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itsonlydana · 3 years

Note

Can I perhaps request for a sleepover with sbi boys and instead of sleeping you guys build a fort in the room, and phil gets mad or smth.. and yes this is platonic :) I LOVE YOUR WRITING A LOT!!

"password: party pooper Phil" ➷ Sleepy bois

pairing: sleepy bois & reader (gn) - platonic //

⤷ reader is an older teenager like Will and Techno

warnings/tags: some cursing, fluff

words: 1,7k

song: ho hey - the Lumineers

a/n: i have no idea why but everytime i write something with this family dynamic i have early 2000s vibes while i write.. buuuuut i hope you enjoy loves!! <3

It had become a tradition that every Friday after lunch, you would wander up the street of your little town with your blanket and a pillow under your arm to the big white house with the green front door and the pond in the front yard and ring the bell of your second family.

Before, either Will or Techno had taken you back home, but that was before you found out how many positives there were to just staying over at their place: You could watch more movies, longer board games like Monopoly could be played late into the night (it was either that, or a frustrated board flipping from one of the twins), and generally there was nothing better than Phil's homemade bread that he prepared for Saturday breakfast.

In the last few months, as your tradition had solidified, you had also learned one important thing:

While Monopoly managed to destroy any sibling relationships between Techno, Will and Tommy faster than Will can buy another hotel, those relationships became all the stronger when you teamed up against Phil.

"You sure we got all we need?" you called up the spiral staircase to the second floor, where Will was leaning over the railing and, as he had the last few minutes before, pulling sheets and pillow after pillow from the boxes under the roof, dropping them down to you.

After the last sheet, what you had tossed onto the pile behind you, Will looked down at you, his brown curls bobbing happily with his nod of the head. "Nothing left here!" he replied, and his head disappeared before Will jumped down the steps two at a time. Coming to a skidding halt in front of you, he looked proudly at the pile of stuff outside his bedroom door and turned to you with a grin, "How about those snacks?"

You shrugged. "Tommy and Techno are still in the kitchen, who knows what they're up to." You listened to the faint sounds coming from the kitchen, but both quickly lost interest. Instead, you leaned over to the pile and grabbed an armful of sheets. "Let's get started," you mumbled, your mouth covered by a pillow Will had placed on top and right in front of your face.

An hour later, the four of you sat in the result of your hard work. In fact, most of the construction of the blanket fort had gone off without complication; surprisingly, there had been no discussions or arguments; not even when Tommy suggested the password 'Pog' for the fort.

The fort was huge, Will had firmly claimed you could win a prize for it, maybe even set a record. Even if he was just saying that to get Tommy even more excited about his work, you couldn't agree more- the fortress was gigantic.

The sheets stretched across Will's desk, under which you had a tray of prepared snacks, over the backs of four chairs, to the painting table from Tommy's room that served as the entryway. A floor lamp stood in the center of the fort, holding the sheets high enough so no one had to sit with their backs bent, while also serving as a light source, bathing the interior of your fort in a warm yellowish glow.

Secluded from the world, you immersed yourselves in your own.

The afternoon dragged on without you noticing, not even the setting of the sun reached you, the first silver rays of the moon were blocked by the blankets and sheets as if by a protective shield.

While outside the birds fell silent and the crickets began to buzz, Will drowned out the sounds with his own music, drawing you under his spell as his fingers danced across the strings of his guitar and Techno transported you to another world with one of his tales.

Leaning on Will's shoulder, feet outstretched and braced against Tommy's, you listened to Techno's dark full voice, a bitten cookie in your lap that you had completely forgotten about.

"And when Pan, the shepherd god, challenged Apollo to a music contest Apollo couldn't say no out of arrogance and an overconfidence. They decided to visit the mountain Tmolus as a judge, because no one was as old and wise as the mountains and suitable for it to appoint the better."

"That sounds silly," Tommy interrupted his older brother with a snort. "How is a mountain supposed to be a judge?"

You shoved your feet further in his direction with a flourish, forcing him to pull his closer. "Tommy, it's a myth. Not everything has to be as you know it. Stop interrupting Techno, I want to know how this turns out," you urged the youngest before leaning back on Will's shoulder, who hadn't stopped plucking the strings of his guitar over your little discussion.

Techno cleared his throat loudly, drawing attention back to himself, and Tommy now rested his head on his knees as well to continue listening, even though he couldn't suppress his comments for long.

"So Pan and Apollo wandered with their followers to Tmolus, where Pan was the first to play his instrument, a pan flute. It was a wild tune, but the animals seemed to like it and so did King Midas, a mortal follower of Pan."

Techno fell silent, letting Will play for a few minutes, and the brunette switched to a tune just as wild as the one Pan must have played, because you wanted nothing more than to jump up and dance to it.

"But then it was the god of music's turn. No sooner had Apollo risen and stroked his fingers over his golden lyre than a melody sounded that neither god nor mortal had ever heard. The creatures in the forest froze, the trees prevented even the slightest rustle of their leaves; the earth and air were completely still."

Will's fingers slowed, shifting to a quieter melody, one that embraced you all. No one really dared speak a word, you could only sit there and watch Will lose himself in his own music.

At one point Techno used a particularly quiet passage to continue: "There didn't have to be a wise mountain to declare Apollo the winner, everyone who had been listening fell to their knees in jubilation before the god. Well, almost everyone. Midas didn't like Apollo's music and refused to give victory to anyone but Pan. So Apollo turned to him, offended in his talent, and remember that he hanged the last one who had challenged him."

You could tell how much Techno was looking forward to the coming part of the story, the boy paused for art, brushing his pink hair out of his face. His eyes were wide open, wandering over Will's, yours, and to Tommy, who was leaning far forward, lips slightly parted as if falling over with curiosity.

Techno grinned, aware of what power he possessed. "If thine ears are so dull, mortal, said Apollo, they shall take the shape that best suits them! He took hold of the ears of King Midas and, to his dismay, turned them into those of a donkey!"

At the last part, you and Tommy gasped at the same time, Will also stopped playing and started laughing out loud.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Tommy, his eyes as big as plates, before he too joined in the laughter. "Don't fuck with my man Apollo!"

"Will, can you play as well as Apollo or will you get donkey ears like Pan?", you blurted out between breaths, and at that Will raised his hands upright to his ears, making his shadow on one of the blankets actually resemble a donkey. You all just laughed louder as Will let out a bad neighing sound, stomping one of his feet on the ground.

The loud unexpected knock on the bedroom door took you by surprise, and as the lights were turned on, the magic of your little fort faded away, as if floodlights were suddenly turned on in the middle of a theater.

"What is going on here?", you could hear Phil. You all felt uncomfortable, he didn't sound really excited and you were a little happy that you were just hearing him.

"Let's pretend to be asleep," Tommy whispered, getting only a shake of the head from Techno.

"Nothing!" exclaimed Will, putting a finger to his lips, mostly directed at Tommy. "We were just playing music."

"At one in the morning? You guys are out of your minds!"

Feeling guilty, you looked at each other; you hadn't realized how quickly the time had passed.

"When I agreed to have (y/n) stay over, I was actually thinking about sleeping and not staying awake into the night.", Phil continued to complain, a few of the blankets rustling as he tried to peek in somewhere. However, he failed, the construct of blankets and sheets was too good and neatly interwoven. "You guys are cleaning this up now."

"Man Phil!" howled Tommy whiningly, his arms already folded childishly in front of his chest. "We were going to sleep here!"

Phil exhaled audibly. "You can't sleep on the floor, it's not good for you. Will you guys please come out now? I don't want to ask again."

You clench your teeth at that last part, it definitely didn't sound good. When Phil spoke like that one should actually listen to it directly and not discuss it further.

"Phil, if you let us spend the night here, I'll be on dish duty all next week," Will continued to discuss.

Tommy stared at his brother as if he had just suggested sacrificing himself, maybe Will was doing that with dish duty in Tommy's mind. "Will, you don't have to do that," he whispered, Techno looked at him with nothing but respect in his eyes.

That only seemed to further validate Will. Swallowing hard, he squinted his eyes. "Two weeks."

You gasped for air, knowing how much Will hated doing the dishes.

Phil also seemed to realize how important this evening was to you, because the lights were turned off again and the ceiling in front of the entrance was pushed aside.

Phil looked at each of you individually, a tired expression on his face. "For one night?" he asked, and you all nodded frantically. His eyes fell on the furnishings of your little fort. Smiling conciliatory, he ran a hand through his blond hair. "Is there room for one more person here?"

Tommy puffed his chest: "You have to guess the password!"

Phil didn't hesitate for a moment.

"Let me guess, pog?"

#mcyt #mcyt writing #mcyt x y/n #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt imagine #mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #dsmp #dsmp writing #dsmp imagine #sleepy bois au #sleepy bois inc #tommyinnit imagine #wilbur soot imagine #techno x reader #philza imagine

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a-wayne-at-heart-too · 4 years

Text

Ask: The 27th of April, the Last (and Long) Part

Bonus Ask:

[Stately Wayne Manor]

Jason: *helping Alfred clear out the dinner table* You think we should’ve asked Harley to stay for dinner?

Alfred: If you wished to see Master Bruce’s hair turn to grey as you ate dessert, I don’t see why not.

Jason: *burps loudly and fans his breath away* Whoops. Sorry, Alf. Just my way of complimenting your cooking.

Alfred: *carrying the dishes to the kitchen* Then perhaps you should come here more often, Master Jason.

Jason: *following Alfred* I'd rather not cause any trouble.

Alfred: *stops in his tracks and turns to face Jason with a stern expression* And you don't think it troubles me that you feel unwelcome here?

Jason: *takes the dishes from Alfred’s hands, sets them on the kitchen island, and pulls him in for a hug* Alf, hey... I didn’t mean it like that. I know you guys care about me, it’s just...

Alfred: *sobbing into Jason's shirt* We've already lost you once... Once is enough, Jason...

Jason: *tightens the hug and gently plants a kiss on top of Alfred’s head* I know, I know... I'm back, Alf. I'm back.

>>> *** <<<

Dick and Barbara: *sitting on the carpeted floor in the study, enjoying the heat from the fireplace in front of them, going through a stack of photo albums*

Dick: *smiling fondly* Wow, these are old-old.... I should probably scan them before they crumble to pieces.

Dick: *stops at a page and points at a picture of Bruce and Jason on a boat, smiling, and holding up a tuna* Check this out, Babs... Aw, I love this one. I had a few days off from work, decided to spend it here. Somehow Jason convinced Bruce to take break from himself and go fishing.

Dick: *talking animatedly* So, there we are on Bruce’s huge fishing boat, the Bat-2-Sea -- And Jason’s starting to get seasick because he’s been hanging out by the edge, waiting for a bite for hours -- The persistence on that kid! -- And he finally gets one! A big one, Babs -- *spreads his arms* -- and it was pulling down hard like you wouldn’t believe, but Jason just wouldn’t let go! -- So Bruce drops the glass of wine he’s holding and runs to grab him --

Barbara: What were you doing?

Dick: Who do you think took the picture? As I was saying -- Bruce, he -- he -- *starts to laugh so hard that he tears up* trips over Jason’s line somehow and falls into the ocean! *slapping-the-floor laughing* The World’s Greatest Detective, in his Batwaders, drenched like a wet bird... *sighs happily* You should’ve seen his face!

Barbara: *turns the page* Oh, I can see it now. Still stone-faced, but wet.

Barbara: *stops at a page and giggles* Aw... Will you look at that?

Dick: *looks at the photo Babs is pointing at and chuckles softly* That’s adorable.

Barbara: Those scaly leotards fit him better than they ever did you, Boy Wonder.

Dick: *smirks* Whatever. But I have to admit, he did look great. He looked really... happy. I wish... I wish I saw more of him in action, you know? *voice breaking* I could’ve maybe trained him the way I did Tim and Damian --

Barbara: *rubs his back comfortingly* Dick...

Jason: *walks into the study* Dickie, I took some of your --

Dick: *clears his throat and wipes his eyes haphazardly* Hey, Little Wing!

Jason: Wait, are those our old family photos?

Barbara: *pats the empty spot beside her* C'mere.

Jason: *sits down and rubs his hands together* Where’s the one where Bruce goes kersplat in the ocean?

Jason: *flips through the pages and grimaces at his photos as Robin* You're not gonna use these to blackmail me, are you?

>>> *** <<<

Duke: *watches as his RPG character explodes for the fifth time in a row and shakes his head* You beat me again! You're so good at this game, man.

Jason: *snorts and puts his controller down* Dude, you weren't even trying. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were letting me win.

Duke: What? Naaaah... That's... Come on, why would I do that?

Jason: *gets up and shrugs, grinning knowingly* I dunno... 'Cause you like seeing me alive?

Duke: Yeah. It’s pretty awesome, actually.

Jason: *offers to bump fists* I gotta pack up. Good game, though. See you around, bro.

Duke: *exploding-fist-bumps with Jason* You too, bro.

Jason: *pats Ace the Bathound’s head as he exits the game room*

>>> *** <<<

Steph: *examining Jason’s face* You look really pale.

Cass: *pointing at various spots on his face* And you have a lot of... scars.

Jason: *sitting on a stool in front of Cass’s vanity dresser, staring at himself in the mirror and absentmindedly running a finger over the shirt-covered scar on his chest* Yeah? That bad, huh?

Steph: *grins* Nothing a little makeup can’t fix.

Jason: *rubbing his chin* You think so? I mean, I just came here to borrow a few weapons from Cass, but if you think I need a makeover...

Steph and Cass: *look at each other and squeal in delight*

>>> *** <<<

Tim: And this *holding up a minuscule gadget between his fingers for Jason to see* generates a force field over your entire body. The more the impact, the greater the energy generated. Schway, huh?

Jason: *nodding his head appreciatively as he takes the gadget and sticks it on the lapel of his leather jacket* Schway.

Tim: *proudly shows Jason a Bat-shaped breastplate * Now, this -- You're gonna love this -- It can turn you invisible to the naked eye for roughly 34.5 seconds, giving you time to do all kinds of offensive or defensive stuff. They won’t know what hit them, Jay. You’re basically gonna be invincible and Joker... Joker, he’s... he’s not... not gonna... *drops the breastplate unceremoniously*

Jason: *places a hand on Tim’s shoulder* Thank you, Timbo. Really. But I'll be fine out there. You don't have to worry about me.

Tim: Yeah? Can you promise me that? Because I don’t think I can live through another one of Bruce's meltdowns.

Jason: *chuckles softly* Aren't they the best?

>>> *** <<<

Jason: *staring at an empty grave layered with concrete in the backyard*

Jason: *rolls his eyes* I know you're there.

Bruce: *comes out of the shadows and stands next to Jason*

Jason: Why'd you keep it?

Bruce: Because I'm a sentimental old fool.

Jason: This is just... creepy. Even for you.

Bruce and Jason: *stare at the empty grave in silence*

Jason: I've forgiven you.

Bruce: *glances at Jason, who could’ve sworn his adoptive father’s eyes were bloodshot*

Jason: You know that, don’t you? I mean, I know we’re always going to disagree about Jok-- about him, and a few other things, but... You’ll always be family, Bruce. My family.

Bruce: *looks at Jason, smiling wearily*

Jason: *grinning back at Bruce*

Bruce: *puts an arm around Jason’s shoulder* Thank you... Son.

Jason: *pulls Bruce in for a tight hug*

Bruce and Jason: ...

Jason: Hey, remember that time you went kersplat in the ocean?

>>> *** <<<

Damian: *knocks softly on Jason's bedroom door* Todd.

Jason: *stuffing a duffel bag with clothes, homemade snacks, and weapons* Hey, kid, come in. I’m just getting my stuff ready --

Damian: These came from Mother. *drops a pile of books on Jason’s old desk*

Jason: *picking one after the other up excitedly* Tolstoy, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, Shakespeare, Marx... No way...

Damian: They’ve been with me for a while. But since you rarely come over, they’ve been collecting dust and taking up valuable space in my room. -Tt-

Jason: *wiping the dust off with his shirt and hugging each one* She kept them... These were my friends back when I was in the League...

Damian: I didn’t realize we had more in common than just being my Father’s sons.

Jason: Wow. I have no idea how I’m supposed to bring all of these home. I mean, I got here on roller blades, for Bat’s sake --

Damian: *thrusts a piece of paper into Jason’s chest* This is for you.

Jason: *gingerly uncrumples it, revealing a painting of him and Damian*

Jason: *reading the writing in calligraphy underneath* “The Second Chance Robins”... *looks at Damian, feeling the tears well up in his eyes* You made this?

Damian: *looking down at his feet* When it’s my day... M-my d-day... Will you come over, too?

Jason: *gets down on bended knee to be at eye level with his little brother* Hey, buddy, look at me. Damian, look at me. Of course. Listen, we’ll do whatever you want. We’ll, um... We’ll take bad guys down together! Pull pranks on Tim! You name it, I got you.

Damian: Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Todd.

Jason: I promise that I’ll do my best, okay?

Damian: You could stay the night, you know. You’re home anyway.

Jason: *ruffles Damian’s hair and grins* I'd like that. As long as you hang out here with me. And I promise I won't tell anybody because it'll ruin our reputation.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

If truth be told, @wingedskyes , Jason makes himself available on his Death Day. Because even if neither he nor his family and friends mention it, he knows that they need him just as much as he needs them.

Thank you for this Ask. It was both fun and just a tad bit heartbreaking to write.

And thank you, @warrior-of-the-blue-moon , for the nice addition.

See: Part 1, Part 2

#Ask #Bruce Wayne #Richard Grayson #Jason Todd #Timothy Drake #Damian Wayne #Barbara Gordon #Stephanie Brown #Cassandra Cain #Duke Thomas #Alfred Pennyworth #Talia al Ghul #Ace the Bathound

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fourletterworld · 3 years

Text

Getting Lost - Was a Big Brother

Cody, Myself, and four of our best friends hiked the fantasy trail of Big Sur, some 7 miles up into the sky. As night approached, we tucked down off the trail into a small camping area and safely lit a fire near a stream. Here we pumped drinking water into our bottles through a filter. I remember feeling so physically tired, it was the only feeling in me. We made dinner in flame light then made our tents in spotty shadows. It was cold, and we'd fallen asleep quickly.

The next day was crisp and beautiful. We'd made breakfast, coffee and tea and talked a while before heading out to walk off the path into the wilderness. We jumped across the creek where boulders stood out of the shallow depth. After the six of us got across my friend Bob passed out micro doses of mushrooms from a cloudy plastic bag. We chewed them up and continued walking into the trees along the creek. Nothing of note crept into my head, but I have a snapshot of looking back at my friends through the trees and seeing sunlight spill through the canopy onto the green forest floor. There was an Irish glow among the rich tree bark and moss.

Someone mentioned that it looked like we were in an old Skittles commercial. Slow unconscious laughs built as we smiled half-lucidly at one another. The effect began to slow some of us down until we stopped at a clearing and briefly sat. Cody and two others decided to keep hiking while I stayed with the other half.

We talked for a while and observed everything within eyeshot. I felt the stillness of a tree growing through my head. The misty sounds of nature began to strike out with colors of awareness. Suddenly I was conscious of the bird calls, and not in the ordinary way when their beauty serves as the backdrop to one of my moods. Instead, I heard their sounds as though they were strangers with first names I didn't know. They were communicating primal information with the worry of survival in their tone. They weren't having a pleasant day in the wild, they were locked in the grind of their reality. I felt sad for their consistent stress. The concern to live up to nature's expectations is so much to put on a creature. It wasn't their fault.

The plants around me gently moved in a soft breeze. Their limbs reached up to the skylight like a baby wanting its mother. They were as alive as starfish, having fixed themselves to the trunks of larger somber giants. The distant sun sat and burned like a far away look. A look that only time will snap someone out of. This sad poem is why we fall in love, I thought. It all hurts with the innocent anticipation of a loose tooth not ready to come out.

After a time of being unusually quiet in the presence of others, I crept away by myself down to the trickling stream we'd been following. In some sort of dreamy trance, I gently touched my face as I looked down into the water. There was a troubled curiosity in my tremendously large pupils. It was the little kid unwound inside of me; the one I'd twisted hard into a man. Currents pulled at my reflection like smeared paint clinging to an image. Shards of light formed on the folds of water like cuts.

The tired old question walked through my thoughts: "who am I?" This time, it didn't feel like the ethereal philosophical question. It was more like I was trying to make sense of the thing I saw reflecting in the water: The dark pool-eyed organic machine, the adult and the teen, the arrested development, the ill-defined aged of an angst ridden masculine spirit.

I've applied stereotypes to myself my whole life: being a punk rocker, a musician, an artist, a romantic, a good person, a drinker, and all sorts of things that maybe I'm not. They're all just lines of rope I've thrown out which I follow after to see where they might lead me. Being a big brother was something more than that. It was beyond me and rooted in the physical world. It was an anchor that'd dropped down as soon as Cody was born.

These thoughts swam through that river until concern began to gather and pulled me back into the moment. I'd begun to feel some kind of tension pulling at the line between Cody and I. He had hiked away and was possibly too far from me, and I started to wonder if he was okay.

"Hey guys! How long have they been gone?!" I shouted up the small ravine. "They're fine D." my friend Dave called, probably anticipating some psilocybin anxiousness. His assumption that I was paranoid was warranted, but I felt rational in my fear and knew it couldn't be articulated under scrutiny. I walked a short way in the direction the others continued hiking and looked. I didn't see anyone so I began calling Cody's name with my loud voice into the wilderness. I heard the emptiness of the hills as my voice faded through them, and a terrorizing feeling of finality landed. The fear was rooted in the possibility of never getting him back.

What if they'd eaten more mushrooms than I had and got confused and lost? I was worried for all of them, but I was responsible for my brother. The anchor was somewhere beneath dark water and I didn't know if the rope had been torn. I began making all sorts of promises to some God that I never kept. I started to feel the knot in my throat.

There was darkness growing in the mountains. Tall pine shadows loomed and collected over the retreating fragments of sunlight. The pleated hills began to look treacherously prosaic, as if no new word would ever come out of its ravine. It would never unearth my little brother or anything else ever again. I called again, deep and loud, and like a miracle transmission I heard Cody faintly calling back just as loudly from somewhere off in the trees. His voice, when he yelled, sounded just like mine.

"Oh, fucking Christ, thank god", I sighed.

Moments later he'd walked through the trees. Bleach blonde hair and emerald rimmed owl eyes, smiling at the corners. Cody came to me for an instinctive hug. "I'm sorry Dust" he'd said. He could hear the fear in my voice even at its highest threshold of volume.

"Don't be sorry, don't be sorry," I replied as I hugged him tightly. Later, shrouded in twilight, I sat next to him at the fire. I tried to express how tangibly worried I was for him. I’d felt him extracted from my life in that moment, and how terrified that made me.

I'd gone on longer, exhausting my point. The mushrooms hadn't completely waned and the panic continued to play, but the cause for fear was so present it was like I had suddenly felt through the material of time. I’d somehow grasped the shape of that fucked up day that waited for me years ahead. I had no way of aligning that sort of rationale at the time, but in hindsight it’s the best way to explain the reality of that scare. It never felt like it was in my head.

Cody listened, patient and contemplative with a lit cigarette. At some point he interjected, "Yeah, but Dust, I'm fine. Everything's okay. Everything was always okay the whole time. You were just worried over nothing".

He said this smiling, as though to model what emotion we should had both been feeling in that moment. He then leaned in and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I took his two clasping hands with mine and closed my eyes. He saw the concern but not my fear, but I knew I had to concede in expressing my worry for him. I'd always have to learn when it was okay to get my point across and when to let life be life. I had to let go of control.

I've always had problems with control because it eludes me. My life has always been out of my control. Not really caring to embrace my strengths and desiring my weaknesses has put huge cracks throughout my being. My self-hood is like broken up continents, and my goal is to form it all back into Pangea. I move something to the center and something else floats away. It's like I don't have room for the whole being I want to be. I fall in love, I become dependent. I find peace, I become boring. I get inspired, I become manic. I have fun, I lose my way.

And I don't want balance. I see balance like a constant sacrifice. I want the choice to be all in, on one side or another, the good and the bad all at one time. I want the full glass now and no glass later.

That is, I had my mind made up in this way until Cody passed. Once I lost him, these fragmented continents weren't just staid floating islands. Gravity suddenly shut off, and they lifted from their watery globe and suspended in disorientation. I'd seen all parts of myself lift from the anchor of my brother and carry out above me and into the atmosphere. Now there is no center to draw things back into, and there are some pieces leaving my weak gravitational field forever. I lay in bed afraid of this new upheaval, not knowing my feelings anymore, and watching them continue to go and go and go.

They've been ripping away from me so consistently and slowly over this last 16 months that the pain has become ambience. My spirit has been tuned to the lowest universal frequency of heartbreak. The longest waves of sadness.

But I keep it together. All of life is too short to let anyone else get tangled in this chaotic orbit of mine, and I think I've become just strong enough to keep it in during the day. Meanwhile this slow-moving shrapnel drifts along, finely opening new aspects of a heart I'd never known. There are things that feel possible in ways that surprise and sometimes shock me. There are days now where I get out of the shower and rub away the fog on the mirror and remember looking into the water. Now it isn't a question of who I am, but who am I becoming, and will any of this ever land again? Did the universe set my heart so it can heal in alignment or is my true nature lost in some ethereal flux?

There's an animal body looking at me and the human has been knocked into a daze. The eyes in the coal mine sockets remind me of those prosaic hills, with the person behind the wheel having retreated inward to crippled shadowy memories. They don’t hold anything to the same beautiful standard any longer. It’s all become possible with nothing inside of myself to protect anymore. The gate has been left wide open and as I stare at my eyes I wonder if I'll ever really come back again.

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drainflyclub · 3 years

Text

High Score

By M. M. Sheridan

The blood always smelt the worst. Not the times that they shit themselves, or had sat in their own piss in fear. Not the sour burnt smell of spent ammunition. No, the blood smelt the worst, as it settled in between the grout on the tiles and sprayed onto the painted walls. That rust smell which left a taste in the back of your mouth, coated it in something that wouldn’t wash out with toothpaste or water or whisky. Frank swallowed a few times and the taste got worse. There was a lot of blood.

A twenty minutes ago a young man, looking agitated, ran into his local elementary school and unloaded several clips worth of bullets into the bodies of the children there, and a few teachers too. And himself, he guessed. A few had been dragged out by responding officers and thrown in ambulances, some would probably not make it. Others walked out in shock, or wailing, or throwing up, running awkwardly toward their tearful parents and the police who had that usual pained look on their faces. A lot more were lying in crumpled heaps around the building, going white and red under the strip lights. The shooter joined them in death, the same as them now, just a husk on the floor with a hole in his head, pumping blood through the lino, soaking into the concrete, into the foundation, then eventually into the dirt.

“How many?” One of the officers near him asked.

He stood up, “No idea. This room alone, maybe ten, fifteen, not including that piece of shit.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

Frank walked out of the class and down the hall past several more bodies being checked by paramedics, pointlessly. One was balled up between lockers, two were missing parts of their heads or face. He pushed through a side door into the fresh air of the outside, listening to the screaming of sirens and journalists clamouring for quotes. He fell against the side of the building and put his head in his hands. Third one of his career. His clothes smelt like blood. His hands smelt like blood.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“There was an active shooter at Letztelektion Secondary. Maybe still active.”

“Shit, how?”

“Just get there.”

The radio was barely audible over the siren singing and her own blood pumping in her ears. Detective Sauer was heading toward the school not as an officer, but as a parent. Out on a normal follow up call and then the radio came to life. Fuck fuck fuck. Please, please, please.

The police cordon was already up, special forces were stood around the building, a few with their rifles guiding kids out, searching them one by one at the entrance. Her mouth dried up. At least if they were calm the shooting was over. She ran over to one of the on scene officers.

“Is the shooter neautralised?”

“Yes, shot by the special forces while running out the back of the school.”

She wanted to thank God but she couldn’t yet. She eyed up the children, panic rising in her stomach.

“I need to go in.”

The officer nodded and waved her through.

The power had gone out in the school, probably to get the alarms to turn off. It was quiet, most of the children already evacuated. Sauer breathed through her mouth and stopped herself heaving. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. She jogged down the hallways glancing at all the classroom doors, shoes echoing off the tiles, click click click click click. The door was open, no, splinters of a door frame and a cheap lock on the ground. Broken. Oh fuck, oh God no. Mrs. Roth was lying on the floor at the front of the class, a red puddle behind her back and three red dots on her chest. She felt her breath catch and realised she was already crying. Stepping between the desks, slowly, painfully, torturing herself. Please, please, please. And she was there, her blonde hair wet and dyed crimson. She was on her knees and grabbing her cold hand, limply pressing it into hers, she felt her throat growing tighter and something animal coming out, but she heard no sound.

Harry pulled his jacket in as he walked up his drive. The wind was bitter as hell this time of year, and he shrugged off the idea of going hunting. All the birds and deer would be daft to go out in this weather, and so would he.

He sat down for breakfast with the letters he picked up, thumbing through the bills and spam. Not even fleeing to the wild countryside had managed to stop this shit getting through. He left them in a pile and opened the newspaper while he let his toast and tea get cold.

“Bloody hell.”

Front page, shooting at a German school. Twelve dead including the shooter. He shook his head and wondered why someone would do such a thing. He kept reading, no details of the gunman, except he was as student. What a waste, what a huge waste. So soon after the two shootings in the US earlier this year. Stories like this made him feel particularly wretched since he’d had children, but he couldn’t stop reading. Eventually the text ended and he moved onto another story, something about social media, so he skipped it, and read a particularly boring article about economic problems in Europe.

His son came downstairs, and Harry looked at the time. 10:30. Hell, when would he start acting like an adult?

“Morning Sam.”

He didn't say anything back, just grunted. A perpetual teenager, nearly twenty and still jobless, educationaless. Give him time, give him time, his ex-wife had always told him. Well, she didn’t have to live with him.

“Going to do some job hunting today?”

Harry knew he hated that question, not quite sure why he asked it again but feeling some parental duty to do so. Sam responded with a glare and took a bottle of orange juice upstairs. Yes, that was par for the course, standard procedure. Why hadn’t he had these problems with Jen, she’d grown up alright, moved to the city, managed to grab a solid job doing something techy. He didn’t much fancy spending his retirement babysitting, but it seemed more like that every day. Oh well, maybe we just needed to give him time. Yeah, sure thing, that was what the lazy shit needed. Time.

“Close the fucking door mom!”

That goddamn bitch, didn’t she respect his privacy at all? That was the third time she’d just burst in this week. Didn’t she understand knocking? Dumb bitch.

He shook his computer mouse and woke up the screen, jumping straight online. He stuck on some music and cracked open a warm beer sitting next to his bed. He perched on the end and started clicking around. Holy shit, a new shooting - US, wow, 36 dead and nearly a hundred injured. Hell.

Time to get to work, then. He clicked the link in his bookmark bar and logged in. His inbox was already full so he took a few minutes clicking mindlessly through the endless abuse and praise, news alerts, spam. He clicked off it and went to create a new post. Few things to update today, the tables needed another bump and a new stickied post needed to be put up. What a hassle, he’d only started this as a joke, something to do to kill time. Oh well, he supposed he needed something to do, the trailer was cramped and the site barely generated enough money for beer and pizza. Better this than being bored.

This didn’t feel as good as Jaewon had hoped. If anything he felt a little bit ill. He looked down at his hand and pulled off his gloves. They were shaking, hard. He reached up and pushed his fringe out of his eyes. When he pulled them back he saw they were smeared with red. It made him heave a little bit. No, this wasn’t fear, it couldn’t be, I’m brave, I’m brave. This is adrenaline, surely.

He looked down at the ground, a flower of blood sprayed out onto the floor and wall in front of him. That cunt wasn’t looking so pretty now. Still, he didn’t like how brutal it all looked. He pulled a plastic bag from under the teacher’s desk and draped it gently over her mutilated face. He nearly got up but realised her short dress had come down. He started sweating. Why not? He reached out to feel her breast, pulling it a little out the fabric to see it better. Still warm. His cock stirred a little bit. Ah, the good times we could have had.

He shook his head and stood up, now was not the time. Heading out to the door, he stretched his neck from side. Gotta warm up. He checked his gun, nearly out of bullets. Should have dumped less into her he guessed. Too late now, he supposed, it was time for his big show anyway.

Jaewon kicked through the front doors of the university and held his gun high, firing it into the air.

“Nop-eun jeomsu! Nop-eun jeomsu! Nop-eun jeomsu!”

He screamed until the police’s bullets tore through his lungs and brain, dropping him dead on the steps.

Frank sat at bar. It wasn’t even four in the afternoon yet and he was already buzzed. It had been a hard day, but maybe the easiest decision he’d ever made.

“You can’t do it, Frankie.”

“Sorry Don.”

He felt a little lighter for the first time in years. He hate to let down the guys but he had to look after himself, the sleepless nights were getting too much, and his work was suffering. Best to quit, do something else. Maybe private investigation work. Or he could train at the academy. Not right now though, right now he wanted to drink.

The last shooting set him over the edge. Couple of high school kids, boyfriend and girlfriend. Wasn’t even in his jurisdiction but the guys came to him for help after hearing about his work at the elementary school. Shitty stuff, fucked up. They’d been laughing the whole time, got it on the security tapes, which he sat through and watched the whole damned thing. Boyfriend had lived, girlfriend had shot herself first, and he chickened out. Cowards, both of them. They wanted his advice on questioning them.

It was too painful for him though, he wrote a small report on his advice, emailed it over, and spent the next two weeks unable to sleep for more than an hour or two a night. He still remembered some of the kids’ names, and they went through his head as he pictured the bodies. At the start of the third week, he walked into his bosses office and slapped his resignation on the desk. It was an easy choice. Harvey. Ellie. Leo. Bobby. Harper. Gracie. Miles. Hm, he was remembering less now. He ordered another drink hoping to forget the rest.

Obsessed wasn’t a word Harry liked to use, but he was probably obsessed. It started with that article on the German school shooting. Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he needed to know the name of the shooter. Then he needed to know what his family was like. Then his home life. School life. Love life.

First it started as professional insight. His psychiatry degree was now hanging uselessly on the wall, so why not put it to good use and try to find out what made this man, no, this child, work? Then he found himself gathering news articles online, putting them together in a spreadsheet. He had dreams of coming up with some great breakthrough, maybe a way to spot shooters before they did what they did. Pipe dreams of course, the last pipe dreams of an old man, so he let himself fantisize. Then why not help other people? Soon he’d bought a domain and set up a website, looking at shooting cases, gathering information on motives, details of the event - old ones, new ones. He started getting a little bit of traffic, people wanted more, old policemen, students researching, sometimes just morbidly curious people. So he did more. He even contacted police involved in the case to see if he could get some additional details, but he never made it very far. One call to an old US based detective seemed promising as he did consultancy work, but Harry was told he’d retired and couldn’t get any further. Oh well, no harm.

Hunting season had been a bust and he had crawled back to his office to work on the site like most mornings. Maybe look at re-formatting the layout to make it easier to search for information. He also had to start work on that Korean shooting, heavy stuff. It was still fresh but maybe he could scour social media to get some leads. He checked his email to see if any complaints or comments had come in, and to his surprise there was one new one, sent from someone calling themselves hanna66. The email’s subject was two words, “High Score”.

Detective Sauer was no longer human. Her daughter was dead. Her husband had left. She had no other children, no family she wanted to speak to, no pets. What she did have was rage, burning blinding rage somewhere deep inside her, wrapped in apathy. The rest of the world seemed pointless now, everyone walking around doing mundane bullshit like heading to work, or shopping, or going to eat out, or walking through the park. What was the point? None of this appealed to her now. She only had a single thing on her mind and that single thing was Elise. Elise at two years old, laughing at the crunchiness of the leaves in Autumn. Elise at six years old, screaming as her foot touched seaweed for the first time. Elise at ten years old sitting with her on a ferris wheel, cheering as she stuffed her face with candy. Elise at twelve years old crying because she’d gotten in trouble for kissing a boy. Elise at fourteen years old lying dead with a hole in her head, her pretty hair stained.

She let the image sit in her head and turn her stomach. Trying to ignore it, sleep it away, shake it off, nothing worked. It was burnt there forever. She instead had a little blog where she wrote about Elise’s life, what she dreamed she would do, what she wished she could tell her, what she hoped she would be like today, how much she dearly, dearly, dearly missed her.

When she wasn’t writing, she read a lot about school shootings. She’d found a few websites and forums dedicated to them. Some she liked more than others. Some were crass and seemed to treat the events like pornography, making jokes or commenting gleefully how terrible it was. Some were professional, like a little site which analysed the shootings after they happened. She often read the entry on Hans Richter. The little bastard who’d taken her beautiful little girl away from her. She would read it until she was shaking and crying from the anger. Bullied at home. Alcoholic father. Nothing that gave him the right to do what he did, not that anything could justify it. She would stare at the screen and wonder why why why.

“You’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this.” Her husband would say.

“You don’t understand! I have to know why!” She would cry back.

“Why do you have to know?” “I have to. I have to do it for Elise. You don’t get it. You don’t care”

“Hey, she was my fucking daughter too!”

“Then fucking act like it!”

Sauer was feeling particularly down. It was one of those grey days that dragged on endlessly, so she booted up her computer to do a little blogging, get out her thoughts and feelings. Oh, what’s this? The blog was gone. Damn internet, oh no, oh fuck. She wasn’t good with computers. Where was it? She clicked around a bit. Nothing. Damn, damn, damn this machine. She looked through her drawers, the address was written down somewhere. She pulled them out one by one, digging through them fast, scattering papers everywhere. She clicked around more on the screen but still couldn’t find it. Fuck fuck fuck. Not like this, I can’t lose my Elise again. No, no, calm now. She figured she could search for it. She searched for Elise. 25 million results. Okay, okay. Hans Richter. Still millions of results, mostly news articles. Elise Sauer. Fewer news articles now, and then her blog halfway down the page. Thank God, she sighed and went to click on it. Just under the link was another one, HIGH SCORE - HANS RICHTER - VICTIMS. What was this? She hadn’t seen that before, and she clicked, almost by impulse.

A list, a list of names. Eleven names. Eleven names with pictures next to them. There, near the top of the list, her little girl, Elise, name and photo, and a comment by the side.

This tasty little blonde bitch thought she could outrun ‘LITTLE DICH’ RICHTER but he managed to gun the cunt down. She’ll be sucking cock in the afterlife now.

No, no, no no no. Sauer was wailing, pushing her chair back as if to put as much physical distance between her and the screen as she could. Why? Who would do this? Who would say that? She turned her face away, tears rolling down her face, mercifully blurring her eyes.

She was in the kitchen for hours, pacing, sometimes crying, sometimes cursing. She could see the website was still open on her computer in the living room, but didn’t dare look further. What could she do? Send a message to the website to get it taken down? Call the police? Smash her PC? All of the above? After several drinks she was calm enough to consider going back and closing the website, but first she had to let them know how disgusting they were. They had to know how she felt.

She tried to ignore what it said about Elise, and tried to find an email address so she could send them a plea to take it down. She couldn’t find one. The more time she spent on here the worse she felt, angrier and angrier. Her teeth were grinding, now more in frustration at this damned website. She hit return at the top of the page. It was a full page on Hans Richter. She hadn’t seen it before, odd. She scrolled down a little bit, a full picture of Richter sat alongside a Bio section. She read it before she even realised she was doing it.

HANS ‘LITTLE DICH’ RICHTER tried out for the high score at his secondary school in Germany. DEAREST HANSY had a perfect opportunity to take the top spot, low security, packed classrooms, and his daddy’s illegal rifle. But ‘HANS ON DICH’ fucked it up like the virgin faggot his was, killing himself after only taking the lives of eleven cunts and sluts, not even touching the top twenty scoreboard. DICKTER blew his load early like the pussy he was, and even in death he disappoints.

She couldn’t look any longer. Who was saying this? Who would be so cruel and heartless? She copied down the url on a little piece of paper and then wrote it out in an email to some of her former police colleagues. “Investigate this. This is sick.” She wrote. She went to turn off the computer, but stoppeed just before pressing the button. She needed to tell her husband, surely? If not him, then who? She needed to tell someone, she needed someone to tell her how fucked this was, someone had to make sense of it. She sucked on her thumbnail. Well, maybe someone could? She had no idea why the name came to mind but it made sense. She went back onto her browser and found that psychiatrist’s website. She took down the email and sent a link to him as well.

High Score was a goldmine. Seriously fucked up, but Christ did it ever provide an insight. Harry had spent several hours already going through the threads. It was pretty simple, there was a top ten board on the front page that showed the most kills by shooter. The site seemed to make fun of everyone, shooters, police, victims, in a grotesque way. Everyone was a target and deserved it. Slurs all over the place. Each shooter had a profile, filled with information. Harry searched for the Korean shooter's name.

GUK JEAWON.

He clicked.

GUK ‘THE GOOK’ JAEWON only saw one thing with his slanty little eyes - revenge. ‘GUK THE CUCK’ was tired of his big dicked classmates getting all the primo-puss around his university so…

Harry stopped reading. What the fuck was wrong with these people? He scrolled down a little, there were sections on the victims, all thirty of them, all still as crude. A little lower was a video of him screaming and being shot by the police. Harry hadn’t seen that before and reminded himself to look a little later to see what insight it might give him.

A little further down was a section called ‘POSTS’. It was a screenshot of a comment posted on the forum side of the site. Whoever posted it said it was Jaewon’s post, claiming he was going for the high score and posting details of time and location. Below it were comments spurring him on or calling him out as a fake. The details did line up, Harry thought, but maybe that was a coincidence, or maybe to give the site some sort of fucked-up credibility.

He saved the page in his bookmarks, making a note to come back for his research, and decided to check out the forum side of site, see if it really could give a better insight into the minds of these twisted people. Clicking around, all the posts were similar to the ones Jaewon put up.

I’m going to do it - stay away from Ringfield High tomorrow. Check the news

With replies telling the guy to kill himself, or urging him to do it and take as many “cunts” or “sluts” with him as possible. Harry looked up the post date, but it didn’t correspond with any shooting in any high school, nor any school with the name Ringfield. Hmm, maybe it was just all bravado. He clicked through a few more postings, more of the same, warnings of an imminent mass shooting, cries to do it now and kill as many as possible, fantasists writing out mastabatory material on how they would kill their parents and bullies and religious figures and classmates. Maybe this was all just some sort of sick roleplay on a shock site? Why anybody would spend their time making fun of murder victims was beyond Harry, but he supposed there were darker corners of the internet with even darker people populating them.

A post caught his eye while scrolling.

watch the news, scotland cairnraggen primary. Going for the high score Got a rifle and ready to kill cunts before they grow up to be bigger cunts lol

Cairnraggen?

No, but that was... Odd. He looked at the post time.

An hour ago.

A fear came over Harry, something primal screeching from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, almost a seizure, a pure shot of adrenaline and cortisol hammering its way through his arteries, veins chilled to a stop by ice. A premonition, a psychic force, a raw spike of information into the mind that something is wrong and that you are missing that something. A slow burning fear, the sharp spike of embers. The view of disaster from afar, neck leaning like rubber sideways to see the car accident, the what if, the why them, the fear that something terrible is happening and you’re somehow connected. A single turn of the cog.

Click.

He looked up at the clock. 11:36.

Click.

He hadn’t seen Sam yet this morning, he wondered...

Click.

Harry was on his feet and dizzy.

“Sam! Sam!” He shouted, stumbling through the hallway to the stairs.

“Sam!” He shouted again up the stairs,

“You up? Sam?”

Nothing, absolute silence.

Something in his mind was blocking the full picture from being seen, a sort of daze in front of his vision as he took each step as fast as he could, which under his weak knees felt like hours. He burst through Sam’s bedroom door into darkness. The bed was crumpled up and the curtains were still drawn. Nobody inside. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harry grabbed at his hair and nervously chewed his lip. His head was clouded with pure adrenaline, fear, the urge to run away, to do something, anything, but he froze.

Harry noticed the blinking light on Sam’s computer, and was drawn to it like an insect, letting the electricity pull him in. He shook the mouse and the screen lit up. The website was still up, and the words on the screen were damning.

Posted by YOU

Harry nearly threw himself down the stairs grabbing his phone and coat, tripping out the front door as he pulled it over his shoulder. Three steps out he had already called 999. Before a voice picked up he froze. Someone was speaking on the other side of the phone, but he wasn’t listening. Coming up through the valley, through the woods and the icy fog, echoing up the road, was the sound of a million sirens crying, and the faint smell of rust.

END

#true crime crime fiction serial killer school shooting shooting columbine fiction crime murder writing writer short story

1 note · View note

venusxxlangdon · 5 years

Text

draw me like one of your french boys

warnings: smut, fluff, handjob, oral (female receiving, facesitting), praise kink, sub!Michael, Hawthorne!Michael, shy!Michael, female!reader

summary: reader is an artist looking for a live model for her new artwork. When she meets Michael, she realizes that the boy, who looks like a Renaissance painting, is exactly who she’s been looking for. They grow found of each other, and one day Michael asks her to draw him. Naked.

word count: 6850

Every artist experiences existential crises at least once in their lifetime, and if they haven’t experienced it yet, it means that they are about to. It’s an inevitable burden that occurs in everyone’s life, especially after they become successful and the dependency of other people’s opinion increases. An artist, who once created for the sake of the process itself, gets trapped in the idea of being liked by their audience. That’s what you were afraid most of all. To become a puppet whose only desire would be to meet somebody else’s expectations.

The sales of your paintings have increased drastically in the past six months and, as your manager kept telling you, it was high time to paint more. You started making new clients and getting offers for a personal exhibition, but it all felt like the weight of the world was forced on your shoulders. You wanted to rebel against it: tell your manager to shut up, and lock yourself in your studio, where you were alone with your thoughts and nobody told you what to do. It had always been your happy place with sketches all over the floor, your very first paintings hanging on the walls, a huge easel right in the center of the room. You loved the smell of fresh oil and ink, and two huge windows that offered a fascinating view of city skyline. How disappointing it was to come over one day and realize that nothing was making you happy anymore, and the main reason for that was right in the corner of the room. A big canvas of your last painting you had been struggling to finish. It was a drawing inspired by the early Renaissance period: a cherub in the rose garden, wrapped in a navy blue silk that was coming down his lean body in waves. The flowers turned out really beautiful, so delicate and precious with the drops of dew on the rosy petals. The problem was with the cherub. For some reason you couldn’t paint his face, and the blank space instead of its place was driving you mad. You wanted it to be special, and you had spent days trying to find a proper live model who could pose for you, but, unfortunately, all these handsome males, you tried to get inspiration from, lacked the innocence of an angel (especially that one guy who posed for you half-naked, when you were painting cherub’s chest, and decided to hit on you. You were quick to explain to him that the job of a live model wasn’t about hooking up with an artist and made sure that he wouldn’t appear in your studio ever again), the lightness and purity. Days went by, your manager started being really annoying, but you kept looking for that very special one, because you felt he was somewhere out there. Your intuition never deceived you.

It was a regular rainy afternoon when you found yourself sitting in a local coffee shop not far from your studio, thinking how bad you didn’t want to go there and face the unfinished painting which was some sort of a reminder of your inability to draw something decent. Another notification popped up on your laptop desktop, and you already new what it was gonna be about. One more email from Mallory.

“Y/N, Mr. Gallant called, and he’s expecting the painting to be done and delivered to his apartment by next Sunday. Get back to work, please”. You sighed disappointedly. Fuck this stupid time-management. You are an artist, a free-spirit and you will be done when YOU decide that it’s time. Having aggressively shut the lid of your laptop down, you stared through the window.

The rain was oblivious of your worries, as each drop bequeathed itself into a cooling air. You felt pathetic and unprofessional. Why everything had to be so complicated? Why did you let your perfectionism take over and prevent you from drawing a face of any model you could pick from a local model agency? It wasn’t even the artwork you’d hang in your apartment, and the man you were painting it for could care less about the face of a cherub as long it was pretty. You knew the answer to all of these questions — because you could never do things halfway — it was either all or nothing, even if it meant sacrificing set deadlines.

You rolled your eyes when your phone started vibrating with an incoming call.

“Yes, Mallory?” You didn’t even have to look at the display to know who was calling, Rubbing the bridge of your nose tiredly, you prepared yourself mentally for another lecture from your manager. “Y/N, you know I would really appreciate if you answered my emails” the voice on the others side was monotonous.

You sipped your coffee and winced, realizing that the drink had gone cold. Damn.

“I told you I was busy” you answered and looked around the coffee shop, thinking that the way you spend your time could hardly be identified as “busy”. Chewing on your bottom lip, you brought your gaze back to the window.

“Please, tell me that at least you’ve read my last email and you are familiar with the new deadline” you could picture the way Mallory adjusted her glasses, her thin lips pursed, and pale face grimaced with annoyance.

“Yes, I have” you mumbled in response and narrowed your eyes, as you noticed a group of boys crossing the other side of the street. They looked young. Really young. Maybe in their early 20s. Dressed in brown trench coats, they were jumping over puddles briskly, trying not to get their feet wet. Only one of them had an umbrella, so the others were trying to get under it. They were pushing each other with their elbows, playfully fighting for dominance. And then you noticed him. A tall guy who was trying to follow the running boys with his coat unbuttoned, so you could see his black and white uniform. There was a silk ribbon tied neatly around the collar of his crisp white shirt that made him look like he was straight out from some 18th century novel about a private boarding school. His blond hair, wet in the rain, sticked to his chiseled face with sharp, prominent cheekbones and pointy chin.

You literally got glued to the window, admiring him, and forgot that Mallory was still on the line.

“Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? The painting should also...”

You cleared your throat and understood that it was either now or never. You didn’t have much time, as the boys took their way down the street away from the coffee shop.

“Mallory” you harshly interrupted her. “I can’t talk right now”, you hanged up on her without even letting her finish the sentence. Her complains were the last thing you worried about when there was a gorgeous boy, who had the face of a cherub you were dying to paint, just several feet away from you. You grabbed your jacket and stormed your way out of the coffee shop. It seemed like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with an overwhelming excitement like a trapped bird. You have found him. You have finally found him.

Faster than the wind you ran after the boys hoping they didn’t go far. You saw the tall guy take a turn around the corner, and without even realizing what you were doing, you shouted at the top of your lungs:

“Excuse me, sir!”

He didn’t pay attention. “Shit” you thought to yourself and speeded up. Raindrops were running down your cheeks, and the wind was blowing right in your face making it extremely uncomfortable to run.

“Heeey!” you almost stumbled and instinctively put your hand out to prevent yourself from falling. Your purse hanged off your shoulder and nearly fell down in the puddle, but you managed to catch it. “Excuse me!”

Right at that moment the guy stopped and slowly turned around. With a slight confusion on his face he watched you slowly approach him, as you were trying to calm your heavy breathing. You imagined that you looked like a wet rat with your hair clanged to you face and smeared mascara — definitely not the most presentable look for the artist whose paintings cost thousands of dollars.

“I’m sorry? May I help you?” the boy asked. His voice was low for an angelic appearance like his. He looked even more handsome up close. The gray sky tinted his blue eyes beautifully, making them brighter. They were piercing at you cautiously, as he was trying to figure out whether he found you familiar. Even though his hair was wet, you still were able to tell that it was curly, as they were sticking to his cheeks in messy waves. You took a deep breath and tucked a piece of your wet hair behind your ear, but it didn’t make any difference to your look.

“Hi!” You smiled brightly. The only thought “it’s him, it’s him!!” was ringing in your head, making you grin like an idiot. Nobody could understand your delight at that moment. It seemed like sleepless nights, when you were eating yourself up for the lack of inspiration, have come to an end. If only this beautiful boy before you agreed to work with you! You would be the happiest person in the world. “I’m sorry for bothering you, sir. But I really need to talk to you...”

“Mikey!! What’s up, dude? Are you coming?” the other boys were calling him. He turned around and raise his right hand in the air.

“Just a moment!” he shouted back at them. He adjusted the collar of his coat bringing it up, so the rain wouldn’t get behind his back. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

You realized that you should’ve introduced yourself first, but you were taken aback by the beauty of a real-life angel, so you couldn’t blame yourself for that.

“My name is Y/N. I’m an artist” he furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding how it was connected to him, “and I’m looking for a model” you explained. “I’m working on a painting...”, you paused, “of a cherub for a very famous client, but I can’t finish it because I don’t have a model whose face and I could paint, and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for”, you bubbled excitedly.

You could see the blush bloom on the boy’s cheeks. He parted his finely-carved, scarlet lips, but didn’t say anything. Only somewhat confusingly ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a model”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes. You couldn’t explain the feeling inside of you as you watched him. He reminded you of Botticelli paintings. There was something ethereal about him: in the detached beauty of his perfectly sculpted face. He looked so fresh, so innocent, so pure, as if he was made of ivory and rosy petals.

“It doesn’t matter”, you hurried to assure him, “you don’t have to be one. It’s just...” you took a deep breath, thinking that you might have die if he didn’t agree. “I’ve been looking for a face like yours for months. It would be an honor to work with you...?” You heard one of the boys calling him “Mikey”, but you wasn’t sure what full name it stood for.

“Michael. Michael Langdon” he said, still smiling shyly. He drew his bottom lip between his perfect white teeth and looked at you through his lashes. “Look, I’m really fluttered. Thank you for your words, but....”

“Michael, we are going now!”, the boys shouted, and he turned his broad back at you one more time. It was pouring by now, and you knew that you couldn’t hold the boy any longer.

“Michael, please, think it over and give me a call, okay?” You took your business card out of your purse and handed it to him. “I’m offering you 50$ per hour. One session usually lasts up to 3-4 hours. Please, do the math and give it a thought”.

His doe-like eyes widened at your words. Not only he was blushing from your compliments, but he was stunned by the boldness of your offer, as if you were asking for something inappropriate.

“I-I-I’m really not sure...” he stuttered. You understood his reaction: how often does one gets stopped by a stranger who offers them to model for a renaissance-inspired painting? But you really, really needed him, and you were running out of time.

“Look, I’m not expecting you to answer immediately”, you said looking him in the eye, and noticed that he instantly looked away, blushing even more, “let me know if you agree by Friday, okay?”

The boys started whistling at Michael. He took your card hesitantly, his fingers were slightly shaking. He looked up at you and nodded slowly, hiding the card in the inside pocket of his coat.

“Alright, thank you”, his voice sounded hoarse, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself, “thank you”.

The corners of your lips twitched, but he didn’t return a smile, being too confused and embarrassed with all this unexpected attention to his persona. You watched him join his friends. They tapped his shoulder, as he approached them, and shoot you a curious look.

You realized that you didn’t even care about the pouring rain anymore. You were completely soaked, but the only thing you were capable of thinking was a gorgeous blue-eyed boy you just met.

xxx

The sound of the ringing phone disturbed the comfortable silence of a Saturday afternoon you were spending in your studio. You were waiting for Michael’s call yesterday, but as the hour and the minute hands of the huge clock on the wall stroke midnight, you understood that he turned down your offer. That’s why you found yourself in your studio on the following day, standing in front of the unfortunate painting and thinking that you needed to start looking through the list of potential models Mallory had sent to you.

“Hello?”, you answered the phone, noticing an unknown number on the display. A familiar raspy voice made your heart drop.

“Hi, is it Y/N?”

“Michael?” you turned away from the painting and sat down on sofa, placing your feet on a small coffee table.

“Yeah, hi”, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Got really busy with school”. School? How old was he? “But I have been thinking about your offer...”

You hummed.

“Have you?”, you had to admit that you didn’t like the fact that he ignored your request to call you back by Friday, because it meant that he wasn’t the most responsible person, and only God knew how you were gonna arrange the appointments with him since he was incapable of planing his time. But then again, weren’t you the same way? For a second you even sympathized with Mallory who had to deal with your own irresponsibility 24/7 (but only for a second).

“Yes”, you could tell by his voice that he was nervous. You smiled at the memory of him blushing in the rain. “Well, I-I-I think I’m ready to try...” you swear you could ready to explode brighter than the fireworks on the 4th of July, but you managed to keep it cool.

“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, Michael. Do you have a pen to write down the details?”

You two agreed that he would come on Tuesday for 2 hours, so you could look at him properly and decide what exactly needed to be added to the painting. Then he could come 2 time a week for 3 hour session. You didn’t plan for the entire process to take too long, 3 weeks maximum. Thank God you had managed to persuade Gallant to give you more time. Actually it didn’t even take a lot of effort: last week, after you discovered Michael, he came came to your studio and got so stunned by the painting that he let you take as much time as you needed. If only all clients were this way.

On Tuesday Michael knocked on your door in time. Dressed in a loose cotton shirt and linen pants, hair clipped in a messy bun, you went to greet him. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Just like you thought, his hair was curly indeed. Crisp, golden locks were styled messily, covering a part of his forehead. He was wearing the same coat and holding a big leather bag in his hand. You stepped aside, inviting him in.

“Hi”, he said, blushing, and you curiously wondered if it was an uncontrollable habit of his.

“Hello, Michael”, you took his bag from his hands and carefully placed it on a table by the hangers. “I’m glad you came”.

He nodded. His long fingers started undoing the buttons of his trench coat. He carefully hanged it, and you noticed how elegant his movements were. He pulled the sleeves of his black sweater a bit up, exposing his delicate wrists. You definitely were staring, but not in a romantic way. You were observing him like a picture in a museum and wondering how you got so lucky to meet this precious boy. He was looking around cautiously, as he followed you into the studio, scanning the unknown environment with his eyes. You made your way to the center of the room, took one of the chairs and pulled it closer to the window, not far from the easel.

“Please, make yourself at home” you smiled at Michael. He looked amused, as he studied a huge painting that was almost of the size of the wall for one of your old clients who ordered it about eight months ago. You created your own version of the Miracle of the Bread and Fish, and really like the result. For some reason, biblical scenes always were your favorite to work on. “Would you like some coffee or tea, maybe?”

Michael looked at you and shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good”, his eyes were searching for a place were he could sit, and you pointed at the chair. He took his seat and folded his hands neatly, lacing his fingers together, so you wouldn’t notice them tremble. You watched him amusingly with your head tilted to the side. He was absolutely adorable.

“Do you live here?”, he noticed your gaze and smiled shyly, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

You shook your head and turned away to take the painting of the cherub and carefully place it on the easel.

“No, I rent this studio for work purposes”, you nodded at the painting. “So what do you think?”

Michael was in awe. His ocean eyes were glistening with excitement, the tip of his pink tongue ran along his bottom lips nervously, as he said under his breath:

“Oh my God, this is magnificent”.

For a moment it seemed like he stopped being nervous and expressed his opinion sincerely. That’s what you adored art for: it made people feel different spectrums of emotions, all at once. It lifted the armor and left one bare, vulnerable, and unguarded. “I’m not sure if...”, Michael covered his mouth with one hand and than placed it back on his thigh, “if I’m good enough for posing for such a masterpiece”.

You couldn’t believe that such a stunning human being could doubt his looks. Michael’s appearance was worth being painted by the best artists all over the world. How come nobody told him that?“

“I think you will be just perfect for that”, you didn’t admit it, but making Michael blush was your new favorite activity. “But it maybe a bit tiresome to sit still for such a long time”, you instructed him, “you’ll get used to it”.

It was quite a disaster, you had to admit to yourself after some time. Michael just couldn’t keep still. He was constantly shifting in his chair, playing with his fingers, and always felt the need to scratch his jaw or toy with the collar of his sweater. During your first session your were doing sketches of his face, and by the moment your time was up you were practically begging him to relax and stop frowning. He couldn’t let go of his pressure and shyness.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N”, he pleaded, as he was putting on his coat. You smiled at him, washing your hands and watching him get dressed from the kitchen.

“It’s okay”, you approached him and gave him the money for his work, “thank you for coming today, Michael. I’ll see you on Thursday”.

Despite his surprised squeak, you pulled him closer for a hug. You needed him to relax for the sake of posing for the painting. The sessions might haven taken longer than you had thought.

xxx

It took him a while to start opening up to you. By your fourth meeting his hands stopped shaking and he no longer seemed to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t feel embarrassed to ask you to make some tea for him, and you learned that he liked it with lemon and one piece of sugar. As he sipped on it, watching you preparer the canvas and oil paints (you were done with pencil sketches by that time), he told you about his studies at Hawthorne school (Michael was twenty, and apparently, hated his birthdays. You found this fact absolutely astonishing, and made a side note to change this horrible omission), his friends, and his family. Turned out that he had a very troubled childhood, so his behavior started to make sense to you. Sympathy towards him grew with every session, and at some point you caught yourself thinking about him all the time. The thought about your meetings coming to an end made you feel extremely frustrated. Even though you kept reminding yourself that the relationship between you two had to stay professional, and it was wrong of you to think about him in a romantic way, but every time his blond mop of soft hair popped in the door frame you couldn’t hold in a radiant smile. It was impossible not to hug him and accidentally brush your fingers against his flushed cheek. He looked so damn cute.

You grew found of this marvelous boy, who turned out be very sensual, with a bright and vivid mind that generated ideas at the supersonic speed. He loved asking you questions about history of art, he was genuinely interested in learning about your favoring painters and why you loved them so much. He never stopped amazing you with his mindset, and his child-like innocence bribed you.

Another Tuesday night was traditionally spent in your studio apartment with Michael at his usual spot in front of your easel. You were working on the cherub’s eyes. Crystal blue and bright just like Michael’s. Your brows were frowned as you were trying to concentrate on the movements of the brush. The smell of oil paint was filling the room. You glanced at Michael to pay very close attention to his long eyelashes framing his eyes. That’s when you noticed a very strange look on his face. You couldn’t understand what was that. Confusion? Doubt?

“Michael, what’s wrong, darling?”, you asked him adding another brush stroke to the canvas. He slowly shook his head, trying not to move too much. From hours of watching him attentively you had learned his body language quite well. Now you could tell that something was definitely up, judging by the fact how he was holding onto the chair. His knuckles turned white. However, you proceed to painting, considering that maybe he was thinking of his problems or whatever there was on his mind.

“Love, please, look up for me”, you asked him after a while, trying to paint the patches of light in the eyes of the cherub. Michal started biting on his lower lip, but obliged your order and lifted his gaze. Suddenly it all felt like you were back to session 1, when he refused to relax. You put the brush aside and whipped the excess of paint off your fingers.

“Michael, please, tell me what’s bothering you?”, his face turned bright red at your question.

“Nothing”, he mumbled in response.

You sighed and took a step towards him. Carefully you took his face in your hands, forcing him to look up at you. You were glad that he didn’t shy away from your touch like he used to at the very beginning.

“Love, I can’t paint you when you look concerned”, you gently stroked his cheek with your thumb, and he instinctively nuzzled against your palm. It was unprofessional of you, you thought to yourself, but whatever. “You know that you can tell me anything”.

His eyes flattered, long eyelashes were casting shadows on his cheekbones in the dim light of the room. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists and carefully put your hands away.

“You’re gonna laugh at me”, he said, looking down at his knees. You frowned. Why was that? All this time you were trying to show him that he could trust you and you were his friend, and his doubts almost felt offensive to you.

“Michael, darling, I would never”, you assured him, watching him closely.

A broken cry escaped from his chest, as he hid his face in his hands. You started really worrying about him, was something hurting him? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well? You petted his head lovingly.

“I can’t tell you”, he sobbed, and looked up at you. The expression of his face was unreadable. Eyes glistened with salty tears, as he was desperately trying to hold them in. “It’s so e-emb-b-barrassing. You...”, he sighed, “you’re going to think that I’m weird. I can’t ask you for this...”

By that moment you stopped understanding anything from what he was saying. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you, resting his head against your stomach.

“Shhhh, baby”, you coed, running the fingers of your one hand though his hair and petting up and down his spine with the other hand. “What do you want, Michael? Please, tell me”.

You felt him tightening his hug and nuzzling into your shirt like a cat. He sighed heavily before he answered:

“I was thinking”, his voice sounded so small and vulnerable, and you started wandering what sort of a dreadful sin Michael was going to confess that made him so insecure. “Maybe you could draw me?”

He lifted his puppy eyes at you, and you looked at him confused.

“Baby, isn’t it what I’m doing?”, you chucked softly. Silly boy.

Michael closed his eyes and nuzzled back into your stomach. You had to listen carefully in order to understand his muffled words:

“I was thinking maybe you could draw me naked?”

Your fingers froze in the air inches away from his curls. At first you thought that you must have misheard him, but as his shoulders started shaking in anticipation, you realized that you had heard him correctly. Your heart started pounding, you could hear the blood ring in your ears. The most terrible thing , in the context of your unprofessionalism, was the fact that his words sent impulses straight to you core making a thin cotton of your panties wet. You cleared your throat, looking for the right words. Michael was terrified. He decided that if you had stopped playing with his hair, you got mad at him, so he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

“Michael...”, you started slowly, but he interrupted you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry”, he was talking fast, afraid that you could kick him out for his foolishness.

Multiple thoughts were running through your mind at that particular moment. Could you really draw him naked and manage not to lose control? Of course, it would be a wonderful sketch for your portfolio, but you doubted if it would be okay for you psych. The silence was making Michael feel even more embarrassed, so he started standing up from his chair, but you placed your hands on his shoulders to keep him seated. God, he was so scurrying all the time, it was almost unbearable.

“Alright, Michael”, you finally replied, hoping that he didn’t sense how hesitant you were about this decision, otherwise it would devastate him. A wide smile spread across his cherry lips.

“Oh my God, thank you, Y/N” he whispered giving you that look through his lashes you could never say “no” to.

You nodded and made your way to one of the shelves to get a sketchbook.

“Well,” you turned back to him, “get ready, and I’ll go find the fabric to wrap you in”.

Michael was eager to oblige. You didn’t expect him to want it so bad, but as he quickly stood on his feet and rushed behind the folding screen, you thought otherwise.

Unable to believe what you had just agreed to, you started looking through the rolls of fabric, trying to decide what color would suit Michael. Probably silver. It would look good with his skin tone and the icy blue of his eyes. You grabbed the fabric and approached the changing screen behind which you could see the outline of Michael’s body. You hurried to hang the piece over the screen and shook your head, as if it would help you to get rid of the indecorous thoughts.

“I think silver will look good”, you said to Michael, “just wrap yourself in it when you are ready”, you swore your hands were shaking. What, you and Michael suddenly switched personalities? God, how were you gonna draw him when you were blushing like a teenage girl?

“Damn, Y/N, you’ve worked with so many models. Get your shit together and breath”, you scold yourself.

“Okay, I’m ready”, you turned around when you heard his low voice, and your jaw dropped. Adonis in flesh. You stood there blinking dumbly trying to comprehend the view of his broad shoulders, taut stomach, and his creamy thighs wrapped in silver silk. If the fabric had been navy blue you would have thought that your cherub painting came to life. No less. You opened your mouth and then closed it without saying a word. Michal blushed and awkwardly crossed his arms, waiting for the instructions.

You coughed and turned your gaze away from him.

“Alright, get comfortable on the sofa”, you figured that a chair wasn’t suitable anymore. The boy laid down on a green velvet sofa you had bought for an extremely expensive price at one of the auctions, and at that moment you were glad that you had, because Michael’s pale skin looked even more fragile, tinted by the emerald color of velvet upholstery. He bent his long legs, carefully put them on the soft material, and leaned back on the pillows with his hands behind his head. For a second you forgot how to breath.

But as soon as you started sketching you felt relaxed. You let the pencil wonder around the clean sheet of paper, drawing the outlines of Michael’s body. He couldn’t stop smiling and looked genuinely happy that you’d let him pose for you. The skin of his cheeks and neck was in delicate pink hue, and he was biting his lips again. You wish you could bite them, too. Fuck.

Your brows frowned when you noticed that the silver fabric slipped off a little and didn’t look as good as you wanted it to be, so you put your pencil aside and stood up to fix it. Michael thought there was something wrong with him.

“Did you do something wrong?”, he asked worriedly. You wondered why he always felt the need to blame himself for everything.

“No, I just need to adjust the fabric”, you explained, without meeting his gaze. You tried not to touch his skin, as your fingers cautiously folded the silky piece, draping it in wavy folds. But the skin of his stomach looked so soft, and couldn’t help yourself and brushed it with just the tips of your digits. The muscles in his tummy tensed immediately, and you heard his breath hitch, so you hurried to take you hand away. Then he did something that sent the remains of your self-control straight to hell. Michael wrapped his fingers around your wrist and put your hand back on his stomach. Feeling enchanted, you slowly moved it to his abdomen and stopped right above the happy trail of blond hairs that went under the fabric. When you glanced at Michael, he was watching you in awe, his lips parted and his eyes wide open. It felt like his skin was burning under your touch.

“You like this, don’t you?”, the tone of your own voice was so low, you didn’t even recognize it. Michael gulped and nodded. His lids fluttered, as you move your hand to his chest.

“Please”, he murmured, licking his scarlet lips. He looked so soft, so innocent, and you wondered how beautiful he would look all wrecked and fucked out. You felt the adrenaline rush through your veins and the familiar heat between your legs. The last thought that came across your mind was “Fuck it”, as you leaned forward and pressed your lips against Michael’s parted ones. He let out a surprised mewl, but eagerly kissed you back. You felt his hands sliding down your waist to pull you closer against his bare chest. The fabric couldn’t cover the outline of his arousal: you could see the contour of his erect cock in the crease of his thigh. The tip of your tongue ran across Michael’s swollen lips, and he gasped into the kiss.

“You’re so pretty”, you said, as you broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against his. The look in his big eyes was completely dazed. You smiled and cupped his face in your hands. “Babe, are you with me?”

Michael nodded and pulled you for another kiss. You yanked his head by his locks and moved your lips to his jawline. Numbing on the thin skin, you decided to test the waters and slowly snaked your hand down to his cock. He moaned brokenly when you stroked it through the fabric. There was already a wet spot of his precum. You moved the sheer material aside and took a look at the long shaft with flushed head glistening with the pearls of his arousal. He squeezed his eyes shut, when you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock and slowly stroke it.

“Y/N”, he pledged. He sounded so needy, so desperate. You formed a fist and started making circular motions with it around the head of his cock. Michael opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word, lost in the sensation. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He looked like a painting with his boyish features, soft curls, and ripe, sinful lips he kept licking. You started stroking him faster, thrilled to take him apart and find out what his angelic face looked like when he was cumming.

“Shhhh”, you soothed him, lacing the fingers of your free hand into the strands of his hair and gently scratching at the nape of his neck. “My pretty boy”, you kissed his forehead.

Michael whimpered and pressed his head against your breasts nuzzling into them through your linen shirt. Holding tight to you, he carefully cupped your right breast and squeezed it slightly, making you moan and throw your head back. He was pleased with your reaction, as it got him braver, and he started unbuttoning your shirt, exposing more of your skin. You kept pressing feather light kisses to his closed lids, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose and his lips. His face must have been carved by angels from the finest marble. He wrapped his lips around your nipple and delicately sucked on it, drawing broken moans from your throat.

His hips were rutting against the crumpled fabric, meeting the thrusts of your hand. You stopped only for a second just to lick your palm, and wrap it around him again to resume pumping your fist.

“Y/N...”, he whined hopelessly, “I’m close”.

You knew that he wouldn’t last long. He was so young, you were surprised he hadn’t cum right after you kissed him.

“C’mon, darling”, you encouraged him, teasing the slit of his tip, “cum for me, angel. My personal cherub...”

You adored the way his lips twitched, forming a perfect “o”, the tense muscles of his stomach that spasmed in a convulsing pleasure, as he came all over your palm in white ribbons. You wished you could paint him this way. The picture of him cumming undone was forever imprinted in your mind. You smiled fondly when he looked up at you, feeling the warmth coil in the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you”, he whispered, and you chuckled at his boldness. His hands traveled up to your unbuttoned shirt and slid it off your shoulders, reliving your exposed chest to him. He caressed the nipples and leaned forward to suck on them again, swirling his wicked tongue around the hardening buds. “I think I owe you an orgasm now”.

You looked at him in surprise. He didn’t have to. You just wanted to make him feel good, but Michael seemed pretty determined.

“Could you, please, sit on my face?”, he blushed at his own words, but managed not to turn his eyes away from you. Such a polite boy.

You hissed through gritted teeth, and before straddling his chest you involved him in another passionate kiss. He shifted on the pillows, sliding down the sofa to let you straddle his chest in a kneeling position. You scooted forward until your thighs were on either side of his head. The gold curls were disheveled. Lowering your body, as your pussy made contact with his face, you moaned loudly. Michael placed his hands on your thighs and calves for your leverage. As soon as his tongue licked a wide stripe across your wet folds, you cried out, thinking you were in heaven. The feeling of dominance was alluring to you, and in no time you started drawing figure eights with your hips, rubbing yourself against his tongue. You were probably suffocating himself a bit, but judging by Michael’s muffled moans he was enjoying it. He used his fingers to help himself and spread you open, wrapping his lips around your clit. The gently sucking was alternated with him lapping on your folds.

“Good boy”, you praised him, and his whimpers sent delicious sensation to your throbbing core. You reached for your hair clip and took it off, letting your hair down in loose waves. “Just like that, baby, just like that”.

You thought that you lost yourself when his started fucking you with his tongue, stretching your tight walls with each thrust of it. Your legs started shaking not only from your attempts to keep steady, but from the mind-blowing pleasure the boy between your legs was causing you. He was devouring you, as if you were his last meal. You looked down at him and moaned at the sight of him all soft and flushed beneath you. The fact you were sitting on the face of the boy, who looked like a real-life angel, made your insides quiver. A really warm fuzzy feeling spilled inside you, making you scream out Michael’s name, as your orgasm pierced through every cell of your body. It was so good, to the extent of being extricating. Everything seemed unreal. Michael had let go of your thighs, and you bent over to kiss his mouth covered in your wetness.

You were laying on top of Michael, skin on skin, legs entwined, as you two were kissing lazily on the sofa.

“What are you going to do with all the sketches of my face after you sell your painting?” he asked, stroking your bare thigh.

You folded your hands on his chest and rested your head on them.

“I was thinking of using them for my personal exhibition”.

Michael’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

“You never told me about the exhibition! Y/N, that’s awesome!”

You petted his cheek, smiling at his reaction. Thanks to him you started to remember what it felt like to be grateful for every little thing in you life. Somehow, despite all the difficulties, Michael managed to keep his inner child safe and happy.

“Am I invited?” he wondered shyly.

“Of course you are, love” you rolled your eyes at his silly question. “You are my muse, after all”

Tag list: @lovelykhaleesiii @langdons-rep @babypinkstyles94 @sammythankyou @kaigitana @ms-mead @sebastianshoe @langdonsdemon @iloveziggystardust @chaoticevillangdon

People who might like it: @lvngdvns @icylangdon @ritualmichael @langdonsoceaneyes @ccodyfern @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @sojournmichael @wroteclassicaly

Amazing art by @theghostoflangdon

#michael langdon smut #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #duncan shepherd smut

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radiant-flutterbun · 4 years

Text

Pixel and the Shapeshifter Part 2

Previously

The next portal took Pixel to a bright land full of pine trees and wind that brought the taste of salt water with it. Just a short walk away was a huge stone tower.

Pixel attempted to take a step forward but immediately fell. Something didn’t feel right. They looked down at themself and screamed. Their body had transformed into a bird-like dragon.

Inkdrop snorted and transformed into a bat-like dragon “Oh! You’re a skydancer! Those dragons are pretty neat.”

“Uh, you didn’t say anything about my body transforming when I got here.”

“Oh didn’t I?” Inkdrop tilted her head “Sorry it must've slipped my mind! Anyway you’re a dragon now congrats! It may take some getting used to, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out! Everyone else did!”

“Great. Cool,” Pixel struggled to their feet “Would be really cool if I didn’t have to relearn how to walk. And how the fuck am I supposed to hold anything?” Pixel nudged their phone that had fallen to the ground with their nose.

“Oh you can walk around on your hindlegs and grab it with your front. It’s easy for a skydancer to do that!” She shapeshifted into a skydancer to demonstrate and picked up the phone.

Pixel stood on three legs and took it from her “Thanks.” The phone disappeared “Ok cool. Good to know that I can still summon my weapon at will here, and also make it disappear when I don’t need it.”

Inkdrop allowed Pixel to adjust to their new dragon form before leading them to the clan’s entrance. The doors were much bigger than Pixel had thought once they were up close.

A panel on the door flipped open and Pixel was greeted with a huge grey eye peering through.

“Inkdrop. You brought a guest?” A booming voice asked.

“Yes Obsidian, and don’t worry I vetted them. They’re not dangerous!”

“Very well. You may enter.” The doors opened and behind them was a huge black dragon with blue gemstones coating his scales.

As Pixel stepped inside they were at awe with how big the place was. Dragons or all shapes and sizes were walking about, they barely paid Pixel any attention.

“So, where’s Sagacious?” Pixel asked Inkdrop.

“Oh her? She hasn’t moved from the history section of the library since she got here,” The shapeshifter snorted “Why do you want to see her, anyway?”

“I have something I need to settle with her.”

“Ok but please don’t mess anything up. I promised Nike not to bring anyone in who will mess things up!”

“Me? Mess things up? Never! Now where's Saga?”

***

Sagacious was enthralled by the history and creatures of the dragon planet. On her world she already knew everything. But here she knew nothing, and that simply would not do.

So she found a nice spot in the clan’s library (which was the majority of the tower), and curled up with a pile of history books. For months she read book after book and only took brief breaks. The clan’s main librarians Lakra and Masika adored her. It had been awhile since the library had seen some use by the newcomers.

Now for the first time since her arrival, Sagacious’s reading was interrupted.

A metallic skydancer with dreadlocks approached her, their teeth showing as they snarled.

“HEY BITCH!”

Sagacious snapped her book shut “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me!” The skydancer pulled out a smartphone. Wait no a knife. An electric knife and pointed it at Saga “I’m Pixel Pronoia and you killed my friends! Now I’m here to return the favor!”

Sagacious sighed “Oh it’s you,” She stared at their knife, unamused “Did you really think that’d be threatening?” She was an imperial. They were merely a little skydancer.

“Hey I can cause permanent damage to you here! One stab and you’re scarred for life!”

Sagacious placed a claw on Pixel’s arm and forced them to lowered the knife to the ground.

“And I can squish you like a bug.”

The commotion attracted the attention of two other imperials, Lakra and Masika.

“Saga, is something the matter?” Masika asked.

“Is that skydancer bothering you?” Lakra added.

“Yes, they interrupted my reading to threaten me.”

Lakra gasped “How dare they!”

“I’m getting Nike,” Masika said “This is unacceptable.”

Pixel growled and thrashed, but Saga had their arm pinned good.

“Fuck you! Fuck you so much! I fucking hate you! You’re a fucking murderer!”

“No matter how many times you say ‘fuck’, the situation will not change,” Saga said with a smirk “You really just should have stayed home.”

A bright blue and green Plague mirror arrived “Sagacious, what is going on?” She asked.

“Nike, this skydancer just threatened me with a knife.”

The mirror, Nike approached Pixel and sniffed them “You’re the one Inkdrop just let in. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“She’s a murderer!” Pixel screamed “She killed my friends and then locked me up in my own home!”

Nike’s antenna flicked toward Sagacious “Is this true?”

“Of course not.” Sagacious answered.

“YOU LYING BITCH!” Pixel’s voice cracked.

Lakra scoffed “Sagacious is one of the sweetest, kindest, dragons I’ve ever met. All she’s done is read since she got here. I cannot believe some nobody dragon would enter our clan just to threaten her and accuse her of such horrible things!”

“Hmm,” Nike circled Pixel “I’d really rather this not become another ‘Naperone Situation’. Obsidian! Could you come over here?”

At her command the guardian that allowed Pixel to enter arrived.

“Move this skydancer to the prison. They threatened a clan member.”

“Yes. Of course Nike,” Obsidian plucked Pixel up by their chest and scruffed them like a cat. Sagacious let go of their arm, and they dropped the knife. A cracked smartphone now lay beside Sagacious’s feet.

Pixel struggled and screamed as Obsidian carried them up to the very top of the tower, where he then threw them into a dark, damp cell.

“Wait! But I wasn’t lying! She really is a murderer! And give me back my fucking phone!”

Obsidian didn’t say a word as he left Pixel in the dark.

“Sucks when no one believes you, doesn’t it?” A voice echoed in the dark.

Across from Pixel’s cell was a black and white skydancer with bright yellow eyes.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“I am the true God of Death, Match Solstice. And I know who you are, Pixel Pronoia.”

“Oh gross, a Solstice.”

Match snarled, showing his bloodstained fangs.

“So what the fuck are you in here for, vampire boy?”

Matched frowned “Eh. It actually sounds pretty bad now that I think about it.”

Pixel lifted an eyebrow “Oh well now you gotta tell me. I’m invested.”

“... I killed my brother.”

“Holy fuck. The winged one? Spirits you’re a bigger asshole than I thought.”

“Hey. hey before you paint me as the bad guy you got to understand that he was a weak god that was never meant to exist. He was a failure to the Solstice name and-”

“Fucking hell. I hope whatever brain rot you’re suffering from isn’t contagious.”

“You’re an annoying little bastard aren't you?”

“Yeah well at least i’m not ugly.”

“Wow i’m so hurt by your creative insult.”

“You’re right I can do better than that,” Pixel grinned “I wonder what your parents would think if they saw you right now. Would they be disappointed? Angry? It must be pretty embarrassing to be the son of two of the most powerful gods and to end up in another world, in prison, sick and alone. I bet they won’t ever want to call you a Solstice if they knew how weak you were right now. If they knew you were mortal right now.”

Match growled, but mid growl he began to cough. As he coughed blood splattered all over the ground. Crimson red instead of the indigo blood that normally flowed through the Selcouth gods’ veins.

“Oh did I hit a nerve?” Pixel’s grin was wicked and their pupils narrowed “You’re exactly what you think your brother was. Is that why you killed him? Did he remind you too much of yourself?”

“Shut,” Match’s voice was only a whisper but it cut accross the silent air of the prison like a knife “Your fucking mouth.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe that was a bit much. Hey I know! Why don’t we be friends instead? I think you’re a piece of shit but hey a shitty friend is better than no friends!”

“I’m not going to be your fucking friend you freak.”

“Well too late cause i’ve already decided you’re my friend! In fact I’ll promote you to my BEST friend because I ain’t got no one else! Because my last batch of friends were fucking MURDERED. But hey! It’s fine! I can move on!”

“Sounds like you’ve got some problems, and I don’t want anything to do with them.”

“Yeah well, you’ve got problems too! You killed your fucking brother! You’re an entitled piece of shit! This’ll be a great friendship! Just two pieces of shit trapped in dark lonely cells cause no one else in the entire world gives a shit about either of them!”

“You can stop talking anytime now.”

“Do you think if either of us died here anyone would notice? Are we just going to be trapped here forever until one of us starts rotting away?”

“Dragons come up here multiple times a day. I think they’ll notice if one of us died.”

“Yeah but like would they care? I wonder what they’d do to our worthless corpses? Neither of us would get a funeral that’s for sure!” Pixel clawed and kicked at the walls of their cell, tears falling from their eyes “This sucks! This fucking sucks! I hate this! Trapped in one shitty place to the next! I fucking… hate this…”

Pixel slumped to the floor, silent for once.

“Done with your little temper tantrum?” Match growled.

“For now,” Pixel sighed and took a deep breath. They just needed some rest and then they’d figure a way out. So they shut their eyes and drifted off.

#tcotg #clan ton theon #pixel is having a bad day

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forgottenpasta · 6 years

Text

Lifeline Chapter 5 Teaser

A/n: this is about 1k words lmao. when I tell you this chapter is going to be looooong.

~.~.~

“You’re what, the twentieth guy now, I don’t know, I was never good at numbers.” She rolled her eyes. “Who the fuck trusts witches these days? I would have intervened but most of the time I’m not in a generous mood.”

“Hold on.”, Taehyung held his hand up, confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

She gave him a “duh” expression. “The witch won’t come here. Bet you a storm demon’s precious horns, they’re going to text you with a shift in location soon. Likely a deserted back alley or some other abandoned place.”

“Why?, he asked, though he already suspected the reason.

“The last guy who came asking for the coven, a vampire like you, was found sliced up like sashimi a few days later.” She smirked, as if enjoying the mental picture she was painting. “A few others, shifters and an incubus, were thought to be kidnapped. I don’t know what became of them.”

“My guess?” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Maybe the witches are using their entrails for some cult, ritual sacrifice to summon Hecate.” She curled her lip in distaste at the name of the goddess of witchcraft.

“Calm down, Indiana Jones.”, Taehyung chuckled at the valkyrie’s dramatics. “Most likely they’re just mugging these poor souls for some quick cash or kidnapping them for ransom. Either way, this is my only lead and I can’t squander it.”

Freyja was surprised. “Even if you end up in pieces inside a boiling cauldron or something?”

“I can defend myself.”

She opened her mouth to say something, likely a jibe at his bravery/stupidity but Taehyung’s phone vibrated with two quick texts on the bartop where he had placed it, causing her to throw a knowing glance at him.

*last minute change up*

*meet me at the lake park, north clearing*

“What did I say?” Freyja crossed her arms, reading the messages from an unknown number on his lock screen. ‘I told you so’ written all over her face. “You’d be a fool to go there alone.”

“Maybe so.” Taehyung slid off the barstool gracefully, pocketing his phone. “But I’ll regret it if I don’t take this chance out of cowardice.”

Apparently that was exactly the thing to say to impress a valkyrie. He figured he had just gained some serious brownie points with Freyja as she smirked at him with a twinkle in her eye.

“It must be important to you, huh? Whatever you’re seeking.”, she probed, clearly angling fo more information.

Taehyung just hummed an affirmative, staring past the wrangling bodies on the dance floor to the exit, ready to leave the crowded place already.

“Alright.”, Freyja clapped her hands. Jumping over the bar top in one swift motion, she landed beside Taehyung soundlessly. “I’m coming with you on your suicide mission.”, she announced.

“Sure.” Not glancing back at her, he stepped away from the bar, making a beeline for the exit, making sure to avoid grabby hands. The place was swarming with all types of supernaturals. “Not that I care but are you sure you want to leave this place unattended? It’s very crowded for a Friday morning.”

Taehyung pushed open the door and the murky, artificial nighttime air of a cleverly crafted cloaking spell surrounded him. Overhead the sky was ink black, with no sign of any clouds or stars, just a big black void covering the darkened landscape which comprised of a few willow trees, some shrubs and acres and acres of unending grassland. The willow trees were a side effect of purchasing a spell from witches, they were a natural source of power for those performing witchcraft and a trademark of their artistry. The bustling club was smack dab in the middle of nowhere. The only source of light, which poured out of the windows of the two story building like flames licking up the darkness, in the pitch black surroundings.

It didn’t matter though. All supernaturals had perfect night vision.

“Today is the only day I can leave it.” The valkyrie caught up to him easily, both of them heading for the portal between the two willow trees in the distance.

“My mate would never let me go deal with this problem otherwise.”, she huffed. “It’s bad for business, so many patrons going missing. Before long this place might become notorious for it.”

“You have a mate.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“He’s a fire demon.” Taehyung could almost hear her eye roll, but he also didn’t miss the warmth that suddenly coated her voice like silk at the mention of her other half.

“Temper problems and all. Too overprotective. Though I still love the buffoon for some reason.”,she chuckled fondly. “Thankfully he’s out of town for a few days. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him right?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking down at the tiny valkyrie who had a wistful look on her face. Missing the demon?

“Odd combination.”, Taehyung commented, sweeping his hair off his forehead. How their relationship worked out, a calm, blunt pixie-sized valkyrie and a hulking (for most demons were the size of a mountain), fire-demon with anger issues, he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Fate works in unexpected ways.”, was her simple reply.

He sighed. “That it does.”

As they crossed the threshold of the portal and the cloaking spell disappeared behind them along with the murky darkness, he thought of you.

He thought of you as clear, bright daylight engulfed everything. A fresh breeze blew through the forest that suddenly surrounded him, birds chirped overhead, flittering from branch to branch, playing in the afternoon sunlight. Thick undergrowth covered the ground, ferns overtaking any available empty soil. The gurgle of running water somewhere in the distance mixed in with the cacophony of the forest to create a soothing song that somehow reminded him of the sound of your voice.

The sound of your irate voice calling him an asshole.

Your words had been ringing in his head like a stubborn, catchy tune ever since he’d phoned Namjoon. No matter how much he tried to put it out of his mind, it creeped up in his conscience every few minutes. He did not feel bad about calling you a problem, you were a problem. A massive boulder in the path of their smooth lives and careers that threatened to throw everything in disarray. Taehyung firmly believed that if something was not broken, it shouldn’t be fixed. Their lives were perfect without you. Nothing should have changed. Especially not on account of his huge ego, a mistake he’d made trying to humiliate a witch who didn’t have anything to live for.

“What are you thinking about?”, Freyja watched him observe the forest patiently, letting him ruminate.

Taehyung shook his head, rubbing his chest right over his heart. He couldn’t begin to describe to a near stranger that no matter how much he pushed the feeling aside, an ache in his heart had started to build ever since he’d heard your voice. A kindling of sparks that had the potential to become a roaring fire. It wasn’t intentional, not something he had control over. At least that’s what he told himself when he wanted to reach for the phone, tell Namjoon to put you on the line. When that urge arose he told himself he just wanted to set the record straight with you, to have you on the same page as him. Not, of course, to hear your voice again.

“Vampire, we should get going.”, Freyja said as she pulled ahead of him to the path that led to the northern side of the lake park forest.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, falling in step behind her, his parched throat reminding him of another situation he had no control over. Namely his rapidly increasing thirst. It had been weeks since he’d last fed, the longest he’d ever gone without blood and he was starting to feel it. Images of sinking his fangs into soft, supple flesh racked his brain at odd hours of the day, making his sharp canines drop involuntarily and his body shake with the need to consume blood. It was everything he could do to distract himself from the thirst gnawing at him from the inside.

Still, even the thought of feeding from some random blood bag he could arrange from a dealer, made him nauseous. His body knew what it wanted, what it needed.

The exact opposite of what I want.

Taehyung made his way through the dense forest silently, following the valkyrie who’s footsteps were just as soundless as his. Every noise that filtered through the dense trees reminded him of your voice and he wondered if he was really going crazy, like Suli had. His foggy brain hanging on to that little piece of you, his mate, that he’d managed to hear, like a piece of bone thrown to a starved dog.

Not everything was under his control, but why did he feel like he could kill to hear that angry voice again.

A/n: unedited af :)

#bts fic #bts angst #bts scenarios #ot7 x reader #Lifeline #teaser 5

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obrienpascal · 5 years

Text

You must not know a thing

(Stiles Stilinski imagine)

Author: @dylanobriens-world

Word Count: 2510

Warnings: Character death.

Characters: Stiles, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Malia, Peter, Y/N.

Summary: The night of the full moon Y/N wonders why everyone suddenly wants to ditch you and what everyone is keeping from you. Stiles told everyone to keep this secret from you but when something terrible happens Stiles wishes he would have told you sooner.

Author's note: I hope you enjoy this imagine! I've been stumped on ideas for so long writer's block is a real thing it's so crazy! This is my first time writing an imagine with "Y/N" and I hope I do well. Happy reading! :D (My wifi sucks so I had to refresh tumblr so many times so the first time I wrote this the ending was bomb as hell but since it doesn’t save on it’s own I had to re-write the ending sad life anyways it was better the first time I need better wifi)

masterlist

You walk down the marble staircase of Lydia Martin's huge home. Allison, Malia, Lydia were in your group and she volunteered to have everyone at her house for the assignment. There wasn't much done since Allison brought her nail polish kit insisting you all have a mani-pedi party. When you reached the last step you walked over to look at the nail polish. There was one that caught your eye instantly. You picked it up walking over to sit on the gray couch to paint your fingernails. As you started to paint you wondered where Malia was. When you arrived it was daylight: The sun beaming through Lydia Martin's living room curtains, birds chirping on the tree just outside her front lawn. Although now, it was dark out with a full moon just outside the window. You stared at it for a while wondering why you hadn't seen or heard any cars passing by. Beacon Hills was a strange town filled with unanswered questions and things to keep you up at night. Many with unsolved mysteries that haunted your mind. Allison and Lydia exchanged looks as they noticed your suspicion. You wanted to ask where Malia was but you didn't know if either of the two girls would tell you. Instead, you just continued to paint your nails a dark blue-black color to match the night sky.

"Are you having a good time Y/N? I love the color you picked." Lydia questioned walking in front of you to sit across from you. She grabbed your hand observing the color of your choice.

You flashed her a smile trying to hide the concern in your face, "Yes, I'm actually glad we're not doing the project believe it or not." You let out a dry laugh taking your hand out of hers. That only made Lydia wonder what was wrong as you pouted looking down at your nails.

"What's wrong?" The strawberry blonde asked sitting on the wooden table in front of you. As she glanced over to Allison who shrugged her shoulders you wondered why they wouldn't tell you what was obviously on both of their minds. Maybe there was a reason to keep this secret from you. To keep you safe? To avoid hurting your feelings? None of it made sense to you because you believed you were all best friends and wouldn't keep anything from each other.

"Where's Malia?" You blurted out without a thought. Those words causing Allison to drop her purple nail polish to the floor. The brunette shared a look with Lydia shaking her head vigorously indicating she shouldn't say a word. It pained you to know you couldn't be trusted, how long was this secret going to go on till something terrible happens.

"Fine, if you won't tell me then I think I'll just go." The pain showing in your tone no care of hiding it any longer.

"Wait!" Allison called out standing up from the floor to walk over to you. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her palm avoiding ruining her nail polish. You sighed under your nose waiting for another lie from your good friend. It wasn't the first time you tried to storm out before the brunette attempted to stop you.

"I wish I could tell you what's been going on but Lydia and I just can't." She paused to take a quick glance at Lydia who nodded her head. "Stiles asked us to promise we'll never say a word to you.”

Your brows furrowed as you shook your head lightly confused at Allison’s statement. The sarcastic eighteen-year-old boy was your closest friend. Closer than you were to Allison, Lydia and Malia, along with Scott McCall who you knew was Stiles’ best pal. Furthermore, you both felt something for each other but it would never be anything more because he kept too many things from you. You felt it would make things more complicated if the two of you got together and you couldn’t handle any more lies. Especially in a relationship. “Stiles? Why would he make you guys promise not to tell me anything?” Your attention was grabbed from a low growl you heard coming from Lydia’s basement. Suddenly, the strawberry blonde stood from the wooden table racing downstairs. “What was that?” You wondered with a shaky voice your heart starting to pound rapidly.

“I think you have to leave now please don’t say a word to Stiles. Trust me.”

“Where is he? I need to see him.” You proposed trying to get out of Allison’s grasp. She wouldn’t budge just moving you closer to the front door.

“I’m not sure but he can’t see you right now he’s with Scott helping him,” Allison mentioned opening the front door. There was a loud bang from inside the house and she turned to look back before turning her head to look back at you.

“Allison! A little help!” Lydia’s voice was heard shouting from the basement.

Allison pondered for a moment her feet fidgeting from side to side whether to go help Lydia or to stay with you for a second longer. “I’m sorry. Just please go home. You’ll be safe there.” After Allison finished speaking she closed the door leaving you with tons of thoughts flowing through your brain. Should it matter that this big unrevealed mystery was still to never be unfolded for you? Should you stop trying and appreciate everyone trying to save you? Of course, you told yourself “no” so one thought flew to your mind. All you thought was to go to Scott McCall’s home for some answers.

If Stiles is there like Allison mentioned you wondered if he’d just make you leave so you wouldn’t know what he was keeping from you. As you started walking to Scott’s house which wasn’t too far from yours after you parked your car from leaving Lydia’s place. There was a rustle from the bushes a couple of feet behind you. You stopped in your tracks attempting to look back but thought twice about it. Your steps only grew quicker you beginning to get nervous being out alone this late. You stepped on the curb to cross the street looking both ways to make sure no cars were passing. Your left foot stepped onto the street first you taking steps to Scott’s front door. Stiles jeep was in the driveway stating Allison was correct. You walked up the pathway standing in front of the door exhaling a long sigh as you lifted your right index finger to ring the doorbell. There was no answer which your second thought was to check if the door was unlocked. You reached the doorknob turning it feeling the door open so you pushed it open looking behind you for that noise you heard to never be heard again. Finally, you walked inside Scott’s house closing the door lightly behind you.

All of a sudden there was growling from upstairs the same you heard in Lydia’s home. Gazing up the long wooden steps you didn’t think twice about heading up them to see what the noise was. As you made it up the stairs you heard voices and rustling of chains. You swallowed hard your heart pounding as you weren’t sure what to expect. Seconds later a dark-haired boy was thrown to the wall in the hallway knocking down some frames. He held onto his chest breathing heavily while his eyes traveled to you his whole demeanor changes. You rushed over to Stiles holding his head up grabbing one of his hands. He looked like he was in a lot of pain in his back but he didn’t seem to care about that right now.

“What are you doing here Y/N it’s not safe for you.” Stiles groaned rubbing his head with his free hand. He sat up against the wall wincing at the pain squeezing his eyes shut.

“What’s going on? Who threw you?” You asked shifting your eyes to the bedroom door but Stiles grabbed your face to look at him.

“You can’t know just- please go.”

“Allison told me you asked them to promise not to tell me something. What is it.” You snarled you nostril scrunched as your brows furrowed tired of everyone keeping things from you. Sooner or later you were bound to find out so why wait?

Stiles sighed letting go of your hand trying to stand. You followed putting your hands on his shoulders to keep him stable so he doesn’t fall. The boy looked up at you with sad eyes his lips parted.

“If I tell you it will just put you in danger. I don’t want that.” He looked past you at Scott’s bedroom. You wanted to look but knew he’d just stop you. Should you make a run for it into the bedroom to see for yourself? Or just let Stiles protect you? At the same time, you heard a loud roar coming from downstairs. You both shared a look then turned your heads to downstairs. Everything in you changed. You felt fearless, powerful, unregretful. Therefore you race past Stiles to head downstairs.

“Y/N!” You heard the lacrosse boy yell after you.

Suddenly you stopped on the last step when you saw a tall man with hair everywhere, sharp teeth, glowing eyes, and huge claws. The same fearless, powerful, unregretful vanished quickly meeting the eyes of the monster in front of you. Was this creature the rustle you hear behind the bushes? Had he seen you open the front door without a key so he knew he could do the same? He smiled evilly taking slow steps toward you. Your hands and legs started to shake as you took steps back up the stairs never taking your eyes off of the man. He licked his teeth showing off his fangs causing you to trip and land on your butt.

“Help!” You shouted out getting back on your feet running up the stairs as fast as you can. Suddenly your ankle was grabbed yanking you back causing you to hit your face on the stairs. Your nose gushed of blood flowing down your lips to your chin then hitting the stairs. “Please, don’t.” You cried out tears streaming down your face.

The man grabbed you by the wrist yanking you forward. His big shiny fangs came out in sight. Your eyes grew wide your whole body shaking in fear.

“Get away from her Peter!” The voice you’d recognize in seconds shouting at the man holding your wrist tightly. “Scott doesn’t want to be apart of your pack let it go! Let the girl I love go!” Those words left you in a trance repeating it over and over in your head. You couldn’t believe he finally admitted it. You dreamt about it frequently wishing he would just say it in real life. ANd now he has on your possible death bed. You were hoping it wouldn’t come to that but it doesn’t look like it’s going to go any other way.

“Too late, Stiles.” The man growled taking his off of Stiles gazing at your wrist. He opened his mouth wide sinking his fangs into your wrist. You let out a loud scream, tears and shouts getting the best of you. Now you understand lots of things now. Why there would be not a lot of students the night of the full moon, why you found chains in Stiles’ locker him saying they’re not for him there for Scott but he couldn’t go into more detail. Why you couldn’t find Malia in Lydia’s home hearing a growl from the basement. Your friends were supernatural creatures, possibly not all of them but now it was hard to tell. Everyone was just trying to protect you, and you failed them.

Peter’s fangs sunken out of your wrist as he vanished outside the front door. You felt weak, tired, your hand shaking repeatedly. Nothing felt like you would survive this.

“Where is he!” You recognized the voice shouting from above you.

“He just left!” Stiles yelled back to his best friend Scott McCall. He rushed to your side bringing you in his arms. Scott rushed past the two fo you outside the front door. You lied your head on his chest not being able to move any part of your body as you felt weaker than ever before.

“I’m sorry,” You managed to say in a low tone. He wiped away a tear falling down your cheek.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you. I just wanted to stop something like this from happening. I should have told you.” He said in a shaky voice fighting back the tears that were trying to find a way out. “I meant what I said Y/N... I love you.” The tears finally crawling out hitting your shirt. He lowered his head placing a kiss on your forehead. Stiles sniffled pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you too,” You whispered moving your head back meeting his gaze flashing him a grin. Your eyes traveled to his lips as you lifted your head up. Stiles sniffled leaning his head down his lips meeting yours. The kiss was mixed with tears and blood making you want to move back from the kiss but Stiles held your cheek to keep you from pulling away. You felt horrible that this was your first kiss with Stiles and knew it would be your last. If only you had appreciated the protection he was giving you not wanting to harm you in any way. But now he had to watch you die in his arms. You pulled back from the kiss wincing in pain at your wrist.

“I’m going to die aren’t I?” Black blood beginning to fill your hand. The black thick blood pouring out of your nose, ears, and eyes. It pained Stiles to see you like this, it even pained him more to say...

“Yes.”

You nodded your head lightly, you realized your body was fighting the bite. There was no way of surviving this. At least you go to spend your last minutes with the one you love. You started to cough black blood your breath shortening. Stiles held you closer leaning his head onto yours. You felt a tear from Stiles roll down your cheek. He reached down to squeeze your hand.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” The scared boy said over and over. Your breaths became shorter and shorter. Your eyes fell open and close. You weren’t afraid of death just afraid to never see the people you love again. But you knew you will always be with them. A small smile crept at the corner of your lips. Everything will be just fine. As you took your last breath your grip on Stiles' hand loosened and your head sunk from his chest. Your body lifeless in the arms of your one true love.

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us2dinosaurplanet · 3 years

Text

Ultimate Story 2: Dinosaur Planet-Chapter 15: Banjo’s Krazoa Spirit

After they landed in Thorntail Hollow, they headed straight for Moon Mountain Pass and to the Volcano Force Point Temple. Things were exactly the same after they left except for the chamber where Peppy and Blossom told them facts about the Spellstone. Everything was different from there. They were eventually able to reach the warp pad that warped them to the blue tinted room. They all ran to another Spellstone socket right next to the water Spellstone where Fox placed the last fire Spellstone. Then more shaking occurred and the last orange flow above the pillar faded. 3 down and only 1 more left.

Shortly, they all warped back outside the temple. Everyone else ran off. Fox made one last glance at the Volcano Force Point Temple and caught up with the others. They ran through Moon Mountain Pass and made it back to Thorntail Hollow. But before they could relax, winged creatures suddenly flew out of the giant well and started to attack the Thorntail tribe. Don’t these poor people ever get a break? In order to save them all in time, Fox had the team split up and each must select 1 of the 6 Thorntails to rescue. It wasn’t easy, but another rescue mission has come to a success. Thorntail: Once again, you guys have come to the aid of our tribe. You and your friends are real heroes, Fox.” Kazooie: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t you guys ever protect yourselves?” Fox: “Don’t you ever shut your big beak, you loud mouth bird?” Kazooie: “Sorry, but I choose not listen to you anymore. I only listen to Misty from now on.” Misty: “Don’t you ever shut your big beak, you loud mouth bird?”

Kazooie became shocked. Fox folded his arms with a conceited smile on his face. Fox: “Did I mention that Misty’s on my side?”

Kazooie glared at Fox. Kazooie: “I hate you.”

Fox continued to smile at Kazooie. The Thorntail then pulled out a large scarab bag. Thorntail: “And I got this for you. Many thanks for saving us.” Bubbles: “No problem, it’s what we do. Showing that you’re OK is the best way that you could ever repay us.”

The Thorntail smiled and went back to eating grass. Fox picked up the large scarab bag. Banjo: “Wow! That bag is big enough to hold more than enough scarabs to buy 5 of the Thorntail Store’s most expensive item.”

Fox then held the scarab bag up to his ear to hear how many scarabs the bag is actually holding. He listened… Fox: “Perhaps…just one of them.” Banjo: “Darn it, not even close.” Fox: “That’s OK, I think you got something there, Banjo.” Banjo: “I do? Aw, shucks.” Misty: “But what do you mean, Fox?” Fox: “Guys, follow me. I’ll give you the details, later.”

So, they followed Fox into the Thorntail Store. There, he gave his friends a couple of scarabs to buy a little something for themselves while he was busy buying the expensive item in the store with the rest of the scarabs. As the others were buying food, Banjo was looking for honey like he did the last time they visited the store. This made the storekeeper very angry. Shabunga: “Choose something, already!” Banjo: “Do you have any honey?” Shabunga: “For the last time, no! I don’t have any honey! I don’t even know what honey is!” Banjo: “Well, I’ve got to have honey some time. I haven’t had honey in a long time; I can’t even remember what it tastes like.” Shabunga: “Listen, missy; if that bear mentions the word “honey” again, I’ll have him kicked out before you can say, “haggling”.” Misty: “I’m sorry, but ever since a certain someone left to retrieve more magic paint from her home planet, Banjo has been dying for honey.” Shabunga: “I told you not to say that word!” Misty: “That’s strange; I thought you say BANJO couldn’t say it, not me.” Shabunga: “Don’t get smart with me or I’ll have you kicked out as well as your bear friend!” Misty: “Oh, all right. Come on, Banjo. We’re all done here. Fox should have bought the expensive item by now. We should meet him and get out of here.” Banjo: “Well, OK.”

Both Misty and Banjo walked out of the blue section of the store and when they met up with Fox, had a huge problem as he was searching through his backpack. Fox: “(grunt) Darn it!” Misty: “What’s wrong, Fox?” Fox: “I can’t fit this thing that I just bought into my backpack.” Peach: “Tsk, tsk. Oh, Fox, I told you not to over pack before we returned to the planet, but did you listen? No, you just counted your chickens too early again. You are so careless, don’t you know that?” Fox: “Alright, alright! You made your point, Princess! Now, is everybody else’s backpack available?” Peach: “I’d love to help you but my bag is too small for that thing. At least it’s not overstuffed like yours.” Fox: “Alright, I heard you the first time. Does anybody else have backpacks that are vacant?” Bubbles: “Sorry, but mine full, too.” Rayman: [“Full!”] Misty: “I would also love to help you, too, Fox, if a certain someone would return from her home planet.” Peach: “Maybe, we should just carry the item?” Shabunga: “Forget it, Blondie.” Peach: “Huh?”

Shabunga then appeared in the room. Shabunga: “That item is genuine and rare. If the other dinosaurs saw you with it, they will trample all over you like a stampede.” Peach: “But why?” Shabunga: “What you have there is a Snowhorn artifact. Everyone will do anything to get his or her hands on it. Hiding it inside a carrying case will prevent that from happening.” Fox: “But all of our backpacks are occupied.” Banjo: “Not mine.” Fox: “Huh?” Banjo: “I’ll carry that artifact for you.” Kazooie: “Oh, no you don’t! I’m not staying cooped up inside a backpack with that stupid artifact.” Fox: “Well, you’re going to have to get out of there, Kazooie.” Kazooie: “Fine!”

Kazooie flew out of Banjo’s backpack. Kazooie: “It’s too stuffy in there for my beautiful crown, anyway.” Fox: “Will you stop yapping about that stupid crown of yours?” Kazooie: “Never, you’re just jealous that I’m a princess and you’re not…a prince.” Fox: “F.Y.I., birdbrain; I have a best friend who has been princess way longer than you.”

Kazooie made a grimace and flew out of the store. Fox: “Hey, where are you going!?!” Kazooie: “Let me know when you’ve got rid of that stupid artifact, loser.” Fox: “FINE! GO, THEN! I DON’T CARE IF YOU NEVER COME BACK!” Kazooie: “Fine!” Fox: “Come on, guys. Follow me.”

Fox and the other ran off as Princess Peach stayed, whispered something into Shabunga’s ear and gave him 50 scarabs. Shabunga took the scarabs. Shabunga: “I’ll have that surprise of yours ready in no time.” Peach: “I’m giving you till after the planet is back together again. That should give you plenty of time to get it ready.”

Peach left and catch up with the others.

Later, Fox and the other headed back to the entrance of the Snowhorn Wastes. Fox explain to his friends that one time they were at the wastes, he heard a blue Snowhorn was complaining that he lost something. He knew exactly what it was. When they reached the Snowhorn, Banjo took the artifact out of his backpack and gave the artifact to it. Snowhorn: “I don’t believe it. This item was stolen from me many years ago.” Banjo: “Really?” Snowhorn: “Yes, I believe it was around the same time that a strange, floating dinosaur visited the wastes.” Misty: “No way…he…stole that artifact?” Peach: “That’s just…terrible.” Snowhorn: “Yes, but in return for bringing back the artifact, I will give your friend the chance to prove himself.” Rayman: [“That’s it? Banjo returns an artifact and is given a test in return for his kindness? What kind of reward is that?”] Peach: “Easy there, Rayman.”

Then as the Snowhorn stomps its front feet, a pad was rising below Banjo’s feet. Snowhorn: “The call of the Snowhorns will begin the challenge.”

Fox gave Banjo the dinosaur horn. Then Banjo blew on the horn and he was off.

This test was a tracking test. All that Banjo has to do is run to another dinosaur horn pad a blow the horn on it and run to the next pad. However, he has to complete the test within the time limit or else he would have to start from the beginning. Because Banjo rides on Kazooie’s back throughout tests like this one, this was pretty hard for him. A lot of times, he was out of breath. He was eventually able to pass the test with time to spare. He swam across on the left side of the river in the wastes where his friends and the Snowhorn were waiting for him. Fox: “Wow, Banjo, I…I can’t believe you passed that test on your own, without Kazooie and her Talon Trot.” Banjo: “Thanks (gasp)… Fox. It…(pant) wasn’t easy…(pant).”

Misty walked up to Banjo and picked him up. Misty: “Poor Banjy bear, you look exhausted. You should cut down on riding Kazooie’s back and get more exercise.”

Banjo agreed. Fox did, too. Fox: “Come on, guys. Let’s go to the next shrine. Banjo, you stay in Misty’s arms and rest for a while. You’re going to have to take the test since Misty and I have already took ours.” Banjo agreed again. Then Fox and Misty ran to the warp pad and warped on it.

After they warped, they were in a sticky or should I say slippery situation because the floor is made of ice. But slippery floor never stopped these brave adventurers from getting to the Krazoa Spirit within the end of the shrine. Fox escorted Misty through the entire place as her powers were weakened by the spirit again. Thankfully, he was able to handle it just fine. He is clever and resourceful after all.

When they reached the end, Misty dropped off Banjo so he can take the next spirit’s test: Test of Strength. In this test, Banjo has to push a Sharpclaw into a pit before he gets pushed in, himself. It was pretty similar to the test of strength that Fox took back in the Lightfoot Village. This short bear proved that sometimes, a little goes a long way by passing the test. Then the spirit flew into Banjo’s body. Banjo the honey bear is now the keeper of the fourth Krazoa Spirit.

Shortly, they were warped back to the Snowhorn Wastes and met up to their friends to return to Thorntail Hollow. Afterward, they reunited with Kazooie. Unfortunately, she and Fox were still mad at each other from the fight they had back at the store. Soon enough, they immediately returned to the Warpstone where Fox, Misty, and Banjo were warped to the Krazoa Palace. They searched the palace until they were able to find another Krazoa head for Banjo to release his spirit.

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wyntersriddle · 4 years

Text

Characters: Barry Allen, Leonard Snart, Iris West, Cisco Ramon, Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells, Lisa Snart, Wally West, Mick Rory, Hartley Rathaway, Mark Mardon, Shawna Baez, Ray Palmer, Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, Joe West, (more characters to be added as more chapters are added)

Additional Tags: Inspired by Miraculous LadybugAlternate Universe - College/UniversityAlternate Universe - Different PowersBarry Allen is a cinnamon rollBarry Allen & Leonard Snart are the Same AgeThief Leonard SnartCisco Ramon is so DoneLeonard Snart is chat noirBarry allen is ladybugNew Ladybug Miraculous HolderI Will Go Down With This ShipFluff and SmutEventual SmutEventual Happy EndingPre-RelationshipOther Additional Tags to Be Added

Language: English

Summary:

When Barry Allen finds a small black box he ends up getting superpowers of creation from a little red bug called a kwami. Similarly, Leonard Snart steals another box and gets his own superpowers of destruction. Together, they must fight through evil monsters, awkward lunch dates, and save Central City while still trying to graduate college.

Inspired by the show Miraculous Ladybug

Barry huffed out a breath when he finally collapsed in his seat for first period a few minutes past 10am.

He was already late as it was and lugging around his thick textbooks and laptop did nothing but hurt his lower back. The class was a good size, not too cramped or empty, the lecture was interesting enough, and all Barry could do was squirm in his chair the whole hour and a half. College life was sure could be exhausting.

Central City Academy housed the greatest legends to date and Barry wanted to meet them all. Teachers like Martin Stein, head of the criminology department, David Singh, head of the detective agency, and Sara Lance, the Dean for almost 15 years, were all on his list to attend their seminars. The creme of the crop though was Doctor Harrison Wells, the lead field expert in all technology and science. If Barry could somehow meet him, he would be on the top of the world and could die happily. Even if nothing else came from today, at least he could say he walked on the same sidewalk Dr. Wells drove past every morning.

Barry’s first class was taught by Martin Stein, an older gentleman with white hair he could see a mile away. He took notes diligently, asked questions, and before walking out introduced himself. Professor Stein was elated to find out Barry’s major was in Forensic Science, the “modern prosperity of the future” as the professor put it, and even went so far as to invite Barry back for coffee in the next coming weeks to discuss participating in some experiments of his own.

Barry basically skipped out of his class, not bothering to look forward until it was too late and he collided head first into someone wearing huge glasses hiding half their face. Something hot spilled all over Barry’s jacket and he shrieked, dropping his textbooks and messenger bag in a heap on the floor.

“Ow! Omg I’m so sorry—“

The person reached forward to prevent the hot drink from spilling any further, instead knocking the sunglasses off her face. She dove into her bag and brought out a napkin.

“Here, let me help you with that. I’m such an idiot for forgetting the lids.”

“That’s alright,” Barry said, already peeling his hoodie away from his body before his t-shirt could get wet. The smell of coffee hit him head on. “I didn’t like this jacket anyways.”

Truth be told it was his favorite jacket, the only memento Barry had of his dad in prison and his mom before she had passed away from cancer in the beginning of the year. By that time, Barry had already graduated high school, done his first two years of college, and moved to Central City to start his Bachelors that fall, wanting to put his past behind him and start from scratch somewhere new.

“Hey, wait.” The lady put her hand on Barry’s sleeve when he bent to get his stuff. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The young woman could have come out of a fashion magazine with her dark skin, long black hair, and dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Now that Barry looked at her, like actually looked at her, she was familiar too, even if he couldn’t place her from where.

“I don’t think so?” Barry said instead, reaching for his bag and wincing where he heard something shift. “I’m sorry but I really gotta get to class.”

“Right.”

She helped stack up the remaining books into his arms, watching out of the corner of her eye so Barry didn’t topple and fall from the added weight.

“Wait a second.”

Barry was pushed forward and then he almost did land on his ass. The books held up in their pile and he shot the woman a look of exasperation.

“Barry Allen? Like as in the Barry Allen? It’s me, Iris.”

“Iris?”

Barry was finally able to cram the textbooks next to his laptop in his bag and watch as Iris grinned back at him.

Oh...that’s why he had thought she was a model.

“Hey, it’s you, Iris.” Barry rubbed his neck, fighting a blush. “Long time no see.”

“It’s been forever,” Iris chatted. Barry could now smell the sweetness of her perfume. “How are you? Last time I saw you you were pushing the swing behind me and making those really weird experiments in middle school. Damn it’s been forever.”

“Yeah...It really has.”

Iris West, Barry’s childhood crush was staring at him and only remembered those lame volcano projects he had done. How convenient she didn’t remember all the valentine letters or the chocolate bars for Secret Santa he would leave at her desk, not to mention all the time he had spent staring at her yearbook photo before he had given up his freshmen year when she had transferred schools.

“You look good,” Barry continued, his heart in his throat. “You go here?”

Iris did that cute hair flip she had perfected at the end of 8th grade where her hair had only gone up to her shoulders. Long hair really worked for her.

“Yeah, I’m majoring in journalism so I can finally run my own news stand in the future. Still haven’t given up just yet.”

Ah yes, Iris had always been obsessed with journalism and creative writing, even making her own club in middle school. Barry had wanted to join but never had the guts to ask.

He really had to go before he fell further into the rabbit hole that was Iris’s big brown eyes.

“I...Uh,” Barry stuttered, motioning with his hands. “I gotta—Class.”

Iris must have gotten the message because she moved back to give him space. “Right.”

Barry nodded.

They said their goodbyes and Barry retreated out of there faster than a cheetah on steroids. Iris had promised coffee one of these—something he would have to psyche himself up for later—and he had said yes, like an idiot.

Although it had been good to see her...

Barry snapped his brain back to the real world. Iris was unattainable. She was attractive, bold, smart, the total package. Never, in a million years, would she want to go out with someone like him, neighborhood geek whose ideal date was staying home marathoning Stranger Things on Netflix and taking a nap.

A breeze swept leaves up into the late September air, carrying the scent of fall. The tree colors were changing from their typical green to golden brown and burgundy, Barry’s favorite time of year. It was automatically calming, even without the thin protection of his jacket the autumn sunshine turned his hair light brown.

The next class was short, a lecture on the introductions to the psychology of the human brain. It wasn’t as interesting as Barry would have thought with a lot more PowerPoint explications then talking, but he would make do. He also made sure his laptop wasn’t cracked or broken before placing it carefully back in his bag and jogging to the food court to find something to eat.

Barry had the all in one meal plan since he lived on campus. Having the ability to eat anything he wanted without gaining too much weight always had its perks, especially when he ordered the juiciest burger he could find and munched on it in one hand while holding a large vanilla shake in the other.

It was around 2pm and the food court was a bustle of activity. People gathered to sign up for clubs or talk to their peers about their assignments. Jazz music filtered from a sit down Italian restaurant, while across from it a huge crowd waited their turn for homemade pizza slices. There were vending machines, snack stands, and even an ice cream parlor tucked in the corner. At the center of it all the library stood proudly, the only place where food wasn’t allowed past a certain point. There was even a system to rent entire rooms for the day for people to sleep, study, or scream because of finals.

Barry moved onward, trading the shouts and loud noises for the quiet outdoors where again another breeze caught his attention. A blue bird twittered down at him from its nest, a squirrel chittered, and lizards liked the lips from across the treetops.

Barry had to seriously watch where he was going because for the second time that day he collided head on with another person, this time a young dude heading the same direction.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry. Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

“That’s okay, man. It’s cool.”

The stranger regarded Barry with a smile. He had long, wavy hair all the way to his shoulders, and a pair goofy 3D glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. The vintage Revenge of Sith t-shit and paint splattered jeans made Barry feel at ease.

“Is that real?” Barry asked when his gaze fell to a NASA pin on the corner of the stranger’s collar.

“Limited edition, baby,” the guy said. “Got it at San Diego Comic Con last year. 25th Anniversary Apollo 11 pin in the flesh. Had to trade my complete Star Trek playing card set just to even be considered bidding for it.”

“They make Star Trek playing cards? For real?”

“They make playing cards out of everything.” The stranger held out his hand and Barry shook it. “I’m Cisco by the way. You catch my vibe?”

Barry grinned. “Bartholomew Henry Allen. My friends call me Barry since it’s shorter and a lot faster.”

“Like Barry Sonnenfeld,” Cisco exclaimed, and then persisted to sing and snap the Addams Family theme. Barry snapped with him in the last chorus. “Far out, man. That’s wicked cool.”

Cisco’s good mood was infectious, Barry couldn’t help grinning and walking in step with him.

“Where you headed?” Cisco asked. “I got one class left and wouldn’t mind talking to someone with good tastes.”

Barry laughed. “Same here, then I get to unpack. I’m in G66, at the Northside.”

“Awesome-sauce, I’m there too! Is this a match made in heaven or what?”

They continued to walk and talk under the trees, Cisco describing his schedule in details even Barry could barely wrap his head around, but they still laughed and talked about stupid stuff like they hadn’t just accidentally head butted each other.

Barry’s phone chimed, signaling he had only 10 minutes to get to his next class before he would be considered late, and he blanched.

“I’m gonna be so late,” he groaned into the sky.

“No you’re not.” Cisco’s cheeky grin lit up his face. “I know a shortcut. This way.”

They cut through the grass to the other side of campus toward the statue garden Barry had been meaning to check out. Crossing two things at the same time always had its perks.

The statues of past teachers and deans stood proudly among the foliage. Their perfect white skin was like marble and so lifelike Barry had to breathe out a sound of wonder. He recognized Professor Stein among them, a younger version of himself, and Dean Lance with her stern expression. At the center stood Doctor Harrison Wells in all his glory, a perfect replica. It was hard not to stare.

“He’s a legend, ain’t he.” It was Cisco standing next to Barry.

“Beyond a legend.”

They grinned, going in through the back of the building where the auditorium was already packed with people. There were only two seats left in the front row facing the doors and Barry made a beeline straight towards him, Cisco on his heels. They sat down just as the clock stuck 2:45 and the lecture started.

The place felt like a can of sardines, and Barry had to fight to put his laptop on the table in front of him. The auditorium easily housed over 200 people and everyone held their breath at the same time waiting for Professor Rip Hunter to walk through the doors.

Barry looked around for a few seconds, catching the faces of others doing the same. The place even had a dark corner where the more reserved students sat. Barry could feel one of their eyes on him now, hidden enough so when he turned his head he slightly could only make out a navy blue jacket.

People exclaimed when the doors opened and instead of the walking Professor Rip Hunter, Professor Harrison Wells rode in on his wheelchair. People gasped and some clapped. A girl even fainted, falling out of her chair with a heavy THUMP on the floor.

Doctor Wells was here, in the flesh, in front of Barry!

Barry almost squealed from his seat, only stealing his breathing when Wells clapped his hands to have everyone’s attention.

“Good morning, students.”

There was more cheering and snippets of disbelief.

Professor Wells chuckled. “I’m sure you all know who I am. I will be subbing in for Professor Hunter for today. Rest assured this is a treat for all of you as well as me, in fact I’m a little rusty with my teaching so forgive me.”

Wells cleaned his glasses on his sleeve. Even the gesture made Barry’s eyes go wide. He could practically see the individual stitches from where he was sitting, the slight wear and tear of the professor’s shoes, and even the individual hairs on Well’s perfect head.

“I will be here if you all have any questions, but for now let us begin.”

XXXXX

College life sucked ass.

College classes sucked even more.

College professors, now they were the real dicks.

Leonard Snart rolled his eyes for the fifth time that hour. If he rolled them any further back he could probably find not only his brain, but the professor’s too.

The class was beyond drab, History of the Assembly Line, and the poor bloke who had to teach it was even older than the source material. Rest assured, Len would be skipping this class and probably the next one, and if he had a third he would skip that one too.

Math and science had been his forte since diapers, that was why he’d ended up in this stupid college in the first place. ‘The home where lawyers and DND geeks could party like the days of yore.’ Leonard had to laugh. Whoever thought college was fun clearly hadn’t seen the bill at the end of the semester.

At least the campus wasn’t all that bad. With its slick rooftops, starch white walls, and peaceful serenity that seemed to envelope whole environment, Leonard could see himself staying there until the late hours of the day, ducking into the library or one of the swinging tables littered across the greenery. There was also a garden in the middle of campus where all the famous crack heads and hippies could mingle and smoke until they passed out for the week. It was a paradise for some, a prison of books for others.

The nerds were lively this year. Leonard had passed at least 7 clubs all asking for his vote to sign this or end that. He had given his favorite finger to most of the people that passed him, saving his breath for whoever tried to chase him down when he speed walked away. A piece of paper wasn’t going to abolish world hunger anytime soon, even with Len’s signature mixed in the middle.

His next class was halfway across campus so he took the long way, making sure to breathe in the chilling air and watching the leaves dance as they fell from the trees. People didn’t appreciate nature as much as they should’ve, but this campus showed the importance of clean air. The grass was green from the constant sprinklers, the smell of dirt intoxicating in its own way.

Leonard arrived at class too early for his liking, deciding to stick around for a little while longer as a few people passed him by. He had missed lunch, wasn’t hungry, but a girl holding a sandwich made him stomach churn so he looked away and headed inside to hide his appetite.

There was still 32 minutes and 15 seconds left for class to start so he surveyed the area, stopping to tie his shoe to look under the tables too. No one paid him no mind as he made his way to the back, swiping pens and pencils and the occasional phone he would misplace later so the person could find it. Leonard never kept what wasn’t valuable, even now in a college setting when most of these students could afford the best of the best.

A shiny black jewelry box caught his eye from another student sitting next to him, next to an expensive looking leather wallet. The blond boy smiled, all hearts and roses, but when he bent to take out his laptop for the lecture, Len swiped the box and wallet off the table and pocketed it without anyone noticing. Jewelry was always worth a pretty penny and the extra cash would certainly help pay for dinner.

The professor walked in through the double doors, or rather rolled in. He practically screamed pretentious asshole in Len’s direction with beady eyes behind his designer glasses, his Prada suit pressed without a wrinkle, his wheelchair spotless. The lecture started like all the other classes, boring and dull while Leonard tried not to drool in his sleep.

For being such a random topic like quantum physics, the class was beyond packed with some students standing on the sidelines and others pausing by the door while they mixed up their schedules. Whoever this professor was, he was clearly a big shot. In fact, if Len squinted he could see all the nerds in the front row hanging onto his every word, writing things down so fast their hands would fall off.

Leonard tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He got what he paid for, all for a degree in engineering that would be obsolete in a few years when tablets or smartphones would take over mankind or their jobs would be taken over by machines.

Time ticked at a snails pace and he caught himself glancing at his watch more than once every minute. It really sucked that he could barely afford lunch, much less a laptop. Maybe if he played his cards right he could get a loan or steal some other sucker’s when they weren’t looking. Writing on his hands would have to do for now.

The professor asked question after question only the people in the front row understood. The whiteboard was wiped clean by another student and soon Leonard’s head rolled to the side.

Class ended and he woke up with a jolt. People were already heading out and half the auditorium was empty when he decided to get up and stretch. A few stragglers had stayed behind to fan over the professor, each more wide eyed and excited than the last. Len didn’t need to stick around for that snooze fest, he quietly saw himself out, dumping the wallet in the trash when he saw how many credit cards were in there. There was over $200 in cash.

It was past 6 when he kicked off his motorcycle and rode home, past the slums and the trailer homes to his little modest house on the outskirts of Central City. It was a good 40 minute drive but Len didn’t mind, not when he had the open dirt road all to himself and the wind drowned anything from reaching his ears.

His house wasn’t anything special, just a roof over their heads until Len could move out and take his sister Lisa with him. He had left once in his lifetime and the look of betrayal on her face told him she would never get over it, and he would never let himself forget it.

Lisa had two moods: absolute flirtation or extreme anger. With the first one she could charm even the moodiest king cobra, seduce them into marrying her, and then promptly have them cut off their own head off with the bat of her eyes. The second mood was so bad the devil himself could come down and Lisa would smite him with her glare.

There was one final secret mood only Len knew about and once he entered the house he immediately tried to beeline to the door, knowing the onslaught of questions would want to make him donate his ears to charity.

“Lenny,” Lisa called in a sing-song voice. “I know you’re here, big brother. How was your day?”

Rather than answer, Leonard stuffed his collar in his mouth and bolted up the stairs. He didn’t get far however, because Lisa smacked the door to his room wide open before he could lock it.

“Come on now, don’t be like that.”

“My day was fine. Classes are fine. Everything is peachy.”

Lisa hid her grimace with a tight smile. “Make any new friends? Got a hot date and that’s why you won’t tell me? Come on, Lenny, I’ve been cooped up all day slaving away to rich pricks and exchanging fake numbers I’ll have to burn in my memory. How was your first day?”

Lisa worked at the Saints and Sinners Dinner, an appropriate name considering it was in the sleaziest part of town where their father did most of his gambling. The customers were asshats, but at least the tips were good, letting Lisa finish her last year of her GED so she could hopefully follow away from Len’s footsteps and make a name for herself one day.

Her super short skirt covered little to the imagination and her makeup was always as pristine and flawless as her hair. Today she wore a modest coverup over her work uniform, the last birthday present Len had gifted her when she had turned 18.

“Where’s the old man?” Leonard asked instead of answering. “If you behave I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

It was a rhetorical question, they both knew where he was. Leonard also knew his father, Lewis Snart, wouldn’t be back until the early hours of the morning, long after Lisa had gone to work and he would make himself scarce.

“What’s for dinner?” His sister asked, smoothing down Len’s leather jacket with her fingertips.

“Pizza. My treat.”

“Pizza?” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “I can’t pay tonight. All of my tips went to the electric bill this month.”

Of course they did.

“My treat,” Leonard repeated. “I said I’d pay last time. Now, do you want to go get it or have it delivered?”

Lisa didn’t hide the way she stared hopefully at the door. That told Len everything he needed to know.

He took the jacket from her fingers. “Come on then.”

Even through all of Lisa’s pestering, she was silent most of the ride to The Tower of Pizza diner, a locally owned business that knew both siblings by name. They could also get a discount on the best garlic bread in Central City.

The diner was practically empty when they arrived, only a few customers milling around the checkered red and white booths. They said their order to the cashier and piled into a single booth, Lisa going first and Len facing her.

“So,” Lisa started. “Now are you going to tell me how your day went?”

“If you want, fine.”

Leonard told it like it was, he didn’t sugarcoat anything anymore for Lisa. She was a big girl, wiser than most people in their 30s, and she knew the law of the land better than anyone. Len described the open campus and the even more open people with their clubs and their acronyms and their frat parties. Her eyes went wide with every description, picturing it all in her mind’s eye. Before long there pizza arrived, half Hawaiian half veggie lovers, and Lisa stuffed her face while Len continued.

“The library is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, a whole 9 stories of books and computers. You can find anything you want in there.”

“Are there any sororities? What were they like?”

Len shrugged. “How should I know? You want me to join one and tell you about their slumber parties?”

Lisa sighed into her pizza even though she did chuckle at the joke. “I wish I could join a sorority. Do you think it would be fun, Lenny?”

“Matching clothes and banging the school mascot. What’s more fun than that?”

Lisa shoved her crust into his mouth before he could say anymore. The pizza almost choked him but Leonard swallowed it whole, coughing it down.

“You’re a jerk you know,” Lisa snapped. “You didn’t even want to go to college and yet here you are, taking it for granted.”

“Jesus, Lize.” Leonard drowned his watery soda. “If you’re so hurt about it why don’t you go in my place? The classes are fine, I just...”

His voice trailed off and Lisa said nothing. The garlic bread was starting to taste bitter.

“Are you going to leave me too, Lenny? Is that it?”

Leonard almost choked again. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t stand your little sister anymore because I hold you back. Come on, we both know you didn’t want to stay in Central. You only stayed because of me!”

“That’s not—“

Lisa waved the last slice of her Hawaiian in his face. “Don’t you lie to me, Leonard Snart. I’ve been getting lies all my life.”

Len said nothing, couldn’t say anything to that statement. Lisa was right in a lot of things, but he didn’t want to believe her.

“Let’s just go home.”

He left a hefty tip because he could and they were off, this time the ride less comfortable. Lisa only held on when she had to and Len purposely turned harder in order to feel the contact. They got to the house and before he could even put his helmet away he heard the sharp closing of the door to Lisa’s bedroom.

Leonard didn’t bother, letting his sister cool down was the best option, even if it took a week for her to talk to him.

He threw his jacket against the wall, punched the dresser, and watched as an angry gash formed on his knuckles. He punched the wood again and again until the pain was so bad it was no longer grounding.

Leonard fell to the floor, head in his hands. He would have to clean up the blood from his clothes before his dad made it home, but for now he just sat there, wallowing in his self pity. It wouldn’t help anything and yet he still did it.

Something nudged his foot and Len opened his eyes slowly to spy the little black box he had swiped in his last class. It was barely the size of his fist now that he looked at it, hardly special.

Yet something was calling him to open it. He needed to open it. BADLY.

He took it in his hands and the wood was polished against his fingers. The blood had stopped flowing from his cracked knuckles, but Len still managed not to get a spec on the black box.

Opening it was...normal. Actually it made him feel worse. A single sterling silver ring blinked up at him and he almost, almost threw it aside to continue to sulk.

Except a small voice that was not in his head spoke next to his ear and almost half scared him to death.

“If you get blood on the ring I’ll kill you.”

XXXXX

Barry was high as a kite when he left Well’s class. Cisco had excused himself to go to the bathroom, claiming he almost peed himself when the professor had rode in like a knight in shining wheelchair parts, and if Barry was honest with himself he had probably peed himself from excitement too.

The walk to his dorm room was shorter than he could have imagined, but then again he had skipped the whole way.

Barry’s dorm room was a modern, quaint apartment complex that had a basketball court on one side and a pool on the other. It was the kind of place frat parties would be thrown on one night, and then the other would be the annual board meeting where all the professors would gather over coffee on the bottom floor. There was complimentary breakfast, rose shaped soap, and even towels that looked like swans when Barry wheeled his luggage in and dropped it at the foot of the bed.

The room was a good size, single bedroom like he had requested with another person across the hall where he would share a kitchenette and bathroom. The window overlooked the campus, all the trees changing colors right before his eyes. There were clean sheets in the closet, simple and white, and the walls were burnt orange to contrast the dark furniture.

Barry threw his hands up and whooped loudly. Today had been amazing, even if his jacket was stained with coffee and his classes gave him more homework than he could imagine, he had met with his idol, his world.

Barry unpacked his photographs and camera equipment first, taking the time to organize them on the shelf overlooking his bed. Then he hung the few science posters on the wall he had managed to stuff into his bag and left his high school soccer trophy on his desk next to his laptop and books.

There wasn’t much else to put away besides clothing and enmities so Barry let them be, instead fishing for his phone in his messenger bag. He came up empty so he turned the whole thing upside down on his bed and watched as a bunch of pens, papers, and a notepad flew out. Still no phone? What was wrong with this bag!

Barry dug his hand until he felt a hidden pocket where his phone had been lodged in between two zippers. He also felt something else in there, foreign to his fingers, but it felt small enough that he pulled both objects out at the same time.

The thing turned out to be a small black box that when it caught the light had swirling designs on the sides. Barry started at it and opened it without a second thought. A set of simple black earrings stared up at him, two little dots against the cushioning.

Where had these come from? Barry had never worn earrings in his life besides the one time he had dressed as a pirate in grade school.

He was about to toss them aside to take them to lost and found, but a bright light exploded from inside the box and Barry helped, taking cover under a pillow.

“Hello there, master of creation. My name is Tikki and—“

Barry screamed and fell face first onto his bed, slamming his head on the wood. It hurt like hell but it didn’t matter, he lay still.

He must have passed out because a knock on his door almost caused a Barry to knock his head a second time on the floor.

“Yo, dude!” There was more knocking and Barry half stumbled half crawled to the door to open it. “Everything okay?”

It was a boy younger than him, dark skinned with curly hair, wearing only a towel around his waste. Water was still trailing down his face.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Barry averted his gaze politely.

“I heard screaming.”

“I...slipped.” It was such a lame excuse. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The boy looked him up and down, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press.

“Alright sure. If you need anything I’m Wally by the way.”

Barry nodded. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

Barry shut the door without another word, then he groaned. He hadn’t given his name!

Barry opened the door quickly just as Wally was closing the door to the bathroom, probably going to change.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m Barry.”

Wally cracked a small smile and they went their separate ways.

The door being shut made Barry’s skin crawl. He looked around the room and everything seemed normal enough. His books and laptop were still on his desk so there hadn’t been a break in. His clothes were still unpacked, the bed was messy where he had fallen.

He could have sworn he had heard a voice. Barry checked under the bed, in the dresser, but found nothing.

“That was quite a scare,” a frilly voice said. “You should be more careful.”

Barry yelped, grabbing the nearest object to defend himself. It happened to be the desk lamp and he yanked it out of its socket, plunging half the room into darkness.

Just great.

“Whoa whoa. Please don’t hurt yourself.”

Barry could barely see but from what he could make out there was a tiny bug-like creature floating close to his face. An alien. Oh he was so screwed.

“I’m Tikki,” the floating thing said—hadn’t it already said that? “And you’re the new master of the miraculous.”

Barry could faint, or wait maybe he did faint again. The Tikki bug thing was talking to him. It was a real alien!

“You’re...YOU’RE—“

“Tikki. And you are?”

“Barry Allen?”

“Barry Allen.” Tikki nodded their head—her head? Its head?

“What are you exactly?”

“I’m a guardian of the miraculous of creation, a kwami,” Tikki supplied, zipping over to and on the desk. “You were chosen to wield my powers and become a superhero.”

“Superhero?”

Tikki nodded. From the looks of the little antenna poking out of her reddish, almost pink head, and her trill voice Barry could guess she was a girl. She almost resembled a little ladybug.

“Are you ready to transform and see what I’m talking about?”

Transform...?

HOLD THE PHONE.

Barry stumbled to Tikki, dropping himself in his rolling chair.

“Wait wait, start from the beginning. You’re a miraculous. What even is that?”

“Miraculous are beings of pure energy sent to guard the hope and virtue of humanity. We have existed for centuries in secret with only a few people in the history of time that have ever documented us. Those are called guardians, and there is one right here in Central City. I was sent to find you so you could help him save the world.”

“Save the world.”

Apparently Barry was a dumb idiot because all he could do was repeat whatever Tikki was saying. He was probably getting pranked, yeah that was it! Pranked by Wally across the hall to usher him into his new year at the university.

“Thanks,” Barry said slowly. “But I’m good. I’m no hero. Cue the cameras, this prank is over.”

Tikki’s gaze darkened, her blue eyes turning bluer. “This is no joke, Barry. I really am a miraculous. And you’re my new master. We should start your training immediately.”

“No. What you are is a figment of my imagination!” Barry threw his hands in the air and whirled around. Maybe if he closed his eyes he’s wake up from this dream.

He ended up finding Tikki poking his nose when he opened them.

“Come on, come on,” she rushed. “Your partner must be waiting for you.”

“Partner?”

Tikki nodded like it was obvious. “You wield creation, your partner wields destruction. Together you are ying and yang.”

“Right...”

Barry chewed his bottom lip. On the one hand he could turn in this little bug creature over to the authorities and be done with it, maybe put it to good use. The lab always needed to resources to find cures for cancer or the common cold, maybe this was it. On the other hand, he could see where this was going, stick it out for as long as he wanted. Hell, he could be a superhero according to this thing.

“Okay.” Barry nodded slowly, then more firmly, deciding his mind. “Okay, I’ll do it. What do I have to do exactly?”

“I have to pierce your ears. Please hold still. I’ll explain everything once you have the earrings on.”

If Wally heard a Barry scream again he didn’t knock on the door a second time.

If you want more let me know!

#coldflash #legends of tomorrow #wip #dc comics #dctv #leonard snart #barry allen #coldflashforever #the flash #alternate universe #fanfic

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lufancy · 7 years

Text

Charming II

Sehun, prince!AU

Chapters: (1) / (2) / (3) / (4) / (5) / (6) … masterlist

Summary: Looks can be deceiving. Oh Sehun is far from being a prince charming.

Belonging is a strong and inevitable feeling that exists in human nature. Coming to an unfamiliar environment I had high hopes to find that belongingness. To wed a prince for the purpose of my country.

Yet all of my hopes were scattered all in the first fifteen minutes of my arrival at the court of my fiancé.

He has already decided to be hostile without even knowing me. Without ever interacting with me. So while having tea with the entire Oh family and me and my mother, I wonder… what must I have done to have made him disapprove of me?

His family is so kind to me. Why is there enmity between Sehun and me?

It's just that I need him as the next queen of my country. Otherwise, I’d already have flipped the bird.

Yes. Even as a princess. I would totally do that.

He is glaring at me. His parents seem to notice the awkwardness but try not to acknowledge. Luhan, Sehun’s brother, seems apologetic, and my mom and I don’t know how to react to all of this.

I give side glances to my mom. Is this really the man she wants me to marry?

“Sehun? Why don’t you give our lovely guest a tour of our humble abode?” His mother puts a hand on his knee and shoots a demanding smile.

Sehun turns to his mom. “Seriously? This place isn’t that hard. Why can’t she-” but he gets cut off by his father.

“Sehun!” The King scolds him. “Now.”

The young prince sighs gets up and walks out of the room. Without asking me to follow him. I look around and meet everyone's eyes, encouraging me to go after him.

I’m facing his back the entire time.

I look around and take in everything. The beautiful tall windows, crystal chandeliers and the hand painted ceiling take my breath away. This is very different from our home. Ours is more rustic, with a lot more use of stone and expensive wood.

I miss home.

I want to go home.

Without a husband.

While I’m busy with my own thoughts I fail to notice my hostile fiancé coming to a halt and I almost bump into his tall figure. We are standing in the foyer with behind me a beautiful staircase.

He turns around and I am met with his stoic expression. He points to the floor and says, “Foyer.” Then points to the ceiling, “Rooms.” He points to the left and right. “East wing, west wing.”

Then ends by pointing behind him. “Front door.” He leans into me and I’m flustered by the sudden distance. He puts his lips close to my ears and whispers. “Try to make use of that one often, okay?”

Just like that he walks away.

I don’t follow him.

Why would I? He is basically telling me to leave. My positive attitude I tried to keep up crumbles and I close my eyes. My head is hurting. I need an Advil.

Am I supposed to be with a person like this for the rest of my life?

Is this how it’s going to be now?

Hated and rejected by my so-called husband-to-be?

“Oh! Your Highness! What are you doing here all by yourself?” A young girl in maid uniform comes up to me, I think around my age. She has a beautiful face and I suspect she is around my age. “Are you lost?” She asks me.

“Actually, yeah… a little.” I smile awkwardly.

She laughs sweetly. “You’re lucky you ran into me! This place is huge but I have known it all my life. Where do you wish to go? I will help you.”

My heart gushes. There are nice people here too!

I tell her I’d like to go to the common room and she leads me the way. “What’s your name?” I ask her. She is nice and I’d like to have someone as bubbly and positive as her, considering I’ll be spending a lot of time here now.

“My name is Haneul, your majesty.”

While on our way to the common room Haneul explains she got lost all the time as a kid. She even jokes how the King gets lost sometimes, even now, because he travels a lot. However, he always manages to find the kitchen to steal a snack.

I catch myself laughing. By the time I’m back in the common room I feel my mood is a lot better compared to when I left. I thank Haneul and she grins, then bows.

However, the looks I’m given bring back my sour mood. Everyone is wondering why I’m back with a maid, instead of my fiancé. The Queen frowns, the King shakes his head and Prince Luhan decides to stand up. “I’ll show you around, princess.”

I nod and thank him.

Luhan is so different from his brother. Unlike Sehun, he gives off a refreshing and kind vibe. Being around him feels pleasant.

“Our home was built by my great great great great grandfather.” He laughs, also a little confused by how many times he said ‘great’. “This castle used to be a little hunting lodge. My…” he looks hesitant to repeat it again, “let’s just call him grandfather, loved this location. So he decided to expand it into his finest castle - of course, it’s a little more modern now.”

I feel so much more familiar with this place now. Luhan takes his time to explain things to me and allows me to familiarize myself with this castle - unlike the arrogant prince.

“We’ve got a large flower garden outside. Sport and race cars in the garage, a music & media room upstairs.. a pool! And err.. a gym.” I laugh at how hard he is trying his best.

“Wow. This sounds more like a luxury hotel. It has everything. Are you actually trying to sell me a room?” I joke.

I was a little scared my tasteless joke might insult him but he throws his head back in laughter. “If you sign now, I’ll give you 10% off!” He adds then continues laughing.

I’m enjoying myself with him. God, why is Sehun nothing like his brother?

After quite a passionate tour around the castle, we sit down outside for a cold iced tea. I wave to Haneul when I see her walking towards us with our drinks. “You Highnesses, please enjoy. I have prepared some snacks for you as well.” She smiles and I smile back.

“You make me happier every time we meet, Haneul. I love snacks.” I tell her and she bursts into a fit of giggles.

Luhan shifts in his chair uncomfortably, but I don’t think much of it.

Haneul leaves quietly after bowing and I return to the conversation while sipping my drink. “So, besides all the fancy stuff. Are there any cool old things? Stuff that remained from when this was first built?”

Luhan leans back. He chuckles in surprise. “You like ‘cool old’ things?” He asks. I nod. “You’re very interesting, you know that?”

I get where the confusion comes from. When you meet a girl with a red purse, classic Louboutins, and a low back blue dress, you would rather expect her to shop till she drops and go to the spa every other day. The thing is, if I don’t dress like a snobby person, my mother will kill me. As a princess, I’m not allowed to sit in my sweats the whole day.

Luhan taps on his chin in thought. I see his eyes light up and he leans forward. “We have… secret passages.”

This piques my interest. “Secret passages?”

“Yeah. They were made when the castle was built but no one really uses them anymore. I think they flooded them. You know, to prevent unwanted intruders.”

My interest is gone. “So, that means all of them are gone now?”

He seems deep in thought. “Not… all of them…”

Minutes later I stand next to Luhan in front of a plain wall of the hall upstairs. I stare at him blankly. Waiting for something to happen. He lightheartedly scolds me that I’m impatient and I blush in shame.

He laughs at my expression, then points to the wall. It is a nice wall but when I give it a push it doesn’t budge. “That’s so cute.” Luhan laughs and gives me a pat on the head. “Watch.” He pushes a chair away and reveals something that looks like a white lever. He pulls it and then I hear the sound of a door opening.

Luhan watches me as I stand with my mouth wide open. No way…

I would have never expected something like this…

I look inside and it is completely black. No light. Luhan pulls his phone from out of his pocket and turns the flashlight on. I see that this path doesn’t go far. It seems like there is just another door on the other end.

Luhan extends his hand and I politely refuse. That seems a little intimate for two strangers. He almost snorts at my shyness. “I won’t do anything. Its just that it is very dark and slippery in here. I don’t want a princess to fall on her butt in such a pretty dress. Although that would make an amusing sight.” I blush and slap him playfully, then take his hand.

He guides me to the other side and opens the other door. “Welcome to our castle’s hidden treasure.

There I am met with one beautiful sight and my heart melts. It’s a library. My breath feels taken away.

A beautiful two-story library. I see a hole in the ceiling and find there are many more books upstairs.

Despite it having two levels, it isn’t big nor all too clean, probably because it’s so hidden, but the titles and authors on the shelves make my heart jump. I find authors such as the Charlotte Brontë, Tolstoy and oh… my favorite; Jane Austen. I open the books and my eyes go wild as I find some are first editions. They’re worth thousands…

“This is amazing…” I whisper to myself. I nearly forget that there is a prince watching me. I want to cry. This place is like a paradise.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Luhan is leaning the bookshelf next to the entrance. “Happy you like it. At least someone will make good use of it now.”

“Can’t believe you guys don’t come here…” I say in disbelief. “This is like heaven to me.”

Luhan ticks on his chin. Something he seems to do often. “Actually…” he trails, “Sehun comes here to read most often of all of us.”

I nearly drop a book that is worth 20k. Did my ears just deceive me? Sehun? The arrogant and mean prince who looks more like a popular frat boy who gets laid often. He comes here? Before I can even process my thoughts I blurt out something stupid.

“Sehun can read?!”

I want to mentally slap myself.

Because no matter how bad he treats me, and they know he is being disrespectful. Luhan and Sehun are still family, and I just asked Luhan if his younger brother is illiterate.

Bless Luhan for being so cool, because when he fails to hold back his laugh, I know we’re still okay. “Yes.” He coughs to clear up his laughter. “I have come to the understanding that he can read - or all those expensive private classes were a waste of time.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult…” I still feel kind of sorry. Yet another part of me tells me I shouldn’t feel sorry for someone who humiliated me in public.

Luhan shakes his head and gives me a smile. “I get it, okay? He is being a pain in the ass to your right now. I should probably explain that he doesn’t like being a prince. He wants to choose his own life yet our parents have expectation and demands.” I understand what he is talking about. It is the same with me and my mom. She is very controlling. “He is a good guy. He is just misunderstood. Give him time to open up to you, I swear he will be different.”

I want to believe him but I don’t see anything I can admire about him.

However, this is my first day here and he was being nasty from the start. He nearly ran me over with a freaking golf cart, they proceeded to humiliate me in front of everyone by hanging two girls on his arms.

“Just give him a chance.”

Luhan’s words sound pleading…

Something about his voice… the way he talks and how his deep brown eyes look at me.

I feel like he might actually convince me.

A/N: This didn’t have that much Sehun, but this story needs a little build up! Please tell me your thoughts and what you think might happen in the story! I’m curious!

Hope everyone enjoyed it!

349 notes · View notes

itsworn · 5 years

Text

Coolest Junkyard Mopar Ever! 1969 Dodge Charger “Scraptona”

When you look at a machine like this and find out it’s the result of a risky, hare-brained business decision, you know you’re hanging with passionate car guys. That’s the ethos that drives Michael Hunt and Lee Clayton, the owners of TredWear. Their business revolves around permanent tire graphics that can be applied to any tire to dress them up. The best way in the automotive world to display your product is to build cool cars that embody the spirit of what you’re selling, so that’s what they’ve been doing, and as it turns out, this hare-brained idea is actually pretty business savvy.

TredWear’s last creation, the “Tarantula,” was featured in the July 2018 issue of HOT ROD magazine and debuted on the 2017 HOT ROD Power Tour. The 1939 Chevy had been turned into an open-wheel modified dirt-track racer that the guys converted back into a street car. Going into the 2018 SEMA show, a new car was needed to represent the brand. Michael tells Car Craft: “We wanted to do something racecar-based, but we wanted to take it to the next level.” Their starting point again tapped into the world of circle-track racing with a 2001 Rocket chassis that they were going to use as the foundation for the build. They were also toying with the idea of building something with a Mopar flavor—something from the beginning of the smog era. End-of-the-line Challengers and mid-’70s Chargers were at the top of the list, until a 1969 Charger popped up on the radar screen. Michael was appointed the hands-on guy behind the project, while Lee took care of the day-to-day running of the business.

The Charger was located in North Alabama, so Michael went to see if it fit the profile for what they were trying to accomplish. “The guy was thinning down his collection. It was an old parts car that had been cut up and used for another car 28 years ago and it was resting on blocks out in the woods. We had to cut down three trees and use a front loader to get to it.” It was still wearing hints of its original Q5 Bright Turquoise paint and was actually a slant six car when it rolled off the assembly line. You Mopar guys know that is a rare beast, but sadly it was so far gone and picked over that it was unsalvageable. From the floor pans to the rear tail panel, it all had been cut out. There were no doors, engine, trans, subframe, and no rear. The only thing left was the front suspension, cowl, and roof.

Once they had the body in their shop the next step was to do something with it and the dirt-track chassis. Their initial thought was to clean up the chassis a bit and skin it. “I started Googling Charger racecars and it just showed Daytonas, so that’s when it hit me that we could actually build a wing car,” he explains. The shell was then sent to Ozan Chassis Shop—owned by John Alexander— who was also responsible for much of the work on the Tarantula. When John took a look at it and started diving into what it actually took to reskin the dirt-track car to look like a Charger, his conclusion was that it was much simpler to take all the hardware from the dirt track car and build a tube frame around what was left of the car.

The frame was planned around the engine and a set of huge dirt track wheels and tires. Their challenge was to build a chassis that was narrow enough to accommodate those tires, but also wide enough to accept the engine. They were also going to tap into all the hardware from the dirt car. It donated the entire Wilwood brake setup, which included the wide-five hubs, quick-change rear, and all the bits for the running gear. Using all of these pieces meant that the Charger would end up being a wide-body design.

The change to a wing car also meant that they needed to source some very specific parts to make it happen. Original pieces were out of the question, so the guys at Janak Repros in Spring, Texas became their source for reproduction hardware. They purchased a wing, a pair of fender scoops, and a Superbird nose. “We ended up going with a ’bird nose instead of a Daytona nose,” Michael notes. “The ’bird nose was a little more rounded and a little more voluptuous.” Using that nose meant that a set of 1970 Coronet fenders was needed, and those came courtesy of eBay. At all four corners changes needed to be made to accommodate the larger rubber. At the rear there was still plenty of metal left of the original quarter panels to widen the body but they needed a mounting position. They didn’t want to cut and stretch them and ruin the lines, so they bought some new AMD quarters and left about an inch on the original ones to make it racecar friendly with Dzus fasteners. This gave the back end of the Charger an additional 2.5 inches on each side.

At the front, they didn’t know how to deal with the 15-inch wide rubber and thought they might have to slap on some wheel arches, which would have stylistically killed the wide-body look. One thing was clear, they weren’t going to mess with the dimensions of the nose, so Michael took a chance and did a pie cut down the whole length of the top of the fenders and welded some new metal in. That covered the rear of the front wheels, while two smaller pie cuts at the front drew the front out of the fender. This gave the front of the car an additional 2.5 inches on each side, making it a lot smoother of a transition.

As a result, the scoops from Janak were rendered useless because they were just too small. Michael had to improvise and the first thing that came to mind was to cut down some motorcycle tanks. They had a pair of Kawasaki KZ650 tanks hanging in the workshop, so he started cutting until they met that complex fender profile. Also on the table was the rear window. They didn’t want to use a Vega plug, or a fiberglass plug, because they had made a louvered Polycarbonate window, which required a bespoke piece to be crafted. They ended up fabricating all the windows from Polycarbonate and made them flush fit.

All of this stretching was in part due to the use of the wide-five hubs and the massive rubber. The problem was that there were only a few wheels available with that unique bolt pattern wide enough to mount on those hubs. That was remedied with a set of barrels they sourced from a wholesaler. They drew up a design, cut and machined them in-house, and crafted wheel centers that worked. Wrapping them was a set of Mickey Thompson SS Street radials.

A mill that was in keeping with the character of the car was also on the list. When it was just another budget build, the plan was to drop in a 440 with a set of aluminum heads they had purchased out of a motor home. “When we decided to do the wing car, we knew that we should step up to the plate and do something pretty fantastic,” Michael explains. “We didn’t want to do what everyone else has been doing by dropping in a Hellcrate. I knew about these R5-P7 engines that are sort of sitting around. I’ve seen them pop up on eBay from time to time and they are usually a fantastic deal.” What he was looking for was what Dodge had developed for their Winston Cup cars and are plentiful on the secondary market. That led him to Scott Eatmon at Eatmon Race Parts in Wilson, NC. Scott had an engine that was pretty fresh and didn’t need a complete rebuild, so they bought it, which included the dry-sump system and everything all the way back to the bell housing, including the Tilton race clutch. Before it was shipped out, it was put on the dyno where it pulled 740 horses at 8,300 rpm. It would be mated to a Tremec TKO 600 5-speed.

While that addressed the mechanical side of the equation, the visual side was undefined. When they initially did the renderings they planned to do a full livery on the car that was aged just like the Tarantula. Michael says, “As the pieces came together they spoke to us. The ugly brown fenders, the red and yellow door, and the rusty trunk lid started to speak to us and told a better story of how the car came together than we could tell people verbally.” He adds, “The main body was the only thing that I had to add color to, but when I did it, I wanted to do it in the most legitimate way possible. I went to Lowe’s and got them to mix up some enamel tractor paint matching the original color and got the closest match I could. I wanted to have that rough look so I laid down a lot of paint at once using a paint roller, so in one afternoon I just got in there and rolled the whole body. On the fenders I did the same thing. I blended in brown where new metal was.” They spent a lot of time blending it all in. On the turquoise they added white, black, and brown in strategic areas and blocked it to bring out all the existing patina. He notes, “You have to cover up the new and enhance the old.” The same treatment was done on the Le Mans style livery they chose. It was vinyl printed and treated to some steel wool. They hand-rubbed every decal to give it an original richness that went with everything else.

All of this was taking place days prior to SEMA. It was coming down to the wire and they didn’t have a hood. Part of the original design was to craft a large shaker hood. On their second option rendered by Pfaff Designs, they had the idea of using an inverted wheelbarrow on top of the engine. He states, “We put it on top, looked at, and knew right away there was no way to make it look right. We already had a couple of carbon fiber air cleaners so we went with that. We had a big enough piece of Polycarbonate left behind and we were already so pleased with the way things had turned out on the windows that this would be the perfect way to show off all the hardware and also give the car the finished look it deserved. We got some square tubing, built a frame, and worked the extractor into the hood just in time for SEMA.”

The final product was christened “Scraptona” and debuted in Las Vegas, where it was well received for its irreverent approach to a classic shape. Topping this one might be a tough act to pull off when Michael and Lee start planning their next build!

Tech Notes Who: Michael Hunt and Lee Clayton What: 1969 Dodge Charger “Scraptona” Where: Columbiana, AL

Engine: The engine of choice was a departure from the expected mills used in most Mopar-flavored builds. It is an R5-P7 that was developed by Dodge for their return to Winston Cup racing back in 2001. It is an open-decked, deep-skirt engine with the block, heads, and intake specifically designed for racing. Petty Racing Enterprises built this particular engine in 2005. It displaces 358 cubic inches with an 11.5:1 compression ratio. It features a Jesel belt drive instead of a timing chain, and also has Jesel roller rocker arms, roller keyway lifters, a Comp solid-roller camshaft, and a dry sump oil system.

Induction: On the top end a ported Dodge aluminum intake is crowned with a Holley XP 750 and a carbon fiber air cleaner.

Electronics: Sparking the engine to life is an MSD distributor, MSD 6AL ignition box, and an MSD Master Blaster 3 coil.

Gearbox: The use of a 5-speed was set in stone as a key element of the road race theme. TredWear opted for a Tremec TKO 600 sourced from American Powertrain to mount on the Tilton bell housing. The clutch is a Tilton 3-stage semi-metallic unit.

Rearend: The rear is a classic Winters quick-change unit stuffed with a set of 3.55:1 gears.

Chassis/suspension: The chassis for the Scraptona was built around the Charger body and is a tube frame design. The front suspension consists of Aldan coilovers with 550-pound springs, Rocket chassis upper A-arms and two-piece lower arms, Afco severe-duty ball joints, a Speedway 1.25-inch sway bar, and a Woodward steering rack. At the rear, Aldan coilovers with 300-pound springs are also used. It’s a three-link setup with a torque arm and a magnesium tube that houses a Winters quick-change rear.

Brakes: The braking system was lifted directly from the dirt track car. It was upgraded to include new Wilwood 13-inch rotors up front and 12-inch rotors at the rear. Calipers are forged Superlite 6R units.

Wheels/Tires: Wheels and tires were a key component that influenced other aspects as the car came together. The wheel barrels were selected as the foundation for the massive tire size. The wheel centers were custom made to allow mounting onto the Wilwood wide-five hubs. The end result was a set of 20 x 12 wheels that were the wrapped in 29×15.00R20 Mickey Thompson SS Street radial rubber.

Paint/body: The Scraptona foundation is a 1969 Dodge Charger shell infused with 1970 Coronet fenders and an array of Superbird and Daytona reproduction pieces. The fenders were mounted on the car and modified to keep the massive rubber tucked within the body. They were sectioned with metal added giving them an additional 2.5 inches of width. At the rear, AMD reproduction quarters were cut down and installed with Dzus fasteners for quick access. The addition of these added the needed 2.5 inches at the rear to also keep the rubber tucked inside the body. The rear window plug was fabricated to accommodate the louvered Polycarbonate rear window that has inspired a new product line that will be available from TredWear in 2019. The headlights are a wing car departure in that they are fixed using a set of BMW E30 headlight buckets. The nose was hung using an internal structure built from .5 inch square tubing. Paint on the body is a mixture of original factory applied color and tractor paint from Lowe’s. The tractor paint was applied with a roller and was distressed with additional colors, steel wool, and Scoth-Brite pads. This technique was carried over to the livery.

Interior: The interior is very basic; a pair of Kirkey Vintage Class 18-inch bucket seats was installed along with 5-point Simpson harnesses. Instruments are minimal, consisting of a RacePak IQ3S display.

The post Coolest Junkyard Mopar Ever! 1969 Dodge Charger “Scraptona” appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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allcheatscodes · 7 years

Text

hamtaro ham ham heartbreak gba

http://allcheatscodes.com/hamtaro-ham-ham-heartbreak-gba/

hamtaro ham ham heartbreak gba

Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak cheats & more for Game Boy Advance (GBA)

Cheats

Unlockables

Hints

Easter Eggs

Glitches

Guides

Get the updated and latest Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak cheats, unlockables, codes, hints, Easter eggs, glitches, tricks, tips, hacks, downloads, guides, hints, FAQs, walkthroughs, and more for Game Boy Advance (GBA). AllCheatsCodes.com has all the codes you need to win every game you play!

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Genre: Action, Adventure Developer: Unknown Publisher: Nintendo ESRB Rating: Everyone Release Date: April 7, 2003

Hints

Ham Jam Locations

Here are the ways to get all 10 of the ham jams: 1. Hamtaro Time- This is given to you from the start. 2. Condor’s Wing’s- Stand on the giant bird feather at sunny peak and say hamha. A bird will come and drop the song on your head. 3. Great Springs- After Cappy takes Seedric’s acorn cap, you are able to go into Seedric’s house. Go into the hot spring thing and used digdig to dig up the song. 4. Hidden Riches- After you solve the riddle at Sandy Bay, tack-q the giant music note rock to make the song fall off. 5. Dizzy for You- Talk to the blue hamster inthe same room as Elder Ham. He will give you the song for the dance contest. 6. Go Ham Rangers- Go the the Ham Rangers show twice, then talk to the hamster outside the arena to get this song. 7. Flower Waltz- Fill in all 8 lines at tic-tac-q in Funland. 8. Moonlight- Get this song after the ghost in Boo Manor teaches you how to play piano. 9. Monkey Salsa- Go to Wildwoods and help Bog pick out a name for his pet duck after it hatches out of the hot spring egg. 10. Hamour- After beating spat, talk to the long-eared hamster inside the castle, then talk to the one standing outside with and umbrella to get the song.

The All-Helpful Snoozer

If you get stuck in a certain part of the game and can’t figure out what to do, go back to the clubhouse and talk to Snoozer. Tell him which place you need to know about, and he’ll usually give you very good hints. He might tell you which Ham-Ham to talk to or where to learn a new ham-chat word.

Bad Bird!

After you get Condor’s wings by Hamhaing the feather at Sunny Peak, Hamha the feather again and the bird will fly above you and poop on your head!

Dexter And Howdy

When Dexter gets stuck in the box you have to jam-out on the piano to get him out.

Get Unlimited Sunflower Seeds!

At the start of the game where two hampsters areat the big sunflower. Use Hamlift and you will get20 sunflower seeds each time. P.S. It’s at SunnyPeak and you need to move out of the area and backagain in order to get 20 sunflower seeds again andagain.

Class A Dancing

To win this competition you use the words”Greatachu, Delin-Q, Zuzuzu, Hamtast, Bye-Q,Goodgo, Bloat-T, Blushie, Hamtast, Dazzlie,Lalalala” This will work. In fact the other coupledo this dance except for “Lalalala”. So if youjust watch their dance you can still beat them byjust putting in Lalalala at the end.

Rainbow Key

Okay, after you rescue and save the relationship between the 2 hamster that teach you “Hamlift” Go back to the place where you rescued the hamter from spat. You find Panda working on him bridge he’ll ask you to find 3 boards and a strap. The strap can be aquired by standing on the blanket-handkerchief thing, then the newspaper then the strap. The hamster will complain that you got it dirty and that you can have it. The first board is at Sandy Beach. After you help Barette, and she and the photo guy leave hif-hif the board she was on. The next board is at boo manor. “Go-P” on the hamster in the mirror go in the mirror defeat the ghost and hifhif the board,putput it on the crack,and hifhif it again to have the second board the last board is towards the end of the game when you defeat spat, and talk to boss who is standing in a corner by the rubrub room, he’ll say “Now that the clubhouse is finished I have an extra board do you think you could use it?” You say Yep-P and take all the materials back to panda. After giving him all the supplies go towards the entrance and he’ll “Heyhoo” you go back cross the bridge and you’ll find The rainbow key!

How To Get Silver Key Card At Boo Manner

To get the silver key card: On the first floor go oppisite from the stairs. Go in the last door in the hallway. Next, you will see a bunch of mirrors, go through the second to the last in the back row. Then you will pop out of another mirror and will have to defeat a gohst with stickie. After you defeat him take the silver key card and go to the opening in the floor. off-doff the board and put put it back where it was so you can cross. Then off-doff it again and give it to panda in the sunny peak cave.

The Three Marbles

At sunny peak you will find a room in the cave with what looks to be a sword sticking out of a rock. It is not a sword at all. It is the legendary spoon. There is three round openings on the front of the rock. You need marbles to putput in the openings. One of the marbles is located at fun land. You must get a certain number of points in the sticky note game. Then you will be awarded a green marble. The next marble is located at Sandy Bay. There is a big bucket in the ground, dig-dig under it to get the blue marble. The next marble is located at Wild woods, you have to save the marriage of a couple, after you have done that, talk to the old guy and he will give you the last marble to put-put in the opening. Go back to Sunny Peak and put all three marbles in the holes. Then tuggie at the spoon. After you get the spoon, go back to wildwoods and give the spoon to the inventor which will now let you use the catupalt to get into spat tower.

The Trapdoor

In Boo Maner, when Hamtaro falls into the trapdoor, you must go to the room with the two couches and do hamspar on the fireplace. Then 2 old gohsts will appear and you must do tack-q on them. One will teach you pushie and the other will teach you nok-nok. Then you must go to the empty wall by the starcase and nok-nok on it. Then pushie on the wall and a secret room will open. Hamtaro is in the cage. After you see Hamtaro, go to the elevator where the two other hamsters are trying to open the doors of the elevator, do liber-t on them and they will go to the trapdoor and you must follow. When in the secret room do liber-t on them again and they will open the bars for you. Hamtaro and howdy will come out of the cage and then you have saved another love. (the purple and green hamsters will love each other again.)

How To Get The HAM RED Replacement

First, after going to the bathroom area where Ham Red says your mission is to find a replacement, you go to Boo Manor. When at Boo Manor, go to the room with the sad hamster picture. “Perksie” the picture and the ghost in the painting will talk to you. then, you go find her son (located at the front gate of the Ham Rangers show/performance arena) and say fussfuss to him. When he refuses to come back to his mother, go back to Boo Manor and say gasp-P to the mother. She will then transform into a fake Ham Red and her son will go back with her after the show ends and you have saved another love.

How To Defeat Spat At Fun Land

First you must release Spat’s hostage by using “pakapaka”(Hamchat for bite) on the hamham in the corner of the control room. Then go to the hamham with the Ham-o-Matic and tell him what has been going on in the control room. Ham-o-Matic will not do any thing about it. Then go to the little hamham that is mad and stomping about and say hamha. The hamham will explain what is wrong and you will learn chukchuk (give up). Then go over to the trash can near the enterence and say digdig. Then go to Spat and say chukchuk. Ham-o-matic will take Spat away.

Kill Spat Robot

First get into Spat Tower and you will find an unsolved puzzle, Gogo on the button, solve the puzzle, then talk to the heartbroken hamster guarding the door and go inside, you will find a HUGE flying robot with Spat inside, Get into a nice spot and hit Hamscope, then try to shoot into Spat’s mouth and he will explode (This might take a few tries) Then you will see Spat come out dressed in a Harmony costume!you may laugh and point if you want.Then he will say something and come out with the Ham-Chat pooie, then he’ll vanish and you may keep on laughing until the REAL Harmony come and congratulate you, and blah, blah, blah.

Get Hamour Song

After you defeat Spat, go back to Spat Tower where you will see a reporter outside with an umbrella. Talk to him and he will give you the Hamour song.

Find Bizzaroo

Talk to the treasure-hunting sunbathing ham. Use Tack-Q command.

ID For Boo Manor

Digdig in the pipe at the entrance. At the top, there will be that Ham-Swap character. You can drop the price if you do Blash-T twice then say Yep-P and buy the ID Card.

Arnie’s House

Go to Sunny Peak. Give Arnie the potty he was looking for (that Seamore gave you). Arnie will lead you to his house. Do Sesam-E with Bijou in front of the door and go in. When you get to the room with the sign, go left, down, left, up, and up to get to Arnie’s room.

Rub Rub Room

First, learn how to do the Ham-Chat Rub Rub. You also need to save some of the hamsters. Love so it will give you more jewels when you do your Rub Rub.

Get To The Control Room In Fun Land

When you are looking for the control room in funland, go to the entrance, and take the right path. You should see a cart with ballons tied on it. To the left of the cart there should be some trees cut in the shape of ham-hams (Hamsters). There should be one line of trees coming down,and one going left. Where the “tree lines” meet in the corner, try to walk through it. You will then be inside the control room where Spat is hiding, messing with the controls. Also, in the control room, there will be a Hamster all tied up. Use Packpack (bite) on the ropes. He will then be free. Good luck!

Crying Orange Girl On Island

Go in side the dance room thing were you get the music note. Go talk to the grandpa a bunch. Say heyhoo to him a lot. Than go talk to that crying girl with a scarf and the other orange crying girl. Then they will be friends.

Bijou

Go to the place where you find a ham-ham next to a door, go down the vine south, go down the other vine south, go west, do lokkie, at the other ham-ham, and go back to the boat. do pakapaka, go to the bridges if you know offdoff, and do it and go up, back down, over the bridges, and back to the boat. do putput, and drive the boat to bijou.

The Story

It was sunny and perfect for a nap! While sleeping, Hamtaro had a terrible dream. He dremt that a hamster dressed in a devil costume appeared in Ham-Ham Land Funpark, breaking up hearts of all friends, so the friends would fight with each other. The devil hamster, known as Spat (He has a habit of always saying “Pfpth”.) enjoyed making friends mad at each other, and he could just not get enough!Hamtaro arrived in the Ham-Ham Land Funpark, and Spat looked at him, and immediatly went to break his heart. As Spat was running towards him, Hamtaro awoke to hear Boss calling his name. When Boss went upstairs, Hamtaro told Boss about his scary dream, and what Spat promised to do. Boss wondered if Hamtaro’s dream was a preginition, a dream that can see in the future. Without another word, Boss said he need Hamtaro downstairs to get a favor.As Hamtaro walked downstairs, he slipped on some water and fell straight into a bucket of water, soaking his Ham-Ham Dictionary, and all but a few of his words!!! With little symphony, Boss told Hamtaro to learn from mistakes, and move on with life. He then told Hamtaro that Bijou wandered off somewhere, and Hamtaro had to go look.Where is Bijou, and how will Hamtaro find her? Why does Spat want to ruin hearts? What was the meaning of Hamtaro’s dream? With Harmony (The angel hamster), and Bijou, and Hamtaro, you have to go from level to level, seeking Spat, and trying to stop his tricks, while filling up your love meter at the same time.

Pepper And Oxnard

As you will find out, Oxnard is sitting by that great big tree stump blubbering away. talk to him. Then you will see Pepper if you look further, sitting on a leaf but you cannot reach her yet. If you go to the tree stump by Oxnard and learn how to heyhoo, then go to the hamsters trying to figure out how to get all the sunflower seeds down at once. Hamha them and then heyhoo them. They will teach you to hamlift. You will then use the hamlift to get to pepper and tell her Oxnard is bluhoo (sad).

Sailor And Wife

Get the clue washed up on the beach when barette was saved. It will give you a bunch of stupid words that are usless. so you have have thought. Copy down the entire clue on a peice of paper and also draw a map of the sounds made from the stone when you tack-q them. Then do the order that is on the clue sheet and a big rock willl move to reveal a whole in the beach. Dig down it. The captain will be down there. He is blue. Talk to him and he will offer to take you to the island whenever you want. Enter the hula contest and all you have to win is the C class prize, an orange hibiscus. give it to the sailor to give to his wife.

Barette

Get to the point where Barette is out at sea. No one at the beach can help you, you have to go to the clubhouse and get Seamoore’s help. He’s the only Ham who can swim.

Cheats

Codebreaker Codes

Infinite Sunflower Seeds 8201D0C2 03E7Infinite Acorns 8201D0C4 03E7Infinite Rocks 8201D0C6 03E7The Following Enable Codes May Not Work On All Cartridges Possible #1 0000D435 000A 100004A4 0007Possible #2 0000D435 000A 100004A4 0007Possible #3 0000D435 000A 100004A6 0007Possible #4 0000D435 000A 100004A8 0007Possible #5 0000D435 000A 100004AA 0007Possible #6 0000D435 000A 10009618 0007Possible #7 0000D435 000A 1000961A 0007Possible #8 0000D435 000A 1000961C 0007Possible #9 0000D435 000A 1000961E 0007

Unlockables

Currently we have no unlockables for Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Easter eggs

Currently we have no easter eggs for Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Glitches

Currently we have no glitches for Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak yet. If you have any unlockables please feel free to submit. We will include them in the next post update and help the fellow gamers. Remeber to mention game name while submiting new codes.

Guides

Currently no guide available.

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