen to me-”

Now he’s awake. It’s instant. He’s furious. You can’t get a word in edgewise. Where have you been? Where have you goddamn been?! It’s fury covering up for something sadder, though, something that tinges his voice with a nervous tremor you haven’t heard since- since- since I’ve found a way to control the effect. It goes like this.

“DON’T,” you insist, your voice harder than it’s ever been with him, “tell them yes.”

It stops him in his verbal tracks.

If it injures him, you’ll forgive yourself.

And yet, the quiet you suffer far worse than the preceding tirade.

“Why?” he asks.

You don’t have an answer. Only urgency.

“Please, David,” you say instead.

He’s fast on the uptake. Maybe too fast.

“Is someone threatening you?” he asks. It’s an academic interest, you tell yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it.

Is someone threatening you?

Are they?

Who are they threatening, exactly?

What’s wrong? What’s so wrong?

What is so wrong with you?

“I’m asking you this as a friend,” you say. “I won’t ask again.”

A bit of a laugh from David. This time the disbelief is present.

“Are you threatening me?” he asks.

“The only threat,” you say, “is Tai Yong Medical. You will not go.”

“Fine,” he says coolly. It’s another thing you’ve never heard from him.

Nonetheless, it is perhaps the most relaxing thing he could have said.

“David-” you start, not knowing how to explain.

Except.

He’s hung up.

On you.

Two weeks later the council convenes and invites you so they can berate you for your absence at TYM’s headquarters, and then they proceed to talk about integration steps for their latest member, and where he will fit in, and what rank Sarif will be given, and you are certain that the DDS should no longer be causing extreme dizziness, yet. You can barely keep your world still.

It’s a wake-up call.

--

It’s the first time you’ve stepped foot inside his Detroit headquarters. It’s the first time you’ve come into contact with it. Sarif hasn’t connected it to your shared workspaces. Why would he? You’re never online. It’s cold, and gold, and alight in an inorganic way. The lights are replicas of something that used to come naturally, to him. The angles celebratory in their unfamiliarity with nature. We are something more than real, the construction says.

Much of this was paid for by DARPA contracts, you think.

There are several lightboard pillars displaying the history of biomechatronics – no, augmentations. You’re on one of them.

Hugh Darrow’s groundbreaking work with human enhancement has altered the very fabric of society.

It would not be a mistake to say that he changed the world as we know it.

Past tense.

You’ve got time.

You’ve got time to stop this.

You don’t recognize him. His new augment is solid black, with silver in the joints.  The lines of it are sharp, and unapologetic. Artistic. Aesthetic.

The industrial is a memory.

Athene sees you before he does. She’s past shock, going straight to anger.

“You,” she hisses, eyes flaring, cutting David off mid-sentence. “Absolutely not.”

David leans off her desk as she snaps around it, a security officer in her wake.

“Hugh?” he says, tone empty. “What are you doing here?”

Athene holds up a hand. “You don’t have to talk to him, David.”

The security officer at her side crosses his arms. Your own security bristles in response.

“If you don’t mind,” you say.

“Oh, but I do,” she says. “I very much do.”

You look past her, towards David. He meets you with a tired stare.

His eyes are silver, too.

It’s a shock.

What happened?

When did it happen?

Why weren’t you watching?

“David,” you say.

He says nothing.

“If you want to speak to Mr. Sarif,” Athene says, “you’ll need an appointment.”

“That’s beneath you, Athene,” you inform her.

“I don’t think you have a right to say that,” she says.

The jab lashes at some vulnerable part of you, stings, because, there is no defense. Perhaps it’s beneath her. Perhaps it was beneath you, to wait so long, to stay away so long. To live as if underwater for so long.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

This is more important.

“It’s about Them,” you say over her shoulder.

“Who?” she says.

You watch him. You still know him. Under the framework of these past few years, under the new things and the learned things, it’s still him. Considering, calculating, weighing, even though he’d already decided the moment he heard you. He taps his hand against the side of his desk as he thinks, but his subconscious has already decided.

The only thing you don’t know is what conclusion he’s reached.

You would have assumed…

But he went to meet them.

And you don’t know anymore.

You can’t guess anymore.

His eyes should be bright under the lights in the office, but instead they are muted and dull.

He nods his head towards his office.

“Come on,” he says. “Athene, let him through.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives a half-laugh.

“Athene,” he repeats. “It’s about Hengsha.”

She locks into neutral with alarming speed. Every tell concealed. How bad was it? What happened? What was he told, and why did he buy it, if Athene is…? The piece don’t add up. The concern is growing. Spiraling. Now is not the time to lose control.

Control it.

She steps back wordlessly.

Your security looks at you.

“Wait here,” you tell her.

Back then, there was no danger.

--

It should be a relief.

“They’re called the Illuminati,” you begin.

Everett. Lucius. Ru, Rand, Dowd. The Council of Five, Versalife, Picus. Everything David knows, everywhere he comes from, everywhere anyone who is anyone comes from these days is under their influence. All under their purview. All under their control. Their goal? The new world order. You tell him everything.

He laughs at first, then he grows quiet, then he grows somber. He stops pacing around the office and sits across the desk from you, and watches you, and fidgets with a pen in his hands.

When you finish, he stops twirling the pen through his fingers.

“You’re telling me this why?” he asks.

It’s the only thing he says.

You don’t have an answer.

“You aren’t curious as to how I’ve come to know about their plans?” you ask, deflecting.

“Easy,” he says, with a shrug. “You’re one of ‘em.”

“I could be a rebel, fighting against a corrupt system,” you say, in jest.

In jest.

“Corrupt?” he asks, and he’s dead serious. “From what they said, sounds like they’ve got the right idea.”

You can’t speak for a moment. You never expected he’d agree with them.

“I know you don’t believe that,” you say, when you can.

“Why not?” he says, shrugging again. “Tai Yong’s on the forefront of innovation. So are you. They’ve got the money and the power to make it work. To do what we have to so we can get it done.”

“They-” you say, slowly, struggling to work past the flat astonishment at hearing him say anything in line with Illuminati beliefs. “They believe in... they believe in control, and stagnation, and they will never let humanity achieve our potential, never let you achieve your potential, David, surely you must understand-”

“What makes you think they won’t?” he challenges, leaning back into chair. “What makes you so sure about that?”

“You can’t be so naïve,” you say. “Look at the larger picture, David. Your work with human enhancement has the potential to alter the very fabric of-”

“-society,” he finishes, rueful smile. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Hugh, I wrote that damn paragraph.”

“It applies,” you say. “Doesn’t it?”

He pushes himself up.

“You’re wasting your time.” he says, with an air of finality. “I told them yes. I meant it.”

He walks around you, towards the door.

“David, you can’t trust them-”

“Then I can’t trust you,” he points out. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

A sudden, sore pain encircles your throat.

“David,” you protest. “I’m not here as an Illuminatus. I’ve never been here as an Illuminatus.”

“Haven’t you, though?” he says, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” you say firmly. “I haven’t. And I’m hurt you would think that of me.”

“Think what?” he says. “I’m not the one accusing them of being all that bad. Athene?” he adds, pushing the door open. “We’re done here.”

It’s not fear. Why would it be? The Illuminati are…are not that bad? Correct? They are a part of you and they have never been the threat to humanity. Chaos has. And yet…it’s something.

Imagine him, with cold eyes, and control. Looking down at the world from someplace disconnected. Imagine him, unchanging. Unevolving.

Static.

Cessation.

You’ll lose him.

It’s not fear making breathing a conscious act, it’s not fear making you feel the impact of your heart rate. It isn’t fear making your voice rise. It isn’t, you tell yourself. It’s not. It’s not fear, because it’s not possible he’ll go through with this. They are antithetical to him. The two cannot coexist. They’ll destroy him. Everything that is him. The telos inherent.

“David, it’s critical that you listen to me,” you insist.

“I did,” he says. “Next time you want to stop by too late you feel free to.”

He gestures towards the waiting area, a please leave sweep of his augmented arm.

“Me, I’ve got work to do,” he says.

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t.

This hurt encircling you doesn’t. His decisions don’t.

“This can’t be what you want,” you say.

“Would you know, Hugh?” he asks. “It’s been three years. Would you really know?”

You haven’t heard it counted out loud.

“Three years?” you repeat.

It’s a sarcastic snort. “Almost. You weren’t counting the days? I was.”

“Don’t make this about you,” you say. “I was injured.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, Athene appearing briskly beside him with a scowl on her face. “You really thought the best way for me to figure that out was from your press secretary? It was my design, Hugh. You were my friend.”

Past tense.

“Don’t pretend as if you don’t still care,” you say, feeling like you’ve lost a battle that was suddenly more important than you realized. “This issue doesn’t go away because you feel slighted.”

“Slighted?” he says, looking away, nodding. “That what you think? Is that what you think?” He bites on his lip. “Huh,” he says. “Slighted. Who’d have thought.”

“You need to leave,” Athene says, her voice a hard line, the security behind her an ultimatum.

Walking in a straight line is difficult. Walking in a straight line and making it look as if it takes no effort is not possible.

He moves aside, and does not look at you.

“David,” you say, not knowing what to follow it up with, not knowing what to say. You have to say something. You have to stop this.

He gives you a tight, professional Picus-polished smile, and clips back into his office. Athene shuts the door behind him, keeping her eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Why is he doing this?” you say, half to yourself, half in the hopes that Athene will answer.

“You should already know that,” she says, walking back over to her desk. “I’m not inclined to help you figure it out, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s not encouraging. But she is answering. And David is not.

“Please,” you say. “They’ll be the end of him. I know they will.”

Her steps falter, for a beat.

And it is opportunity.

A chance.

It might be a chance.

“What has he told you?” you ask.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” she says, but she turns around to face you. “What do you know?”

Oh god, it is a chance.

“Much,” you say, talking fast, because if you miss this chance, and if this is the last one, you will never forgive yourself. “I know that they and he are not alike. Their natures are dissimilar. I know that the he and they can’t coexist, that they have ulterior motives far beyond anything he can understand. No. Beyond anything he will allow himself to understand. I know this can’t be what he wants.”

Her eyes soften, a bit.

“I was worried it might be so,” she says. “Tell me everything.”

“No,” you say, an instant reaction. David is a different matter from all the other people you know. He’s different.

“It isn’t safe for you,” you add, in response to her newly crossed arms.

“Then I suppose,” she says, “you’ve done all you can. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s slipping away. It’s getting away from you.

“I…” you say.

“Yes?” she says.

“I…no.”

“Hm,” she says, and crosses the rest of the way to her desk.

The sound of her typing accompanies you to the lift.

You reach it. You press the call button. You imagine David in ten years, twenty. With every passing minute the outcome seems worse. The two cannot coexist. And the Illuminati is too powerful to be brought down by one man.

They’ll kill him.

Will they kill him?

It’s not like them to waste an asset.

It’s not like him to be controlled.

What can’t be controlled can’t be called an asset.

The chaotic can only be a threat.

Who is being threatened, here?

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the man sitting twenty feet away alone in his office, and all that matters is that if you leave, you’ll never be this close to him again. The personal stake is academic. The academic stake is irrelevant. The thing invoking fear and causing your chest to tighten and calling forth the seizure-fringed flashbacks is something far deeper. Something essential. Something deep-rooted and complex and related, perhaps, to love. No. It’s something simple.

You can’t lose him.

Not to them.

The lift arrives with a ping, and it becomes a conscious thought.

I can’t lose him. Not to them.

You don’t realize it then, but it is perhaps the first time you’re aware that you can lose to them. That you and they are distinct. That your losses are not their losses.

That your gains will not be their gains.

The doors have opened. And now, they are closing.

Your security says, Mr. Darrow?

You turn around. Athene is looking up.

“Well?” she says.

--

It’s money.

That’s all it is.

That’s all it comes down to.

You’ve underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

The media has grossly underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

He’s been killing himself over this, she says, hardly pulling her punches. She takes some pity on you, though. When she says this, you know she means you.

Half the company is devoted to it. He’s determined to beat it. He blames himself, she says. For what happened to you.

He couldn’t have known.

Don’t play that game with me.

He couldn’t have.

It comes down to money, though. He’s burned through his resources, his connections, reached the end of every route he knows and he still hasn’t solved it.

It’s a last resort. They must have known. The Council has offered him the power to reach a higher level of enlightenment.

He’s taken it.

All you have to do, she says, is offer him an alternative. Any alternative. Coming from you, he’ll take it.

Athene accompanies you back to SI, back to the lift.

She holds to door to his office open for you.

The frown flashes fast across David’s face. “Don’t-”

“Neuropozyne,” you say. You’ve invented the word right then and there. Even the merest idea of the drug is still only a concept. You say it with confidence, as if it is a certainty.

“What about it?” he asks, with a suspicious that is only tempered by Athene’s presence.

“You don’t know it,” you tell him. “We haven’t released any information about it. But it’s designed to treat DDS – minor cases, at least. We could work with it, though.”

“Yeah?” he says, still leaned over his keyboard, still unwilling to engage.

“We could have it commercially viable as soon as the end of the year,” you say, the promises coming wild off the top of your head now. Why not?

“I would have heard about it,” he says.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah?” he says again, this time pushing his chair back, and resting his arms on the sides. A false air of open congeniality.

“Yes,” you affirm. “Because I only invented it a moment ago.”

It is the highlight of your arrogance. The breadth of your assumptions. A desperate hope that you can take this leap and some god-forsaken-how, your intelligence will catch you.

He regards you for a second, then two, then more. You catch yourself breathing too quickly.

The wearied lines in the corner of his eyes disappear as he breaks out into a smile.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he says. “Where the hell have you been, Hugh? You got a lot to catch up on.”

He’s out of his chair and across the room in an instant, grabbing your free forearm and pulling you into a hug, always the one for the importance of tactility, and he says come on, I’ll take you on a tour of the place, and Athene’s dangerous edge dissipates, a bit.

It should be a relief. It should all be a relief.

Instead, it is the first time you’ve felt fear. True fear.

Your goals and their goals are no longer the same.

And you are well aware what happens to their enemies.

You are well aware of what happens to their traitors.

--

The council is lousy with misunderstanding.

Dis-understanding?

Un-understanding?

They’ve only heard yes for far too long.

You watch it defy their framework of understanding so uniquely.

Lucius and Rand are ready to write David off. Morgan and Ru are taking a long game stance on the issue. Dowd seems caught somewhere between American patriotic pride in Sarif and aristocratic perturbation.

“I can convince him,” you tell them. You are lightheaded with the defiance. It is a risk beyond any other. Beyond anything you’ve taken since…

Since your skiing incident, you think.

Oh, how have you missed that adrenaline.

You tell them that you can convince David, and they trust you.

The risk is heady, but you don’t think about what happens if-

When that trust becomes eroded.

When that trust becomes eroded…

Well. We can’t all live forever, can we?

Best not to let them catch on, then.

#WIP #deus ex #david sarif & hugh darrow #david sarif #hugh darrow #what how are we still pre dxhr with this

[domeverett]

Making The Cut. James + Cass.

Title: Making the Cut  Timeframe: Sometime in the afternoon of 9.27  Tagging: @cruelboy Cassius Westbrooke and James Ashworth. Total: ~3,000 words  Notes: Completed.

JAMES

James was honestly used to this sort of thing. Someone didn't make the team and felt entitled to know why. These boys, though very skilled and often competitive in impressive ways, were also entitled. They were used to being able to bully or buy their way into anything they wanted and if not? They had mom and dad come in and try a second round. Some sent their parents in on the first go round.

He had been prepared for at least one fight when he'd posted the team listing to the school bulletin board, just outside the main dining hall, where teachers sat for their meals at the faculty table. He just hadn't assumed Westbrooke would be one of them. 

"As I said," James looked up from his papers, fingers slotting together over a pile of syllabi. "The decision has been made. I know that each student tries their best when they're out on the track but unfortunately there are a limited number of spots, which means not everyone will get one." 

He paused, knowing compliments often softened the blow. "Yours was an excellent tryout...but there were better runners. It's that simple..." Though the intricacies of his decision weren't technically that unburdened. There was one Dom student who might not have made the cut but James assumed Cassius merely wanted to keep fit, for aesthetic reasons. He could do that on his own time. "Surely there are other physical fitness activities you could pursue....?"

CASSIUS

Cassius can be quite machiavellian when he wants to be. He’s got his preferred method for solving certain problems, but he’s smart enough to realize that a good kiss with a fist can’t solve everything. (Most things, but not all things.) He hasn’t written off the possibility that that’s what this situation needs just yet, but he’s willing to adapt to the whatever challenges Mr. Ashworth throws his way.

Cassius is invested in Cross Country. He doesn’t really care about soccer or lacrosse, though he sees their importance in keeping his demons tamed - but Cross Country is one sport that doesn’t require him to be part of a team and he is damn good at it. After the initial burst of anger that burns bright like a firecracker when the news he hasn't been picked initially drops, Cassius stops and makes a decision. He’s going to get Mr.Ashworth to change his mind. 

Three seconds into talking to this man and he knows that persuasion is the poison of the night. He won’t be coy about it, nothing was ever gained without boldness but this last statement that almost makes him throw his composure out the window. This is a submissive thing, isn't it? There’s that firecracker again, threatening to go off, threatening to spark hot. 

“Yeah, I'm already doing soccer and lacrosse and I’m going to fucking blow my brains out if I have to do another team sport. The other ones don’t really interest me. I want to do Cross Country.” Cassius says firmly. His gaze finds the other like a lighthouse. “You’re making a mistake,” He continues. “I made great times out there. But that’s the thing... you need at someone who can make the times and handle the stress that comes with - and at least three of the guys you picked are pussies.” Cassius states this like fact. Because it is. “What’s it going to take you to reconsider?”

And if Mr. Ashworth doesn’t reconsider, Cassius is determined to make the rest of his life at Lowell a living hell.

JAMES

James gave pause as Cassius laid out the dire nature of his self-inflicted predicament. He blinked a few times and studied the student. "Two other sports and you're aiming for a third, alongside classes?" It was true that at Lowell they pushed for excellence but the submissives were meant to focus on more of the... softer arts. Now that he knew Cassius had made two other sports he was even more concerned that he wasn't embracing his role here. 

"Wouldn't you prefer more energy to... perfect the activities that you're already apart of?" James liked to work in one particular way when it came handling disagreements with students: convince the other person that what he wanted was what they wanted. 

He sat back at Cassius' critique of the Dominant students. "Mr. Westbrooke, if I'm not mistaken, you've just arrived on campus, yes?" He asked. "And you're telling me you know these students very well and know how they handle stress?" He lifted his brows, almost inviting Cassius to confirm this, even though the way he'd laid out the assertion msde it clear that was impossible. "Because I have been coach of Cross Country since I began my teaching tenure here and I tend to have an ability to pick capable and competent athletes." Not a slight on Cassius but James knew the other may take it as one. "It was a close call and you would have been...a fine addition to the team, but I just don't see how your argument for reconsideration is based on more than 'I want it and I deserve it more than the ones who got it.'" 

He wasn't about to reward such an argument. It was lazy. It seemed an invitation for Cassius to make a better one if he wanted to sway James for real. The Dominant could appreciate a good mental back and forth. Kept the mind sharp. "Do you see where that puts me in regard to your request?" Though, it was favorable that Cassius wanted it badly enough that he was willing to fight for it.

CASSIUS

“Yes” Cassius said, rather stiffly as he listened to the other's response. Glad this one could count. “Real kind of you to look out for me, but I know what I can handle.” 

And he meant that. Cassius had spent the majority of his life looking out for only himself and Cassius would continue doing so. He really didn’t need someone who barely knew him telling him what was best for him or where his energies would be better spent. He watched the professor sit back in his chair and he settled back into his own. Cassius wanted to let out an exasperated sigh when Mr. Ashworth demanded an explanation as to how exactly he knew. There was an eye-roll, certainly not the last of the evening, but Cassius returned a steady gaze to the older man. His jaw clicked in determination. No point in lying. “I know these things because because I’ve fucked all three of them.” He said, like it hadn't meant much. It hadn't. He hadn't done them all at the same time, of course, but that would have been fun, wouldn’t it? A thought for another time and place, “or ‘knew them,’” He continued Quote, unquote, “In the biblical sense. Whatever politically correct phrasing you need in order to not write off the validity of the point here. I can confidently say from first hand they cannot handle stress.” 

His eyes narrowed, gaze sharpened, though his words were the things a person would cut themselves on. Cassius leaned in, at the edge of his chair so it tipped forward slightly. He enunciated his words, a little like he was speaking to a child.  

“My argument for reconsideration is based on the fact that I am better than them.” And I want it and deserve it. But that, apparently, was already a given. “I know this is about my class and I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here by protecting an archaic and regressive system. It won’t mean anything when you don’t place at regionals. Silver and bronze don’t matter, people only remember gold.”

JAMES

"It's my job to think about all students, but especially ones who I have selected to be on my team," he said confidently. He paused, cautious of his words. "It's always good to know your limits," he said, knowing the usual associations of the word. 

The eyeroll. The crassness with which he spoke -- however honest -- the determination he'd made of the selections James had made. There was a part of him, somewhat dormant but ever present, that was prickling a little at the way Cassius insinuated himself into this decision. As if he knew better. As if James was mistaken. A dominant made mistakes sure, but his had been a strategic choice. He felt sound in his logic. Yet...Cassius talking back, being a little more obstinate...it wasn't the type of submissive James was used to. It reminded him of something. Almost as though a long forgotten place he had once known but rarely visited. He was catching glimpses of that place. Ghosts. Yet he couldn't quite get it to show itself to him. 

"You dangle your...acceptance...as a surety of gold. You tout your talent and your grit. You seem so certain of your persecution based on your classification." James seemed to hold back just a touch of amusement. Of course he'd heard this before. It was something of a tactic, whether genuine or not, which some subs here used to get their way. There was such shame for some Dominants and such a scrambling to appear PC that they wouldn't dare to let themselves stand accused of being classist. 

"No, I can see...you want this." He moved from his chair and walked around his desk to settle against it. He crossed his arms over his chest. "So, I'll give you three options. You can do what apparently hadn't crossed your mind in the first place, and ask nicely for a spot on the team." He paused. "You can ask one of those Dominants you're so sure won't get me the gold to step down so you may have their spot..." James' blues looked at the man. "Or, you can accept defeat." 

In a way, James need not assert his Dominance at all in a scenario like this. It was plain for Cassius to see in the manner in which he handled the complaint. He knew this choice would not be easy for a guy like Westbrooke. It would be a true sign of character to see what he ended up choosing. Your move. He seemed to say.

CASSIUS

Cassius processed the options as they were given to him. Absofuckinglutely not, was his immediately response to the first. When had Cassius ever asked for anything nicely in his life? The second was laughable: and Cassius wanted to ask if Mr. Ashworth wanted to be responsible for a dead body. That was the only way Cassius was getting through a conversation like that with a Dom. 

But the third.... the third was just downright unacceptable. Cassius wouldn’t even consider it, couldn’t even consider it. Immediately, it repelled him. Cassius stepped into this office with every intention of changing this professor’s mind and he didn’t intend to leave without it. A bitterness spread across his tongue. His lips threatened to stretch back and bare teeth, a caged animal ready for a fight. So. One or two it was. 

“That’s a helluva choice.” He said slowly. 

He hated this trichotomy offered to him, as if these were the only three options in the world. But that was the way of this place wasn’t it? The trichotomy of classification, the dichotomy of dominance and submission. Cassius was going to burn it all down, but that was a long con. He knew this. For now, Cassius was going to make Mr. Ashworth regret putting such an offer on this table. It was a shift in him, a simmering under the surface, like he had smoke for skin. And now, like a chameleon, he changed. Cassius’ sharp eyes, usually quick and darting, trailed slowly up to look at the other from the spot they had settled at his feet. He counted the seconds in his head — and made sure to linger just a hair too long on the Professor’s crotch. It wasn’t long, blink and you missed it. Up and up he continued till their gazes were  locked. Cassius looked up at him through dark eyelashes. 

In that moment, Cassius decided he wanted to haunt this man. 

“But if asking you nicely is really all it’s going to take,” Cassius was all edges, but he traded them out now for poisoned honey. “Then I think you should look at the cold hard evidence presented. Look at those actual times and consider the people. I think you’ll find it the team’s best interest, in your best interest,” his eyes casually flicked to his area of interest, “to reconsider your decision, Sir.” 

Your move. He replied.

JAMES

James gave a look, as though Cassius should know to expect nothing less from James than being given a choice of that caliber. And if he didn't know it yet then he did know it now. James was not one to be ruffled or trifled with. No, he'd been through dances like these before. Skirmishes of will power. Of trying to navigate and negotiate something one wanted and using nothing to bargain. He knew the tricks and there was a relative sort of ease with which he dexterously handled the other. It wasn't about classification, not really. It was an exciting grapple of minds. That's what got James in these encounters. 

He'd not lost many of times against someone trying to exercise their will over him. It was partly why he enjoyed being sponsor of Debate so much. He got to test his mental muscles and exercise them regularly. Same with his use of words and handling the mental landscape. It was something he felt helped him in his study and instruction of Dominance, too. If someone was perceptive enough to see what the situation required and have the manner and will to execute it...they already had a strong foundation for Dominance.

"Ah, ah," said James. He'd noticed the look Cassius gave toward his bulge. He wasn't made uncomfortable. They were all men here. Adult men. Studied men. Let him look. He wouldn't be the first. Yet, he wouldn't be the one to touch either. James would be sure of that. "That's not what I said." 

James wanted to stand in front of Cassius but he didn't. Just remained leaned against the desk with his arms crossed and blue gaze utterly comfortable. "I said you could ask nicely. What you did was suggest something to me." Did his lips curl up in the slightest smirk? Did his humor show in the near subtle arch of his brow? Did amusement color his tone? "I thought for sure you could do better than that..." he paused. "Can you?" He made it a question. He felt that boys like Cassius liked having the answer. "Would be a shame, if not."

CASSIUS

Oh this motherfucker wanted him to say ’Please.’ Now there was a foreign term for Cassius, but he was in it now. He was decided in his decision to haunt. Haunt he would. 

It’s clear goading. Cassius, for all his layers and intricacies, has one very obvious button and it was clear James had found it. Looked like he was having a little too much fun pushing it too if that smirk was anything to go off. That was a good sign for Cassius. More importantly, Professor Ashworth was in no way perturbed by Cassius’ wandering gaze, which made Cassius wonder how close he could get. 

He stood up, and moved to close the space between them. Till they were standing toe to toe. “Sounds like you’re looking for something very specific.” He licked his lips, grey blue eyes finding bright blue. “Kinda like you want me to beg for it.” 

Fingers danced forward till they met the fabric of slacks on Professor Ashworth’s thigh. 

“I’d like you to please reconsider your decision to let me onto this team, Sir.” 

That nice, enough for you? 

Truth be told, Cassius liked working for it. Nothing not struggled for was nothing truly earned. There was an element of fun to this, cat and mouse — though Cassius was still deciding though if James was worth the chase.

JAMES

James wasn't usually one to push like this. Only if he had a clear sense of his boundaries; but Cassius didn't seem the wilting flower type. He seemed to have just as much a backbone for this type of banter as anyone else. They were both adults though and James had set about handling Cassius, given the boy's sense of entitlement and his penchant for being bossy. 

He quirked a brow as Cassius moved to stand toe to toe. Whatever he was doing James was unbothered. He was merely curious to see where Cassius would try to take this. The fingers on his thigh had James glancing down before looking back up into Cassius' eyes. His fingers gently clasped around the man's hand on his thigh and rubbed a circle over the back of it before he patted it twice and set back at Cassius' side. 

"I appreciate the use of the title," said James. "And really...I can tell that must have taken something for you." James couldn't help the little lift to the corner of his mouth. He should accept the offered words. Really, they would have sufficed for anyone else. Though James wanted to see how well Cassius actually listened to direction and took to James' authority on matters such as this. 

In a way this was Cassius' second try out. He may not believe this was a team sport but that didn't mean he could do whatever he wanted. As his coach Cassius would have to listen to James. Would he heed him? Would he follow direction? Even if he didn't always like it? 

"But, again, that's not what I asked." James watched him. "That was another suggestion. Can you...ask me? Truly. Like you want to be on the team?" Let me hear it, he wanted to say. Let me know that this is what you want. Ask me for it. "We can take some time and revisit this conversation, if you'd like to think about it." 

This wasn't an all or nothing one time deal. He wasn't a monster. Cassius could wrestle with whatever he needed to and decide if it was worth it. But James had set his terms. It was up to Cassius to meet him where he stood.

CASSIUS

Fingers circled over his skin twice, far more intimate than they had any right to be considering the resounding “no” that the gesture ultimately screamed. The pat was almost comical. Cassius let out a sound that was half scoff, half laugh. 

The way he saw it, he’d given his offer. This guys loss if he wasn’t going to take it - and Cassius, as overwhelming as he was, was not the sort to force himself onto someone. People earned the punches they received without asking them for all the time, this was not the same for intimacy. 

“Oh now you’re just being difficult,” Cassius all but mocked. 

Still, he was no quitter. The hand that had been placed at his side clenched, still feeling the ghost of the fabric at the tips of his fingers. He supposed the process of elimination left him with no choice. He’d have to appeal to a Dom on a team. Fine. That was fine. Cassius could get away with punching one of them far easier. 

With a cheeky grin, that most certainly said this was not over, Cassius turned on his heel. 

“Let’s revisit it.” Cassius said, throwing the words over his shoulder as he grabbed his bag. He was already running through the team roster in his head. “Give me a second to really reflect on it, you know?” 

What? Did Mr. Ashworth really think he was going to be the one to inspire personal change in Cassius? No, not even the people Cassius loved could inspire that. Yeah, the professor could just deal with it when Cassius showed up on the team next week - on his own terms.

FIN

#cruelboy #para: all #para: cassius. #para: making the cut.

[melissanovels]

Hard of Hearing Bakugou! AU

Haccinintothegate courteously wrote a fanfic based on my hard of hearing Bakugou AU. A lot of people were asking for this in the tags, so please thank her for writing this for us !!

 Through passing years, routine began to form.

The roots began on his 6th birthday, doubled over in pain with his ears cupped tightly by his hands on each side of his head; the small fire put out by his elementary teacher. The ringing pierced his head and felt like nothing more than a fallacy, as if the blood that pounded through his ears was something to simply ignore.

Seeing their child in pain, his parents had forced him to wear earmuffs when handling his quirk, despite being met with arguing and thrashing. It gave him time to realise the self-destructive inevitability of his quirk but even so, it didn’t put him off being a hero. Not even once.

The routine began to form itself once he knew how to handle his quirk in middle school. He wore the earmuffs up until 14 and soon discarded them once he started to practice in bouts, only to resume training once the ringing had stopped. His knuckles had become a dull red, the skin coarse and to make it worse, it became more and more difficult to sleep every so often.

This carried on up until middle school, where the effects of his quirk had become bearable at best; he could use his quirk for show and was met with no consequences to his ears, not long-lasting ones, anyway. He would constantly tease “Deku” with it as he flashed it in his face at every opportunity with a grin, he would then slam his hands on the desk to swipe up whatever was on it.

“We ain’t done here, Deku.” He grimaced, Izuku’s notebook in hand and overlooking the faint characters on the front with a snicker. The book was left smashed and charred in a small explosion, his hands blistered from such close contact as smoke let up after he threw it over his shoulder, flickers of flame trailed the book as it flew out of the window. Bakugou had turned to Izuku, finidng his cheeks were stained with few tears, but his eyes locked on Bakugou – as though he had noticed a tick, subconsciously noting it through his distress.

It was at that time mild pain had flushed through his ears, he winced in the form of a crooked smirk before the pain had left as soon as it had come. He looked back over his shoulder at the sullen mess of school desks and the window left a jar, Izuku had quickly turned with a pathetic sneer, how Bakugou described it. He instantly showed off his flames once more with a crackle, and it had only left him in another state of pain.

.

A few years had gone by since he had been admitted into U.A, followed by unrelenting training, high expectations and his quirkless, dunce, middle school “friend”. His frustrations had been following him as well, finding that curling up in his dorm with a pillow acting as a vice over his ears as a common occurrence. He admittedly thought, albeit for a moment, his ears had adapted to the noise levels he works with but after the Summer Camp, that hadn’t been the case. If anything, most noises came through mostly muffled, like irremovable headphones or ear plugs; which was why he didn’t leave the dorm, he didn’t need the humiliation of asking for the third time for a repeat of someone’s small talk. So he subdued the instinct to go train in favour of his health, concluding missing out on a class gives his peers a chance to catch up to his expertise.

Despite it all, he also had yet to see a doctor. With Summer quickly passing by with merciless tragedies, he hadn’t had chance to even stop and think about it, there was hardly any time to now anyway. His mother had called time and time again, suggesting a single day off school to admit himself to a clinic, but a day wasn’t the same as a class, so he outright refused. He worried she’d show up at school just to drag him there.

Day by day, it was harder to deal with the ringing as prominent as it was, so missing a few classes was also part of this routine. He would’ve missed the faint knocking on his door – of which he could only really assume was faint – If it hadn’t been for the brief pause he took the pillow off his head. Upon the realisation it could’ve been a teacher for skipping class, he kept quiet.

“Katsuki?” He’d hadn’t been able to pin the voice down until he moved off his bed to step closer to the door. “Katsuki, are you in there?” Ochaco’s voice chirped as she knocked with a little more force,caught in the act as Bakugou opened the door and glared at her. Caught off guard, she flinched and lowered her hand, turning it into something like a low wave to greet.

A few moments passed.

“Fuc-” Thinking better of it, “What do you want, Round-face?” He pursed his lips disgustingly, one hand bracing on the door.

“I was told to come ask if you were feeling unwell.” Ochaco said, “Iida and the others are finding it hard to concentrate without all that noise you usually make!” She lapsed into a quiet giggle. “Are you okay? Do you need me to go get Recovery Girl?..”

“No, I’m feeling just fucking dandy.” He spat, slamming the door shut; anything else Ochaco said was lost to the hallway. His knuckles tensed around the pillow, flushing white as he pulled it over his head again with enough force for a small headache. He decided to stay like this for a half an hour, ignoring the buzz of his phone as it lit up with new messages.

Like clockwork, Ochaco would do this every so often, even after-school. The random ‘check-ups’ had reminded him of a teacher or a doctor, so most of the time he hardly answered the door to let her ask. On rare occasions he did, Izuku and Iida would both be there too, rewarding them with a curse and a scowl.

He got off the bed, picking up the suitcase that withheld his costume to put on, half-checking his phone at the same time: 2 messages from Ochaco.

'i told them you were asleep’ The other message reading, 'they let you off because of everything that happened at camp. feel better soon!” He didn’t need to be 'let off’, he could do as he liked.

Simply ignoring the messages, he finished preparing his outfit before making his way to the TDL.

.

Any attempt to call out at him entering the building was ignored, instead, a thin mantle of smoke engulfed his platform, lungs full of dust and vision blurred, he kept blasting fire for momentary visuals. He soon found sturdy footing, barging his way through the smoke whilst holding his breath. Rushing water flushed his ears, unclenching his fist to propel himself upward with a small explosion; drop, drop, drop. He blasted a line of fire at the clone, the smoke letting up just enough to register that he didn’t hit him. He wiped his eyes, frowning as he found the clone in front of him again.

“Don’t cloud your vision too much.” Ectoplasm spoke, but the words were drowned in favour of the water, its sudden rush stifling his breathing. Adjusting his stance, a piercing ring surged him forward with dull knuckles, fire sparking off them as the ringing turned into an alarm. His knee fell to the floor, bringing the rest of him down with it, doubled over in pain with his ears cupped tightly by his hands.

.

Bakugou’s pen fumbled in his hand, glaring over at the small case at the end of his desk and picking it up to take the top off. He hadn’t wanted to, but Aizawa had forced him to see the nurse to be admitted to a hospital, along with a hard scolding for not mentioning it in the past. He hadn’t lost all of it, but a good portion of his hearing rendered him completely unable to hear most sounds without his hearing aids; which made it all the more frustrating that his classmates were completely supportive of him.

“Katsuki?” Ochaco tried to greet him, only to turn to Asui who gave a somewhat vague head gesture toward Bakugou. She looked over again, peering round to get his attention only to tap his shoulder after her prior realisation. She flinched as he jolted, taking the hearing-aids out of their case and putting them on to greet the person with a frown.

He did want to shout for the sudden disturbance, the lack of warning and the possibility of a 'check-up’ – but thought better of it in early morning.

“..What?” He kept his teeth gritted, watching his words.

“Good morning!” Ochaco practically sang, “We have a test today, but I think Aizawa will let you off. Again.” She huffed playfully, folding her hands behind her back.

“I don’t need a shitty test to tell me I’m good.”

“Mhm.” She tried not to laugh, “Are you feeling better?”

There it was, but this time it felt less clock-work, more natural.

“I’ve had five fucking people ask me the same thing: I’m fine.” He grumbled, leaning his arm on the back of the chair. “Can’t you guys just calm down?”

“Iida was really worried you know!” Of course the class president lost his shit, he thought, “He was waving his arms about in a panic trying to calm the class down, it kind of reminded me of Summer Camp.”

Though he pursed his lips at the thought, but found they lapsed into comfortable conversation a lot lighter than the topic of anything recent, despite it being a little hard to talk not being able to hear his own voice very well. He found they were planning a karaoke night followed by a sleepover, which he gingerly agreed to as long as he didn’t destroy anything (or anyone for that matter, but he held no promises).

When Aizawa walked in, Ochaco said her goodbyes with a grin and sat in her seat. Bakugou wondered if he would rather see her smile or hear her voice more.

.

'King Explosion Murder.’ He flicked through the sign language book and followed the patterns, finding it was much easier to sign than talk; even if it had been Izuku’s idea, Ochaco enforced it which made him a little more willing.

'No.’ She swiped her fingers, raising an eyebrow with a sigh. 'It needs to be heroic.’

He flicked through the book again, finding out for one: what she had signed, and for two: preparing a come-back even though he had no idea what she said.

When he did: 'You’re not my mum.’

'I might as well be.’ She laughed.

#thank you !!! <3 #Haccinintothegate #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #kacchako #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #deaf au #submission