#though my hands are very cold. i have very bad circulation.....dead man hands

[angel-eyes05]

bite the hand (chapter 1)

pairing: spider-woman!oc x miguel o’hara 

summary: lorena's whole world was taken away from her in the blink of an eye, after she accidentally broke a canon event. lucky for her though, she was able to find a portal watch in her dimension and used it to get out before she glitched out of existence. unfortunately though, running from dimension to dimension, she's been named as an anomaly by the spider society. now, she's constantly on the run from them, their leader in particular. when she eventually gets caught though, she's recruited onto a mission to catch another anomaly who might be from her past. to her dismay though, her partner on this mission is her very captor. will she be able to stop arguing with him for long enough to get the job done?

info: enemies to lovers, maybe a slow burn depending on chapter count, oc is 24 and miguel is 27, both oc and miguel are super sad lmao, they're also both super violent so, they also hate each other what a slay, in regards to my oc you can read her character sheet right here

warnings: there might be spoilers for atsv in this so watch the movie before reading this, emetophobia, violence, blood mention, fangs

word count: 2.5k 

notes: i'm super excited to start this series!!! i'll also be posting a copy of this on ao3 cause i wanna start sharing my work there too so i'll put the link up here when i post it. also if you see me use "you" instead of "she/her" just ignore it i probably missed it while proofreading and it's instinct lol

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The stuffy air from inside the bag her head was under nearly suffocated her before she could wake up. Her breath was hot and shoved towards her face by the bag, causing her to sweat a little. As she slowly woke up, she found herself unable to move her arms and legs, bound to the chair by her wrists and ankles. She tried to wriggle herself around, the rope bounded so tightly she could feel herself losing circulation, but it was in vain as she quickly felt a striking force against her ribs as a result. Lorena in her chair was knocked to the ground. The bag was removed from her head, exposing her to the harsh, fluorescent lights in the room.

Another kick was sent to her stomach, knocking a nasty cough out of her. All she could see right now as her eyes were still adjusting was the two feet standing in front of her face. She spat some of the blood forming in her mouth onto the freshly cleaned black shoes. She winced as her head was pulled up to face the man in front of her by her hair. His cold, dead, blue eyes shot daggers into her fiery brown irises. “You’ve turned into quite the problem, haven’t you child?” the old man spat at you, his breath stinging your eyes. “Well maybe you should be nicer to your guests,” Lorena panted out, still recovering from the two kicks. The man nodded to someone behind her and her chair was pulled up to a sitting position.

Lorena grunted as her head was yanked back by whoever was behind her. “Come on Armando, I said I would get you the money, and I am! My guy’s just taking a little longer than usual,” she nervously blurted out, seeing Armando further up in the room by a desk of torture weapons. She wasn’t going to give him the money any time soon, and he knew it. She barely had any money to buy herself food.

Lorena had been stuck on Earth-523, her safe zone, for the past week. Normally, she would be out within a day or two. But with her portal watch broken, she had no way to get out. And she had been glitching a lot recently. Glitching bad. She had asked Armando, a black market dealer she had previous history with, for parts to fix the watch. She had forgotten about how much money she owed him though, and when she failed to have it with her when she asked for the favor, she was knocked out and taken to whatever bunker she was currently in.

She had honestly gotten tired of hopping between so many worlds like this. She had been doing it for the past couple of months and it was draining her. She missed the stability of a home. Her home. Earth-2497. But she couldn’t go back now. It was physically impossible. She watched everything she knew and loved glitch out of existence while she just ran through her portal. Instead of dying a noble death alongside her people, she just ran away. Like a coward. Now she was being chased for it. That was another reason she needed her watch fixed.

Their appearances were becoming more and more frequent. People who looked just like her. She could sense her connection to them. One of them, a woman riding a motorcycle and big yellow sunglasses, said that she was. Lorena had experienced similar things to the others. Like the death of her tio. And then the death of her boyfriend. Her struggles were the same as theirs. But she wasn’t supposed to be here anymore. She explained that Lorena “broke the canon”, whatever that meant.

A man with multiple mechanical arms, almost like an octopus, had come through an orange portal and began wreaking havoc on New York City. Lorena had stopped him, but too early apparently, according to the woman. The man was supposed to kill Captain Stacy, the father of her best friend. But since he hadn’t been killed, she had accidentally ripped a hole in the space time continuum, or something, consuming and ripping apart her entire universe. She was supposed to die with it. But she hadn’t. She ran away. Now she was considered an anomaly. The woman described that most anomalies were sent back to their worlds after they were captured. But Lorena had no world to go back to.

“So what’ll you do to me then?” Lorena asked the woman.

“.....I’m not sure.”

That was enough to convince Lorena to start running. The different Spider-Men would pop up about every week or so. But the gap had been closed to around every day now. She had gotten a break this past week while her watch was broken, what she assumed to be some kind of break from the universe or something. But she knew it was only a matter of time until they found her again. Until he found her again.

Lorena had only been chased by him twice before. But both of those times, she had only escaped by a narrow margin. He looked significantly different from the other variants, sporting a mainly blue suit with a weird red symbol in the middle that warped around to his back. He was tall also. Really tall, with huge, broad shoulders. Lorena couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like under his mask, having not seen his face before. But no matter how much she would probably ask him out if they met under different circumstances, Lorena was terrified of him. She had left both chase sequences with him with enormous gashes on her from his sharp talons. She honestly wondered if he was actually human.

She was brought back to reality when she saw Armando walking back from the table. In his hand was a metal rod, the end of it a scorching orange. Lorena scrambled around in her seat, her head still yanked back. Fuck this is bad, she thought to herself. An idea suddenly snapped into her head.

She rarely used them, as they normally ended up harming her too in the end, but she would rather be burned by her own acid webs once than by this hot plate repeatedly. She repositioned her wrists, pointing one of them out. She braced for the pain. Suddenly, four strings of a radioactive green acid web shot out of her wrist, breaking the rope around her hands and wrapping around the thigh of the man holding back her head. He screamed out in pain as the acid melted through his leg. With him and Armando distracted, Lorena quickly broke out of her ankle restraints, ripped the hot branding stick out of Armando’s hands, and pushed it deep into his face. He let out an inhuman scream and quickly passed out from the pain. She then used the stick and smacked the metal against his partner’s head, knocking him out too.

Lorena stood to catch her breath for a second, bracing her side with her right arm from the pain in her ribs. She hoped they were just bruised, and not cracked. She then took off the gloves from her suit to examine the fresh acid burns on her left wrist. She had developed a bit of resistance from the pain, having had to use them so much recently since she’s been without web fluid for months now, but it still stung a bit and left quite a mark on her skin.

She stripped Armando of his long sleeve t-shirt and sweatpants to cover up her suit, and shoved her mask into the pockets of the pants, before walking outside the door into the night.

She was almost immediately soaked to the touch as the rain poured down on the city. The large t-shirt, absorbing all the water falling onto Lorena, only put extra weight onto her damaged ribs. She struggled to walk through the street as she continued to cough blood into her hand. Fuck, this was bad. Maybe her injury was worse than she thought.

Things only got worse when she suddenly felt her heartbeat speed up. Goosebumps flooded over her body and she was nearly paralyzed from fear. Her spider-sense was kicking in. Jesus, what is it now. She looked into the alleyway next to her to see if that's where the source of her fear was coming from. Her suspicions were confirmed correct when she saw an orange glow interrupt the darkness in the back of the alley, and a red spike ripping through it. She nearly left her heart behind as she immediately started to bolt down the sidewalk.

Great, just my fucking luck, she thought to herself as she ran. The one day I’m in horrible shape to fight is the one day he shows up to get me. Lorena didn’t need to look behind her to know the man was already bounding after her. She didn’t have any web fluid, and her acid webs would cut through the poles, so she was given the disadvantage on the ground this time. She threw her mask on her face from her pocket, that way so in case she did get caught, she could at least keep the dignity of her identity to herself. Her running was desperate and sloppy, her red hair slipping out from the back of her mask and almost slipping in a puddle when she turned a sharp corner.

She could feel her heart rising into her chest and her ribs cried out to her in pain, begging her to just stop and accept her fate. But she wouldn’t go down like this. She couldn’t. She needed to keep going, no matter how much blood she was coughing up while running. She could hear his feet splashing in the puddles behind her as she made her getaway. He was getting closer. She wasn’t fast enough. She needed to do something if she wasn’t going to get caught. And fast.

Desperate for a way out, she ripped her right glove off of her hand and jumped around to shoot an acid web at her chaser. The split second she could see him while turned around frightened her beyond belief. The man was chasing her on all fours, like some kind of wild dog. His claws dug deep into the concrete floor for extra traction from the rain. Yeah, there’s no way this guy was human. She shot the web out of her wrist, burning her more than usual, and aimed for his face. If she was going to shoot for him now, she needed to try to go for the kill. Before the web was even fully out of her hand, she was back facing forward and running. Fuck, did that mess up my aim? She didn’t have time to think about that now. She didn’t even look back to check. She just kept running.

The low scream from him at least meant that she hit him, which was enough for her right now. Her high came crashing down though when she turned another corner. Suddenly, a shattering agony rattled throughout her body as she became a jumble of neon colored parallelograms, all of her atoms splitting apart in a split second. She quickly fell to the floor, shaking in pain. But she still had to fight. Lorena used her arms to crawl into an alleyway into the darkness. If she couldn’t outrun him, she could at least try to hide. She lowered her head to the ground though when she heard puddles lightly splashing behind her. Footsteps. She didn’t hit him hard enough. It was all in vain.

She could hear his pants above her, as she turned her head around to see him standing right above her body, like he was admiring his achievement or something. She still tried to crawl away though. She didn’t matter if it made her look stupid. She still had to try.

Lorena stopped though when she felt him web her hand to the ground though, too tired to keep going. The bright red, glowing web illuminated the darkness of the alley. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him reaching his massive hand down to her. He roughly ripped her mask off her face, exposing her to the outside world. She began to cough again, so much this time, that she ended up losing her limited breakfast. The puke sits next to the man's feet, more blood than partially digested food. He stared at her in disgust. Then he finally speaks. The first time he has to her ever.

“This is the one who’s been causing us so much trouble?” he said, as if it was supposed to be more of a genuine question than an insult. His voice was beautiful. A rich, low, dark tone that rolled off of his tongue smoothly. She could see a small avatar pop up next to his shoulder, illuminated in a yellow aura. “Yup, this is her. Lorena Reyes, Spider-Woman from Earth-2497,” the woman avatar responded. “Huh,” he said, crouching down next to her head. “Thought she'd put up more of a fight.” That one was an insult. “Maybe you just caught me on a bad day,” she croaked out. He looked at the puke next to her. “I can see that.” Lorena started to glitch again, letting out sparse pants once her atoms stopped separately. The man sighed. “Let's just get this over with.”

What he did next took Lorena by surprise. He flung his strong leg over to the opposite side of her body and lifted his mask up to just over his nose, still concealing his eyes from her view. Lorena stared at him confused, too tired and in pain to do anything right now. What she could see from his face was gorgeous. His perfect nose, the slight pout in his plump lips, and his rich skin tone. He placed his hands on her head, one holding the nape of her neck, and the other pushing her head back.

Then they came out. His fangs. A slight fear washed over her body when she saw them. Was this vampire man about to kill her? Then he sunk them into the skin of her neck. She flinched slightly. What on earth was he doing? More fear entered her when she found she was quickly losing feeling in her feet. It slowly moved up her body. Then her legs. Then her hands. Then her arms. Her nerves being attacked by some kind of paralytic venom. It was most likely coming from his fangs. She felt slightly lucky that she still had feeling in her neck though, especially when he removed his fangs from her neck, and used his textured tongue to clean up the blood. It was warm and comforting to her. Then her neck lost its feeling. Lorena was quickly grateful for the venom when she found herself glitching again, but not feeling any pain from it.

She could feel herself passing out next. As consciousness left her body, the last thing she saw was the man lifting up from her neck and wiping her blood off from his mouth.

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NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: thanks for making it this far!!! lmk if you want to be on the tag list for future parts

#fanfic #spiderman 2099 #fanfiction #fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miguel o'hara x oc #spider man #spiderverse oc #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse

[bakugosbratx]

omg could you do a dark villain Shoto x fem reader smut?

NSFW 18+ The Pawn— AU Villian! Shoto Todoroki x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ content. Unprotected sexual intercourse, alternate universe, toxic relationship, stolkholm syndrome, fluff, angst, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping, murder of family, punishment, bdsm, power play, yandere tendencies, etc.

Words: 2,410

Check out my other works here

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! I am so sorry it took me forever to do it. But I hope it meets what you’re looking for. This is my first time writing for Shoto so I apologize in advance.

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @milkthistletea @quietlegends @idfkwtfgof

“Any last words?” Shoto questions with a demeaning scowl of disgust, his index finger becoming restless on the pistol’s trigger. The barrel of the gun is resting on the man’s temple while he pleads for mercy.

“I’ll have your money by next week, I swear!” The man cried.

“You said that last time. To be quite frank, I’m not really fond of your lying, Y/L/N.” Shoto admits, cocking the gun so it can fire. The terrified man’s eyes grew wide as tears stream down his face.

“Shoto,” his breath hitches, “p-please. I have a family to take care of. A wife and two children. Please.”

Horrific muffled screams filled the kitchen where your family reside as the gunshot went off. Blood leaked from your father’s bullet wound onto the floor beneath him. You all were forced to watch, tied up and helpless. Shoto even had his crew gag you so your words would not disturb his business meeting. He hates interruptions.

“Disgusting.” Shoto complains, referencing to some of the blood covering his face. Igniting his left side, he sets your father’s corpse on fire. The smell of burning flesh filled your snot filled nostrils as more whimpers escaped your cloth covered lips. This caught Shoto’s attention.

“You,” he calls out as he makes his way towards your tied up body. He picks you up with ease, throwing you over his muscular shoulder. “Are coming with me.”

Your muffled remarks were no use as well as your kicks. You are terrified and not sure why Shoto, Japan’s notorious killer, is doing in your household right now, but you know it’s not good.

“Sir,” one of the men stopped you two as Shoto is making his way towards the exit. He pauses his motion, waiting for the man’s question. “What do you want us to do with the other two? Heroes will be here any moment.”

Shoto pondered the man’s words for a moment. You are silently pleading that he will just let them go, but that was not even a thought in his mind. “Leave them be.”

“But sir—“

“The house will be burnt to ash in any given moment,” he activates his left side for emphasis, “if you want to stay alive, I suggest you gather up the others and get a move on.”

The man nodded and Shoto begins walking out of the house. You struggle in his grasp, but Shoto remains undisturbed by your antics. Throwing you into the back of a van, he slams the double doors. Now all you are left with is your thoughts.

This doesn’t seem real. It truly can’t be. Your family is being massacred and there is not a thing you can do about it. You can even hear their muzzled screams as your house goes up in flames. Still, you are useless as the van starts and drives far away from the crime scene.

Shoto Todoroki is Japan’s worse nightmare. Numerous accounts of murder, abuse of power, kidnapping, anything terrible had Shoto’s name on it. No one knows much about the villain’s personal life except for his heroic father with a bad temper. Some say it is his fault for the way his son turned out and Shoto would agree, but Shoto’s crimes will not be taken from him. No, they are all his doing and he is proud of it.

“Y/N,” Shoto called, making you snap out of your thoughts. You turn to meet the man that now claims you as his. “Are you alright, love? You hardly touched your food.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” You mumbled, giving a soft smile. Bringing the ramen noodle soup to your lips, you forced yourself to eat the food. Your stomach is in shambles as the thoughts from that night came back. There are still many unanswered questions and unknown puzzle pieces, but that is a life you need to forget about. You are Shoto’s now. You have no choice but to be his.

Shoto studied your features. If there is one thing Shoto is not is dumb. He is observant. Just one wrong look and you are in deep trouble. Considering you have been living with Shoto for over a year now, you have grown accustomed to his ways. You have learned to appease him in anyway to make you happy. Especially if it is going to keep you alive.

“You know I don’t appreciate when you lie to me.” Shoto nonchalantly reminds you, noticing how quickly you swallow when the words flow out off his tongue.

“I-I’m not lying, Shoto. Honestly.” You stammered, hoping he would not notice the fear trickling in your eyes. He did, though. Shoto noticed everything about you. One of the many things you despised about him.

The rest of super was ate in silence. As you have learned, this is never a good sign. When Shoto is quiet, he’s plotting. Usually, it’s your punishment. You can see it in his eyes and the subtle touches he does to you. All to make you feel uneasy. Just like he can read you, you are learning to read him just the same.

Once dinner was over, he gathered the dirty dinning wear and washed them. You remained in your chair until you are granted permission to stand up. Your heart is racing with anticipation. What is Shoto plotting? Especially for something as simple as lying.

“Y/N,” Shoto paused to make sure your attention was his. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight along with your body stiffening. You hear him walking towards you, his one cold hand and other warm one rest on your shoulders. “Go upstairs to our shared bedroom.”

“Y-Yes, Shoto.” You mumbled, scurrying up the steps like the good behave girl he taught you to be. If only your filthy little mouth could stop lying.

Shoto is quick to follow after your trembling body. His presence is swallowing you whole as he march up the stairs behind you. Your clammy palm turns the golden doorknob into the master bedroom. You immediately turn around, groping your butt in fear for what may happen to it.

Shoto shuts the door behind him, leaning against it with his arms folded. His face held its usual unamused look as he glares at you.

“I’m giving you one last chance to be honest with me, Y/N.”

“I-I have been honest a-all along, Shoto.” You argued. Shoto’s glare intensified.

“You were thinking about your family again, weren’t you?”

“What? No, I-“

“You’re just like your father.” Shoto scornfully chuckled, strolling towards you. His right hand folded around your neck, giving it a nice squeeze as he whispered in your ear, “and you know how much I truly despise your father.”

His hot breath seemed to linger on the shell of your ear. Your eyes harden as they meet his. His icy hand seemed to make this choking experience even worse. You would get frostbite if it gets any colder, but something in you snapped. You have not fought back in months. You became the submissive girl Shoto desperately wanted you to be yet you are still in the same position as many times before.

“You’re one to talk.” You choked out. The hold on your neck became stronger, circulation being lost to your organs. You are pushed onto the bed, Shoto’s muscular form on top of you.

“Don’t you ever compare me to that monster again, understand me?” Shoto growls as he watch you struggle beneath him. You started to turn pale as your body loses its natural color from lack of air flow. His hatred from his father and yours is taking over as you slowly start to become unconscious. He finally lets go.

You cough, grasping for air. It felt like there was not enough in there to supply your deprived body. Especially with Shoto’s suffocating presence on top of you.

“You have some real nerve talking to me like that, Y/N. When will you learn that your family is the true bad guys in the situation, not me. They screwed me over and I came for what they owed me. You’re just a pawn.”

“You’re lying..” You mumbled out in disbelief. Shoto’s devious grin just grew wider at the tears in your eyes.

“I’m not like your father.” Shoto spats, venom dripping from every wretched word. Your heart is aching and this only fuels the fire.

“Fuck you.” You hissed, warm tears streaming down your face. Shoto only chuckled at your mere offense.

“I plan on it.”

Your look of disgust was ignored as Shoto’s lips trailed from your neck to your lips. You forced yourself to kiss back. You always do. You two had sex plenty of times and sadly, you enjoyed it, but when it’s used for punishment or after he has tears down any sheer ounce of self esteem you possessed it is quite difficult to get in the mood.

“Why do you keep me here?” You finally breathe out as your lips disconnect. Shoto furrowed his eyebrows together.

“Because your family is dead.”

“I know that!” You exclaimed. Shoto is very intelligent, but someone who is also literal. He does not always catch onto what you’re actually trying to ask. “I mean, if I’m just some pawn, why keep me here? Why not let me have the same fate as my family?”

Shoto stayed silent. He pondered how he should answer this. He just started touching you outside of the bedroom a couple months ago. It even took him a long time to have sexual intercourse with you. He knows he could have killed you off. He is sure of it. You have been a pain in his ass since he collected you for payment yet you’re still here.

“I don’t know.” Shoto answered, truthfully.

You sigh. You are not sure what answer you were expecting, but knowing where this is leading does not make you feel any better about yourself. You just feel more used.

Silence over fell you two. Shoto is in deep thought as so are you. You are worried that your days are numbered now, but Shoto was not even thinking about that. He is more thinking of himself and how he can’t murder you. He actually likes having you around. He may never say it and his facial features will never show it, but with you by his side, his frozen heart starts to thaw. Just by your simple glimpses and touches.

Part of him hated you for that.

“Shoto,” you whisper, catching his attention. You made yourself look away. You have so many conflicting thoughts. Shoto is all you have now and in all honesty, you have grown not to hate the guy. You love the soft touches and the way he keeps you warm at night. He is so observant of the slightest of things. That’s more than your family has ever given you.

Your right hand cupped his cheek. He seemed slightly tense by the action, but he instantly fell into your touch. Your thumb grazed his cheek.

“I-I,” you meet his gaze, “I enjoy your company.” You admit. Shoto kept silent, but your words meant something to him. You both are not good with this kind of stuff. You were never taught it. This is the closest thing you two will ever get to ‘I love you.’

Your lips connected once again. During the process, each one of your articles of clothing was discarded to the ground below. Shoto kissed down your exposed breast, stomach, and finally stopped at your pussy. He swiped his tongue between your folds sending chills down your spine along with needy moans escaping your parted lips.

“Shoto, please.“ You whined, wanting him to make you soaked already, but you are on Shoto’s terms. He gets to decide everything.

Luckily, he did not make you wait long as tongue swirled on your sensitive clit. Your legs rested on his shoulders as he devoured you. Small groans is all Shoto could do as his tongue explored every inch of your pussy. Not a spot was missed nor would he allow there to be. Your clit was being the most spoiled. Your entrance was then meet shortly after. You did your best to conceal your sweet melodies of pleasure, but Shoto is not allowing you to do so.

“You have a voice for a reason. Use it.” He orders in a low growl amongst your cunt.

“Shoto,” you sob, “I’m about to cum. Please.”

You arched your back as your cunt was about to release. Shoto sped up the pace, helping you meet your climax even sooner. On que, you sing sweet little melodies of moans as you release into the man’s mouth. Every drop was swallowed by him.

Shoto stood up, grabbing your hips to pull you closer to the edge of the bed. “Keep your eyes on me at all times. Understood?”

You nod, eagerly. “Yes, Shoto.”

Shoto aligned his erection with your weeping entrance. Shortly after, your walls are hugging his length as it dives deeper and deeper into you. Each thrust loosened you even more and he kept a steady pace. You gripped the expensive European satin bedsheets as you babbled incoherent words and phrases. You kept your eyes locked on Shoto the whole time just like he ordered.

“Shoto.” You finally moan aloud as his dick is inside of you.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” He groans. Your crying cunt was dripping with your slick onto the fabric of the bed and on Shoto’s cock.

“Yes.” You manage to blurt out as you gasp for more. His cock felt amazing no matter how much you wanted to hate him for it. This is one of the ways he shows affection. You learned to accept that.

Shoto’s hands find their way to your bouncing titties. The difference between temperatures sent your body into overdrive. He loved seeing the lewd faces you make as he used his power to pleasure you. Shoto’s dick did not stop thrusting into you through this process either though it is twitching.

Pre-cum leaks into your cunt. Shoto removes his hands from your breast as he picks up the pace. His knees start to buckle beneath him as cum flows from his cock. Every drop is milked from him until he pulls outs.

This is his way of saying ‘I love you.’

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

#mha shoto #bratx writes #bakugosbratx #shoto todoroki #bnha shoto #bnha todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki shōto #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shoto x reader #shoto smau #shoto smut #todoroki smut #shouto x y/n #mha shouto #shouto x reader #yandere my hero academia #yandere shoto todoroki #yandere shouto

[swaps55]

This Hole You Left (Anderson)

Pairing: mShenko | Tags: Canonical Character Death, Grief

Post-Alchera. 

This is a stand-alone scene from a larger work, but I’m very fond of it, so I’m posting it on its own. 

~

Captain David Anderson stares out at the repair crews moving around the Presidium. Here, from the safe retreat of his office, it doesn’t look so bad. Scaffolding covers the damaged bridge. Debris still floats in the lake, turning the serene blue water a murky brown. The air circulators have almost cycled out the smell of soot and burnt alloy, but a trace of it still lingers. If he leans out far enough, the tip of the relay Shepard had barreled through using nothing but an M-35 Mako just four weeks ago is barely visible on his right periphery.

He doesn’t lean. Just as he doesn’t look at the datapad in his hand. Hearing the words come out of Joker’s mouth was enough. Seeing the helmsman’s face was enough. Anderson had remarked once to Shepard that he’d like to be there the day someone wiped the smartass off Joker’s face.

Shepard had snorted. Not me, sir, he’d said. If he gives up the smartass that probably means I’m fucked. I’d prefer my pilot remain an asshole at all times.

Shepard had been right, of course.

Anderson wipes a thumb across the corner of his eye. It’s all right. No one here to see.

They came back around for another pass, Joker had said, in a voice that was dull, dead, about as far a cry as you could get from the insubordinate ass who’d gone off on the stand in Vancouver just two weeks ago. Shepard had to be to blame for that display. Politics had never been his game.

We lost gravity right as he shoved me in the pod. Momentum from the blast…kicked him the wrong way. I didn’t see what happened after the door closed, but I didn’t need to. Drive core implosion doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Anderson’s fingers grip the datapad harder. No. It doesn’t. That doesn’t stop his mind from filling in the blanks anyway.

All Shepard’s training. All the hell he’d put himself through to earn that N7 designation. There couldn’t have been a person more prepared to live through the Normandy’s destruction. And in the end, the realities of space had still won.

At least it had probably been quick. Probably.

The door to his office hisses open. For a moment, Anderson expects it to be Shepard. It should be Shepard. That son of a bitch has been putting Anderson’s heart in his throat since he was fourteen years old, but he’s never had the audacity to actually die. Hell, the kid had taken a reaper to the face and shrugged it off.

Kid. Shepard hasn’t been a kid in a long time, maybe never really was to begin with. But to Anderson, some part of Shepard would always be that fourteen-year-old with the thousand-watt grin and a glimmer in his eye that usually meant Anderson’s heart was about to leap into his throat. The smile had faded over time, but not that damned glimmer. He’d last seen it right here on the Citadel, when he’d stood up from the table at Flux Casino with plans to steal the Normandy right out from under the Council’s nose. And Anderson had helped him do it.

This can’t be how it ends. It can’t.

A voice speaks up behind him, crisp, formal. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

His expression tightens, but he smooths it out before he turns around. Lieutenant Alenko stands just inside the door to his office, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind his back, chin in the air. Anderson can’t shake the feeling there’s an empty space next to him.

Probably because he’s never seen Alenko without Shepard.

Kaidan Alenko. Damndest thing.

Who do you want on your marine detail? Anderson had asked, after informing Shepard he was being transferred off the Myeongnyang and onto the Normandy.

You’re asking me?

I’m naming you XO. If there’s someone you want, just say the word.

Alenko.

Anderson hadn’t had a chance to blink before the name was out of Shepard’s mouth. Not another N. Not someone from the special ops teams Shepard had run when Anderson could pry him out of Captain Oseguera’s hands. He wanted the biotic from the ‘Yang.

Hackett was the one who’d argued for assigning Alenko to Shepard’s detail five years ago, when the dust from Torfan had finally settled. Anderson had thought it would be a mistake. Alenko’s file showed he could keep up with Shepard, sure. But Alenko embodied the kind of idealism Shepard would chew up and spit out.

If we’re going to put his mind right to get back on the front lines, he needs an anchor, Hackett had replied, with that calm, ice cold demeanor that has won him nearly every argument he’s ever been involved in. Alenko will do the job.

The old man had been right. Shepard didn’t get close to people, and that was before Torfan. But he’d gotten close to Alenko. Hell, Alenko probably deserves most of the credit for bringing Shepard back from the brink. Because after Torfan, Shepard had indeed been on the brink.

Alenko might be the one on the brink, now. There’s a look in his eye that Anderson recognizes, and it isn’t a good one.

“Sit down.”

Alenko shifts his weight. Not the sitting kind, then. Not today. Anderson’s going to take a wild guess that Alenko hasn’t stopped moving since the Marrakesh picked him up.

He sighs and remains standing, giving the lieutenant silent permission to do the same. “I thought you’d like to know we’re working with the elcor to get a salvage team to Alchera. We’re hoping they find the Normandy’s black box data. Be nice to get some clues on what the hell happened out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hm. Brick wall is not Alenko’s usual MO, but that’s sure as hell what he’s talking to right now.

“Joker finished his debrief an hour ago,” Anderson goes on. “I assume you’ve heard his version of what happened.”

More shifting. The uncomfortable kind. Shepard’s done it more than a few times in Anderson’s various offices over the years.

“I haven’t, sir.”

Anderson takes a good, long look at him. He’s spent fifteen years worrying about Shepard. It’s never occurred to him to worry about Alenko.

“I see.” He exhales through his nostrils. “The Normandy was attacked by an unknown vessel. Whoever they were, Joker says they came out of nowhere. Shepard got him into the escape pod, but the ship lost gravity. He…well.”

Alenko stares straight ahead, silent. Anderson looks for a tell, but he only knows Shepard’s.

Alenko isn’t Shepard.

If this conversation is going to be one sided, Anderson needs backup. He moves to his desk, fishes a bottle out of a drawer that’s already half empty after being new just yesterday, and pours two glasses. He pushes one of them across the desk. Doesn’t occur to him until after the fact he has no idea if Alenko drinks scotch. It’s just one of the things Anderson and Shepard always agreed on.

“Have it if you want it,” he says, not up for bullying the lieutenant into a drink. “This is off the record.” He swallows half of his in one go, then heads back for the balcony. A few moments later, Alenko joins him, hands empty, still avoiding his gaze. There’s a chip in the brickwork, though. Not much, but something in his eyes wavers.

Yeah. It might be time to worry about Alenko. Losing two ships in the span of four weeks would do a number on anyone.

Except he doesn’t think it’s about either the Myeongnyang or the Normandy.

Anderson leans on the railing, gazing out at the wreckage of the Presidium. He takes another sip from his glass. “I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you.”

It takes Alenko so long to answer Anderson thinks he isn’t going to. But then some of the starch fades from his shoulders.

“He did.”

Anderson side eyes him. Had it been Shepard standing next to him, he might press. He could get Shepard to open up if he was careful enough. Sometimes.

But this isn’t Anderson’s business. And his own grief certainly isn’t Alenko’s business. But while most of the galaxy is preparing to mourn Commander Shepard, the soldier standing next to him might be the only person he knows who’s grieving for Sam. He swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.

“He was the most reckless SOB I’ve ever met,” Anderson says, watching a hanar drift along one of the intact pathways below them. “I’m pretty sure half the shit he pulled over the years was just to piss me off.”

Alenko raises an eyebrow ever so slightly in surprise, but doesn’t turn his head. “He’s always at his best when the plan goes to hell.”

“Since he was a kid,” Anderson agrees, not missing the fact that Alenko had referred to him in the present tense. “First time I ever laid eyes on him he was four. He’d wandered away from Daniel on Arcturus and he called in the cavalry to look for him. You know where I found him?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“In a fountain, playing with a model ship. I asked him what the hell his spaceship was doing in the water. He said, ‘I’m about to find out.’”

Alenko’s mouth curves in a brittle smile. “I didn’t know you knew him that young.”

“I doubt he remembered,” Anderson says. “His father and I were good friends. I dropped in on occasion while he was growing up.” 

Before Shepard was a soldier. Before he was the Butcher of Torfan or the Savior of the Citadel. Back when he was still Sam, all knees and elbows, so desperate to please he couldn’t sit still.

Anderson still misses that kid.

“He said you kept an eye on him when they shipped him to Ares Station.”

Anderson huffs. “Told you about that, did he.”

Alenko nods, resting his hands on the balcony railing.

Then Shepard had indeed trusted Alenko. Only a handful of people knew about Ares Station and Guthra Tulak. Shepard had been one of five kids sent to biotically train with the krogan, and the only one to realize any potential.

Leave it to the Alliance to come up with a program even riskier than BAaT. Leave it to Hannah Shepard to volunteer her own kid to be part of it. Anderson always wondered if Sam knew about Hannah’s role in Ares, and how hard Daniel fought to keep it from happening.

To Hannah, Sam was a legacy. To the Alliance, he’d been a tool with astronomical potential. Someone had needed to look out for the actual kid. Daniel had tried, but.

Losing Daniel still stings. What would he have thought about his Spectre son?

Hell, Anderson knows exactly what he’d have thought. He would have feared this day, this ending, with every breath he took. He’d wanted anything else for Sam. Anything but this.

And Anderson had helped him become everything Daniel was afraid of. Hell, what choice did he have? You couldn’t dissuade Sam from anything. Once he was target locked on something there was nothing you could do but get as many obstacles out of his way as possible and hope for the best. So that’s what Anderson had done. Mentored him, advocated for him, taken a few hits behind the scenes on his behalf and cleared the path as best he could. Maybe you couldn’t take the target out of Sam’s sights, but you could guide his aim to make sure he hit it dead to rights.

“He’s come a long way since then,” Anderson says, wincing when he realizes now it’s him who can’t let go of the present tense. “I wish I’d been at the inquest. From the secure feed it looked like he put an entire roomful of admirals on their asses. Would love to have seen it in person.”

Alenko stills, expression frozen in place like a mask. Whatever nerve Anderson just touched is a big one, so he steers the conversation in a new direction.

“Though what I really wish I could have seen is what he found to gripe about being stuck in atmosphere. The entire time he was in Rio for ICT, he never once complained about the work. Wouldn’t shut up about how much he hated humidity.”

The fragile smile returns. “He hated going down a well without a hardsuit.”

“Know what almost kept him from qualifying for N1?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“Bugs,” Anderson tells him. “Not twenty-hour days, not hostile terrain, not crawling around in the mud without food or sleep. It was the bugs that damn near washed him out.”

A laugh escapes the lieutenant. It’s a rusty sound. “That…doesn’t surprise me.”

Anderson smiles at the memory. “He got over it. Made it through, like he always did. Wish I’d told him more how…proud I was.”

“You meant a lot to him,” Alenko says, so quietly Anderson almost doesn’t hear him.

The lump that forms in Anderson’s throat takes him off guard. “He had a way of affecting everyone he ever met. I forget sometimes it could go the other way. He made it so easy to think he was fine on his own.”

“He wasn’t.”

Alenko’s stare remains fixed on the view from the balcony. Not many people saw the side of Shepard that needed anyone. Even Anderson only saw it on occasion. Alenko was so far from the kind of person Shepard would let his guard down in front of, but clearly he had.

If we’re going to put his mind right to get back on the front lines, he needs an anchor, Hackett had said. Alenko had done the job, all right.

Problem was, it looks like that had gone both ways.

Anderson draws in a breath. Might as well get this over with. “I called you here to ask if you would speak at the memorial.”

It’s going to be a spectacle, the likes of which Sam would have hated, but the Alliance sure as hell isn’t going to be denied their PR opportunity.

Alenko shifts his weight. He’s so damn still. Shepard would be pacing the room until Anderson wanted to strangle him.

“Is that an order, sir?”

“A request.”

“Then I respectfully decline.”

Anderson finishes his drink. “Can I ask why?”

Alenko’s grip on the railing tightens. “The Alliance cares about the symbol. I cared about the person. I can’t give them what they want.”

Anderson can’t help but wonder what the lieutenant would have to say. Shepard was so many different things to so many different people. What, exactly, was he to Kaidan Alenko?

Why Alenko? Anderson had asked Shepard back on Arcturus, the Normandy’s hull gleaming and new out the shutters.

Shepard had thought a long time before answering, like there was too much to say and not enough words to say it.

Because he grounds me.

The older Shepard had gotten, the rarer it was to get glimpses of Sam. Sometimes Anderson wondered if Sam still existed, or if he’d been swallowed up by the mantle everyone demanded he carry. But that answer had come from Sam.

“Ok,” Anderson tells Alenko. “I’ll hand it off to Hackett.”

“Why not you?” Alenko asks, looking in his direction for the first time.

Anderson gazes down at his empty glass. Twenty years ago he might have thrown it against the wall just to watch it shatter. Nowadays he thinks too hard about the mess it would make, and being the one who has to clean it up. “Because I cared about the person.”

Heavy silence settles between them.

“You should take some leave,” Anderson says. “You’ve more than earned it.”

“I’m fine,” Alenko replies, but that haunted look is back.

Soon enough you’re going to have to stop moving, son, Anderson thinks. After Torfan, Shepard had hit the same wall Alenko is cruising right towards. But Alenko isn’t Shepard, and he isn’t under his command anymore. All he can do is give him a hand if he asks for it, and from the looks of it he isn’t going to ask.

Not that it would matter. Anderson’s got no anchor to give him that could replace the one he lost.

“Just think about it. And get some sleep.” He gestures towards the door, freeing the lieutenant from further torture. While Alenko makes for the exit, Anderson heads for his desk and the untouched glass. No sense in letting it go to waste.

Alenko pauses at the doorway and looks back over his shoulder. “Rain.”

“I’m sorry?” Anderson asks with a frown.

“You wanted to know what he found to gripe about on Earth. It was the rain.” He looks away without waiting for a response and walks away.

That empty space Anderson thought he’d been imagining when Alenko walked in feels even larger, now. Yeah. Shepard sure knows how to leave a hole in people.

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #david anderson #trilogyappreciationweek #me legendary countdown #my fic

[iwach4n]

I, once again, have been an idiot and deleted a request, and I'm acc mad about it because it was v good. So thanks anon for grabbing me by the hair and yeeting me out of writers block like Miss Trunchbull did to that little girl in Matilda.

Also, this is my first time writing for Hinata?? I love that baby pls send in requests for him.

The request was basically the following boys with a S/O with very cold hands and they like to touch their stomach with their ice fingers

Cold Hands

HINATA

He first notices when the two of you are walking home together and he goes to hold your hand and its just freezing??

"Are you okay???" "Yes? Why?" "Your hands are really cold" "Haha yeah, they do that" "what???"

He's confused and a lil worried but he holds your hands all the time now to keep them warm. Hinata's not one of those 'constantly warm as fuck' people, but his hands are pretty warm, so it works

You can also use your freezing hands to scare the shit out of him though

Sneak up behind him and touch the back of his neck with what he has dubbed your "icicle fingers", and he will squeal and jump about five feet into the air

It also gives you ridiculous leverage in tickle fights, which are a necessity when you're dating this boi

KUROO

Notices in some mundane moment when your fingers brush against him and they're absolutely freezing

You explain that you just have bad circulation so your hands get cold easily, but he's just like "that was not a hand that was pure ice"

Will low key make fun of you, calling you everything from a robot to a zombie to 'I don't know what you are but it's not human because no human hand is that cold'

That doesn't stop him from cupping your hands between his to keep them warm though

Kuroo is a whole human radiator, so he gives the best hugs, but it also gives you an excuse to bully tease him with your cold hands

You just have to be like "oh no my hands are so cold" and stick them under his shirt and watch him s c r e a m

AKAASHI

He's low key kinda concerned. Like that can't be healthy??

When you explain that its just your bad circulation, he calms down a bit, but he will still do everything to keep your hands warm

Holds them as much as possible, reminds you to wear gloves and has spares if you forget yours, probably buys you those hand warmer things for particularly cold days

Will do that thing where he holds both of your hands and blows on them to keep them warm. Its very intimate and the man is high romance

He does not, however, appreciate that you use your cold hands to terrorise him. All you have to do is start approaching him with a mischievous look and he's already backing away like "no. I know what you're gonna do no. Stop it."

He's extremely sensitive to the cold on the small of his back so if his shirt rides up to expose it he's a dead man honestly

OIKAWA

Absolutely uses it as an excuse to hold your hand all the time

"Oh wow, your hands are so cold, what a shame. I guess I'll have to hold them. How unfortunate." "Tooru, you're my boyfriend. You can hold my hands whenever you want." "What a Tragedy."

Will kiss your knuckles lots as well. Just uses it as an excuse to give you affection.

When you discover how sensitive he is to the cold, your hands become the bane of his existence.

Touch him on the neck, back, stomach, pretty much anywhere that isn't his hands, and he will scream.

It's a very high pitched scream as well, and if you keep doing it he will run for his life

Iwa is so done with it because Oikawa keeps hiding behind him so he becomes collateral damage to your icy fingers

#haikyuu headers #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu!! #hq #hq kuroo #hq oikawa #hq hinata #hq akaashi #hinaya shouyou #oikawa tooru #akaashi keiji #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq anime #anime #manga #shiratorizawa #karasuno #aoba johsai #fukorodani #nekoma #johzenji #dateko #fluff #fluff headcanons

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 8: Moceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 8 - The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away. 

Content warnings (oh boy): This is an afterlife fic! Meaning there is technically character death, but it is essentially the beginning of a whole new life, and the death itself is only briefly touched upon. That being said, warnings for; hypothermia/frostbite, death, car accident, talk of past death, mention of cancer, brief description of body horror (no gore).

Word count: 2.8k

It started when Janus was two. His parents were awoken by his feral cries, throwing open the door to his room, imagining the worst. They recoiled immediately upon touching him, his skin almost freezing to the touch. They closed the bedroom window and piled him in more layers until he stopped wailing, but that was only the start.  

When he was six, his mother explained soulmates to him. He looked at her with huge eyes, fiddling with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

When he was ten, he had grown sick and tired of the constant cold. A majority of his classmates and friends hadn’t met their soulmates yet, but they all didn’t seem as bothered by it as he was. They didn’t keep their winter jackets on in class, no matter the season, and their hands were never too cold to hold a pencil.

When he was thirteen, he caught hypothermia. At the insistence of his older brother, he joined him outside in the snow for a hike in the forest. His countless layers and heat pads in his pockets only did so much when they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and while his brother seemed to be unaffected by the cold, Janus woke up the next day in the hospital. He could vaguely remember falling face first into the snow, his cold slowly morphing into pleasant warmth, his brother shouting his name. The doctors were unable to save his left eye, leaving him half blind, and his frostbite scars never quite disappeared. They said the very fact that he survived was some kind of miracle. He didn’t go into the snow after that. 

When he was sixteen, his mother took him to a doctor. After thorough examination, the man could find nothing wrong with him. He suggested B-12 supplements and a list of ways to increase his circulation, and when that did nothing to help months later, he sat them both down in his office and explained it most likely meant Janus’ soulmate had died. Janus didn’t know until that moment that it was possible to miss someone you’ve never met, but he cried on the way home. His mom said nothing. 

When he was eighteen, Janus was alone. He had become reclusive and standoffish, unwilling to spend time around any of the people who tried to befriend him. All of them had soulmates. All of them got to be happy. 

When he was twenty, his family suggested group therapy for those who had lost their soulmates, and he had reluctantly gone to one session. For a moment, he felt at home, surrounded by other people in thick sweaters and jackets and gloves, until he learned that all of them had lost their soulmates after meeting them. They had been able to spend years together, enjoying each other’s company, before losing the love of their life. When he explained his situation, he was only met with the same sympathetic looks he’d received everywhere else in life, and he never went back. 

When he was twenty-two, he graduated with his Bachelor’s degree in psychology. The crowd was the quietest it had been all night; no one knew this guy, but it felt wrong to not cheer at all. He shook the Dean’s hand with thick yellow gloves and took the diploma, ignoring the man’s confused raised eyebrow and walking away to the noise of half-hearted claps. 

When he was twenty-five, life was okay. Not good, just okay. He’d found a lab job in the psychological social experiment aspect that paid decently and wasn’t a total bore. Most nights he was numb, especially after experiments that revolved around soulmates, so he turned on Netflix and poured a glass of wine and fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a thick weighted blanket. Life is fine, he told himself. It could be worse. 

And when Janus was twenty-seven, he died. It was an accident; a mix of a long tiring day and an ignored red light just as he was crossing the street. The car barreled through the intersection, other car horns blaring, and he looked up just in time to see the person looking down, probably on their phone. He’d never know. The impact was quick, and he didn’t even have time to feel pain before the world went dark. He was a little grateful for that.

It stayed dark for a long while after that. Well, in full honesty, he didn’t know how long it was. It felt like a long time, but it also felt extraordinarily short. The seconds turned to years and millennia became mere minutes, the very concept of time fading away just as he did. A minuscule part of him was still aware that he was conscious, and he probably should have been a little scared of that, because did that mean he was destined to float around as an unattached subconscious for eternity? A larger part of him was just relieved to finally rest, with the weight of student debt and an exhaustingly lonely life finally gone. 

Until it wasn’t. The light crept into the center of his vision first and he grumbled in annoyance. Let me just enjoy it a second longer, he thought distantly, but the light didn’t listen as it slowly spread across his vision like molasses. For the first time in his life, he realized with a start, he didn’t feel cold. There was a heat in his chest that he’d never felt before, and he was scared when the darkness faded, so would the warmth. 

“Janus, are you okay?” A desperate voice broke through his dark haze in whisps, slowly clearing the fog that had set in. It rambled on, “Oh, stupid question. You just died. Sorry! Can you see me?”

His vision lit up all the way, replacing the darkness but not taking away the heat. Perfect. He was about to answer no to the stranger’s question; there was just a blur of blue and white and green, until the figure loomed that much closer and came into focus. It was a man, probably his age, with bright blue eyes and floppy golden hair, his freckled nose just inches from Janus’. His eyes held concern but he was smiling like no tomorrow. The man seemed to realize when Janus could in fact see him clearly and backed away, holding out a hand to help him up. Why was he lying on the ground? Where was he?

That question was answered as soon as he took the offered hand, looking around him in shock. Apparently the dark void hadn’t held him for as long as he thought. A distant siren pierced the air, and people’s shouts rang over each other as they milled around the body in the street, his body. The car that had hit him was nowhere to be seen. It was all too surreal, too uncomfortable, and he turned back to the man standing in front of him. They were standing on the sidewalk, just meters away from the gruesome scene on the street, and Janus suddenly felt very lightheaded. 

“I carried you away as soon as your soul formed. Didn’t want to overwhelm you when you opened your eyes for the first time.”

“I’m dead?”

“Yep,” The man answered just a bit too cheerfully, before noticing the newcomer’s expression and softening, “Sorry. I’ve been here for a while, the shock has kind of worn down.”

“What’s here?”

“The afterlife. Deathny World. Aliven’t. I’ve heard it all.”

“Ah,” Janus choked, trying to take in the environment around him without looking at his own dead body, or the paramedics that had just arrived on the scene. It looked like the real world, and obviously they were still in the real world to some extent since he was witnessing the aftereffects of his own death, but the subtle mist floating through the air was definitely new. It curled through the air gently, resting on every surface it could land on, coloring the world with soft rainbow hues. It was the real world, it was just as if he was seeing more of it for the first time. The parts that were invisible before. An orange tuft graced by his ear and he could just make out the sound of someone laughing, the smell of fresh bread, the taste of fresh jam on a summer morning. A smile tugged at his lips before he realized.

“Forgotten memories,” The man spoke up, as if reading his mind. “Every lost memory of every person winds up here. Mostly good ones, but some are bad. You’ll learn how to sift through them soon enough.” 

Janus was finally able to pull himself away from the colorful world, staring into the bright eyes of the stranger. “Who are you?”

“I’m Patton,” he said with a new grin, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I’m your soulmate.”

--------------------------------------

It took Janus a much longer time than he would have liked to admit to unfreeze from the revelation, Patton taking his hand gently and sinking them out to a new location. His stomach churned upon rising up, the new sensation making him nauseous. He didn’t recognize where they were, some cafe, and Patton gently pushed him into a seat before strolling up to the counter with no hesitation, starting a conversation with the barista and gesturing to Janus. The mist, the lost memories, were gone, replaced with a golden haze that gave the world a soft glow. The air was thick with the smell of coffee beans and cookies that instantly calmed Janus’ stomach. When Patton finally walked back to him, two mugs in hand, he explained. 

“This is the soul world. We can pop in from the real world to this one whenever we want. Some souls choose to stay on one side predominantly, some switch back and forth a lot.” 

“This single cafe is the soul world?”

“Oh! No, my bad! There’s a whole lot more outside. I’ll have to show you later. Right now, though, just relax. You’ve had a… long day, to say the least.” He pushed one of the cups into Janus’ grasp.

“What is it?” He asked skeptically. It looked like coffee, but who’s to say anything anymore. 

“Whatever you want it to be. Think of your favorite drink, then try it.”

Janus narrowed his eyes but lifted the mug to his lifts, trying to think of a single drink he liked. His mind decided that this was the ideal moment to forget everything he ever drank in his entire short life, so when he finally took a sip, the liquid was disgustingly tasteless. Like warm water. He set the drink down, watching Patton intensely.

Janus took in his appearance, his general shock finally beginning to wear off. An open light blue button up over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was pretty much Janus’ definition of cute, what with those stupidly adorable dimples and little golden locket hanging on his neck. If he’d met him when he was alive, he no doubt would have fallen head over heels for him.    

“You’re my soulmate? How is that…” He cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing, “How is that possible?”

Patton hummed, wiping off what appeared to be a hot chocolate moustache, “I died when I was three. Cancer.”

“That’s awful.”

Patton shrugged, taking another sip, “It wasn’t great. I woke up by myself, still half wedged in my own corpse. It was terrifying. My parents were crying, and I tried to tell them I was there, somehow, but they couldn’t see me.”

“Totally not traumatic at all.”  

The man actually laughed, despite the dark story, “I had to figure everything out for myself. Sinking down, navigating both worlds, how to control my own form… which you are doing surprisingly well at, by the way.” 

Janus glanced down at himself. He definitely wasn’t alive, that much was sure, if the wisps of yellow smoke cascading down him were any indication. If he concentrated hard enough, the fog began to disappear, leaving him looking normal, albeit a bit paler. As soon as his mind drifted, however, the golden trails were back.

“This was the first place I was able to rise up in in this world. It’s kind of an easy access point. I popped up behind the counter, scared the living daylights out of Virgil.” He pointed to the barista who was currently chatting with another person ghost, laughing over identical mugs with them. “He’s been here a while. Two hundred years, give or take.”

Janus paled, the idea of eternity becoming just that much more real. “Oh…”

“Yeah. He kind of raised me. And then when I was old enough to understand, he explained that I’d left a soulmate behind. I cried for hours after that.” He smiled sadly, finally meeting Janus’ eyes. 

“You knew my name,” The younger recalled suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “Right when I was waking up, you said my name.”

Patton looked almost sheepish, focusing back on the cup between his hands, “After Virgil told me… I kind of made it my personal mission to find my soulmate. I spent a lot of time in the real world, years, trying to find you, and of course checking in on my parents sometimes. Ghosts don’t need sleep, we can sleep, if we want, but we don’t need to, so it was a constant search. And then, my parents both ended up in the hospital, long story, and I wanted to be there when they woke up. Make their transition into the new world a little easier than mine was,” His expression lit up, wiggling a little in his seat, “And while I was there, I stumbled across a certain young patient with severe frostbite and hypothermia.”

“Me.”

“Mmhm. And I felt this weird warmth in my chest, which is weird, because ghosts don’t really feel temperature. It didn’t last that long, just a couple seconds, really, but it was enough time to know.”

“The soulbond.”

“Yep.”

They both drank in unison. This time, Janus’ drink tasted like the unsweetened chamomile tea from the hospital. He made a sour face and put the cup back down. He stared into his reflection for a moment, almost captivated in the sloshing against the sides of the mug, before Patton spoke again.

“I spent most of my time in the alive-world after that. With you. And it sucked, because there was nothing I wanted more than to talk to you and hug you and just let you know I existed… you were so sad…”

“Yeah…” Janus mumbled, tapping the ridge of his cup with his fingernail. “Is that why you were at the accident?”

“I tried to stop it,” Patton whispered, a look of pure guilt crossing his face, “I couldn’t tug you back though, and you didn’t hear me. So the least I could do was pull you out when you formed and take you away from the crowd.” 

The odd language was starting to confuse Janus, the weird differentiation between his soul and his body, the terminology regarding the soul world he didn’t understand… it was all just a lot. 

“So… Do we age? You’re obviously not three anymore. But the barista doesn’t look two hundred.”

“Virgil. And… I don’t know.”

“Very comforting.”

“You’re sassy.”

“That I am.” 

For the first time in a very long time, Janus’ lips twitched into a smile in response to the absolute beam on Patton’s face. No one had ever taken his snark as anything other than bitchiness, but this guy, his soulmate, seemed to love it. 

“As far as I know, we won’t. I think I only aged along with you, and now that you’re here, we’re probably done.” He had finished his drink, the barista swooping in out of nowhere and plucking it from his grasp with an impish grin. Patton shouted his thanks as Virgil disappeared into the back room. “He’s been waiting to meet you for a long time. But he can be a handful, so we’ll save proper introductions until you’re settled. Speaking of which…” He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and offering his hand to Janus once more. “I can show you where residency is, if you’d like. It might be nice to take a nap, just to process.”

Janus considered. The vague sounding ‘residency’ was intriguing, but he was much too restless to sleep right now. He voiced as much. “Maybe later. Do you think you could show me around first?”

The grin Patton gave him was bright enough to power a city block. Janus took the extended hand and the man squealed, pulling him towards the door excitedly. Yeah. He was definitely already falling for the literal ball of sunshine that was his soulmate. 

“One grand tour of the afterlife, coming up!” 

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts afterlife au #moceit #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

[itswildwinters]

Seeing as it’s the holidays for me, I’ve had time to read (and re-read) quite a lot of fics, and I felt like sharing some of them with you. It’s my first time doing a fic recs post, so I hope it’s useful and not too much of a mess, especially since it’s quite long!

If you do end up reading any of these stunning fanfics, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!! ✩

✩ baby blue by @soldouthaz​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head. 

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin. 

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

I loved the dynamic between Cowboy Harry and Celebrity Louis. What I also really enjoyed about this fanfic is that the depiction of farm life was accurate. The way the story is written really gets you into action, so that you can picture everything quite well through the Louis-centric third point of view. 

✩ The Space Between by @lads-laddylads​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

A/B/O fanfic. I loved how Alpha Harry acted upon seeing Louis for the first time. You can really feel the tension and attraction through the screen, which is one of my all time favourite things. The way their relationship builds up is a delight, and Louis is a darling and so courageous in the end with how he deals with Harry, even when Harry is being an idiot. The connection they have at the end... just wow!

✩ fae series: Boiling Blood Will Circulate and Warming The Air Of The World by @crazyupsetter​ (42k and 3k)

summary of Boiling Blood Will Circulate: The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

I am a sucker for fantasy/supernatural fanfics, and this one is absolutely incredible. The suspense in there is well-built, and the dynamic between Louis and Harry leaves you hungry for more. There’s a lot of blood in this series, so if you’re not into that you should be careful, but for me the author really puts into perspective how complicated and different from mankind faeries are.

✩ With a whimper by @kitundercover​ (132k)

summary: Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

If you are into dystopian works, and doesn’t mind violence, blood and gore, this fic will make your day! I loved the world-building, the way it’s written, how Louis’ character is portrayed and how strong he is. I just couldn’t stop reading once I began. The secrets of the plot, the fear of the characters, and the curiosity that sparks within you as you read contribute into making this fic a unique one that’s so worth the read.

✩ Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter​ (40k)

summary: The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Another magnificent creatures/fantasy fanfic. The writing is absolutely exquisite, and I love how hard to get Louis is. The violence between Louis and Harry might bother some people, but to me it really spiced up their relationship and made Louis and Harry, who are creatures of gloom, particularly interesting and even real, somehow.

✩ Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl​ (40k)

summary: They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

Where do I start? I usually don’t like fake-relationship AUs since most of the time Louis and Harry are famous, which make it less fun to me. But in this fic, they’re students and Harry is a frat boy while Louis is a nerd, but it’s not cliché or anything. It’s actually so well-written and the relationship between Louis and Harry takes time to progress which I absolutely love, seeing as I am a sucker for slow burn. Harry is so sweet as a frat boy, and Louis is an angel. Really loved reading this.

✩ at your fingertips by @risthebrave​ (27k)

summary: He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

-

Or, Louis really should have seen it coming.

Besides being well-written, the whole plot is quite original. I absolutely loved Louis in there, especially since all of his insecurities made me relate to him. He’s so sweet, and I’m glad Harry was there to get him to open-up and see how amazing he is. I had so many moments of secondhand embarrassment haha, and they made the fic all the more amazing. Honestly, what really struck me in this fic is how the author managed to make Harry such an amazing person, and how intrepid Louis is while he learns to overcome his insecurities.

✩ Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense​ (83k)

summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

It was such a joy to read this fic. Even though Harry pissed me off on more than one occasion, I took great satisfaction in how Louis ignored him or replied with one of his witty comebacks. The plot twist was just awesome and Harry’s stubbornness ended up being very much welcome.

✩ push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly​ (31k)

summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

Oh my god, this was truly wonderful. The size difference made me go crazy! The smut was just wow too. What really made this fic so incredible is how protective of Harry Louis is, and how Louis seems to just... understand Harry despite his issues. Jealous Harry also! I loved it. Moreover, Louis’ character is literally perfect in this.

✩ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense​ (52k)

summary: Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

I’ve read and re-read this. I love Louis and Harry’s dynamic, and how they solve their troubles in the end. Harry is such a sweet soul, and Louis deserves the world!

✩ Canyon Moon by @eeveelou​ (40k)

summary: For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

What really drew me in is that I’ve never before seen a larry fanfic on the Lion King, and honestly? It was so beautiful. The way the author made the plot of the cartoon go along with the A/B/O world was truly surprising, and absolutely interesting to read. Also, when Louis is introduced to the modern world? It’s such a sweet part of the fic.

✩ a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent​ (27k)

summary: The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

Trailer park Harry? HELL YEAH! The concept has been going on in the fandom for so long that when I saw someone finally wrote it, I was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t disappointed! The writing is wonderful and the way Louis and Harry grow closer is just so sweet. Loved it!

✩ The Healing Song series: The Healing Song and The Wedding by 2204 (111k and 3k)

summary of The Healing Song: Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Or where Louis is a single father of two, suffering from PTSD, and Harry is there providing soulmatey and loving support while he heals the wounds of past abuse.

God, this fic I swear! This made me cry, laugh, scream... this is a roller-coaster of emotions. It’s quite a hard fic to read, because it deals with past abuse and trauma. And it’s even harder knowing this story is based on real life events that the author went though. But the way it’s written, the way Harry helps Louis through his struggles and issues, it’s so beautiful and inspiring.

✩ Sunrise and Pixie Dust by @moonyblouie​ (14k)

summary: Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

I loved this, the smut is so hot!! But the end... I really hope there will be a sequel! But other than that, the way Louis is written? Wonderful!

✩ Weightless by @smittenwithlouis​ (25k)

summary: He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

This was... just amazing, honestly. I loved loved loved every time Louis interacted with dragons, I could picture it and it’s just so so sweet. The way Louis is concerned about Harry’s safety, and Harry’s will to make Louis’ life better, to give him the freedom he deserves... it’s just beautiful.

✩ The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror​ (25k)

summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

I absolutely loved this! The plot, the writing, the suspense, the secrets... everything was on spot and left me yearning for more. The atmosphere really makes the reader completely engrossed into what’s going on, and the end doesn’t disappoint. Dark fics have always been something that I enjoy reading, and this one definitely didn’t disappoint. Just wow!

✩ Latibule by @quelquesetoiles​

summary: Louis had worked in the infamous resort placed in the median point of all worlds for longer than he could remember. He went through everyday with a soul-crushing emptiness filling his mind, going through the same routine over and over again. Despite all the happenings around him, his soul never wavered, his emotions stayed superficial, and nothing took his breath away anymore.

Nothing, except the intoxicating smell of lavender and the contemplating green eyes that came along for the ride every now and again. His heart always seemed to wake up full force whenever those pretty lips formed around even prettier, yet empty promises, and he felt the magic sizzle in his bones again only when contact was made between the divine body and his own deceivingly normal one. He hated it for the fact he really didn’t.

Or : A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

I have read this at least three times, that’s how good this fic is. I am a sucker for mythology, like truly, and Louis and Harry’s dynamic in there had me screaming! Jealous Harry is the best thing, and the semi plot twist at the end made my heart jump. But besides the universe we readers are diving into, it’s also the writing that’s left me pleasantly drunk. The words flow together perfectly, at after each paragraph you just long for more. Also the pet names!!! Just beautiful.

✩✩✩

If there’s any mistakes, please let me know! 

#fic recs

[fefefewf]

after receiving an anonymous letter from the province

Emmett kicked his legs out from under him. Dolorous Edd planted a foot on his back to keep him on his knees as Emmett shoved the block beneath his head. Ach, Natasha, do let’s read over ‘Childhood and Boyhood’ together. It is so fine.”. The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak’s Pit. “Well, Vanya, you see the sort of life I lead! That’s I must have a drop of vodka,” Masloboev concluded, setting his hair straight and novolux 60 led going almost at a trot to the decanter But Alexandra Semyonovna was beforehand with him. She skipped up to the table, poured some out herself, handed it him, and even gave him a friendly pat on the cheek. Gilded harpies stood atop the center poles of each of its nine peaked roofs, shining in the sun. Lesser tents ringed it on all sides. They cannot be disunited without abrogating at once the rights of the master, and absolving the slave from his subjection. It constitutes the curse of slavery to both the bond and the free portions of our population. Well, he didn’t treat that lady very ceremoniously, and though we’re not discussing her case now, I may mention in passing, friend Vanya, that he has all his life been particularly fond of turning such affairs to profit. Here’s another example of it. Behind her Grimtongue shouted, “Nine, and damn you all.” Hagen’s daughter burst naked from beneath the trees with two wolves at her heels. Asha wrenched loose a throwing axe and sent it flying end over end to take one of them in the back. Too many eyes at the latrines. And never go beyond our camp without my leave. In fact, I could fill a volume with all the slander that the local gossips of both sexes succeeded in circulating on this subject. But what was most remarkable was that the prince believed all this implicitly, puma red bull racing evo cat iiand had indeed come to Vassilyevskoe simply on account of it, after receiving an anonymous letter from the province. His father, of course, heard of all this at last.

donna di porto pim una storia riassunto

An abominable scandal followed. He looked about for his wine cup, but when he found it legjobb kutyaruha esőkabát all pantofi sport cu scai barbati the rum had spilled. Drowning is bad enough, he reflected sourly, but drowning sad and sober, that’s too cruel.. By the time she reached the Purple Harbor, the old man was ensconced inside the soup shop at his usual table, counting a purse of coins as he haggled with a ship’s captain. The tall thin guard was hovering over him. Amos Dresser, now a missionary in Jamaica, was a theological student at Lane Seminary, near Cincinnati. In the vacation (August 1835) he undertook to sell Bibles in the State of Tennessee, with a view to raise means further to continue his studios. “Valar dohaeris.” She ghete galbene piele gathered up her bowl and cup, knife and spoon, and pushed to her feet. Last of all she grasped her stick. The leap had shattered one of his legs, and a jagged piece of pale bone jutted out through the rotted cloth of his breeches and the grey meat beneath. The broken bone was speckled with brown blood, but still he lurched forward, reaching for Young Griff. The stone man flung the torch away. There was a soft hiss as the black waters quenched the flames. As he ran, he saw through their eyes too and glimpsed himself ahead. The breath of the pack puffed warm and white from long grey jaws. When Daario brought them forward, she saw that one of them was a woman, big and blond and all in mail. “Pretty Meris,” her captain named her, though pretty was the last thing Dany would have called her. The bocanci grisport 480 calculations in the volume from which we have been quoting were made in the year 1841. Since that time, the area of the southern slave-market has yeezy off white boost been doubled, and the trade has undergone a proportional increase. I tell you the truth. I’m not good enough for her; I sac camelbak lobo feel that; it’s a great grief to me, and I don’t know why she’s so fond of me. If they had half the wits of their pig, they would have fled King’s Landing the night Joff died, before Cersei could assign them some share of blame in her son’s death. “Let her down, ser,” he told Ser Jorah Mormont. The guard stared at the dead man as if seeing him for the first time. “Him … he drank the water. It is true that he had some unpleasant traits, some of the bad habits characteristic of aristocratic society: frivolity, self-complacency, and polite insolence. But he was so candid and simple at heart that he was the first to blame himself for these defects, to regret them and mock at them. Wirt, in his Life of Patrick Henry, page 34. “Last and lowest,” he says, [of different classes in society] “a feculum of beings called overseers,—a most abject, degraded, unprincipled race.” Now, suppose, while the master is in Charleston, enjoying literary leisure, the slaves on some Bellemont or other plantation, getting deicmen gyerek csizma tired of being hungry and cold, form themselves into a committee of the whole, to see what is to be done. Dany took a fig. It was black and plump, still moist with dew. He would roll in shit again, forbidden to wash. The clothes he wore would turn to rags, foul and stinking, and he would be made to wear them till they rotted. To this noble course the united voice of Christians in all other countries is urgently calling the American church. Expressions of this feeling have come from Christians of all denominations in England, in Scotland, in Ireland, in France, in Switzerland, in Germany, in Persia, in the Sandwich Islands, and in China.

[starkergames]

Title: Dance Me to the End of Love Artists: @still-lovelygarnet (sketch), Lighinz (Ink),  @the-mad-starker​ (Color + Writer) Notes: Lighinz: This was the first piece of starker fanart I’ve ever worked on and I’m so glad it was with my lovely teammates. They’re such inspirations! It’s been amazing seeing this all come together. ❤️❤️ Garnet: This drawing has been a journey for me, and I am so happy to see it finished! It’s a beauty and I am proud of my wonderful, stunning, hard working and stupidly talented teammates, @the-mad-starker​ & Lighinz! And let’s not forget the fic that comes with it, Mads being an absolute trouper as always. ❤️❤️ Thank you guys for having me! Mads: I had absolutely no idea how much work coloring was but my teammates were always so encouraging and supportive. QAQ I’ll never take fanart for granted again QAQ But I’m happy I gave this a shot and I’ve learned so much. Thanks to my teammates and for this event for bringing us together 💗 The social media sites and media had gone apeshit over the leak. A certain document started circulating, a marriage license. 

Tony Stark was married. 

The only problem was, whoever had done it had blurred out his spouse’s name. Fic below the cut!

February 14, 2020.

A Friday night to remember since it was not only Valentine's Day but also the Stark Valentine's Charity ball.

Every year, Stark Industries would raise thousands and this year, it would be no different. Most likely, they'd be able to raise more than any other year previously since the spotlight had been on Tony for the past week.

An important document had been leaked.

A marriage license.

It came as a shock.

The social media sites and media had gone apeshit over the leak. A certain document started circulating, a marriage license.

Tony Stark was married.

The only problem was, whoever had done it had blurred out his spouse's name.

And so the paparazzi were on the hunt for a Mrs. or Mr. Stark only to find out Tony had taken a two week business trip.

False, they had discovered. The business trip was actually a honeymoon and the trail went cold until now.

Tony had managed to avoid them once he came back, no husband or wife in sight. That caused an even bigger commotion since it piqued everyone's curiosity. It was easy enough for Tony to remain unreachable, considering the man lived in the penthouse above Stark Industries.

It wasn't as easy for Peter though since he still lived in Queens with his aunt, but no one was all too interested in him. No one, except Tony.

Tony, who, despite Peter's insistence that he didn't need to be picked up, had arrived at his aunt's 5:30 on the dot. It wasn't unusual though since Tony was just spontaneous and hard to say no to.

Peter's boss and mentor sat beside him in the limo driving them to the event. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander over the man sitting beside him.

Tony Stark was aglow from all the sun he'd been enjoying and more than that, he was genuinely happy. The smile on his face said as much, a charming and almost dopey smile that not many were accustomed to seeing. Marital bliss suited the older man even if his smiles deepened the lines on his face.

To Peter, Tony has never looked so handsome.

He fidgeted in his seat, still not used to wearing the kind of attire that's required for these things.

Tony picked out his suit though, a cream-colored piece that only seemed to accentuate his slim but fit body. In contrast, the older man had worn a navy blue suit along with a very light, almost white, pink shirt. A rose was tucked into his shirt pocket and Peter smiled at the sight.

"The polls for the identity of Mrs. Stark is pretty funny," Tony mused as he scrolled through the media sites on his phone.

"Who's winning now?" Peter asked as he leaned closer to peek at his phone.

Pepper Potts's name was nowhere in the list but only because she had adamantly denied it from the very start. The paparazzi had also proven that Ms. Potts had been attending a company business while Tony had disappeared for his honeymoon.

"Who is that even…?" Peter laughed. "Natasha Romanoff…?"

Tony bumped his knee against his and chuckled.

"They got a hold of the guest list," Tony explained, "that's why she's jumped up in the polls."

Peter hummed but leaned back.

"Too bad the only person accompanying you is your protege," Peter said, knee bouncing as he scrolled through the list.

There was a separate poll for men, too, since Tony wasn't exactly shy about his preferences. Peter's heart skipped a beat when he saw his own there, listed near the very bottom at place number twenty-one out of twenty-five.

Warmth. Tony's hand settled on top of his bouncing knee. His wedding ring glinted in the light, a simple golden band with one studded diamond embedded inside.

"Breathe, kid," Tony instructed gently. "You sure you wanna do this? I know these public things aren't your scene."

Peter was anxious and it was obvious. He took a deep breath, stopped his fidgeting, and focused his runaway thoughts.

He knew that if he had said so right now that Tony would bring him home.

That, more than anything, was what had Peter returning the smile. It was a bit strained from the upcoming event, but it was there. He settled a hand over Tony's and felt the smooth, hard metal beneath his fingers. A gentle squeeze was given to show his appreciation.

"I can do this," Peter said and then corrected himself. "I want to do this."

"That's my spunky little intern," Tony smiled back at him.

"Not an intern anymore," Peter reminded him with a fond shake of his head.

He hasn't been an intern for almost two years and was expecting to take over as the R&D department manager of Stark Industries within the next six months.

And the relationship between him and Tony...

Tony grinned at the correction.

"Of course not. How do I keep forgetting?" Tony pretended to chide himself.

Peter was about to make a quip about his age but then the limo came to a stop at the entrance.

Outside, he saw the crowd of reports just waiting to catch a glimpse of Tony's spouse who they expected had ridden with him. He wondered how they'd react when they see just little old Peter Parker trailing after his boss.

Everyone was used to seeing Peter by Tony's side since he joined SI. Tony, himself, had called Peter his protégé, his next big project, the rising star of SI… the list of affectionate nicknames go on and on and has accumulated into a big pile of endearments.

Peter cherished each one.

"Knock 'em dead," was the last thing Tony said before they went to face the crowd.

The camera flashes were blinding. Even after two years of it, Peter still forgot to expect them until it was already too late and dots were dancing in his vision.

As expected of Tony Stark, he owned the audience's attention and smiled at every camera turned his way. Peter followed behind and was careful to keep away from the reporters.

No one was really interested in him since it was Tony that they wanted to get at.

Peter watched, amused, as Tony deflected every inquiry regarding his spouse that was thrown his way. This was a charity ball, after all, and the older man turned every question into answers that promoted and brought the attention back to the event in question.

Peter didn't know how he did it but it was a superpower he'd have to learn in the future.

The event area was decorated in a beautiful mess of Valentine's Day colors. The tables were set in white with stunning displays of bouquets. The roses were in full bloom, vibrant reds that popped out when surrounded by the more gentle pinks and whites of the surrounding flowers.

Crowds of people already sat at their tables, socializing and having a good time with wine being served.

It was a very large event and just standing there, taking it all in, Peter felt he could've easily lost himself in there. But then he felt a strong and familiar presence by his side and he turned, finding Tony right there beside him.

At that moment, the room could've been filled to capacity and Peter wouldn't have noticed anyone else besides Tony.

To him, it was obvious that he was in love with his boss. To others, maybe it wasn't as obvious since they liked to think of him as Tony's mini-me.

A lot of people also felt that they knew what Tony's feelings and thoughts were. It was easy to believe that since Tony was such an outspoken and outgoing person. He could talk on and on about something, injecting his insights and thoughts on a subject, and the listener would only have a glimpse of who Tony really was.

So, everyone thought that they knew Tony Stark because of his past reputation and his easy-going personality.

Then Tony did something like secretly getting married and people suddenly realized how very little they knew about him. They hadn't even known he was dating, let alone serious enough to pop the question.

They didn't see Tony the way Peter did, didn't know him the way Peter did so how could he blame them for being so oblivious?

Every smile Tony gave to others, he gave twice as many to Peter in darted glances and quick flashes. He always pulled Peter into the conversation and Peter wondered if others recognized just how often Tony spoke about him.

Maybe they did. Maybe they brushed it off.

That would change tonight.

Many had asked about the mysterious Mr. or Mrs. Stark. Curious eyes searched for Tony's spouse by his side and seemed to slip right over Peter. It didn't upset him at all. It made him happy that he was such a well recognized figure in Tony's life.

The money came pouring in for the charity and Tony gave them his dazzling smile. Appetizers were served, the guests' chatter dropping to low murmurs as they were served finger foods that could've easily replaced dinner with how generous it was.

A short speech was made and Tony looked so handsome with the mic in his hand and a bright gleam in his eye.

Peter, from his seat at the front table, could practically feel how the guests were hoping for Tony to introduce his spouse.

And like the tease Tony was, just shortly before concluding his speech, he had the audacity to say, "I know many of you are dying to meet my sweetheart." He gave the crowd a wink, "And it is Valentine's Day so it would make sense, huh?"

A pause as the crowd waited patiently or impatiently for the big reveal.

"But this ball isn't about me or my newly beloved, but we'll see if we can get some more surprises in by the end of the night. Dinner should be coming out shortly and then, we'll get to the fun part of the evening. Dancing!"

Tony rejoined the first table, completely at ease with his selected dinner mates. He flashed Peter a quick grin before he nudged his seat closer.

"What do you think? Will they be lucky enough?" Tony leaned in to ask.

Beneath the table, a warm hand settled on his knee, a reassuring weight. Peter had to fight to keep the smile from splitting across his face.

The whole dancing part of the event made him nervous and Tony had promised him that he didn't need to. Just thinking about it made his heart pound but when he looked at the older man, he felt it melt into a mess of goo and affection.

He subtly slipped his hand beneath the table, settling it above Tony's and gave it a squeeze.

"Maybe," he said with a faint smile.

They withdrew both their hands as the waiters came out and served dinner. The dinner SI provided for their guests was almost decadent. It warmed their bellies with good food and along with the alcohol from the open bar, laughter and smiles were being exchanged with ease.

The clatter of utensils working over near and veggies filled the room and the soft quiet conversations lulled as people ate.

And just as dinner was wrapping up, a familiar tune started to play. Peter glanced and Tony and found the man staring back at him, unabashed and grinning from ear to ear.

He returned it with an exasperated shake of his head, but when Tony held his hand out… Peter took it.

He was pulled from his seat and led onto the empty dance floor. The music swirled around them and the entire hall fell into a hush as more and more people noticed the pair on the floor.

Tony led Peter in a dance and it was there that everyone's eyes were finally opened to the truth.

The person they had been looking for all evening had been by Tony's side the entire time.

There was no doubt about it now, as the audience's eyes followed the pair. Fluid, graceful movements… Hand in hand, they swept across the dance floor, perfectly in sync in body, as well as mind.

It was undeniable, the tenderness that spread across Tony's face as he looked at Peter

Undeniable, when Peter smiled so sweetly at him.

They danced and danced and to Peter, it was like the entire hall disappeared. There was no one else but them and all the anxiety, all the doubts faded away as he looked into Tony's eyes.

They had taken a long path to get where they were today. What started as a simple, professional relationship slowly transformed into a quiet, but comfortable silence as they worked.

The silence became filled with chatter and once one started talking, the other would answer. Their quiet work hours became filled with laughter and scandalized jokes then with soft teasing. The hunger for each other's company grew until it spilled out of the lab and brought them together in movie theaters then quiet little evenings in Peter's apartment.

Their first kiss was a memory that made them both grin and laugh. A moment of spontaneity as Tony babbled on and on, a flush of excitement tinting his cheeks red. Then shocked silence as Peter shut him up with a press of his lips.

Do that again, Tony had dared and Peter hadn't backed down since. He'd done it countless times until they were both breathless from it.

Countless dates and secret smiles being exchanged at the office. I love you's being exchanged softly and meaningfully. Reverently. Then the ease in which those words came, each dropping it casually in their texts and whenever they parted. It didn't make those significant words any less meaningful. In fact, it only reaffirmed, over and over, how they felt about each other.

Months fast-forwarded and then Tony was kneeling in front of him, a black box in hand and Peter staring dumbly at him like he hadn't expected it at all. The mister to my Mr. Stark, Tony had casually said once upon a time and now… Now, the ring sat on Peter's fingers, a quiet but unbreakable declaration.

All those memories whirled around them as they danced. The ease in which they trusted one another was obvious. The love they had was now glaringly obvious, as obvious as the beautiful sparkle that Peter's diamond ring gave off, a perfect mirror to Tony's wedding band.

And when the song came to an end, Tony's mic turned on. That voice that Peter has heard whispering love into his ears come on the speakers, breathless from excitement and exertion.

"I don't need to make introductions," Tony said while looking into Peter's eyes. "You all know who he is." -- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games!

#Starker #Starker Fanart #Starker Fanfic #PeterxTony #TonyxPeter #Starker Games

[lu-undy]

Sniper is a lone man, talks very little even asa kid. When we gets hurt he doesn't say anything, he doesnt whine, he doesn't want to be a bother. But his back hurts a lot. Sniper (tries to) ignores the pain as always, but Spy notices. And he tries to convince Sniper to let him give him a massage because the pain is affecting his job. So yeah, just a massage, a professional one. But Spy's hands touch just the right places, and the ambience is amazing, and maybe that massage has a happy ending❤️🐑

Funny you mention that! I have already written it in one of my fics ^^ But here is something completely different from what I already wrote in the past, I hope you’ll enjoy it! :D

The tall man grumbled. 

He wished the windowsills were higher so that he didn't have to spend his day slouched that way. He sometimes would sit on a wooden crate but that would end up giving him a sore bottom. Everyday, for every battle, the choice was there: sore bottom or back pain?

That day, he had gone for back pain with a side of slight headache, the former causing the latter. 

Sniper took his shots, his jaw clenching and his shoulder contracting more than was necessary to compensate for the pain in his back. He reloaded and shot again. The cycles of reloads and shots spiralling for the entire duration of the match, along with his pain growing and his posture degrading.

After the battles, he went back to spawn and put his rifle in his locker. It needed a good clean but he just wanted a hot shower and a nap, or maybe just lying down for a while. He put his hand on his shoulder and tried massaging himself but of course, it was to no avail. A massage only works if one is completely resting while someone else did the job. 

Had he been back home, he would have asked his mother. But she was thousands of miles away and he knew that calling her wouldn't help. 

Sniper walked back through the base.

Nah, it wouldn't help. She would worry from far away and he didn't want to be a bother for anyone and especially not his dear mother. What about his father then? Nah, he would get told off for sure. 

"Told ya, gunman's no proper job, son. And you'll get hurt."

"Dad, it's only back pain…" 

"Does it hurt or not? It does! And is it because of shootin'? Yeah it is! So the point stands." 

He opened his van's door and shook his head as if to shake away his father's voice that echoed in the walls of his mind. This entire discussion had rolled in his head as if he had it for real. 

Sniper threw his hat and sleeveless jacket away before sinking on his couch. Oh it was an old, worn out thing that couldn't possibly be less comfortable. He wouldn't usually mind but he twisted his back left and right, trying to find a position that would hurt him the least. 

"Bugger…" 

He unbuttoned his polo shirt and slid a hand behind his back. It hurt… The pain growing stronger and weaker under the waves of his hand.

Knock, knock. 

He raised his eyes to the door. Sniper hadn't heard anyone come to the door, which immediately gave away the identity of his visitor. He rose from the couch and, his hand still behind his back, he opened the door. 

"Hey, Spy, what d'you want?" He asked. 

The Australian watched as his colleague's face went from his usual suave smile to something else, something between distress and rage.

"Bonjour first maybe? And I'm sorry to interrupt, I shall come back later." The French accent was strong, not too much, but thicker than usual.

"What do you think you're interruptin'?" Sniper asked, confused.

"Well, look at you! Your shirt is open, your hair is completely disorganised, you are not even wearing your hat or your glasses!" 

The tone of the Frenchman's voice had grown louder and louder as he spoke. By the end of his sentence, he sounded irritated. Sniper's eyes snapped wide. Why was Spy being so pissed off?

"W-wait, what?!"

The Frenchman sighed and lowered his head. 

"Nevermind, Sniper, nevermind. Forget it. Forget… me."

He turned on his heels and walked away, shoving his hands in his pockets angrily.

"Spy, wait!" 

The Frenchman turned to face him.

"Non, Sniper. I'm going back to my room. See you, maybe."

"Ugh, bugger…" 

As if his day wasn't bad enough, he had to give the wrong impression and piss off his only friend… Sniper grumbled and fell deep in thoughts. 

Need to apologise and tell him… 

The Australian went to the Frenchman's room and knocked. 

There was a moment before Spy opened.

"And you have the nerve to come to my door?" Spy asked.

"Spook, there was no one with me, I was alone! Can I come in and explain now, please!?" 

Spy lowered his head and opened his door wider, as if to invite Sniper in. He entered and the Frenchman shut the door after him.

"What the-?! You're the one expectin' someone!" Sniper exclaimed his arms extended towards the unusual object standing in the room. 

Spy had all the lights off apart from the flames of the fireplace and… some candles? Sniper looked around him. The Frenchman had put candles here and there and there was a gentle smell in the air… It smelled like a forest, fresh trees and leaves. But the most bizarre thing was the physiotherapy table there in the middle of it all.

"Indeed I was expecting someone. And he arrived." Spy answered, very calmly, with a smile.

"Well, as someone said, if I'm botherin' ya in the middle of somethin', I might as well leave…"

"Non." 

Spy stood between the Australian and the door. 

"You imbécile, I was waiting for you." 

"What?!" Sniper was utterly confused. "What the bloody hell's all this?!" 

"It's to relieve you. I do believe your back is killing you."

"How did-mh!?" Spy had put his index finger on his colleague's lips. 

"Had I gone to your van and just asked you to come, you would have said you were too tired and you would have refused. So I had to think of another way to make you come out of your den of a camper van." Spy explained with a smirk and Sniper's eyebrows shot up. 

"Now, don't make me get angry for real this time and go to my bathroom. You'll find a pair of shorts that I might have borrowed from your van. Put them on and come back here, lie down on the table."

Spy released his finger on his friend's lips and nodded his head towards his bathroom. Sniper thought he was hallucinating or dreaming. What the bloody hell was all that?!

He did obey though, in a brain-dead way. He went to the Frenchman's bathroom and found his old pair of grey short on the edge of the sink. He closed the door and slipped them on. When he came back, the Frenchman was waiting. He had removed his jacket and vest, his tie had gone too and he had opened the first few buttons of his shirt as well as rolled up his sleeves. 

Sniper looked at the physio bed and back at his colleague. Spy's eyes were riveted on the bed. He had noticed how prude his friend was and how he wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his back, as if it hid his bare chest and back. 

"Where did you ever find this…?" 

"I borrowed it from Medic."

"You nicked it from Medic?" 

"I intend to give it back. So it's a loan that he might not be completely aware of. Now, please, lay down." 

"Roight…" 

Sniper had gone too far to refuse. He lied on his stomach. 

"Bien, put your arms along your chest, that's it, very good. Now, my hands are a bit cold but they will warm up, bear with me for a while."

"Alroight…"

"Shush, you close your eyes and don't think about anything." 

"Spy?" 

"What did I just say, Bushman?"

"Can you lock yer door though…?" 

Spy sighed with a smile. 

"Fine." The Frenchman moved to the door and locked it. He came back and removed his socks. 

"Why the hell…?"

"And to think that you are the least sociable of us. Now you never stop talking…" Spy said. "But to answer you, I cannot proceed if my feet are not in contact with the ground." 

Sniper heard the noise of some liquid being squeezed between Spy's hands and then he felt them on his back. 

"When you massage someone, you are not just running your hands on someone's body. You are in a way taking the tension from that person, onto you, in your palms and your fingers. But all this strain, you have to throw it somewhere. I do believe it circulates through my body and I'm giving it away to the ground through my feet and the wooden floor." 

Spy's voice was soothing Sniper. 

"Also, I do hope you like the smell. I didn't have kangaroo and desert scented candles, but I thought that fresh forest would do."

"Spy… Your hands…" 

"They're getting warmer now with the friction." 

"No… They're… bloody… good…" 

Spy smiled. 

"Let me know where it hurts."

"Top, go all the way up."

Spy slid his hands left and right from his friend's spine, his feet anchored in the floor and his eyes closed. 

"Shoulder blades… please… and shoulders…"

"Fine." 

Spy took more oil in his hands and went for it. The Australian grunted and moaned under the Frenchman's efficient hands. He felt like some dough being rolled and kneaded. He had no idea Spy could be that skilled with his hands. Sniper was waving and rolling in his mind, his eyes closed, the smell of the candles and of the oil gently washing him from the inside. 

And it lasted a long time, in silence. Spy thought that after the racket of the battlefield, the solitary hunter that Sniper was would appreciate some peace and quiet.

"Spy…?"

"Hm?" 

"Talk…"

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Any… Thing… Just… Talk…" 

Spy's smile widened. His friend sounded so different. 

"Well, I can start by asking you if you don't mind turning on your back."

"Five… More… Minutes…"

Had Spy not been used to keeping his emotions for himself, he would have chuckled at least. 

"Fine." 

His hands traced circles and loops, his palms pressed, his fingers following closely. 

"Oooh… Spy… How…?" 

"Sshh… Just enjoy." He whispered. 

He kneaded his back slowly, paying attention to not neglect a single muscle. All of them were massaged and accounted for. Spy bent to Sniper's ear:

"I want to see your face now, mon beau." 

Sniper's eyes snapped open. He turned on his back and saw Spy upside down, bending above his head and smiling. 

"What's that mean?" The Australian asked. 

"What?" Spy put a bit of oil in the middle of his palm and rubbed his hands together. He put his hands on his friend's collarbones and massaged down. 

"Mon beau?" Sniper repeated with a twisted accent. 

As Spy pushed his hand down Sniper's chest, his back slowly bent down until his mouth ended up next to the Australian's ear. He whispered:

"Literally, my handsome one." 

Sniper's eyes popped wide open and his heart accelerated. His friend's hands on his naked chest didn't help and the Australian turned red as a brick. 

"Breathe slowly, I can feel your heart pounding." 

Spy's hands were working wonders on Sniper's chest and stomach, such that his entire body had no choice but to indeed relax. 

When the Frenchman finished with the torso, his fingers moved to the Australian's face. Sniper looked at him, still seeing him upside down, with questioning eyes. 

"Close your eyes." Spy whispered. 

"I-I can't." 

Their faces were a few inches apart. 

"Yes, you can, just trust me." 

Sniper took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt Spy's fingers on his chin, his cheeks, below his eyes, his temples and his brow. He repeated the motion for entire minutes without tiring, sometimes spending more time on Sniper's cheeks, next to his both hideous and attractive sideburns… 

Spy moved around the table and slowed the movements down. Sniper felt that something was going on. He opened his eyes. The Frenchman's face was above the Australian's. Their eyes locked. 

Sniper saw Spy's eyes. They were half-closed and blinked very slowly, the long dark eyelashes brushing the air like the wings of a butterfly. 

"Thank you." Sniper whispered. He didn't want to break the silence too hard. 

"It is my pleasure…" Spy brushed his friend's cheek down and stopped next to his mouth. 

"You're the weirdest bloke I've ever met. Stealin' this bed, puttin' on a show with the candles, the smell, and the comedy you played back at my van…"

"Qu'est-ce je ne ferais pas par amour?" 

[What wouldn't I do out of love?]

"What's that mean?" 

Spy ignored Sniper's question and his fingertips moved closer to his lips. The Australian smiled and lifted his hand to put it on top of the Frenchman's. 

"I'm sorry I can't say it in French but uh…"

"If you can't say it, make me understand it… Show me…"

Sniper's fingers laced between his friend's and his heart beat fast. He put his other hand behind the Frenchman's neck and pulled him in closer.

The Frenchman rolled his eyes up when Sniper's lips touched his. All he had wanted was to help the poor man who was too shy to ask for anything. But now the Australian was saying thanks, and maybe something else…?

#tf2 sniper #tf2spy #sniperspy

[lucky-ladybugs-lovelies]

Whumptober Fic, 21

The Big Five have repented and Yami Marik is torturing them. The cemetery is based on the Pioneer Cemetery in Idaho City. (Thanks, Moonlighttyger!)

When Lector started to stir, he became aware of two things immediately. The first was the unnatural chill in the air that covered everything. It felt like a winter night lost in the canyons, and Lector unfortunately knew exactly how that felt. The second was the strong embrace in which he was being held. Nesbitt had collapsed on the grass, hugging Lector to him.

"Nesbitt?!" Lector tried to sit up, but couldn't easily move with the strong arms around him. Nesbitt seemed to be either asleep or unconscious. Lector could thankfully feel him breathing. And hopefully hugging his friend had kept them both warm; the cold felt almost palpable.

Lector reached up, touching the side of Nesbitt's face. "Nesbitt, wake up," he implored. "We need to keep moving. . . ."

He really couldn't remember much of what had happened. Some angry spirit had attacked and he had dived in to protect Nesbitt, but then what?

Nesbitt's face wasn't dry. Lector's first thought was the cold around them, but now it dawned on him that there was another explanation. Nesbitt had been crying.

"Oh no," Lector whispered in realization. "Nesbitt?! Nesbitt, I'm alright! Nesbitt, please . . . you have to wake up! You can't keep laying here!"

He reached up, attempting to gently pry one of the hands off his back. Nesbitt resisted, gripping tighter. The reaction, at least, gave Lector new hope. He laid his hand over Nesbitt's, despite how awkward it was to keep reaching back there.

"Nesbitt, it's me," Lector persisted. "You're going to sink into hypothermia if you keep staying here like this! You have to wake up!"

At last Nesbitt started, jerked back to consciousness by his cherished friend's voice. "Lector? . . ."

"Yes!" Lector exclaimed. "Nesbitt, it's me. Come back to me the rest of the way. Please!"

Nesbitt slowly opened his eyes. "It was an illusion after all?" he rasped. "You're still alive?"

Lector's heart was pierced. "Yes! It had to have been. Oh Nesbitt . . ." He held the other man close.

Nesbitt sobbed, clutching Lector to him as his feelings continued to spill out. He once never would have dreamed of creating such a display, but he didn't care much anymore. Lector knew how much  Nesbitt loved him.

"I can't do this without you," Nesbitt said. "It's illogical, but . . . I just can't. . . ."

"I can't either," Lector said. He smiled kindly. "Oh Nesbitt . . . I already said I'd break without you. It's not illogical at all, especially in a horrible circumstance like this.

"What does concern me is how cold you feel."

"Eh?" Nesbitt finally started to sit up, moving out from within the firm embrace. "I don't feel cold . . . oh." He had to shiver a bit. When not hugging Lector, the chill of the night air was much more apparent.

Lector sat up as well. "I'm afraid you're developing hypothermia, my dear friend," he said.

"That's ridiculous," Nesbitt snorted. "If anyone was to get that, you would be far more likely to get it before me. You tolerate the cold a lot less."

"Maybe so, but you still feel unnaturally cold anyway," Lector said. "This entire cold is unnatural."

Another shiver went up Nesbitt's spine. "So what should we do?" he wondered. "I know Crump said moving around was a good way to try to stave off the effects."

"And that's what we're going to do," Lector replied. He got to his feet, somewhat wobbly, and reached for Nesbitt's hand.

Nesbitt stumbled into him. "You're still hurt from whatever that ghost blasted you with," he objected.

"Maybe we can help each other," Lector said.

"Or maybe it will be like the blind leading the blind and we'll both fall down," Nesbitt grunted.

"It's worth a try anyway," Lector insisted. "Crump's advice is correct."

Their attempt to walk went very well . . . at least for the first two steps. Then Lector's knees buckled and he went down, and Nesbitt grabbed for him and he collapsed as well.

Lector sighed in frustrated defeat. "It shouldn't be like this," he objected. "Maybe you'd better get up and walk around by yourself, Nesbitt."

Nesbitt didn't feel much like doing that. He grunted and stayed where he was, another shiver running up his spine.

Lector started rubbing his shoulders and his arms to keep the circulation flowing. "There's something wrong with this grass," he said. "We both need to get off of it."

"Then we'll both go," Nesbitt said. "I won't . . . not without you."

Lector sighed but smiled. "Alright then. Together." Again he tried to get up.

Nesbitt shakily got up with him. This time they both stayed standing and both staggered over to the dirt pathway.

"This probably isn't good either," Lector remarked. "We never seem to move from where we are. But we have to keep trying."

Nesbitt nodded. "We should've been out of the burned area long ago."

"Maybe the ghosts are keeping us here because they're angry to be forgotten," Lector said. "Or maybe Yami Marik is doing it because this is the most dangerous area. Either way, it's bad."

They took several steps forward. Nesbitt started to fall again but tried to grab for Lector to steady himself. Lector, though weakened and wobbly himself, also tried to stay up. The chill still permeated over to them, much to their displeasure.

"If this doesn't stop, we'll both end up on the ground," Nesbitt growled.

Lector sighed. That was likely true. Nesbitt was still cold and the frozen air and ground were definitely affecting Lector as well. But Nesbitt had just gone through an experience of thinking Lector was dead. Lector couldn't allow himself to succumb to the cold. He had to make sure Nesbitt didn't either. He drew an arm around the other man's shoulders to help balance them both as they continued walking into the eerie unknown of the cemetery.

#ygo #yu-gi-oh! #fanfiction #cemetery #the big five #the big 5 #big five #big 5 #lector #leichter #nesbitt #whumptober2020 #no.21 #hypothermia

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (13/18)

Chapter 13: An Abominable Man

At the Valentine Detective Agency, the group reconvenes to discuss MIT’s revelations to the public. With more questions than answers, it’s up to Piper to follow the trail while Nick continues the cold case investigation. After reliving a past trauma, Madelyn takes comfort in the distractions Deacon provides. Later, Nick and Madelyn follow a clue straight to the man they’ve been hunting for.  

“He was an abominable man. Why do women marry abominable men?” - Charlotte Inwood as played by Marlene Dietrich (Stage Fright, 1950)

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost]

May 16th, 1958

Man or Machine? –The Synthetic Truth Behind MIT

The newest copy Publick Occurrences was waiting on Ellie’s desk when Madelyn arrived at the agency early that Friday morning, the stack of newspapers fresh off the presses and ready for circulation. Piper certainly didn’t dawdle after attending the MIT demonstration—she knew how to strike when the iron was hot and get a story out in record time. But Piper was never one to procrastinate—if you gave her and inch, she’d run a mile. Madelyn was interested to see what kind of marathon the reporter would run this time.

“What do we really know about MIT?”

Piper’s question hung in the air of Nick’s office as she paced before his desk, arms crossed with a steely expression. The detective himself was still reading over that morning’s edition, already on his second smoke of the day—nobody dared to reprimand him for getting such an early start, not when he was still within his grieving period. Madelyn watched the newshound’s movements from her usual spot in the armchair to the left, wondering if Piper’s eyebrows furrowed any further they might mold together into one, brown, bushy line. She hid her amusement behind her hand, glancing back to where Deacon was leaning against the back wall, holding a relaxed smirk as he silently observed the room’s occupants from behind his tinted shades. Even though the chair next to her was empty, she knew he was more comfortable where he stood, still cautious about being invited back into the fray of agency life.

“You’re worried about…” Nick looked up from reading the Publick Occurrences article. “A robot?”

Piper balked in offence, abruptly stopping in her strides to face him. “Jesus, Nick, did you lose track of your reading comprehension skills or something?”

“Not a robot,” she corrected, waving her hands in dramatic fashion as Nick frowned at her intended insult. “An android. A synth. MIT have essentially built themselves an infiltration unit—”

“We don’t know that,” Nick interrupted with a grumble.

“They installed it with a distinct personality,” Piper explained, gesturing to the black and white photo of the mechanical man that had been presented the previous day. “The Doctor said it himself. Makes it so they are indistinguishable from you or I.”

Nick rubbed at his chin as he studied the snapshot before pulling away to stare at his prosthetic hand—built by the very scientists Piper was questioning. He clenched his fingers into a fist and sighed. “I’d like to think I’d be able to tell that thing from a human,” he muttered, extinguishing his cigarette. He refrained from igniting a third from his nearby pack. “Looks fairly metal to me.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Piper argued. She pivoted, gesturing towards Madelyn and Deacon. “You were there! You saw how it moved.”

“Yes,” Madelyn agreed with a short nod, though she had her own hesitations. Despite the suspicion raised at the demonstration, she wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without solid proof in hand. “Doctor Ayo suggested it would be years before the synth could actually look anything like a human.”

“Can we actually trust the scientists and researchers at MIT?” Piper countered.

This wasn’t her usual wild goose-chase or paranoia fueling her, but genuine fear and concern. A kind of worry that Madelyn hadn’t seen in her friend since they started investigating Eddie Winter’s rise as family crime boss and his rampant spree through Boston. But this wasn’t some mobster they were after, this was the Massachusetts Institute of Technology—a revered university that had always played a pivotal role in the city’s development of modern science. Without the Institute—as some affectionately called the college—Boston would still be in the dark ages. Like any industry giant, however, so much of what the Institute accomplished was shrouded in mystery. From their elusive board of directors, to their once-in-a-blue-moon presentations—it was any wonder Piper was suspicious.

“The way that doctor spoke,” Piper continued, a little calmer than before. “There’s the implication they’ve built more than one, and they’re just itching to put them to use. If they haven’t already.”

She picked up a spare copy of Publick Occurrences from Nick’s desk and stared at her own headline. “It bears repeating. What do we really know about the Institute?”

Silence settled within the room as the group contemplated what Piper said.

“She’s right.”

Madelyn peered over at Deacon, who barely moved from his spot against the wall. He offered a small shrug as he repeated his words. “She’s right,” he spoke, much to Piper’s surprise. “What do we know?”

“You’ve covered them before, right?” he asked, continuing his train of thought. “Something about the mayor’s campaign funds?”

The journalist raised a curious eyebrow in his direction. “Didn’t realize you were such an avid reader of my publication.”

“I like to stay informed,” Deacon replied, cheekily. “Freedom of the press, and all that.”

“They’ve shown up in Railroad reports as well,” Madelyn added, keeping the conversation on point. It certainly caught Piper and Nick’s attention. Deacon, however, seemed less than enthused about her sharing insider knowledge. But the information was out in the open now, ripe for dissection.

“Seems suspicious—promising,” Piper said with a curious smile. She glanced to Deacon. “For an undercover organization, can’t you find out more? Send one of your agents to snoop around the university for secrets? Sneak around yourself, Mr. Spy?”

“You make it sound so easy,” he responded with a smirk, though Madelyn could tell Piper’s tone was getting on his nerves. “Why don’t you go stalk the boogeyman, Miss Wright?”

“Maybe I will!”

“For once I’d like to have a civil conversation in my office,” Nick interrupted, already striking a new match to light another cigarette.

Madelyn could only imagine the amount of stress he was experiencing, and their presence wasn’t helping. She glanced at the others. “We might as well start from the beginning. What else do we know about the university? Media reports, rumors…anything?”

“There was an attack in 1955 at University Point,” Deacon recalled. “A fight broke out between some Mass Bay and MIT students over some supposedly stolen tech. One of the MIT kids lost control and beat a Mass Bay freshman to a bloody pulp.”

“I wrote about that too,” Piper remarked. “The student died. Didn’t think it was anything but a student brawl gone bad. Seen plenty of those covering the Fens district. What does that have to with what they’re doing now?”

“You’re the one who’s suggesting they’ve been using synths longer than they claim,” Deacon explained. “I’m just trying to offer evidence that supports your theory, is all.”

“That would mean…” Madelyn trailed, alarmed by the connotation. She furrowed her brows, unable to wrap her head around what was being suggested. She wasn’t about to trust what the Institute scientists had claimed at the demonstration—that they were years away from life-like synths— but she needed more proof than one incident that sounded more like a disagreement gone awry. “Is there anything else?”

“1949,” Nick spoke, gaining everyone’s interest. “I had just set up the agency here. Vadim told me about an Italian restaurant across the way from the stadium, praised their homemade pasta,” he leaned back in his chair, clearly reminiscing on nearly a decade’s old memory. “Before I could make a visit, the place was shut down. Turns out a professor, Mr. Carter, from MIT decided it was the perfect place to commit mass murder.”

“I remember that restaurant, but I’ve never heard about that!” Piper seemed genuinely shocked, especially as someone who had lived in the Boston area all her life. “What happened?”

“Seemed like any other patron at first, according to witnesses. Sat at the bar and told war stories, spoke about a big government grant his department had just been given. Then suddenly—” Nick snapped his fingers, his expression solemn as he explained. “Pulled out a revolver and started shooting. After an hour-long stand-off, Boston P.D. opened fire and put him down. When the dust settled, eight people were dead, including the professor.”

Madelyn pointed out what she hoped would be obvious. “If Mr. Carter were a synth, you’d think they’d be able to determine that after his death.”

“Assuming there wasn’t a cover-up,” Nick offered with a shake of his head. “The event itself was conveniently swept away in the news-cycles. Between the Red Scare in Hollywood and some ape dying in space—”

“Poor Albert,” Deacon quipped. Madelyn resisted the urge to laugh amidst their serious discussion and looked his way. He only smiled.

Nick cleared his throat, pulling their attention back. “As I was saying,” he tapped his fingers against the newspaper spread across his desk. “That’s two instances of MIT personnel losing themselves to madness. Piper, you’re the one who is worried about synths going unchecked. Malfunctioning and attacking without provocation. I’m all for throwing accusations against a reputable establishment when something smells rotten, but you need to be sure before going after something, or someone as big as the Institute.”

He was right, even as he inferred he believed Piper’s theories. Madelyn thought about what the group had discussed, and what she’d seen at the MIT conference the previous day. To think that the university had lied and had secretly placed realistic synths—indistinguishable from real humans—in the Boston populace. Worse yet, they had been doing so for years. Confusion settled in her mind—why? Why come forward now with the revelation of a new prototype if they’d been infiltrating the city all this time? It wouldn’t be the first time she dealt with a corruption scandal. What did the university have to gain from planting sleeper agents—synths—throughout Boston in the first place? She only ended up with more questions than answers.

Piper seemed to share a similar sentiment, a worrisome frown etched into her features. “I’ll hit the streets, connect with some sources,” she paused, giving Nick a cautious glance. “I know you still don’t trust him, but ol’ Danny Sullivan might be my best shot at getting any information from old police files,” she rolled her eyes when he groaned. “Or would you rather I break into precincts, for old time sakes?”

“Do what you will,” Nick sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Just leave us out of it for the time being,” he motioned towards Madelyn. “We’ve got enough on our hands with this cold case.”

Not that Piper needed his permission to follow her own leads for a story, but it was nice to have the support of a friend—the three had been working together for a few years now, and despite her reputation, she wasn’t one to run off and go rogue. Especially when it could put herself, or others, in danger. Considering they’d just come off from putting an end to Eddie Winter and his wide-spread corruption, she needed to tread lightly—well, as lightly as Piper was capable of. With a shrug, she moved to occupy the opposite armchair, sinking back into the cushions.

“Do you think any of this is connected to the Shaun Perlman case at all?” Madelyn decided to ask, gauging Nick’s reaction.

“I’d rather not cross that bridge right now,” he mumbled, dragging his palm across his face in exasperation. He shot a warning glance to Piper before she could get started. “Better we focus on the best lead we have—the kidnapper, and the fact he very well may be the same man who killed Madelyn’s husband.”

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room as she sensed all eyes focus on where she was sitting. She hadn’t expected Nick to be so upfront about sharing the information, but they were amongst trusted colleagues—anyone else and she likely would’ve had a more hostile reaction. That being said, she hadn’t divulged any case details to Deacon, and she his subtle reaction to the news didn’t go unnoticed out of the corner of her eye. Her secrecy wasn’t to be deceptive, but rather to protect her emotions. Madelyn was still struggling with the reality of the situation, and it took all the mental fortitude she had left to focus on helping to solve the case.  

“What are you talking about?” Piper asked, looking between her and Nick.

“Preston, our witness from Concord. His description of the kidnapper…” he trailed.

“That wasn’t all,” Madelyn reluctantly added. “The way the wife, Nora…the way she described the kidnapping. It was all too familiar,” she swallowed down the nervous flutter rising in her throat and steadied her breathing the best she could. “From being ambushed in a public setting, to the way he made them—us—beg for our lives.”

“You don’t have to—” Nick tried to interrupt but she hushed him with one steely look.

“He was wearing a military fatigue and a leather jacket. His head was shaved, and there was a long scar that crossed over his left eye—just as Preston described,” Madelyn continued. “His gun wasn’t military issue, that much I know. Had to be modified, on account of the—” she broke off as the tears prickled her vision. Deacon shifted from his spot against the back wall, but she shook her head, silently rooting him to the spot.

“The coroner pulled a .44 hollow point from Nate’s chest,” she stated, biting back the overwhelming desire to cry. She lowered her gaze, focusing on the wedding ring she’d moved to her right hand. “Same kind they pulled from…” she found herself unable to say the husband’s name.

Nick took note of her struggle and interjected. “Mr. Perlman’s arm.”

Piper loudly clapped her hands together, causing Madelyn to flinch at the sound. She didn’t pause to apologize before she was bent forward and speeding through another tangent. “That weapon! A .44 caliber with hollow point bullets? I’ve read about several unsolved murders up and down the Eastern coastline with that modus operandi.”

“We can’t say that every shooting with a magnum was him, can we?” Madelyn asked, focusing her attention on Nick. He was smoking again, but she’d lost track of what number he was on.

“No,” he mumbled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips as he maneuvered the paperwork strewn about his desk, pulling out a tattered notebook. She wasn’t sure what he was looking at when he started reading. “1950—robbery outside the Boylston Club. Two injured, one dead, with—wouldn’t you know—a .44 hollow point bullet to the head.”

Madelyn grimaced, trying not to imagine what that would’ve looked like for the victim—perhaps Nate had it easier, even if he had a slow, and painful death.

“There was a suspect,” Nick read on, flipping though an old casefile. “Released on a technicality, but we all know by now that is code for corruption. Disappeared after that. No trace.”

“How much do you want to bet it’s our guy?” Piper asked to nobody in particular.

“Five bucks says it was Kellogg!”

Everybody in the room turned towards the new presence in the doorway—MacCready, who stared back with equal surprise. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop or nothin’ but…” he jutted his thumb over his shoulder towards the lobby. “That blonde chick wasn’t around to shoo me away, so I thought I’d—”

“Who the hell is Kellogg?” Nick stopped him from rambling.

“Oh, yeah. Right,” MacCready stepped into the office and shrugged. “Way you described him and that gun, only one person I know that fits the bill,” he said. “Conrad Kellogg.”

“Who is he?” Piper asked this time, turning in her seat so she could look at the former mercenary properly.

“Used to run with the Gunners, still might for all I know, but was high up in the ranks way before I came to Boston,” MacCready explained, leaning over the back of the armchair where Piper sat. “Rumor has it he killed some gang leader out in California before heading East. Never met him, but he’s got one hell of a reputation. Can’t believe that fu—” he hesitated, awkwardly clearing his throat. “Guy is still alive.”

“We don’t know that,” Nick said for the second time that morning. “Hasn’t been any reports of similar cases since—”

“Since Nate,” Madelyn finished, gulping down the ache that had formed in her chest.

“At least now you have a name,” Piper remarked, but it was hardly any consolation. “A lead. Better than nothing.”

“Sure, sure,” Nick agreed, though he didn’t lift his gaze from Madelyn, the two sharing a silent exchange. “MacCready, you know anybody in Quincy who’d be willing to talk?”

Their mercenary-turned-informant looked stunned, jolting upright as he anxiously rubbed at his neck. Getting dragged into another investigation was probably not why he had chosen to visit the agency that morning. Whatever the reason, it would have to wait. “Well, sure,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, I guess.”

Nick pushed back his chair to stand, moving towards the nearby coatrack to tug on his patched trench-coat and fedora. He pointed to the younger man. “Alright. You’re with me.”

When the detective noticed the confusion on Madelyn’s face, his expression settled. “I’m officially assigning you R&R.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little. “You don’t have the authority to assign me.”

Nick rolled his eyes, mumbling something about how stubborn women would be the death of him before nodding towards Deacon. Her Railroad partner understood the gesture and moved away from his spot to stand next to her. She didn’t need watching over, or protection, but she’d gladly take a reprieve if it meant spending time with him. Madelyn glanced up to find him with a tiny smile of his own, and he reached out to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze before retreating his hand back to his side before anyone could notice.

“Piper,” Nick gave the reporter a pointed stare before exhaling as he shook his head. “Whatever you do, just—be careful.”

She stood, playfully mocking him with a salute. “Aye, aye, detective.” 

“You lied.”

“Of course I lied,” Deacon responded without missing a beat. “Which lie are we talking about?”

Madelyn softly laughed from her spot across the circular dining table, watching as he poured her another glass of wine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out to dinner—to an actual restaurant that wasn’t a 24-hour café—and was suddenly grateful for Nick’s subtle push. On Deacon’s suggestion they traveled uptown and found themselves a hidden gem of an Italian bistro in the process. More than one macabre joke about running into an Institute spy was made, wondering if Nick’s earlier mention of pasta had indoctrinated them, if only a little.

“When Piper asked about sending an undercover Railroad agent to MIT,” she clarified, bringing her refilled glass to her lips. “You lied.”

A sideways smirk. “I didn’t lie, I just omitted the truth.”

Madelyn chuckled, nearly choking on her drink. “That’s—that’s the same thing!”

“Hardly,” he countered with a wave of his hand. “Do you honestly think I’d talk about Railroad business in front of Piper?” It was a rhetorical question, followed up with words Madelyn had heard him speak time and time again, “you can’t trust everyone.”

She sighed, and couldn’t help it as her demeanor fell, ever so slightly. “Even me?”

Deacon’s expression was hard to read—it always was when he shielded his eyes with those sunglasses—but she figured he was studying her carefully. After all the emotional breakthroughs they’d shared, she didn’t want to think for a second he didn’t trust her—not when he was one of the very few she found faith in. She wondered if it had anything to do with her holding back information on the Shaun Perlman case, and even more doubt filled her mind. Before he could say anything, she had to speak—

“Sorry,” she set her wine glass down and fidgeted with the linen tablecloth. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about what Nick and I discovered while investigating. I should’ve said something sooner and—”

“Charmer,” Deacon stopped her short, reaching over the small table to cover her hand with his own, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “That doesn’t bother me. If it wasn’t you, I would’ve snooped around and found out already. But that’s not my place in this partnership, not anymore. I trust you to tell me whatever’s important, on your own terms.”

Trust—there it was.

Madelyn gradually allowed the smile to return and flicked her gaze across his face. “Does that mean I’m allowed to have secrets?”

“A few,” he caught on to her tease. “You still haven’t told me who really taught you how to pick locks.”

Her chest tightened as she thought about her departed husband, simultaneously reminiscing about her and Deacon’s first jaunt together through the underground Switchboard tunnels. Her fingers twitched beneath his grasp. “Who says anybody taught me?” she joked, recovering as best she could.

He nodded, flashing that secret smile that told her he knew she was bluffing—but he was never one to rat her out. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly withdrawing his hand from hers.

“Dez is the only one that knows,” he started. “We’ve had an inside man—hell, it might be a woman—nobody has met with the agent face to face,” Deacon’s lips skewed to the side in thought. “They aren’t an official Railroad operative. But they’re the ones that started feeding us information while we were still operating at the Switchboard.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Madelyn asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

“Back then, Dez and I weren’t sure of what we were dealing with,” he explained. “It was all coded. Most of it still is. We only knew the source was coming from what we believed to be an ally, working on the inside.”

“How can you be so sure?” She was rightfully skeptical. “You never found out who was responsible for attacking the Switchboard.”

“Fair point,” Deacon replied with a shrug. “We never stopped receiving correspondence either. Even after moving to the church. Dead drops with encrypted MIT data from Doctor Rendezvous themselves.”

She tried not to laugh. “Is that what you call them? Of all the codenames…”

“No,” he shook his head. “Dez and I call them Patriot.”

At least that explained all the reports Tinker Tom and Glory had been sifting through for the last several weeks. She wondered if any of it would prove fruitful, and if something of value would materialize sooner rather than later. You can’t trust everyone—and yet, the Railroad leaders seemed to be playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with an unknown. She hoped they knew what they were doing.

“Enough work chat,” Deacon mused, plucking the napkin from his lap and placing it across the table. “What would you say to some blueberry pie?”

Madelyn grinned, pulled from her doom and gloom thoughts. “Yes.”

-x-

It was a short, hand-in-hand stroll through the uptown district to the Olympia Theatre, where she fixated on the matinee signs advertising Gigi—she hadn’t seen a film in years. If it wasn’t a late night rerun on CBS, she was completely out of the loop on modern day culture. She’d seen Leslie Caron in An American in Paris—a movie date with Nate so many years ago—seeing her picturesque face on the advertisement now brought back bittersweet memories.  

“Pie and dancing tonight,” Deacon’s voice was suddenly in her ear as he leaned close. “Lerner and Loewe tomorrow.”

The promise alone caused excitement to bloom in her heart, even if a trickle of guilt remained. He gently tugged on her hand, and she followed him down the cobblestone alleyway to the familiar red door and golden placard, leaving the theatre behind.  

The Memory Den was expectedly crowded for a Friday evening, but as soon as Irma caught sight of the two, she quickly ushered them to a private corner of the bar. Madelyn recognized it as Deacon’s corner—if he had such a claim to the place. Given Irma was an unspoken Railroad informant, Madelyn was sure he could very well have run of the place—especially now that Eddie Winter was out of the picture. It was hardly quiet were they perched themselves on two barstools as the house band played an upbeat song, but Irma’s cheery voice was loud as ever.

“We have a live singer tonight,” she boasted, standing between them with her hands on her hips.

Madelyn chuckled as she glanced towards the stage. “As long as it isn’t Bobby Darin.”

“Oh—” Irma faltered, unsure of her joke. “Uh, no. You’ll see! They came all the way from New York!” she beamed. “Now, I’ve seen the way you two can move, so why are you sittin’ around?”

Deacon arched an eyebrow and leaned against the bar-top. “We can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Ironic, considering their stomachs were full of pasta, bread and wine. Madelyn only smiled at Irma when she glanced between them with curiosity. The other woman sighed before moving around the bar, walking down to the far end of the counter where a glass display showcased a variety of deserts. After a few minutes, she returned with a plate and two forks.

“Lucky you,” Irma remarked. “Last slice of the night.”

Deacon deferred to Madelyn, allowing her the first bite—it was just as delicious as she remembered, when he brought her an entire blueberry pie from Irma on Valentine’s Day. She held her palm beneath her chin on the second bite, trying not to disperse crumbs or berries all over her satin dress. She didn’t realize Deacon was watching her movements until she went for a third forkful, noticing he hadn’t taken his first. Very suddenly, a blush crept up her cheeks and he smirked.  

Irma baked away with a bright grin. “You’re welcome!”

Deacon finally took a bite, followed up with a second so they were even. They sat and ate in silence, smiling and laughing at each other over nothing and everything as the atmosphere around them intensified. Madelyn blamed it on being tipsy from her dinner wine, but a lingering thought in the back of her mind echoed it was more than that. It was always more with Deacon.

“You said there’d be dancing,” Madelyn noted, eying the crowd of dancers when their desert was finished. The singer Irma mentioned had taken the stage and had already played through a melody of fast-paced swing ensembles to warm up the audience and the band.

He nodded, taking her hand in his as he slid off the barstool to stand. As soon as they navigated through the throng of people, the lights dimmed into a bluish-purple hue, and the band’s music slowed. It didn’t deter them—they’d slow danced before, but that was undercover and what felt like a lifetime ago. This was something entirely different. Deacon’s arms encircled her waist, one hand on her lower back and the other planted firmly between her shoulders. Madelyn loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned back far enough so she could study his face in the dark lighting.

“Last time we were here, you tried to slice my throat in the hallway,” he smiled at the memory, and so did she. Thinking back, it was any wonder he hadn’t turned the tables and pinned her to the wall—he certainly possessed the strength to do so. Madelyn didn’t let the thought get carried away in her mind, as much as it thrilled her.

“You weren’t so keen on dancing with me,” he remarked, tilting his head to the side.

“But I did,” she countered, inching herself closer. “You were a stranger. I should’ve known better, but I still danced with you.”

Deacon shrugged. “I still might be a stranger, you never know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Adorable,” he retorted, right on cue. “You still want to dance with me, after everything you know?”

Madelyn suddenly wondered if they were speaking in code—Deacon wasn’t really talking about dancing, was he? She desperately wished she could see beyond the tinted shades he was wearing, knowing if she caught a glimpse of those baby blues, she’d have her answer within a heartbeat. Regardless of the inuendo, she knew what to say.

“Why not?” she offered in a soft voice. “You make one hell of a partner.”

He smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charmer.”

As the song continued, she steadily drew herself closer until she was resting her head against his shoulder, swaying slowly in his arm as the soothing beat echoed around them.

“You’ll see me home tonight?” she asked, closing her eyes to the world around her. She felt his lips brush against her temple near her ear as he whispered so only she could hear.

“Yes.”

-x-

Madelyn had never traversed the stairwell of her apartment so slowly. With Deacon at her side, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to reach the seventh floor, knowing that when they reached her door he would have to depart. That wasn’t necessarily true, but after the evening’s events, she wasn’t entirely sure if inviting him in for their usual nightcap would constitute crossing some kind of unspoken line. But what had started as a distraction had turned into what felt like a date. She was faced with an increasing dilemma with every step, one she’d been suppressing for weeks.

Their relationship—whatever it was—wasn’t a topic of discussion. Even after so many near misses, and what might as well have been a confession in a church—of all places—Madelyn couldn’t pinpoint where they stood. Partners? Friends? Something more? Or something in-between? Mitigating circumstances forced them to pump the brakes before discovering if what they had was meant to be. But now, Madelyn was tired of waiting, tired of hiding her emotions to the world. All she wanted to do was drive off the cliff with a lead foot and find out.

“Charmer,” he said her name—her codename—in that sly way of his as he leaned against the doorway outside her apartment, glancing up at the shiny lettering D. Madelyn took it as some kind of sign. “Here we are.”

She nodded but didn’t move to rummage through her purse for her keys. “Here we are,” she repeated. Her eyes danced across the hall. “Do you think Drummer Boy is listening to us right now?”

“Without a doubt,” he responded with a soft laugh. “He needs all the gossip he can get.”

There was somebody else that was listening too, judging by the robotic voice that echoed out from beyond her door. “Miss Madelyn, is that you? Oh, it’s such a late hour!”

She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassment. What was worse than having a Mister Handy that acted like her parental guardian, reprimanding her if she came home past midnight?

“Your metal hubby is calling for you,” Deacon joked. His next action surprised her as he reached up to remove his sunglasses, tucking them away in his coat pocket. Even in the faint lighting of her hallway, his eyes gleamed with a certain kind of magic. “Shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Let him wait,” she hushed.

It was the cue she needed, taking a hesitant step forward, closer to where he was. She reached out, one hand gripping the fabric of his tie while the other sought out the side of his face, tugging gently to bring him closer. Madelyn thought about all the times she’d wanted to kiss him but didn’t, all the times they’d almost kissed but hadn’t, every time he had slipped through her fingertips. Standing there, in front of her apartment door, it seemed to mirror previous occasions—they were so close, Deacon’s breath ghosting over her mouth as their hooded eyes locked under the intensity. She hesitated, waiting for the other foot to drop, for some kind of interruption—except, it never came. Instead, his hand at her waist tugged her just close enough as he tilted his chin and—bliss—as their lips softly met.

For a long moment, the kiss was nothing but chaste, sweet. But there was a certain kind of desperation behind the contact—understandable considering how long it had been for her since her last kiss. She wasn’t sure how long it had been for him, but if she believed what he’d said about his wife—which she did—it had to be a significant time. Madelyn increased the pressure first, Deacon taking the cue to slide his tongue past her lips. His fingers gripped her side as they continued, the two content with the measured pace being set. Even though they both had done their fair share of waiting—there was no need to rush.

With a soft breath, she reluctantly pulled away, a delightful heat encompassing her entire body. She relished in being able to witness the sparkle of Deacon’s eyes, his blown pupils as they darted across her face and body before snapping back up to meet her gaze.

“Shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he repeated, voice raspy. As far as goodbyes and goodnights went, it was fitting for the Railroad spy. He smirked, replacing his sunglasses where they belonged before slowly backing away towards the stairwell. “Charmer.”

Madelyn didn’t enter her apartment until she was sure Deacon had descended at least a few flights of stairs, leaning against the door as she closed it behind her. Her heart was racing, the speed of which made it feel like it was lodged in her throat. She raised her fingers to trace over her lips where his mouth had just been and felt a warmth she had been chasing for months—years—a sprinkle of goosebumps appeared across her skin. She felt foolish, like a schoolgirl with a crush all over again—except, this was much more than a crush. She felt a rush. She felt alive. She felt—

“Mum?” Codsworth’s voice made her realize he’d been hovering in front of her frozen state, robotic eyes zooming in on her body with curiosity. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she answered, without hesitation. “Never better.” 

May 18th, 1958

“You’re smiling.”

Madelyn tried her best to suppress the grin she knew was pulling at her lips but failed. “Am I?”

She glanced over to Nick as they walked, noting that for some inexplicable reason he was in a better mood than usual. It likely had something to do with their case, and how after a decade of little to no progress, things had heated up in a matter of days. After leaving her alone for most of the weekend, he’d finally called her early that Sunday morning with an update from his own investigating. He had a lead promising enough that it demanded swift action, though Madelyn was glad to be back on the streets and investigating with the detective—just like old times.  

“Yeah,” he nodded, raising a quizzical brow in her direction. “Something I should know?”

Madelyn played coy, moving closer to link her arm in his as they continued their stroll down the Fenway district sidewalks. She patted his coat affectionately. “Mr. Valentine, don’t you know a lady shouldn’t kiss and tell?”

The surprise in his expression was short-lived as he caught on to her insinuation, and after a small stretch of silence, a low smirk settled on his face. “It’s a good look, doll.”

“Where are we headed?” Madelyn asked before he could start a line of questioning—not that she expected it, but she wanted to avoid any unnecessary pestering. “You never told me how your little date in Quincy faired.”

“I’ll tell you about my date when you tell me about yours,” he countered, with expert precision. Instead of taking offense, Madelyn laughed. They hadn’t bantered in so long and it felt refreshing. “MacCready can be a hard-ass, when you need him to be.”

“Good cop, bad cop?”

“Detectives,” Nick corrected. If there was one thing he hated, it was being mistaken for any member of the Boston police force—even if the two had snuffed out Eddie Winter’s corruption. It was one of the reasons they were heading this investigation on their own, and without assistance from the inside. As far as they knew, the only people worth trusting were themselves. “We got what we needed. Last known address for a one Conrad Kellogg.”

The pair continued walking past the large green walls of the Fenway stadium until they reached they grouping of apartments situated on the western side of the district. Almost immediately, the memory of when they’d last visited the Parkview Apartments came flooding back and she stared up at the tall buildings.

“Earl Sterling,” she muttered under her breath before looking to Nick. “Is it coincidence that Boston serial killers like to congregate in one area?”

“Cheap place to live, in a nondescript area of the city,” Nick frowned. “Hiding in plain sight. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe they don’t realize they all eventually follow the same patterns eventually.”

The two didn’t delay for much longer in the courtyard, entering the building and ascending the stairs after finding initials C.K. on one of the lobby’s mailboxes. On the fourth floor, they made their way towards a faded green door, Nick double checking the number scrawled on a lose piece of paper before shoving it back into his pocket.

“This is the place,” he assured.

“Looking for someone?”

Nick and Madelyn turned to find not exactly who they expected—a well dressed man in a tan colored suit, a freshly picked flower pinned to his lapel. He regarded them with a polite smile, but there was something unsettling about the way he stared ahead that had Madelyn’s skin crawling. Be it the location they were in, or the assumption of the people who lived there, she didn’t want to make any sudden movements.

“Do you know anything about the person who lives here?” Madelyn asked.

The suited man shook his head. “Lived. Haven’t seen his handsome face in quite a while.”

“Did he die?” she continued her line of questioning, careful not to reveal too much about the circumstances of why they were there. “We’re…old college classmates of his. In town and thought to surprise him.”

“Oh, I do love surprises,” the man replied with the same, measured smile as before. “He isn’t dead. Just gone. Just like that child that came to visit every now and again. What an adorable young man.”

“A child?” Nick questioned, on high alert.

“Around ten years old, I should say,” the man answered, raising his hand to gesture height. “Hm. But what do I know? He always did say I was…too nosy.”

“Thank you,” Madelyn hesitantly nodded. “For letting us know.”

He made to move past them down the hallway in the opposite direction but stopped at the last moment. “The next time you’re in the neighborhood, please, stop by my gallery,” his recommendation came in a soft, eerie tone. “I have a feeling you’d be an admirer.”

Madelyn’s grip on Nick’s arm didn’t loosen until the mystery man was out of sight and even he didn’t seem to relax until all was quiet around them.

“Jesus,” he muttered, swiftly turning towards the apartment door and shuffling through his coat pockets, pulling out a lockpick. He made quick work of the deadbolt, catching the doorknob in his hand so it wouldn’t swing open. “Come on.”

Nick took the lead, his gun unholstered and at his side as he took measured steps through the small space. Madelyn followed, closing the door behind her and securing the lock—the last thing they needed was a visitor while they were sneaking around. The apartment itself was sparse, barely filled with any furniture or proof that anyone had lived there before or had been there recently. As she loitered near the kitchen nook, glancing over a pile of forgotten comic books and a case of cigars, she heard Nick call from the back bedroom.

“All clear!” he announced. “What do you make of this?”

The bedroom was just as empty as the entranceway, a double bed and desk occupying the space. Madelyn found Nick studying a pile of documents, shifting them about with a mix of confusion and concern. She plucked a dusty file from the stack and was alarmed to see a familiar set of emblems and insignia.

“These are military documents,” she confirmed what he already knew, being a former airman himself. “What are they doing here?”

Nick shook his head, unsure. “Kellogg was described as a military man in suspect reports. What if that description is accurate and he really is an enlisted officer?”

“A killer in the ranks?” Madelyn didn’t want to believe it.

Nick didn’t respond, his eyes shifting rapidly as he read over more and more of the scattered reports, even if they were mostly redacted. Madelyn couldn’t make heads or tails of them—she never could, even when she would try to sneak a peak at the files Nate would bring home. Whatever Kellogg was researching, it involved a scientific endeavor—backed by the government and heavily funded—that required top level security clearance.

“There’s only one military base in town that would be responsible for such a project,” Nick explained. Madelyn knew. The only question would be how to get inside.  

He tapped the document. “Fort Hagen.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #piper wright #robert joseph maccready #and other spoiler characters... #more easter eggs than your body can handle! #something happens in the chapter that you've all been waiting for #👀👀👀

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

8. iSpy

Ivy sat in the cold Patient First having been screened for drugs via a urine test. She'd have to wait 24 to 72 hours in order to get her results. For the first time, she hoped they came back positive.

"You gone thank me," her mama, Renee', said raising from her seat in front of the high-fixed television. It was set to HGTV and on commercial break.

"Mhm," Ivy mumbled. She hadn't wanted to go the legal route after she'd seen Dr. Stevens sidestep getting arrested and realized that the cards were truly stacked against her. She wanted to make sure that Dr. Stevens truly understood not to fuck with her. He didn't seem to get that yet, but he would.

Ivy led the way through both sets of glass doors as she exited into the high heat to her silver Nissan, climbing into the driver's seat and leaving her door open to start the car and turn on the A/C. Her black seat cover helped her from burning her ass on the leather.

"Why is it still so hot out here, oh my godd," Ivy stressed. It was getting darker but the heat had not yet subsided. She was so tired of summer. The air was hot and thick, enough to drain a person, but her mom was truly from the south and hopped right into the passenger side closing the door, waiting for the A/C to circulate.

"It ain't that hot. Yesterday was hot. Close the door, Ivy, you letting the cool air out."

Ivy's arms were rested on the wheel, but she moved, dragging to shut the door.

"Ma, I'm so mad. I can't believe that nigga still allowed to practice after what he did. I can't be the only one who knows this man is a psycho." Sighing, she pulled out of the lot.

Renee' didn't respond right away, tapping on her phone. She was always on the phone with someone. If it wasn't her brother in Florida asking for money, it was someone at her church wanting to talk or someone her job who wanted her to cook or come somewhere with them. Renee' was the type to always be there for everyone even though she didn't get anything back.

The car whipped down the road towards the Ruby Tuesdays with Ivy lost in her thoughts. She didn't feel comfortable staying alone which is why she'd packed a bag and gotten escorted to her mom's place. Of course her mom wanted to whoop ass. She all but chased Officer Howard off of her property. Ivy shook her head. She agreed with her mama, Officer Howard was a disgrace to black women and she too hoped she fell in a deep ditch and broke her ankle.

"What," Renee' asked. Ivy looked over before shaking her head again

"Nothing." She hadn't realized she was smiling. It made her feel justified having her mama on her side.

"Lord, if I knew it'd be some shit I'd have kept you in Florida," Renee' sighed, tapping on her phone. "I thought moving out here to Cali would've been an upgrade."

"It was. It's not your fault people are crazy, just a bad situation. I still can't believe that bitch ain't believe me. That's why I hate the cops."

"Child, if they ain't murdering somebody, they ain't doing shit and there's no in between."

The conversation continued and when the car pulled up at Ruby Tuesdays, Ivy hopped out and led the way inside getting a booth for two.

"I've got your drinks, do you need time to look over the menu," the black waitress asked.

"We're ready to order. I'll take the ribs and crispy shrimp with dirty rice and mashed potatoes."

"Uh uh, lil girl! Get a vegetable!" Renee' peared over her glasses. Ivy ignored her, listening as she ordered the bourbon chicken with a sweet tea and no vegetables.

"You guys look just alike," the waitress paused with a smile.

"My daughter," Renee' clarified. Ivy had gotten her eyes and her height from her, but honestly her brother was the one who looked most like her mama. The two of them had the same face, his eyes were just hazel instead. Plus, he was taller.

"So how you came across this fool? When did all this really start?"

"Mama I don't know. That was the first time I'd ever seen him as far as I know, when I went in for my appointment. He had my information before then but that was it. I'd only spoken with his receptionist. I don't know when or how or why he picked me as a target. That's all I know."

Renee' stared as if Ivy wasn't sharing everything, but shared what she knew. Ivy wished she had the answers, but she didn't know what the dentist was playing at or if it was over. The ones who were supposed to help wouldn't believe her. According to Officer Howard, she even needed evidence for a restraining order. She didn't have it.

What she did have was a brain, two hands which knew how to swing, and a gun that she kept in the trunk. If it came down to it, she'd shoot his ass without blinking or thinking twice. She knew her mom would do the same.

---

Erik stepped from his home shower onto a white shower mat that turned blood red wherever water hit it. Right now it looked like there were two bloody footprints surrounded my droplets of blood. He loved that mat.

Wrapping his waist in a fluffy white towel, he looked himself over in the mirror grabbing his oil which sat under the sink on a gold colored tray next to a pristine metal pick and a bottle of Mane N' Tail Conditioner. A little castor oil on his beard, hairline, and mustache and he was looking good and well-kept. Putting the oil back where he took it from, he adjusted it do that the Sunny Isle label faced forward. He was very particular about his belongings.

He picked up his iPhone from the sink scrolling to and opening a little blue app called iSpy. Luckily, Ivy hadn't picked up on that fact that he'd installed it onto her phone or he may have been in a bit of trouble. The advertisements bragged on the app being undetectable. No matter how much Ivy searched through her device, she should never be able to find an indication of the app being there. Only he would know what he'd done and he'd have access to her 24/7.

Scrolling through the report of Ivy's past locations, he felt a sense of giddy mischief, smiling faintly as he bit on his thumb nail. He saw the address of his office and a photo of the outside. She'd been outside while the officer was questioning him, he already was aware. Ivy had also gone home. Her address was there along with a photo of her neighborhood. He'd driven by there once or twice before she'd come in for her appointment, but of course she didn't know that. He looked to see where else she'd been.

Her mother's house. He sighed. He'd never been there. She kept involving more and more people. First the cops, now her mother. She was going to force his hand, he knew it and he was so, so intrigued.

"Trying to avoid me," he mused aloud. "Won't work."

He scrolled down and saw a gas station and Patient First.

"SHIT," he yelled exiting the app. He had to call Araya. Quickly his fingers dialed her cell phone number listening intently as the phone rang twice. "Araya," he spoke when the line picked up.

"Dr. Stevens," she purred. "You don't typically call at this time unless you're looking for a little post-work fun or someone to do your dirty work," she spoke slyly. He could hear the smirk in her voice. She was going to need some tuning to put her back in her place.  "Which is it, doctor?"

"If you want a job tomorrow, you'll cut the shit and go to the address I'm sending you. My latest toy decided to get smart. I'm sure you can put two and two together. Make sure that test gets lost quickly I'll make it worth your while."

"What ya gonna gimme," she toyed.

This wasn't the time for her to go against him or play games.

"Your life.. I'll let you keep it despite the fact that I told you to watch her and you-"

"-Are in front of Patient First. As. We. Speak,"  Aren't we, Draya?"

"Hey boss," Draya spoke.

"Remember who the hell you're dealing with, Erik," Araya said boldly causing Erik's eyes to narrow. She was laying it on thick and if it were a different circumstance, he'd be extremely turned on. "I'm your number one bitch and you'd better not forget it."

The line went dead and he stared blankly at the phone.

"Hm," he mumbled dropping his towel. The bathroom was warm enough. Phone in his palm, he swiped through his apps with his middle finger, tapping iSpy. He could see that Ivy had left a Ruby Tuesdays somewhere close to her mother's home. It wasn't hard to guess where she'd be staying.

@goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagine   @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe   @texasbama @gingerylimonte @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @drsunshine97 @indigoxsummers @cccccx1  @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @they-call-me-le @theblulife @sheisexcellent @blackpinup22

#erik killmonger x oc #erik x oc #original #dentist

[lostinthewiind]

You Are the Air In My Lungs

Warren “Skip” Muck - Band of Brothers

Was going through my fics and realized I have never written anything for Skip Muck and felt as though I had to IMMEDIATELY rectify THAT SHIT! However, if you thought this was going to be cute or sexy, you thought wrong.

I’m here to destroy your feelings tonight, folks, so buckle THE FUCK up! 

WARNING(S): angst, death, near-death, emotional ( but also a little fluffy cuz I’m not a total monster...this time) 

TAG LIST: @gottapenny @warmommy @scissorsfordoc @wexhappyxfew @curraheev @mayhem24-7forever @one-who-hunts-eagles @bandofmarvels @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @wildwilliamguarnere @higgles123 @those-dusty-jump-wings @medievalfangirl @maiden-of-gondor @whoabrekker @thefricklefracklesin @junojelli @bandofgays @itisjustmethistime @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz 

This wasn’t how this night was supposed to go; your fingers clawing at the snow and dirt, your mouth hung open, fighting to get even the smallest amount of air into your lungs, your eyes silently pleading with the man on top of you to let you go. 

In the grand scheme of things, and taking into consideration that you were in freezing Bastogne, in the middle of a war, the evening had been running pretty smoothly. There had yet to be a mortar attack from the Germans that day, the company had received a generous restocking of their food, water, winter clothing, and medical supplies, and the temperature had actually risen by a few degrees, which wasn’t a lot, but it was something.

With a belly full of food and a new, warm scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, you sat happily in your foxhole with Skip Muck and wished you could have stayed there, talking and laughing with him all night long.

You should have stayed there, talking and laughing with him all night long. 

“Why would you ever do something that stupid?” you chuckled, having just heard Skip retell his tale of swimming across the Niagra River. 

“It was a dare.” he let out a hearty laugh. “What, was I just supposed to chicken out and not do it?”

You took a moment to feign being deep in thought. “Ugh, yes, you should have,” you said matter-of-factly. “I mean, wasn’t the water cold?”

“Very cold. The current was strong as hell, too. Carried me about two miles down before I made it across, but, in the end, I made it across.”

“Oh, good,” you smirked. “Would have been a real shame if you had just disappeared over the falls, never to be seen again.”

Skip scoffed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it would have.”

“I’m only messing with you.” you caught on to the look of fake hurt on his face. “Who would I steal warmth from on these cold, foxhole nights otherwise?”

“I’m sure there would be a line of men waiting to take over that position.” 

“You think so, hmm?” you rolled your eyes. “Well, it’s a good thing we will never have to worry about then because nothing is happening to you.”

“And nothing is happening to you.” Skip told you, his eyes drifting down from your eyes and settling on your lips for a split-second. “Right?”

You smiled softly. “Right.”

Every day Skip struggled with the decision of telling you how he really felt versus waiting until the war was over. He knew it was foolish to assume both of you would make it out and back to the states alive, but the alternative hurt his heart far too much to think about. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that a war wasn’t the ideal place to fall in love, but Skip was a firm believer in love at first sight, and that’s exactly what happened when he laid eyes on you for the first time in Toccoa. Then he watched you smile and heard you laugh and he was doomed.

But as Skip sat with you in that foxhole that evening, taking in every second of that smile and laugh that he loved so much, he decided that he couldn’t wait any longer. You needed to know. He needed you to know.

“There’s something I should tell you.” Skip finally broke the silence that had fallen over your shared foxhole. 

You nodded, encouraging him to say whatever it was that he needed to; your ears open and ready to listen to him, just like always. Before he could get another word out, however, the tarp covering your foxhole flipped up and Perconte stuck his head in through the hole. 

“Y/N.” he looked to you. “It’s your turn for patrol.”

“Right. Be right there.” you grabbed for your rifle before turning back to Skip. “Sorry, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

Skip swallowed hard, his focus solely on the fact that he could still hear the soft crunch of snow under Perconte’s boots as he paced back and forth, waiting for you. “It’s okay. It can wait.” he shrugged it off. “I can tell you later.”

“Okay.” you were none-the-wiser as to the seriousness of the conversation he wanted to have. “Later then. Don’t freeze to death while I’m gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Skip watched with a heavy heart as you climbed out of the foxhole and disappeared from sight. Later; he would tell you later. It could wait until you returned from patrol. 

Relieving Perconte from his shift, you cradled your rifle in your arms and tucked your face further into your scarf as you made your way from foxhole to foxhole, making sure everyone was still doing okay. 

It certainly didn’t feel like the temperature had risen at all, despite the news that was circulating the platoons. It felt just as cold as the night before and the night before that. The brisk air hurt your lungs and stung the bits of your face that weren’t protected from the elements.

Thankfully, the patrol shifts were short — only about an hour for each person at a time — so as long as you kept moving and kept your mind occupied, you would be back in your foxhole before you knew it, leaching warmth off of Skip as he protested and hugged you closer at the same time.

Trudging through the snow, your mind began to wander to what it was that Skip wanted to tell you. The two of you had always been open and honest with each other, unafraid to share your feelings and worries, yet the way his face wrinkled with trouble and slight distress when he had mentioned telling you something threw you off a little. 

What could he have to say that he was so worried about? 

As you made your way further away from your foxhole, you spotted a faint figure in the distance sitting against a tree, the thick fog making it nearly impossible for you to tell who it was from such a great distance away.

Slowly, you approached the man and realized that it was Lieutenant Dike. You were pretty surprised that he was even around and more surprised that he was sitting out in the open instead of in his foxhole, like usual.

Kneeling down in front of the officer, you noticed that his eyes were closed and thought for a moment that he was dead, but then you saw him breathe. Okay, just asleep. 

“Sir,” you whispered. “Sir, are you okay?” There was no response, so with a hand on his shoulder a gentle shake, you tried again. “Lieutenant Dike, are you okay?”

With the light jostle, Dike’s eyes shot open and even though he displayed no signs of being startled or scared, he lunged at you. With the full force with the large man coming at you, you fell onto your back and your head bounced off of the frozen ground. You tried to explain that you weren’t a German, that you were on his side, but before you could make a single sound his hands were around your neck.

Your mouth opened wide and snapped shut over and over again, hoping that it would somehow help you get some air or scream for help, but Dike’s strong hands were compressing your windpipe so severely that you were starting to turn blue in a matter of seconds.

You clawed at the ground, digging your fingers into the snow and dirt, trying to get away, but it was no use. You kicked your feet and tried to push him off, but your attempts at escape were futile. You were no match for the fully grown man.

With eyes brimming with tears, you stared up at your company CO and silently pleaded for him to recognize you and let you go. Dike’s eyes were void of any and all emotion, however. He was completely checked out, in a fugue state, totally unaware of where he was or what he was doing. 

It was nothing against you personally, you had just, unfortunately, been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

There had always been a small part of you that believed that no matter how bad things got, you were meant to make it to the end. You had thought that to be true right up until this very moment; the moment where you realized that your fate was to be nothing more than a casualty of the war. Just another uniform and set of dog tags. 

As your vision began to fade, your body starting to shut down from lack of oxygen, there was no sign of Dike letting up anytime soon. There was one thing and one thing only he had to do at that moment, and that was to kill you.

With the last trickle of energy you had left, you reached into your holster and pulled out your pistol. For a brief moment, you contemplated just shooting the Lieutenant in the head, but at the last second, you decided against it. It wasn’t his fault; this wasn’t him.

Instead, you aimed the gun up at the night sky and pulled the trigger, your final thought before you passed out being God, I sure hope someone hears this and comes running.

The gunshot did, in fact, alert the men of Easy Company. It also broke Dike out of his trance, but as he slowly came to, he continued to squeeze the last drops of life out of you, unaware he was even doing it. When he finally realized what he was doing, Lipton was shoving him off of you. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” Lipton demanded, leaning down over the top of you and ghosting his ear above your mouth to listen for breath sounds. There were none. “MEDIC!” he cried into the night as he started doing CPR. 

By the time Doc Roe rushed out of the fog, a small group of men had gathered around to watch Lipton give you compression after compression, desperate to get you breathing again.

“Move!” Doc demanded, dropping to his knees beside you before unzipping your coat and unwrapping your scarf, getting as many layers out of the way before taking over for Lipton. With both of his hands, he thrust down onto your chest over and over again as hard as he could, unconcerned about breaking your ribs. 

By the time Skip had heard the news, you had already been down for over five minutes; your pale, cold body lying among the snow. When he finally pushed his way to the front of the crowd, he stopped dead in his tracks, haunted by the way your lifeless eyes seemingly stared back at him, your head lolled to the side as Roe continued compressions.

The men were dead silent, some even holding their breaths as they watched and waited, praying for you to make a noise or move a leg or do something, anything, that proved you were still alive.

As the seconds turned into minutes, the hope was beginning to fade. By that point, you had been without air for so long that the chances of getting you back were growing slimmer and slimmer.

When Roe began to get exhausted, Bull took over, and after him, Guarnere. No one was willing to give up. 

No one knew what had actually happened because after Lipton had shoved Dike away, the Lieutenant had slinked off, deeply ashamed of his actions. He was gone before anyone else arrived. It didn’t exactly matter how you had ended up on the ground, though. What mattered was getting you back up.

When Guarnere eventually sat back on his haunches, his own chest heaving from exhaustion, Skip slowly moved toward you and dropped to his knees. No one said a word. Everyone knew he loved you; everyone but you. 

Carefully, Guarnere placed his hand over your eyes and closed your eyelids. 

All at once Skip was overrun with guilt and regret. How could he have been so arrogant to believe the two of you had all the time in the world? He should have told you how he felt before you left for patrol. Hell, he should have told you back in Toccoa — he should have told you the second he knew. 

“W...what happened?” he looked around.

Lipton sighed. “It was an accident.” was all he said. That was all that needed to be said right then. 

Standing over his friend, Malarkey placed a comforting hand on Skip’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered just loud enough for Skip to hear. 

As a single tear slipped down Skip’s cheek, he placed both hands onto your cold body and began to shake you ever-so-slightly. “Wake up.” he pleaded over and over again. “Just...just breathe. Please, wake up.”

Even though Skip knew his efforts were for nothing, he suddenly became filled with anger when you didn’t come back to him. Anger at himself, at the war, at the universe. Then, in an uncontrolled outburst of rage, he raised his arm over his head and brought his fist down hard onto your chest. “I said breathe, dammit!” he screamed.

When his hand collided forcefully and suddenly with your chest, your eyes shot open and you gasped for air. Guarnere, Skip, and Malarkey jumped back from you out of shock, but when you doubled over sideways and began coughing violently they returned to your side. 

Rushing back over, Roe offered you some water to drink. “Welcome back.” he was the first to speak after the miraculous revival. “You gave us a good scare there.”

After taking a sip of water, you collapsed back again, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your lungs greedy for all the air they could get. The men around you began to ease up, smiles spreading across their faces and muscles relaxing. 

“Y/N!” Skip could hardly believe his eyes. “Are you okay?”

As your fingers ghosted over the marks on your neck, you began to remember what had happened. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” you sat up, suddenly very aware of the crowd that had gathered around you. “I must have put on a real good show for an audience like this.”

A few of the men let out nervous chuckles, but that was all you could really ask for. By the looks on their faces, you had been down a while. Turning to Skip, you forced a smile and rested your hand on his shoulder. “Hi.” you breathed.

“I love you.” he blurted out. “I should have told you sooner.”

Luz let out a whoop. “Go Skip!” he encouraged.

“You do?” you thought for a second or two that maybe this was the afterlife. 

“Of course he does, you fool! He just brought you back from the dead!” Penkala exclaimed. “Would you just kiss the damn man already?!”

“My hero.” you grinned, ignoring the pain in your chest and throat as you leaned forward and pressed your lips to Skip’s. Maybe sometimes it took dying to realize what you really had to live for. 

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fic #warren muck #skip muck #lostinthewiind #fluff #angst #sad #hbowar #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #emotional #death #near-death

[itallstartedwithplayingvet]

Whumptober 2020 Day 27 - Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card? - Extreme Weather

Fandom: Metal Gear Solid

Characters: Liquid Snake, Sniper Wolf, Vulcan Raven, Psycho Mantis

Content Warnings: Mention of eye trauma, bullet wounds, extreme cold, references to death

Word Count: 1,728

“Damn it...” Wolf muttered as the van crawled to a stop. This at once alerted her passengers.

“Don’t tell me...” Liquid spoke up from the passenger seat. “We’re out of gas, aren’t we?”

Wolf nodded, holding her head in her hands out of exasperation.

“Well that’s...” Liquid stammered. “That’s just great. Why couldn’t we have picked one with a full tank?!”

“We didn’t exactly have the time to be picky.” Wolf replied. “If we’d lingered for even a moment longer, they would have caught up with us, and we’d never have escaped at all.”

This, however, did little to calm their irritable leader. “This wasn’t meant to happen, this wasn’t---!” He slammed his fist upon the dashboard, punctuating this action with a shouted curse.

“Breaking your only hand won’t help us.” Wolf reprimanded him.

“Then what?” He snapped back. “What do you suggest we do? That storm outside is only getting worse. We can’t just head out into that on foot!”

“We will have to stay in here until the storm stops.” She replied. “The battery should hold out for at least a few hours, so we won’t lose the heat right away.”

“And if the battery dies before the storm does? Wolf, we’re in the middle of the Alaskan winter.”

“I can’t control the weather, Boss. As it is, we will have to wait and see what happens.”

“...” Liquid turned his head and gave a frustrated huff. “I can’t believe our luck...” After a moment or so, he turned back towards the back of the van. “Raven? ...How is he?”

“I was resting...until you two felt the need to start arguing...” Mantis rasped from his position beside the hulking frame of Raven in the backseat.

“...Sorry about that.” Liquid muttered. “But we’re in a bit of a tight spot.”

“I know. So will you just shut up...and let me try to sleep through it?”

“...” Admittedly, he scowled a bit. “Raven, what about you?”

Their heavy weapons specialist leaned forward in his seat. His head turned to face the direction from which Liquid’s voice had come, though the white gauze layered over his eyes made it quite clear that he could not see him. “I’m fine, Boss.” He replied calmly. “We’ve all been through much worse than this, and lived.”

“I know, I know...It’s just that--”

“It’s not your fault...this time...” Mantis spoke up.

“’This time?’”

“It was your plan...”

“And my brother’s gun.”

“...I’m tired, Boss.”

“...Right.” Liquid turned back to face the dashboard. Snow was already piling up on top of the windshield. He turned to look at Wolf. She was leaned back in her seat, her arms folded over her chest. He noticed that her leg was shaking somewhat. Wolf was well known for her calm composure, even in the heat of battle. The fact that she was seemingly worked up over anything at all was certainly not a good sign.

Listening to the air rushing past outside, and the snow layering onto the van, Liquid found he didn’t really want to sleep. But as the minutes ticked by, and his allies kept quiet as each of them gradually allowed sleep to claim them, and the warmth of the van’s heater kept circulating...he found he couldn’t think of anything better to do while waiting for the storm to end.

. . .

The air was crisp...and cool.

No...it was cold. 

Too cold...

The sort of cold that chilled the lungs.

Wolf woke up coughing, the chilled air irritating her lungs. The moment she opened her eyes, she saw her breath. It took only a moment for realization to set in. A pit of dread opened up in her stomach. She reached for the keys to try the ignition. She kept trying it. Every turn of the keys resulted in a mere clicking and nothing more. “No...” She muttered, still attempting to start the motor. “No, no, no...”

She turned to look out of the driver’s side window. The snow had completely covered the window...and she couldn’t see anything from outside of the windshield, either. The interior of the van was nearly pitch black. Sunlight simply couldn’t enter...assuming there would have been sunlight at all. She had no idea what time it was, after all, or how long she’d been asleep.

As if getting caught in a blizzard with no means of escape weren’t bad enough...now, they were effectively trapped in the van. Moving the snow covering it would take more effort than any of them were realistically capable of now. Starving or freezing to death inside of a van nearly buried in the snow...that was no way to die.

And after everything...

Why had they been brought back, only to die again so close to freedom?!

. . .

Wolf’s muttering called Raven from his sleep. He wouldn’t have noticed the darkness of the snow-covered van now, with his eyes having been removed, courtesy of his winged friends back on Shadow Moses. But he noticed the drastic change in air temperature. There was simply no way he couldn’t have.

No doubt the van’s battery had died. Still, he wasn’t quite certain of how long it had been since he had fallen asleep. At the very least, whatever amount of rest he had gotten had somewhat improved his condition. The wounds left over from his battle with the Snake were still there, of course, and he could still feel them, but the severity of the stinging had decreased. Small mercies...

“I take it the van won’t start?” At this rate, he didn’t particularly care if he woke the others up. They had to face what was happening sooner or later.

“Raven...” Wolf muttered, sounding at least partially as though his voice had startled her. Odd...Wolf had never struck him as the type to be startled by anything. Though, he supposed it was possible that everything that had happened in the past day or so had rattled her nerves. Hell, it had rattled him a bit too, if he were to be completely honest with himself. “No, no it won’t start...and the damn storm hasn’t stopped yet.” Wolf replied. “I can’t see through the windows. The snow’s completely covered them.”

“...Well...that’s about the worst way this could have gone.” Raven mused. “I...could try to move the snow once it dies down.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” Wolf said. “I don’t think you’re as ‘fine’ as you said you were.”

He smiled a bit. “I appreciate that, Wolf, but...I don’t want to be the reason we all freeze to death.”

Beside him, there was a sudden gasp followed by heavy breathing, which announced to him that Mantis had awoken.

. . .

“It’s...freezing!” The psychic cried, at once drawing his limbs towards his torso. This was an action that the bullet wound in his shoulder had not agreed with. He grimaced, his other hand moving instinctively to shield it. “...So...the battery’s dead...” It wasn’t spoken as a question. If they knew it, he knew it. “And we’re trapped...beneath layers of snow from the storm...”

A quiet, nervous chuckle escaped from his throat. “We’re...we’re dead again...” He rasped, as his frail body began to shiver in response to the cold. “We’re going to die in this fucking van...”

Wolf said nothing. Though she wasn’t proud of it, she believed him. At this rate, she knew their chances of getting out of this tundra alive were quite slim. At their full strength, perhaps it wouldn’t have been quite so difficult, but as things were, with every one of them recovering from some grave injury, one without a sense, and another without a limb, it would take quite a bit of luck -- hell, nothing short of a miracle.

These thoughts from Wolf only distressed Mantis further. Not this way...please, not this way! Bleeding to death was bad enough... His mind rambled to itself.

He paused when he felt a large, warm cloth drape itself over his shoulders. Turning his head, he saw a large winter coat obscuring some of his vision, and behind it, the tattooed face of Raven. Though Mantis knew the man could no longer see him, he was smiling. Raven was smiling at him. “...Thank you...” He muttered.

“Of course. You’d be the first of us to freeze.” Raven replied simply, nodding once. “On the subject of freezing, Wolf, you and the Boss should join us in the back.”

“You think we should huddle together to keep warm?” Wolf replied. I’d rather not. I don’t really consider any of you a friend. Mantis heard her think to herself. However, what she said was “Right. There’s not much else we could do.” She turned to the passenger side, and nudged the somehow still asleep Liquid Snake with her elbow.

He jumped awake in the next instant. Mantis flinched at the sudden onslaught of panicked thoughts from Liquid’s mind once he noticed that the van no longer had heating. However, Wolf was surprisingly quick to brief him on the circumstances, which Mantis was grateful for. The panic quieted down, and Liquid, though finding the idea a bit embarrassing, agreed to join Wolf in moving to the back of the van to huddle for warmth with Raven and Mantis.

After they had been huddled together for a moment or two, Liquid began to speak up. “...Raven, you’re the strongest of us. Could you dig us out of this snow?”

“It would be best if we all dug. It’s quicker, more efficient that way.” Raven responded. “And we will have the strength of four instead of only one.”

“Four?” Liquid was puzzled. “I think you mean three. Mantis isn’t exactly suited for physical labor.”

“Who said it would have to be physical?”

“...I don’t exactly feel well enough to attempt that...” Mantis answered. “...But if it can give us a chance...of not freezing to death...I’ll gladly fry my brain trying to free us.”

Liquid opened his mouth to protest against this proposal, but decided against it. It did, after all, seem to him like the best option. “Very well, then...we’ll wait here for the storm to settle, and move ahead with your suggestion once it does.”

Thus the four deserters rested against one another as the freezing winds howled outside their meager shelter, a small, pathetic menagerie --- The Mantis, the Wolf, the Raven, and the Snake.

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #ok who had natural disasters on their 2020 bingo card? #extreme weather #metal gear solid #liquid snake #sniper wolf #vulcan raven #psycho mantis #bullet wounds #freezing temperatures #trapped #team whump

[blog-sliverofjade]

Hearth Fires 3: Feline Tactics

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary:  Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.  

Word count: 2783

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the magnificent pandabearer

Tien and JoJo hadn’t been back but three minutes before the rest of the pack came sniffing around.  Remi could practically see their animals’ tails arched into question marks of curiosity. Taking a snickerdoodle for herself, Tien set the box on a table and stepped back to let the others swarm.

“Suddenly my cooking’s not good enough for you?” Avery scowled and folded his arms.  “Fine, then you can cook for yourselves.” The lanky male threatened to stop running the kitchen in the communal aerie whenever someone irritated him, which was nearly on a weekly basis.  He never did, though, because the offending party usually made reparations before the next mealtime.

“Hmm, it’s good enough for me, baby.”  Tien nuzzled her nose against his with the soft, lazy smile she reserved for her mate and fed him a bite of snickerdoodle.

Avery chewed thoughtfully before muttering, “Not bad.”  She stroked and petted his back until he wrapped an arm around her and fed her small bites.

“Oh man, I don’t care what you gotta do, we need this woman,” moaned Elijah around a cupcake, the senior soldier’s eyes rolling back into his head.  “ I need this woman.”

“One look at you and she’d run,” Lark snorted and waved her caramel apple at him.  A few slices of pecans fell off his cupcake and Elijah caught them with cat-like reflexes.  He eyed her like he was considering pelting her with them, but after a moment he tossed them in his mouth with another groan.

“Besides, why do you automatically assume she would cook?” Tien frowned at Elijah.

“I’m sure I could coax the kitten into it,” he smirked and licked the frosting from his fingers.  The male never had a shortage of lovers, all of whom looked like the cat that got into the cream when they shared skin privileges.

Normally, Remi would be more concerned about a submissive female tangling with a dominant male, particularly one as deadly as Elijah was under the jokes and openly sensual nature.  Despite a face that was just shy of being beautiful and a body nearly as packed with muscle as his own, Remi doubted the other man could coax the reticent Lorelei into anything.

Remi, on the other hand, was certain he could entice her.

“She turned you down.”  Theo’s quiet, but deep, voice drowned out the yumyumyum noises Elijah was making.

Everyone stilled and turned to look at their alpha.  Merde, he’d hoped to gloss over his failure, but it was too late.

“Do you think I’d get arrested if I kidnapped her?”  Elijah’s musing broke the silence as he contemplated the best way to attack the caramel apple he held.  Remi smacked the back of his head.

“You’re a leopard, not a bear.  Act like it,” he growled. The male soldier waggled his brows and bit into the apple, nearly unhinging his jaws in order to fit the damn thing in.  His unrepentance slackened into concern when the caramel melted around his teeth and he appeared stuck.

“You’re just grumpy because she resisted your charms,” teased Lark.  The sentinel was at the back of the room and therefore safely out of smacking range.  While he knew that the teasing denoted an ease and a sense of safety, sometimes Remi braced himself to see if he would lose his temper.  Some alphas didn’t permit such familiarity, holding more Machiavellian views, and he still worried that he fell into that group.

Instead of taking it as a challenge, his leopard rolled its eyes and flopped on its side with its back to Lark.

“I’ll remember that when the first snow hits and it’s time to do perimeter rotations.”  He narrowed his eyes at Lark.

Elijah managed to break away from his sticky trap, taking half the apple with him.

“How’d she manage to defy our fearless leader?” he asked around the chunk of fruit.  Or at least that’s what Remi assumed the garbled noises coming from the soldier’s mouth were.

“Ms. Maddox doesn’t see the need for pack.”

The soldiers and maternals stared at him.  Most cats were solitary creatures, but their human halves needed community, family.  Dominants needed to protect, and maternals needed to nurture. Each needed the other to feel whole.  Even those who chose to go it alone understood those who preferred pack life.

Moreover, they could not afford to have a predatory Changeling living within their borders that wasn’t one of them, it might give ideas to those with purposes darker than creating sinful concoctions.  RainFire was just large and powerful enough to make outsiders think twice before trespassing, but there were those who would be emboldened by her presence. They couldn’t hold off many repeated comers, and they had to protect their young ones.

None of the soldiers pointed any of that out, but they did exchange glances.  Like him, they were uneasy at the prospect of having to drive Lorelei off, their instincts wanting to bring her in where they could watch over her along with the rest of their vulnerable.  Not all of them had met the ocelot, but all were aware of her, just as they were the herd of elk that occasionally roamed through part of their area, the flight of crows to the east, and each individual non-predatory Changeling who lived on their territory.

“I do enjoy proving people wrong,” Tien said mildly into the silence, momentarily diverting the martially minded.  Sly grins broke out around the room.

“No caveman tactics,” said Remi with a pointed look at Elijah, who gave him wide eyes in return.  “We’re cats; at least try and be sneaky. If you can’t figure that out, I’m sure one of the cubs could give you tips.”  Elijah clasped a hand to his chest as if mortally offended, then grimaced when his t-shirt adhered to his caramel-coated hand.

“Now that you’ve all been bribed and some of you are glued to your seats.”  Elijah shifted and had to pry his palm off the table he sat on. “An email has been circulating in the area.”  Remi brought it up on the screen at the front of the conference room. Everyone’s attention snapped to the display.

He smiled to himself.

The poor baby had no idea what she was in for when an entire pack of cats focused on a single goal.

“Of course they want it delivered,” Lorel muttered sarcastically to herself as she bobbled along the road, which was barely deserving of the name.  A particularly large pothole had her worrying about cracking a tooth.

The hover option in her ancient sedan had given out that morning, and she had neither the time nor the money to get it looked at.  She couldn’t even appreciate the patchwork of trees because she had to keep one eye on the rutted-out dirt track and the other on the cake in the backseat.  If it bounced right up into the ceiling of the car, they weren’t getting a refund. And she was going to charge them to have the car detailed.

The donkey trail dead-ended in a turnabout circle; no buildings appeared to be in sight, the only sign of life was what looked like game trails leading off into the woods.  Did they live in burrows like animals? She didn’t think that there were any caves in this part of the mountains.

Just as Lorel was contemplating whether or not to dump the goods and bail, a tall black woman materialized from the trees and motioned her to the right.  What she’d thought was merely a grassy berm raised on hydraulic lifts to reveal a plas-crete reinforced bunker. The guide loped inside to lead her to an empty spot amongst rows of parked vehicles.

“Come into my parlour,” she muttered as she eased into the space.  The door closed, leaving her in a dimly lit cavern. “That wasn’t ominous at all.”  She popped the back hatch and sweat burst out of every pore when she stepped into the coolly neutral atmosphere of the garage.  “That’s great, go into the leopard’s den reeking of fear.”

She was too busy muttering to herself to notice the man who swooped in and grabbed the cake before she could; she tried not to stare at his size.  The man was built like a freaking tree.

“Thanks.  Is the exit automatic or does someone need to let me out?”   Please say it’s automatic.  The man-tree was too busy admiring the neon green cake crowned with black chocolate that looked like it was oozing; black tentacles and strawberries with fanged maws of frosting emerged from the top.  She was a little worried that he might start drooling. At least the boxes of cookies and cupcakes in her hands had lids and were therefore safe from him.

“If one speck of frosting’s out of place, you get to be the one to tell Tien,” the woman warned him, and shut the hatchback.  He affected a shudder and stepped back to flank Lorel.

The two of them shepherded her towards a door set into the wall at the back of the lot.  A bead of cold sweat slithered down the small of her back. Her cat did not like having two dominant predators at her back pushing her into unknown territory.

They led her through the thick, steel door and up a gently sloping corridor.  It would be easy to move something heavy along the slight incline, like a dead body.  And that thought certainly didn’t help her anxiety.

Her escorts ushered her through another door, also thick and steel, and into a clearing filled with sheer chaos.  JoJo ran past in a pirate costume- Lorel only recognized her because she wore the same glittery, purple boots- and a leopard cub wearing a miniature cowboy hat nipped at her heels.  Several other children, some of whom were on four paws, frolicked in a giant leaf pile at the other end of the clearing.

In the center there was a las-fire.  Most of the adults either stood in groups or sat at tables off to one side.  At one edge, far from the kids and the tables, the rest were playing a game of football.  Full contact, of course.

All in all, it was a far cry from the church gatherings her grandparents had dragged her to.  And yet, if not for the fact that they were strangers, both sides of her nature felt a curious sense of rightness, like she was home.  She shut that in a box and locked it tight before she could analyze that.

Lorel managed to follow tree-man and tall, dark, and deadly over to the tables to deposit the treats.

“Welcome to the madhouse.  Beer?”

She had to do a double take.  The man who had come up on her left with a couple of longnecks was probably the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, with deep aquamarine eyes that contrasted against flawless, brown skin.  It was the fine angles of his face combined with the lithe musculature of his body that gave him the unreal perfection of a model. Although she preferred people who were more rugged, she could still appreciate a pretty face.

Then she had to mentally slap herself.   Don’t fall for the bait .

“Um, no thanks,” she blinked, still attempting to process the pandemonium.

“Cider?”

“I don’t drink.  Look, I think I’d better go.”  Lorel took a step backward and ran into a wall.  A tall, warm wall.

“Runnin’, catin?” the wall rumbled in that lyrical accent.  Hairs along her arms and the nape of her neck stood at attention and she had to repress a shudder.

“Hardly.”  She turned to Remi with an arched brow.  “I would hate to trespass. I know that ruffles your fur the wrong way.”  She wanted to clap a hand over her mouth before any other snarky comments spilled out of her.

To her surprise, he merely chuckled.  Her ocelot cocked its head in confusion, having been hunkered down in a defensive crouch.

Before she could marshal her scrambled brains into some form of order, a little boy of maybe four or five clambered up Remi and clung to his back.  Without looking, the alpha put a hand back to steady the climber.

“Hey peeshwank.”  Ok, wow, that smile was dazzling enough to make even the model seem drab in comparison.

In response, the boy roared at the top of his lungs and bit Remi’s shoulder.  Since he was in human form, his mouth didn’t even fit around the hard curve of muscle, let alone do any damage.  If anything, Lorel was more worried about the child than the adult. Reaching back, Remi grabbed the kid’s ankle and hauled him around to scowl at his upside-down face.

“I’m a dinosaur!” the child giggled, his stick-straight hair hanging down in a short blonde curtain.  His free leg kicked idly so he swung slightly in his alpha’s firm, yet gentle, grip. The blue t-shirt he wore had “When I grow up, I want to be a dinosaur” blazoned across the front.

“Dinosaurs don’t bite people,” Remi scolded, a gleam dancing in his eyes that couldn’t be hidden by his glare.

“Is it ‘cuz they’re dead?”  The boy feigned innocence, widening baby blues that probably had gotten him out of trouble before, but it was his huge grin that gave him away.  Every adult in the vicinity did their best not to laugh, some succeeding more than others.

“Yep, ‘cuz I ate dem.”  With a growl, Remi lunged forward as if he was going to bite the soft belly that was exposed because the boy's shirt had bunched up around his ribcage.  The kid let out a shriek that quickly dissolved into giggles at the raspberries Remi blew above his belly button.

Just when the child looked like he might pass out from lack of air and the blood rushing to his head, Remi gently tossed him to the giant who’d escorted Lorel.  He caught the living projectile easily, his arms moving with the trajectory to cushion the landing. The kid shrieked with laughter and begged to be thrown in the pile of leaves.  His wish was granted, albeit from a low height, once his playmates got out of the way. Soon, the man was bombarded with similar demands from the other children.

She felt as if someone had clubbed her between the eyes with a two-by-four.  Of all the things she’d been led to believe when it came to changeling packs, none of what she had seen so far fit with that understanding.  While the two men laughed and indulged the kids, she cast about for a way to slip away without being noticed and accidentally made eye contact with Tien.

The other woman took that as an invitation to come over.

“Lorel, the cake looks great!” she beamed.  “Has anyone shown you around?”

“Um, no.”  Lorel wished she could teleport herself out of there like a telekinetic; as it was, she had no idea how to extricate herself without offending nearly a hundred predatory changelings.

“You’ve already met Angel.”  Tien pointed out the model-gorgeous man who’d offered her a drink.  He was sharing it with the woman who’d met her out front. “That’s Lark with him, her cousin Theo’s the one swamped with cubs.  And you remember Jojo.”

She gestured towards her daughter, who had joined the others frolicking in the leaves.  She disappeared in a shimmer, shifting to her leopard form, and leapt into the leaf pile.  Lorel blinked and glanced around at the adults, who carried on as if the little girl hadn’t just sprouted claws and fangs and jumped into a maelstrom of leaves and kids, some of which were human.

“You let the children run around…?” she broke off, searching for the right words.

“In leopard form?  Of course.” Tien looked at her as if anything else was unimaginable.  “She knows better by now. At least she has a spare Halloween costume,” she said with a fond sigh and rueful shake of her head.

“You’re not upset about the clothes?”  When a changeling shifted, their clothing disintegrated around them.

“Normally she gets a reminder, but I’ll let it go this time,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that had Lorel feeling like an invisible band had tightened around her chest.  “Got to pick your battles, you know? Did your poor grandparents ever have to rescue a naked cub from a tree?”

“Um, no.”

“Rescue” wasn’t the word for it.  Did everyone here know her history?  Was that why they were so keen on getting her to join?  The thought of any of these strangers pitying her had claws pressing at the tips of her fingers

#my writing #psy changeling #fan fic #nalini singh #halloween #leopard #sci fi #ocelot #psy changeling trinity #remi denier #original female character #shapeshifter #paranormal romance #werecat #shape shifter #cake #cupcakes #halloween party #eventual smut #hate to love #shifterromance #psy #changeling #plus-sized character #fat character #autumn #fanfic #scifi #sci-fi #fan-fiction

[staycatcher]

Anguish 002- Anarchy

“Out of genuine free will, I, Lee Minho, exercise the divine right to reject my sacredly designed soulmate.”

Member: Lee Minho / Lee Know x Femme Reader (she/her)

Au: FratBoi! Minho + Rejected Soulmate AU

Genre: Angst, with added fluffy flashbacks past life to make it enjoyable lol

Rated T for a #@&% ton of swearing, violent bodily reactions/extreme pain, hospitals, drunk people, altercations, and just general intensity 👀💀

Note: It skips around a lot, a border is before and after the past life flashbacks/dreams and after those, it’ll say when/where it’s set!! Hmu if it’s still confusing~

Word Count: 4.3k

Anguish series 2/?-  001, ~002~ 

Edited: 210116 (Original: 190918 )

‼Edit: rewritten to exclude Kim Woojin, so the characters in the plot are now all scrambled and changed from the original!! If you’ve read this before- first of all thank you so much🥺💓💞- secondly you might want to reread because of the supporting character changes going forward!!😅🥰💝‼

Your eyelids flash open in the backseat of an unfamiliar sedan, the car jostling your seatbelt-less form about as it’s swerving fast down the side streets in the dead of night. Being brought back to consciousness unfortunately also brought agony that unconsciousness saved you from. Your current state knocks the breath right out of you, forcing out pathetic whimpers for breaths of needed oxygen, alerting the people in the front. 

“Y/n?” Through the agony just of just being conscious, you hazily hear Jamie’s highly concerned voice. This is the first time in your decade-long friendship that you’ve heard her voice sound like this. Though, you only hear your surroundings very blearily and distant as if you were some sort of different time and space. Her voice- it was full of fear!

 You just croaked out an incoherent sound as an acknowledgment as best you could between gasps for air. That’s all you could conjure, with your heart and brain pulsing magma through your entire body. Your insides must be neon at this point from the excessive heat and energy surging through you. You felt as if you were burning up, burning [alive]. Not even the overflowing tears, sweat, pathetic snot, and slobber could cool you from the intensity of the fever.

“Is she awake?!” 

“I think so? She’s making weird noises and she’s moving!”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh-” The rattling car slowed down a bit.

“KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE FUCKING ROAD, SEUNGMIN!” 

“I’M SORRY! JESUS!” The car sped right back up, maybe even faster than before, ramming into a harsh turn which came with an entourage of groans from both the vehicle and its passengers. 

“Fucking hell!” 

“I said I’m -fucking- sorry!”

“Just keep driving, for Christ’s sake! And I’ll keep giving you directions!-”

“Okay, okaayy!!~ God!”

You’re not quite sure how much time passed from the time when you awoke in this godforsaken sedan and when it reached a full stop. It could have been five minutes, fifteen, or an hour. The torture of rejection had you blacking out frequently on the turbulent ride to this unknown location. Your main focus is only on the sole fact that your soul was getting ripped apart each second, a chaotic ride was the least of your worries. The only stream of consciousness you remember is that you threw up in the backseat once or twice, and all-consuming, volcanic pain and fever. You also had no idea where in the hell they were taking you, and you weren’t in a state to care. Hell, you didn’t even know what was up and what was down, what year it was, you had much more prominent, violent, bodily reactions that took up all of your bleary concentration. 

Once the car did reach a full, screeching stop you heard the grating metal of the rush of seatbelts being undone, the jerk of the car’s ignition switch off with a gritty rattle of keys, doors being ripped open, slammed shut, only for the doors near you being ripped open in succession. It made your ears bleed, or maybe they were already bleeding. Wait, are my ears bleeding? 

“Holy shit!!”

“How in the hell did she puke that much?! My fucking car!” 

“Oh my god, Seungmin, shut the fuck up! We’re not worried about that right now! Help me carry her in!” 

“Okay, okay, okay! Jesus!” 

“Here, I’ll come on your side.” Another door slam. Soon after, you were startled to feel a pair of comparatively cold hands latch at each of your arms and gently ripping them out from under you, pitchy sounds of disapproval screeched out of you before they began dragging your wrecked body towards them. You weren’t conscious enough to feel the amount of humiliation you normally would at being fussed over like this, or how you may appear or what sort of public decency you might have. You could only spit out loud incomprehensible sounds of discontent. So out of it, you had no choice but to submit to whatever they were doing and allow yourself to be helped, even if you currently feel like your suffering is being heightened significantly. Your eyes were still swirling around inside your head in dizziness, brain throbbing, being upright only aggravated your body more with the forced movements and new changes in circulation. 

“And up!~” That was met with groans from all of you.

“Fucking hell there’s more of her than I remember!!” 

“Shut the hell- Literally no one has ever asked you anything, Seungmin.”

“It’s not like that! I’m saying she’s tall, Jamie! Why is she so long-”

”For the love of fucking theater, please put a sock in it. I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one!” You can barely hear them by now, their voices blurred away further and further until you once again float away and away, right back into the mercy of sweet, sweet unconsciousness. 

Soft snowflakes fall upon your warm cheeks- happy, smiling cheeks. It was only because of said precious snowflakes melting against your warm skin that you were made aware that your cheeks must be as red as the scarf your grandmother knitted for you. Despite all this snow, all you could see was what was vaguely forty or so yards away from you: A single figure among the rest, a handsome young man with whom you felt an immediate pull. 

Your train was about to leave and the rambunctious morning rush is now in full swing. The train you were supposed to catch to leave to a new city with a future waiting for you would take off soon, you kept trying to remind yourself. You couldn’t risk losing your train for a random stranger! But, despite all of your best efforts to carry on, you felt no urge to go and chase a suddenly meaningless mode of transportation. You felt full all of a sudden, complete, all because of some blurry stranger in front of you, whose silhouette you could barely even see amongst the hoards of people bustling past you in every direction.  

My god, does this mean- Could it be?! This feeling, this person, is that- 

“Is that ‘You’?” You heard your voice call out, loud enough to yell over the hustle and bustle, your eyes twinkling wide in wonder. 

Nothing else in this world could matter even half as much as this person in front of you. This person you hardly got glimpses of in-between rushing people. Not even the train that would take you to a safe, guaranteed future, seemed to weigh as much to you as this stranger. Just glimpses of this man, made things feel right, in a way you couldn’t begin to explain. A feeling deep, deep inside you told you that everything in your life has led to this. That you came to this train station to see him, and not to leave the city to another. If it was socially acceptable to slap yourself in the face for what you are currently thinking, what you are currently doing- you’d do it. You were going to miss this train, your ticket was not refundable, you had an opening to pursue-

“I’d assume so!” He tried to get out loudly all the while shoving through, inching closer. Without a doubt, he was just as affected as you. Seemingly, entirely more thrilled like he had no other plans than to meet you, despite the blatant fact he must have some. He’s at the train station at daybreak for god’s sake! 

“Where are my manners? I’m sorry!! My mother would have a fit- raising me better than this!” His tone was infinitely more friendly and silly than you would have predicted, especially in comparison with the words he said. Why is he smiling so wide while apologizing? For some reason you loved it! This must be one of his many quirks.

“My name is Minho Lee.” He came even closer as he was saying this with cool, confident footsteps inching your way despite the busy, disruptive rushed bodies, all with their own lives, their own hurried paths. All that was important to you suddenly was this beacon of a person in front of you, whose DNA was handwoven by the celestial, specifically for you, a matched set. 

“I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n- It-it’s a pleasure!” You offered your hand for him to shake. You didn’t even know what to say, you just relied on your natural politeness and ingrained manners to get those few words out. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss L/n.” And then he smiled, his angelic feline smile sealing the deal. Just with his sparkly smile and an electric handshake, all your doubts fade away. 

Park Jinyoung Memorial Hospital

Room 3025

“-I don’t want him here!! I’m not letting him come in here!“ You come to, the sound of a vaguely familiar voice waking you up. None of your other senses seem to be working well besides your hearing, and even that was dubious, barely catching any of the words that were being said, almost as if you were underwater. 

“Jamie! It’s been ten hours! He’s her soulma-“ Ten hours- since what?

“I don’t give a flying rat’s ass, Chris!! He’s the reason she’s like this! He could hurt her even more!!“ Jamie and Chris? Jamie and Chris- where have you heard those names again?

“Jamie, shut up!! Her monitors will go off, they said she might still be able to hear- you’ll stress her out!!” Monitors?! Monitors, what places have monitors? Are they talking about you? You think so- You tried to open your eyes to investigate, but they refused to budge.

“‘Think this is bad, Seungmin?! Think what’ll happen if Minho walks through the door-“ Huh?! Minho!! That name sounds familiar- The blaring sound of a heart rate monitor beeping interrupts your thoughts before you can continue much further.

“Don’t say his name! She’s reacting negativ-“ They have to be talking about you! The heart rate has to be yours right- you reacted and then the heart rate spiked- then the sound happened. WAIT, YOU’RE IN A HOSPITAL! You’re in a hospital and hooked up to things! Your monitors give off an alert, though that doesn’t shut up these people you’re hearing. 

“Oh?! So you don’t want me to say his name but you want me to allow his unstable ass to come on in and get some visiting hours on the books?! How does that even make sense, Chris!?” Oh wow. Okay, this is- a lot. 

“Jamie, be realistic-”

“No you guys be realistic! Y/n’s parents are flying out here and they’re allowing me to speak on Y/n’s behalf until they land. And I’m not allowing that fucker to come anywhere near this room until she’s healed a little-” Seriously, what in the hell is going on right now? So much is happening all at once, you just woke up- What happened?! You want to go back to your dreams, not a whirlwind of whatever the fuck this is.

“Who says she’ll heal? Her soul is dying-” Hold up! Pause. What now- ‘dying’?! DYING? WHAT’S WRONG WITH MY SOUL? 

 “SHE’S D-“ The voice tried to continue, only to be cut off, but it’s to be expected at this point though. All you can do is stand and watch… well in your case, lay down and listen... to try and help you make sense of this.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“It’s true! Y/n’s-”

“I said don’t… the two of you can leave now.” Oh god- this is just getting uglier and unpleasant by every shouted word. What on earth did you wake up to, well... you’re not completely awake to be fair. You can’t seem to feel or move. It's like you’re just floating around, distantly experiencing your sense of sound.

“Jamie!”

“Leave.”

“Jamie, I’m her friend too you can’t just-” They’re my friends!! That’s how I know these people! Finally some answers!

The sound of a door being burst open met with quick footsteps. “Is everything alright in here? What’s going on? Do I need to get a Doctor? Security?” Hearing the distress of this person made your heart race faster, yet again, nerves heightening by this highly concerned person storming in. 

Wait- what were you even in here for?

“No-”

“They were just about to leave, ma’am-“

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask all three of you to leave. We have to calm her down and then run some tests. It seems that Y/n's vitals became unstable again. We’ll contact you, Jamie, and her parents when we’re done, and you can come back.” 

You were out in the country, on your way to fetch some water from the well for you and your oversized family. Being a frequently forgotten middle child, you often get away with hiding away in these fields, perhaps with a book or some sewing project you worked at, or perhaps just taking in the sun’s rays, cloud gazing, or napping like a kitten in the pleasant sunlight. Alas, today wasn’t so kind to you and as your younger brother who was usually charged with this task, fell sick in bed, thus the task was passed along to you. 

The well wasn’t too far, a nice walk for some. But all this time could be spent doing something more fun, something filled with more imagination than someone your age should have. Something curious or something that instilled peace in your heart. Something that didn’t involve hauling water in buckets back to the cottage without it sloshing it all over the place, spilling it, and splashing onto your layers in your rush to get back. 

Out of breath and traveling back with a heavy wooden bucket filled to the rim with water in each hand, your hand-me-down clad self began walking back along the dirt road. When you finally decide to look ahead and not at the buckets, you spy two people on horses trotting your way. You shake your head a few times making sure that what you were seeing was actually happening and not one of your daydreams.

Today was not a day full of your mind's little tricks, this was happening. It was made real as each second drew nearer. The two seemed to slow down their trotting as if to approach you. As they grew closer, the clearer they became, making it all the more apparent that they were in some sort of uniform, clearly of higher status within the military. Your eyes grew to the size of the chipped plate you ate upon this morning. It wasn’t often you’d see or interact with anyone with a status of any kind, much less outside of the village, right outside your family’s humble cottage doors. 

Eventually, the two came to a complete stop in front of you. The first man on your right seems to have a stern look despite his pretty lips, he could only be described as beautiful. His face was angular yet soft but his aura made it feel sharp, his presence alone felt important. He cleared his throat, right when your eyes were about to wander to his companion, who’s eyes you could feel began to take you in. You gasped in realization, quickly set down your buckets, and deeply bowed, paying your overdue respects. You nearly forgot to, too startled by their presence, to say the least. 

“I beg your pardon, sirs! It’s not often I see military in the area, it certainly is a shock! Please forgive my manners!” You wobbly got out, still bowing at a ninety-degree angle and looking down low at your worn shoes, too embarrassed to look up now. They could beat you for your disrespect if they wanted to. Your mother would have killed you herself if she found out. 

“Let it rest, Sergeant.”  You heard a downright musical voice chide the soldier you made eye contact with earlier before continuing. “The poor girl is spooked, to say the least! Not much unlike that new recruit- what’s his name- Jeongin! Not unlike Jeongin’s horse!” You couldn’t hold in the snort at his execution of what you’re assuming is supposed to be a good-natured joke at your expense to ease tensions. He seemed to be just as flustered as you, his delivery mocked himself more than he could’ve attempted to mock you!

 When you finally decide to look up, you instantly make eye contact with him. Unfortunately, you become even more ‘spooked’ than before! This man was astonishing, completely, and utterly astonishing. He looked as if he were carved out of stone, but his voice was so sweet and mischievous. He was the sort of contradiction you’ve read about in books, you still couldn’t fully comprehend if this is just another one of your daydreams or your reality. His radiant features almost make you fall over before regaining balance, but not without emitting humiliating noises that had the two of them snickering.

 And you thought that other guy was pretty! Just one moment of eye contact with this one before immediately feeling tingles from your head to your toes and your face became even hotter now; hotter than the sun. 

“My soulmate?” He gasped in amazement, amazement at you. His eyes lit up like he was handed the keys to a castle for a weekend. He’s full of newfound energy and leaned a bit too much on the flirtatious side for your face to handle. Your face could only get so red. He was testing your body pigment’s limits and he didn’t say more than a few sentences. 

“Soulmate?” You whispered, fully astonished now. Your brain is surely gonna fry any second now. Your unrelenting plate-sized eyes zooming across the entirety of his being, trying to take it all in at once with the wonder of an astronomer looking at the night sky for the first time.

“You know what this means, Sergeant Hwang?” 

“Lieutenant , we have t-”

“It means I have some parents to meet!” 

“What are you- you haven’t even asked for my name!” Your voice ripped itself out of you without your permission, your sentence could only be described as informal.

“Right, you’re quite right, even if you were a bit informal, I’ll have to forgive you for that now that I have been equally as such.” Then all of a sudden he began to dismount the horse, making your eyebrows fly to your hairline. He quickly dismounted the horse with the grace of a dancer, and immediately began to approach you. While all this was happening, ‘Sergeant Hwang’ had no problem gawking at you and his superior, but you could hardly care. Most of your energy focused on your sense of sight now that he was coming out of the now blinding setting sun and off his high horse, literally. And what a sight to behold he truly was. His gorgeous, generously lashed eyes looking right into yours, now only a respectable foot away from you.

“What’s your name then, my love?” He asked, reaching for your hand, instantly giving you both a zap which makes you both giggle in awe. Just the touch of him had you toasting in your high collared cotton. The sizzling increased but the realization set in, your hands were the two final pieces to the puzzle. Nothing in your sheltered, naive world made so much sense or felt so right like this.

“It’s- it’s Y/n.~” You breathed, looking up from your connected hands into his sharp facial features that became soft with endearment, crystal eyes gleaming at you in response.

Sigma Kappa Zeta Fraternity House

Twelve hours ago

“WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING MINHO?!” Changbin started chasing after Lee Minho who already made it the majority of the way up the narrow, carpeted stairs. Changbin was outraged that he’d pull this shit, especially at a time like this.

 For some reason, in his mind, he thought that when Minho found his soulmate, his reckless behavior would cease. Alas, he witnessed with his own two eyes, Minho did just do the unthinkable and rejected the very person that was made for him. Shock and anger didn’t even begin to describe how Changbin felt. He had to get to the bottom of this, this just didn’t make any sense. This behavior just wasn’t acceptable anymore. Minho has gone too far. He could no longer tolerate his friend’s bullshit. Someone had to collect him and knock some sense into him!

If Changbin had to be the one to knock some sense to Minho he would. When he saw the way Y/n and Minho looked at each other, he was ecstatic that it was you he was destined for. He’d never admit to it unless probed, but he may or may not had eyes for you a semester or two ago.

Noting your understated beauty and the unabashed quirks like how you only sat in odd positions, the excessive amount of pens and highlighters you liked to use, and your unrivaled cuteness despite your grunge exterior. He knew you could be just the right person butter Minho up, but he didn’t even let you say a sentence to him before he severed the celestial bond before booking it the hell out of there without a second thought.

What Changbin wouldn’t give to find his own soulmate, his one and only, and to see how quickly Minho just threw his away- No, Changbin couldn’t just stand there and watch! Minho wasn’t being rational, he probably wasn’t even thinking at all! He was being completely and utterly selfish, a fucking coward.

Changbin was tailing after Minho now, catching up closer and closer with each stride through the masses of drunk or high college kids. Minho was beginning to run with a limp, palming at his chest, as he was shoving his way through crowds of endless people partying their sorrows away. The younger one started to notice the closer he got, the more clearer it was to see that his friend looked off. Like he was injured, or maybe seriously sick. As if he was not only running from you but also running away from the symptoms and the consequences of his actions. 

Changbin barely made it in time to catch Minho when he inevitably doubled over in pain, shouts of which were being swallowed down, only bits and pieces coming out as chokes and grunts, and he refused to even look at Changbin. Completely and utterly ashamed, and full of frustration as he was trying to get Changbin off of him. But changbin was easily stronger than him in this state. The swarms of people on the main level just aloofly made a bit of a way for the two boys, with a roll of the eyes, just assuming it was another drunkard wilding out with a friend coming after him.

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Minho?!” Changbin interrogated, holding Minho at his shoulders with eyes studying him with the disappointment of a father and the confusion of a child.

“Ssstop- just- fUCk! Let go of me-“ Minho was thrashing in his arms, at this point he rendered a fish out of water, in dire need of something out of reach to breathe clearly. Beginning to freeze up as well as he hissed breaths in and out, acting as if he was going to pass out soon if Changbin didn’t do something, but what exactly, Changbin had no idea. 

Changbin has only heard distant horror stories of people rejecting their soulmate, shit like his sister’s friend’s brother’s cousin. Never in his life did he think he’d witness such a thing right before his very eyes. Before now, he didn’t even know what the incantation even was to reject a soulmate! Was there an incantation to undo it? Was there more than one to reject someone and if so did it need a specific matching reverse incantation? Does Minho know the reversal to the one he recited? Or could you even reverse it in the first place-

“Minho!!” Changbin gripped him by the shoulders this time, forcing his thrashes to a stop, though Minho was still huffing and puffing far too much to be just from the quick dash he did. “How do you reverse this!?”

“It’s too late, it’s too late, it's too laaaate~!“ Minho wallowed, practically blubbering, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Get over yourself!!” Changbin gritted his teeth before smacking him across the face, shaking his own head in disbelief. 

“OWW- wHAt the fU-“

“I said, get over yourself!” Changbin clutched at Minho tighter, forcing him to look into his fiery eyes. “Think of others for once and grow the fuck up, already! You got yourself in this mess, now how do you get yourself out of it?” 

“I did it out of free will-” Minho gasped for air, glaring his once sharp eyes at him. “It won’t be easy-” With each second passing by Minho’s breaths became more labored, his body twitching and stiff with intensity, veins popping out, pleading for help. 

Unlike the quick wildfire of pain you went through, Minho experiences a slow, dull pain creeping up him, leaving him begging for it to be over before it even really began. Drawn out, slow and steady in the worst way, with each minute he began to wish it were harsher or to get it over with. This dull, icy knife cutting at him slowly, was truly torturous, like a death from a thousand cuts. 

Changbin, on the other hand, was honestly so disgusted with this entire situation, and the fact it was out of his best friend’s own doing, made it even worse for him to deal with.

 “I don’t care how hard it is!! I want to know how to fix it!!” Changbin scorned and silently prayed to the universe to give him the patience to deal with Lee Minho for the rest of the long night he knew they had ahead of them. 

#stray kids fanfic #skzcreators-net #Lee Minho #Lee Know #Brewgie's writing!!! #minho fanfic #lee minho fanfic #lee know fanfic #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #minho angst #lee know angst #lee know au #Fratboi!Minho #FratBoy!Minho #minho x reader #sfw #soulmate au #rejected soulmate au #kpop fanfiction #THANK YOU FOR READING I LOVE YOU AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED AND ARENT TOO MAD AT ME AND MINHO #IM ALSO SORRY THAT IT TOOK A MONTH #BUT YA KNOW I WAS GOING THRU STUFF AND ALSO I CANT POST IT UNLESS ITS AS PERFECT AS I CAN GET IT #PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK ID LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK AND FEEL #SCREAM AT ME #OKAY BYE I LOVE YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOU