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nickelkeep · 4 years

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Into the Dark

Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.1K Warnings: Typical Level of Violence. John Winchester’s A+ Parenting Written For: nickel’s Storytime On Ao3

Castiel's day had been too long. There were several deliveries, too many witches in and out of the shop, and of course Gabriel's shenanigans. He wasn't sure what planets aligned that day, or if stupid Mercury was in retrograde again. He left the stars to Balthazar to figure out.

As he climbed the last few steps up to his apartment, Castiel heard the distinct sound of someone sobbing coming from one of the other units. He knew that 2A was vacant, and 2B worked nights. The sound of sobbing shouldn't be coming from anywhere on his floor. Castiel hesitantly closed the distance to his apartment and placed his ear against the door. The sobbing was coming from his apartment.

Castiel took a step back and, instead of using his key to unlock his door, he whispered a spell. He hoped that the clicking of the mechanism was soft enough that it didn't attract the attention of who was inside. Castiel weaved his keys between his fingers and grabbed the doorknob with the other. He took a deep breath and slowly twisted the knob before shoving the door open with all his strength.

What Castiel expected was not what he found.

Curled up on the floor in the fetal position was a large man, and snuggled up next to the giant of a being was his familiar, Cadin. Cadin looked up and purred, flicking their tail in greeting. "What. On. Earth?"

The man on the floor didn't move, except for the shuddering of the shoulders from his sobs. Instead, a man on his sofa spoke up and held his hands up in defense. "Sorry, man. We're not here to cause any trouble. Sam here had a tooth pulled today, and he's a little bit of a hot mess." The man on the sofa looked toward the man named Sam. "Sammy, where's your dignity, man? The cat's witch is home."

Sam started to sob harder, mumbling something about 'soft kitty, warm kitty,' as the other man pushed himself up and walked towards Castiel. "Sorry 'bout this." He gestured around the apartment with his finger before extending his hand out. "I'm Dean."

Castiel looked at Dean's hand and started towards taking it before realizing what was in front of him. "How did you get in here?"

"Little bit of B and E. Nothing's broken. I promise." Dean smiled, and Castiel found himself enchanted a little.

But not that much.

"This place is warded against Demons." Castiel turned his head back towards Sam and focused on him. "How did not just one, but two of you get in here?"

"Wow, you figured that out without casting a spell. You're a smart one." Dean wagged his finger at Castiel before letting his hand fall back at his side. "I do admit, you've got this place warded up pretty damn tight."

"You're choosing to ignore my question?" Castiel glared at Dean. "I know multiple exorcisms."

Dean shrugged. "You can try them." He pointed to Cadin. "Kitty over there scratched at a couple of your sigils. Just enough to let us in."

"You and I are going to have a chat, Cadin." Castiel glared at his familiar then looked back at Dean. "I have salt lines! You can't cross those."

"Yeah... Sam and I? Not your normal run of the mill Demons." Dean looked over at the other Demon. "Sam? A little help?" He held a finger up and smiled apologetically at Castiel. "Sam!" Dean crossed to Sam and tapped him with his foot. "Damn. Those drugs worked now, instead of when they were supposed to."

"He's on drugs?!" Castiel crossed the room and looked down at the passed out Demon. "Are you kidding me?"

"He's on perfectly legal anesthesia. Novacaine. Laughing Gas. Demons just react differently to it." Dean let out a sigh. "He's just chosen the most inappropriate time to pass out."

Castiel ran his hand down his face. "I have two Demons in my apartment. One is passed out on my floor, the other is trying to wake him. I've been betrayed by my familiar. And work today was hell." Castiel shook his head. "What's next? An angel going to come down and smite me for talking to you?"

"Nah, angels are dicks, but they stay up in the castle in the sky." Dean winked as he gestured at the sofa. "I promise that I'm not bad. I mean, not unless you want me to be." He snapped his fingers, and two bottles of beer appeared on the coffee table. "Since I'm going to be here for a little bit, can I make it up to you with a chat?"

"Did you just make a drink appear out of thin air?" Castiel moved to the sofa and sat down, looking at the beer. "I've never seen or heard of a Demon doing that before."

"Well, I'm not your average, run-of-the-mill Demon. Neither's Sleeping Beauty over there." Dean sat on the sofa next to Castiel. "So, you know my name. You know Sam's name. I have to ask. Is your name really Castiel, or is your damn familiar trying to pull one over on me?"

Castiel took a moment to glare at his familiar, who came pitter-pattering over to them. "Yes. My name is Castiel."

"Well shit, how did a witch get the name of an angel?" Dean leaned back on the sofa and kicked his feet up on the coffee table as he took a swig of his beer. "I mean, you don't actually have to answer that, we just met."

Castiel let out a small laugh. "No one has asked the origins of my name in several hundred years." He shrugged. "Parents were highly religious. All of my siblings had angel names. Most of them died when they were supposed to, though."

"Most of them?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're not the only one who dabbled in the Dark Arts?"

"No. My older brother Gabriel started. He ran away from home. Parents found me in the stables with another boy, I ran away to find him. We protected each other, guided each other." Castiel shot a look at Dean. "Kept each other away from the Dark Arts."

"Huh. Interesting back story there, Cas." Dean saluted Castiel with his bottle. A loud, sudden snore pulled them out of their conversation. "Looks like now is my chance to wake up Sammy." Dean snapped his fingers into the shape of a gun and aimed it at Sam.

A bright light emanated from Dean's finger and reappeared at Sam's back, followed by a yelp from the Demon on the floor. "The fuck, Dean?!" Sam shot up, kneeling as he looked around. "Where the hell are we?"

"Warm kitty..." Dean started singing.

"Are you shitting me?" Sam's eyes landed on Castiel. "Oh shit. Uh, Castiel, right? I am so sorry. I, uh. I gotta go." Sam snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving Dean alone with Castiel.

"What a nerd." Dean chuckled as he finished off his beer. "I guess I should follow him. It's been a pleasure, Cas." Dean offered his hand.

Castiel took it. "Cas, huh?" He looked Dean up and down, and realized that the Demon was not at all like the others he'd met and fought off before. "I don't normally interact with Demons, Dean. But you're not like most Demons, are you?"

"Not in the least bit."

"I'd like to talk to you again," Cas stated, his boldness surprising himself.

"I think that can be arranged." Dean winked. "Your sigils are still strong enough for common Demons, by the way. Kitty there's pretty smart. They knew which ones to disable." Dean snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Cas slouched back on the sofa, Cadin joining him. "What the hell has been today, Cay?" Cas gently ran his fingers down his familiar's back. "Am I going to wake up and find out that this was all a dream?" Cadin meowed back at Cas, and he couldn't help but laugh. "I think I can forgive you this time." As he closed his eyes and started to doze off, the distant thought of not getting Dean's information floating across his mind.

...

The next few days were a combination of a mess and a blur. Cas found himself doubting his sanity, wondering if he had a wild fever dream about the two Demons, Sam and Dean. Gabriel had caught him in his self-doubt several times and tried to pull him out of it. When that didn't work, Gabriel told him to go fill some orders.

While sorting through the stack of requests, a familiar voice caught Cas' attention. "Looking busy there, Cas."

"Dean." Cas' head shot up. "I didn't dream you."

Dean bit his bottom lip and smirked. "Or, perhaps, I'm a dream come true?"

"That could be a possibility." Cas looked Dean up and down before blushing and returning to the orders.

"Bold one moment, then shy the next. You never cease to intrigue me." Dean leaned on the table that Cas was working on. He watched for a moment before practically purring at Cas. "So, were you serious when you said you wanted the chance to see me again?"

"Yes," was the only word that Cas could manage.

Dean's grin broadened into a smile. "What are you up to tonight, Cas?"

"Here, 'til close." Cas frowned. "Then, Gabriel and I have plans."

"Well, how about this?" Dean pulled a phone out of his pocket. "I know a good little bar. It's not that well known, but all kinds are welcome there as long as you behave." He handed Cas the phone. "You're busy, and I don't want to keep you from your work. But if we're going to arrange this, I need to know your info. And if I leave without your phone number this time, I'll never hear the end of it from Sam."

Cas took the phone and typed in his information before shooting a text to himself. "I'm free tomorrow evening, and the following. Just choose a time and send me the information for the place." He handed Dean his phone back.

"You better believe I plan on it." Dean gave Cas a salute before turning and walking back towards the front of the shop.

A few moments later, Gabriel came up to Cas, who was still staring at the door. "Guess your demon buddy was real, huh?" Gabriel elbowed him, bringing him back to reality. "Strange, I couldn't read him as a Demon. You sure he is one?"

"I didn't read him as one first, but he is." Cas turned to his brother. "What am I doing?"

"Going on a date with a really hot guy." Gabriel shrugged.

"Shit." Cas ran his hands down his face. "Well, shit."

Gabriel laughed loudly, grabbing the attention of some of the patrons nearby. "Cassie. Look, you know what to do to keep from going dark. And honestly? I don't read Dark off of him. He didn't set off any of the alarms, and Balthazar swears to whoever his deity of the week is, that your guy isn't a Demon." Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at his younger brother. "Besides. Demons aren't inherently evil. Remember, Meg, and I were an item for a while."

"She was a hellspawn." Cas rolled his eyes playfully, remembering his brother's former flame. "She fit you perfectly."

"Yeah..." Gabriel sighed.

As Cas was getting ready to warn his brother against doing anything stupid, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and swiped to his messages. Dean had already sent him a text.

[Dean]: Tomorrow night, 8PM, Toil and Trouble.

Cas smiled as another text came in and, despite having to play keep-away with Gabriel, he couldn't help but feel excited for the following evening.

The next day moved at a turtle's pace in comparison to the days before it. Every time Cas looked at the clock, it never moved more than two to three minutes, despite it feeling like hours for him.

Balthazar teased Cas relentlessly, offering to do tarot and rune readings to figure out how the night would go. Cas had responded to every offer with a single finger salute, causing the other witch to double over with laughter.

...

At the end of his shift, Cas rushed home and changed, slipping into something a little nicer than his work attire. He slid on a pair of dark grey slacks, a white button-down shirt, and selected a navy blue waistcoat to finish his ensemble. After checking himself over several times, he left the apartment a jittery mess.

Cas made it to Toil and Trouble with a few minutes to spare, and when stopped at the door, he provided the password Dean had given him: Poughkeepsie. The bouncer let him in and, Cas found himself a surprisingly swank bar, filled with creatures, witches, and surprisingly, a couple of humans.

"Hello, handsome." Dean's voice quietly sounded directly next to Cas' ear, sending a shiver down Cas' spine. "I see you found the place easily enough."

"How have I never noticed this place before?" Cas turned to look at Dean, finding the Demon next to him, invading his personal space. "I pass here all the time."

Dean chuckled and offered his arm to Cas, who willingly took it. "Glamour Spell. Only those who know about it can find it."

"Isn't that from–"

"Harry Potter?" Dean shook his head. "I swear, for a human, that woman knows too much for her own good. Still trying to find the asshat who has her contract." Dean stopped next to a secluded booth and gestured to Cas. "Get comfortable."

Cas slid into his seat as Dean sat across from him. "You think she made a demon deal?"

"Oh hell yeah. I can't explain how else someone like her got to be as famous as she is." Dean shook his head. "Enough about that, though. How was your day?"

After getting through some small talk, Dean abruptly changed the subject. "I'm really glad that you said you wanted to see me again, Cas."

"Really?" Cas tilted his head. "Why is that?"

"Well, for starters, I wanted to apologize about Sam again." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "While I'm glad I got to meet you from it, it was out of line."

"How did you guys choose my place?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam remembered your familiar. He may have used a little bit of his power to find your cat, we got there, he jimmied the lock on your balcony." Dean tried to hold back a laugh. "Sammy kinda blanked that you're a witch, and tried to walk right in. It was like watching him walk into a glass door. On top of him already being doped up, it was hysterical. Something right off of America's Funniest Home Videos, I swear."

"Glad to know my runes worked. And that reminds me. I still need to have a chat with Cadin." Cas rolled his eyes despite smiling.

"Nah, don't be mad at your cat. It determined that me and my brother are okay. Otherwise, we'd never have gotten in. It was nice to be reminded that we're not like other Demons. Besides, then I really never would have gotten to meet you."

"You could have come up to me if you knew who I was."

Dean blushed. "Look, as confident as I appear, I am a nervous wreck right now."

"You?" Cas' eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You're nervous?"

"Dude, have you seen you? And you're even more dressed up right now." Dean leaned forward, resting his hands on his chin. "How does one approach attractive men without being a stuttering hot mess?"

"Apparently, by getting stuck in their apartment."

"Well, shit. If I had known that before." Dean winked.

Cas finished off his drink. "So, Dean, I need to ask. Did you only ask me here to fulfill your promise of apologizing and making it up to me?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "At least not anymore." Dean downed the rest of his drink and looked at Cas. "Can we take this back to your place?"

...

The walk from the bar to Cas' place was long enough that Dean had no problem getting handsy while they walked. Dean's hands found their way from on Cas' shoulders, then brushing down Cas' arm to hold hands, to grabbing on to Cas' hips as they stood in front of the door to Cas' apartment.

Once they stepped inside, and Cas closed and locked the door behind him, all bets were off. The hands that had been on Cas' waist were now on his ass, pulling him against Dean. Their mouth collided eagerly as Cas wrapped his arm around Dean's neck.

Dean backed Cas up towards the door, his hand back around Cas' waist, and pinned him against it. The bold move made Cas gasp into their kiss, before whimpering as their bodies melded together. Dean pulled back from the kiss before diving back in, attacking Cas' neck with fervor, tasting it, sucking it, drawing low, soft moans from the witch's lips.

"Dean," Cas gasped out as he tried to push back against Dean unsuccessfully. "The sofa or my bed is a million times more comfortable for both of us." Cas felt Dean's hot breath against his skin in the pattern of a laugh.

Dean slid his hands back onto Cas' ass, pulling them down to the back of his thighs. "I'm gonna lift you, Cas. I promise I won't drop you." Dean's tongue followed the line of Cas' jaw. "Lift up for me."

Cas obliged, wrapping his legs around Dean's waist as the Demon carried them both back towards the general location Cas' room. "Last door on the left," Cas whispered into Dean's ear as he clung to the gorgeous man holding him.

Dean set Cas down on the bed, his fingers lingering on the buttons of Cas' waistcoat. "Can I, Cas?"

"Please, Dean. I want you to." Cas found his own fingers tracing along the hem of the maroon henley Dean was wearing.

As Dean unbuttoned Cas' shirt, Cas worked on Dean's pants, undoing them, and slowly sliding them down over Dean's hips. He leaned in, despite getting in Dean's way and playfully bit on Dean's hip, earning a soft moan from Dean.

Before either of them knew it, Dean and Cas' clothes were crumpled in a pile on the floor, and Dean was straddled across Cas' waist. Dean traced light circles across Cas' chest as he leaned down and claimed Cas' mouth.

Cas ran his hands up Dean's inner thighs before finding and grabbing his hips. Dean moaned into the kiss before pulling back up into a kneeling position. "I probably should have asked first, but you mind this?"

"As long as I get to do this with you, I'll take or give. I just want you, Dean." The blush that Cas had started to enjoy creating flushed across Dean's skin, highlighting his freckles and causing his green eyes to stand out more. "I do enjoy how reactive you are."

Dean slid down Cas' body, reaching behind him and wrapping his hand around Cas' cock. "You appear to be just as responsive, Cas," Dean smirked as he lined it up with his hole. "I was probably a little bold earlier, prepping myself," Dean commented as he slowly started to slide himself down. "But I'm glad that I went with it anyway." Dean closed his eyes, his head rolling back as he continued working his way down Cas' cock.

"You feel so good, Dean." Cas dug his fingers into Dean's hips, forcing himself to keep from thrusting upwards. "So tight, so perfect." Cas let out a moan as Dean seated him entirely within himself. "You're so beautiful, Dean."

"Well, you're not too bad looking yourself, Cas." Dean blushed as he gave himself a moment to adjust. He rested his hands on Cas' chest as he slowly started to rock his hips forward, rubbing his own cock against Cas.

"What do you need, Dean?" Cas responded to each of Dean's movements with a shallow thrust of his own, teasing Dean into using his words.

"Need you. Just like this." Dean whimpered as he moved faster and harder. "Want to feel you tonight. Tomorrow." A soft curse fell from Dean's lips. "Wanna feel it, so I remember it."

Cas moaned at Dean's admission, and redoubled his matching movements, giving Dean what he asked for.

Dean's movements became more frantic as he approached his climax. His hands clawed down Cas' chest, his hips pistoned in a chaotic rhythm, his words alternated between coherent and unintelligible as he cried out Cas' name.

Cas wrapped his hand around Dean's cock, stroking it at the same pace as his thrusts into Dean. Dean cried out in pleasure, Cas pushing him over the edge. Dean fell forward, barely catching himself. He claimed Cas' lips again, continuing to fuck himself on Cas' cock to bring his witch to orgasm.

After a few moments, Cas fell over the edge, grabbing tightly onto Dean's hips and holding him in place as he came inside of him. He found himself laughing contently as Dean rested his forehead against his. "Hello, Dean."

"Hi, Cas." Dean playfully kissed the tip of Cas' nose before rolling off of him and lying next to him. "I'm not moving."

"You don't have to." Cas rolled over on his side, resting his arm across Dean's chest. "You can stay the night."

"That's even better." Dean snuck his arm under Cas' pillow, giving Cas access to rest his head on Dean's chest as well. "Okay. now I'm really not moving."

Cas placed a soft kiss against Dean's cheek. "All in all, I think I would consider today an excellent first date."

"That means I get another one?" Dean asked as yawned, skewing the words slightly.

"Yes." Cas nodded as he closed his eyes. "And another and another if you so choose."

...

The following morning, Cas woke up to an almost empty bed. Dean was gone, but in his place was a note.

Cas,

I hate to do this and run, but something came up, and I needed to leave. I don't want you to think that I'm at all done with you. In fact, I'm already looking forward to the next time I see you. I just couldn't bring myself to wake you when you looked so peaceful. I'll call you later. Promise.

xx, Dean

Despite his initial disappointment at waking up alone, Cas found himself smiling to the point where his mouth was getting sore. Dean may have had to slip out, but he had written that he was looking forward to the next time they were together, and promised to call.

With his mood bright and infectious, Cas headed to the shop to work his shift. Gabe had kindly swapped their schedules and agreed to open up. He walked in the front door and was instantly harassed by his older brother.

"Forget to do something, Cassie?" Gabriel asked as he wiggled his eyebrows.

Cas went over a quick mental checklist in his mind before slowly shaking his head. "I don't think so?"

"Your hair begs to differ. Looks like you got fucked six ways to Sunday." Gabriel winked. "It's a good look on you. Maybe the women will come into the shop more to stare at you. They usually buy more when they do."

Cas shook his head before heading behind the counter. "I'm not working with you or Balthazar today. Any orders for me to fill?"

"You're no fun." Gabriel handed a stack of papers to Cas before shooing him away. "If I can't tease, I don't want to be subjected to your sunny disposition."

Cas worked the orders in relative peace in the back of the store. The occasional patron would stop by and watch him work - that was the whole point of the workbench per Gabriel - but other than that, his brother and his friend left him alone to work.

After lunch, a frantic and somewhat familiar voice drifted up from the front of the shop. Cas couldn't quite make out the words, but the tone was concerning. He stopped pulling out the items for his next order, and instead put them away, moving towards the front of the store. Standing at the register, a tall giant of a Demon glowered down at Gabriel. "Sam?"

"Cas!" Sam froze. "Uh, I mean, Castiel. I need to talk to you. I need your help."

Cas shot a glance at Gabriel, who held up his hands in defense and shrugged. He turned back to Sam. "What can I do for you?"

"Dean's in trouble." Cas tilted his head in confusion as he waited for Sam to continue. "Look, we both got a concerning call this morning. A family friend needed our help. I couldn't go, but Dean said he got it. The family friend called me about an hour ago. Dean never got to them."

"So why's that mean Dean's in trouble, and why do you need Cassie's help, Gigantor?" Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Sam.

"I don't know what Cas does or doesn't know about me and Dean. I'd rather not share it with others until he's okay with all of you knowing."

"Cassie fucked your brother last night. Nothing wrong with fucking a Demon." Gabriel sassed.

Cas watched as Sam grew uncomfortable. "Please, Cas. I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't need you."

"Oh, hell. The giant's making me sentimental. Go, Cassie. I'll watch the shop."

"Okay, Sam. Let's head to my place." Cas nodded at his brother before exiting the shop, the younger Demon in tow.

...

The trip to Cas' was filled with an awkward silence. Cas could tell that there was a lot that Sam wanted to say but was unsure of how to say it. As they entered the apartment, Sam snapped his fingers. "Just making sure no one can hear us."

"What's going on, Sam?" Cas gestured to the sofa and waited for Sam to sit before taking a seat in his favorite chair. "Dean left me a note saying something came up, which is why he had to leave."

"First things first. Did Dean actually tell you what we are?" Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's kinda important to the rest of the story."

"You're not Demons?" Cas tilted his head in confusion.

"We're Cambions. Half-breeds. Half-Demon, Half-Human. Our mom was a succubus, our father is human."

Cas rubbed his temple. "Well, a lot makes sense now. It's why my salt lines didn't work, and you only needed one or two wards disabled to come inside."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. Dean was supposed to explain to you last night." Sam paused. "I'm sure he got distracted, but I know he wasn't going to keep it a secret from you."

"I'm not mad, but I need you to tell me why this is important, Sam. I need to know what's going on with Dean." Cas glared at Sam, trying to make him get his point across.

"We got a phone call from our friend Bobby. He's kinda our surrogate father. He had heard that our biological father was back in town, and he wanted us to come over and make a plan. I couldn't make it this morning, and I promised I would be there this evening. But then Bobby called and asked if I'd heard from Dean."

Cas ran his fingers through his hair as he carefully chose his next words. "So I gather that your actual father is bad news? Duped into loving a succubus?"

"No." Sam shook his head. "Dad loved mom. Even knowing that Dean and I wouldn't be human, he supported her, stood by her, and was very much in love with her. When she died, it warped his opinions on Demons. Bobby, knowing what we are, took us in and protected us from him."

"So, your father grabbed Dean?" Cas started shaking in his seat. "Or at least that's what you think?"

Sam nodded. "Dean doesn't just disappear. Even if he made a run for hell, he would have contacted me." He ran his hand down his face. "I didn't want to be the one to spill our secret to you. We're not really accepted among Demons, and we're not really accepted around Humans. We can blend in easier amongst humans, though, so that's how we've chosen to live."

"Not that I'm going to tell you no," Cas stood up and headed over to his personal stock of reagents. "But why do you need my help?"

"You're really telling me you can't feel it?" Sam stared at Cas. "There's some sort of bond between you and Dean. I don't even know what to call it. It's something profound."

Cas thought to how easily Dean had slid into his life over the past week. It was like Dean filled a hole Cas didn't even realize he had, and the thought of losing Dean made his body ache. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know where he is. You're a witch. You can do tracking spells. And maybe because of your connection to Dean, you can find him easier or faster or something." Sam looked down and shook his head. "I can't lose my brother, Cas."

Cas started grabbing ingredients and carried them over to a table set up for spell work. "Sam, next to the sofa, there's a basket of paper maps. Can you bring one here?" Sam did as requested, going a step beyond and spreading it out on the table. Cas combined the reagents before dumping them on to the map and soaking the paper. He pulled out a match and struck it, dropping it onto the sheet as he recited the spell. "Ostende mihi illum quem quaero."

"You realize you did that without anything of Dean's, right?" Sam asked as he watched the paper start to burn away. "How's it going to work?"

"Give me credit, Sam. I'm much older than I look." Cas waited until the flame burned out. "Besides, if he and I do share a more profound bond, then I belong to him and him to me."

Sam picked up the remaining piece of the map and looked at it. "Of course, he would be."

"You know where he's at?" Cas moved next to Sam to look at the scorched piece of paper.

"Yeah." Sam crumpled the paper and dropped it on the table. "Grab anything you might need for spells. We need to leave in no more than five. I don't know what our father is going to do to him."

Cas nodded and went to grab a bag he kept just for occasions like this. He reentered the living room, surprising Sam with his efficiency before whistling for Cadin. Cas tied a ribbon to Cadin's collar and opened the door. "Go to Gabriel, please. You'll know when to come back."

"You really do let your familiar just run wild, don't you?" Sam followed the cat out the door, and Cas followed close behind.

"He's not running wild if he's going to the shop to deliver a message." Cas rolled his eyes as he followed Sam to a car that had not previously been in the lot for his apartment complex. "Do not tell me that you conjured this up from thin air."

Sam shrugged. "Hey, I'm not one to scoff at a gift horse when I need one." He hopped in the driver's side, while Cas climbed into the passenger side, barely giving the witch a chance to buckle up. "The other reason I needed you, Cas? He's going to expect me coming to rescue Dean. It's going to be protected and warded against me. Or he's going to have traps set up for me so he can capture me too."

"That would be a given since he knows both of his sons are Cambions." Cas agreed.

"He'd never expect a witch. You'll be able to get through the wards, maybe even break them to let me in." Sam stole a glance at Cas as he sped through the streets. "Also, I promise to give you a chance to get to know me better. We've certainly only spoken in the oddest of circumstances."

Cas softly chuckled, the only acknowledgment for Sam's attempt at levity. He watched as the houses passed by quickly, and the spaces between open up larger. Sam was driving them towards the warehouses.

...

Sam got them to the Warehouses in one piece, stopping in front of a specific building. "If they're here. He's in here."

"How do you know that?" Cas got out of the car with Sam, looking at the building, looking for anything that would single it out from the rest.

"He owns this one. When mom died, he set this place up as a place to hide. Many frowned upon their relationship, and this is where Dean I spent a good chunk of our childhood until he turned against us."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Sam." Cas offered his condolences before heading towards the entrance. He held up a hand at the door and sent through a pulse of magic - one that, in theory, would be undetectable by a mundane - and waited for a reaction. The amount of warding that his spell detected nearly knocked him off his feet, and if not for Sam, Cas was sure he would have landed on his ass.

"Cas? What the hell just happened?" Sam helped him stand back up straight.

"There's no way you're getting in." Cas frowned at Sam. "There are new runes and sigils all over the building. I wouldn't be surprised if they're actually hurting Dean..." Cas left the if he's still alive unspoken between them.

"I need to get to my brother, Cas."

Cas handed his bag to Sam. "I promise to break anything I come across. But I can't even guarantee that'll weaken this enough for you to enter." He pointed to his bag. "There's a blacklight in there. Do what you can to destroy the ones out here, but other than setting the place ablaze, I can't confirm you can get in."

"This is why I needed you." Sam's shoulders fell. "Go get him. Please. I can watch the door, keep anyone from coming in behind you."

"Thank you, Sam." Cas opened the door and headed into the warehouse, weaving his way through and using his newly realized bond with Dean to guide him. He stopped as he came to an open area of the building. Dean was unconscious, bound to a chair that was centered in a trapping ward. "Dean," Cas whispered, his heart breaking.

Cas pushed another spell through the area, double-checking for any traps that he may not have caught earlier. Confirming that none of them would harm him, Cas stared towards Dean, his senses on high alert from anyone that would be guarding the Cambion.

Cas entered the binding circled as a rough voice echoed around him. "That's far enough." Heavy footsteps fell on the ground, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. "What kind of monster are you?"

"Only monster around here is you, assuming you're Dean's father." Cas took another step towards Dean, carefully dragging his foot along the markings on the floor to destroy them, but not be obvious about it.

"Let me guess. Dean or Sam told you about me." The man came fully into the light, a swagger in his step. "How about a proper introduction, though. I'm John, you are?"

Cas didn't rise to the bait and continued moving towards Dean. He heard a curse from John, once the older man realized what he was doing, and the sound of boots running across the pavement. Cas turned towards John, his hands out in front of him. "Abi!"

John went flying back, landing against some wooden boxes, and slumping to the ground.

Cas didn't waste another moment, not knowing how much time he would have. He got to the chair and started untying Dean's wrists, freeing them before cupping Dean's face in his hands. Dean stirred and looked up slowly. "Cas?"

"Hello, Dean." Cas ran his fingers through Dean's hair, stopping as he saw Dean look behind him and tense up. He turned around and aimed at John again. "Abi!"

John stumbled backward but was able to catch himself from falling. "What are you, a one-trick pony? You need more than that to take me out, boy."

"I don't believe in using my magic to hurt people." Cas squared his shoulders. "I don't even like using them in self-defense. It's almost unfair."

"You think you're going to scare me with words, you pansy-ass witch?" John spat at the ground.

Cas' tilted his head to the side before rolling his head back and around, loosening his neck. "I don't believe in using dark powers, John." Cas cracked his fingers, sparks building up between the tips. "Harming people? That's going dark." Cas shot a bolt of energy at John, knocking him down onto his ass. "But what I'm doing? I'm protecting the one I care about." Cas pointed at John's arm with one hand and mimed a twisting movement with his other hand. John screamed in pain as his arm was broken in dozens of places.

"I don't think you understand who or what you're dealing with, John," Cas replied calmly as his eyes charged blue with his power. He pointed at John's leg and repeated the twisting motion. While John screamed in agony, Cas continued. "Let it be known that your boys are under the protection of the Angelus Coven. You ever come near them again, you won't get off this easily."

Cas watched as John passed out from the pain before rushing back to Dean. He dropped to his knees in front of him. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Holy Hell, Cas." Dean nodded slowly, almost drowsily, "That's probably the most badass thing I've ever watched."

Cas chuckled, his head resting against Dean's knee. "Can you get up? Did I destroy enough of the trap?"

"Yeah, Cas. Just need a hand. It sapped me of my strength." Dean took Cas' offered hand and stood up, leaning against Cas. "You have your cell on you?"

Cas nodded as he wrapped his one arm around Dean and pulled his phone out with his other hand. He handed it to Dean, who took it and dialed a number.

"Sammy? I'm on Cas' phone, so now I guess you've got his number." Dean rested his head on Cas' shoulder. "He's going to help me out of here, but I need you to call Bobby and Jodes. The old man's going to need to be admitted to a hospital."

Cas zoned out, resting his head on Dean's while watching the prone form of John, making sure he didn't move. Dean saying his name caught his attention, though.

"Think you can tie the old man to the chair, Cas?" Dean asked, apparently repeating the question. "We need to get you out of here, but we don't need him walking free before the authorities get here."

"Yes, Dean." Cas moved to get John. "Do you think you can start heading towards the exit? I destroyed all the sigils I could find on the way, and I'll come to break you free if you get stuck in one I miss."

Dean nodded and started moving slowly as Cas dragged John's body to the chair. While John wasn't heavy, he didn't deserve the dignity of being carried. Once John was bound in the chair, Cas turned to exit the building, and found Dean and Sam outside sharing a moment.

...

Once back in town, Sam dropped Cas and Dean off at Cas' apartment. They agreed to keep their heads down until Bobby gave them the okay. And with Dean being in the condition he was in from John's imprisonment, it was decided that Cas would be the best to keep an eye on Dean and help him get better.

Cas had Dean curl up on the sofa while he checked over him. He healed Dean's superficial wounds and helped start the process of mending his mental ones. As Cas fussed over Dean, he felt a soft kiss on his cheek and looked up to see Dean blushing. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome, Dean." Cas traced his finger over a mark on Dean's leg and felt a chuckle go through Dean.

"It's fascinating. Right now, your hands are healing me." Dean took Cas' hand into his. "Not two hours ago, I watched as these were a force to be reckoned with, protecting me and defending me." Dean pressed a kiss against Cas' knuckles. "That was fucking hot, by the way."

"It was. Conjuring energy, converting it? It gets very hot." Cas smirked, knowing what Dean actually meant.

Dean leaned into Cas and nibbled on his ear. "What else can your hands do, Cas?" Dean kissed Cas' neck and pulled back to look at Cas, patiently waiting for a reply.

"Why don't you head to the bedroom so you can find out, Dean?" Cas replied calmly.

Dean moved as quickly as he could off of the couch and headed towards the bedroom. Giving Dean a chance to get into the bed, Cas found the ribbon linked to Cadin's and snapped it, letting Cadin know that he was fine and that they could return at any time.

Cas laid the ribbon on the table and went to his bedroom. Upon entering, he found Dean laying shirtless in the bed, his smile broadening as he saw Cas. Dean patted the spot on the bed next to him. "You going to show me what else you can do with your hands, Cas?"

"I can." Cas climbed into the bed and laid next to Dean, who turned to face him. "My best party trick is putting someone to sleep." He slowly moved to touch his fingers to Dean's forehead when Dean grabbed his wrist.

"That's sneaky. And low." Dean pouted. "Get me all excited, just to pull a fast one on me."

Cas pulled against him and ran his fingers down Dean's back. "We have all the time in the world for you to find out what I can do with my fingers, Dean." He kissed Dean's forehead. "And I'm looking forward to every moment."

#profoundnet #spncreatorsdaily #writersofdestiel #spnpetra #deancas fic #destiel #spn #spn fic #au - modern with magic #au - witchcraft #witch!cas #Cambion!Dean #Cambion!Sam #john winchester's a+ parenting #nickel writes

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naturepointstheway · 4 years

Note

Writing prompt from angst list: “Forget me.”

In which alt!Max gets a voicemail from Chloe at 3am, that is the kick she needs to actually call her friend for once.

Max wouldn’t call herself a heavy sleeper, but she wasn’t the world’s lightest sleeper either. Nevertheless, her cellphone ringing at whatever time this was in the morning jolted her out of a weird dream to the darkness of her dorm bedroom. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes, taking a few seconds to fully register her phone really was ringing.

Who calls at this hour?

She could grab her cellphone off her night table within arm’s reach, but it was whateverthefuck in the morning and Max rolled over on her other side, curling up under the blankets.

I’ll check later-

Her voicemail cut off the ringing and an automated voice, monotonous and robotic, told Max that she got a call from a number that sounded vaguely familiar at 3:41am.

Probably some stupid scammer.

The strained, feminine voice, sounding almost close to tears, told Max that it was definitely not a scammer.

“Hey Max…”

The speaker was no scammer. It was Chloe Price.

Shit. I’d meant to see her “soon”.

Max would never admit it aloud, that her deep fear of being unpopular, ostracised, always on the outside looking in, wasn’t the only reason she threw herself into becoming part of the Vortex Club. As long as she was partying, smoking pot, going clubbing, and hanging out with the popular crowd, she could forget any guilt over never having visited Chloe despite the latter’s severe disability. Letters, photos, and cards at least took the edge off that guilt, but not by that much.

“It’s…me, Chloe.” A pause, filled with what sounded like an exhalation then a strained, shaky inhalation. “I can’t sleep.”

Now that you’ve woken me up, neither can I.

“The pain’s getting worse…so fucking worse every day…morphine won’t cut it sometimes.” Another sharp inhalation, followed by a deep cough. “My head hurts so much–I want to…Max, I can’t do this anymore. I never have anyone visit me. All my friends bailed on me.” A bitter laugh. “See? I’m just a burden. On my friends, my family, my parents…they can’t even pay the fucking bills. I can’t even go anywhere. I’m fucking sick of it, Max. Fucking sick of being a burden, of having to rely on everyone for everything, even basic shit like…shitting. A fucking baby can do more than me, I might as well be a vegetable.”

In the long silence that followed, broken only by Chloe’s coughing and another strained breath or two, Max curled up into herself under the blankets, wrapping her arms around her knees.

“Max–I understand.”

Understand what?

“…I understand why you won’t visit me. I’m useless, boring–can’t even go to a rave or check out concerts. We’d so sneak into a concert together, right?”

Max couldn’t help a little smile–she’d snuck into numerous concerts that were for 21 and over so many times she needed both hands to count.

“Even getting ready in the morning takes a fucking hour at best. Such bullshit. I want to be a teenager, and that prick who totalled my baby took that from me. At least…at least I have one thing to look forward to.”

My imminent visit in the distant near future, right?

“I’ll be out of this hell before Christmas. My respiratory system is failing, and I–I’m not going to see Christmas. At least then I won’t be a burden on anyone anymore. Even you. I can die, and–and then people can–” A shuddering breath, followed by a soft sound like she was wincing in pain. “Forget me.”

The voicemail beeped, cutting off the message, leaving Max curled up in dark, ringing silence. She just lay there in the dark, pillow cradling her head, sheets tangled around her, the voicemail still echoing in her head. Chloe’s strained breathing, the awful coughing that interrupted her every other sentence, the realisation that she was not okay, like Max had believed for all the years since Chloe’s accident. She’d had the impression all this time that Chloe was being strong, was doing well, no idea all this time that she was, in truth, dying.

She was not okay.

Shit. Shit. I didn’t know. Didn’t know she was–fuck, I thought you were–god, Chloe, I never forgot you. I just thought you were okay.

Max considered going back to sleep and responding in the morning, or just calling Chloe now. She’d called her at weirder hours of night back when Max had lived in Arcadia Bay. Hell, they’d gabbed forever at stupidly early hours of night, talking in nervous whispers and muffled giggles, trying to see how long they could stay up chatting until their parents woke up and told them off for being awake on the phone at 2am.

She could wait until a saner hour, and it was tempting to do so, until Max imagined Chloe lying in the dark, unable to move, with only her thoughts for company–and from what Max heard, not the happiest of thoughts either.

She’s probably still awake now. Chloe, you never told me you were…

Max uncurled herself and rolled over to face her night table again, reaching to grab her phone, unlocking it and going straight to her contacts. It was already four in the morning, still really fucking early to call anyone–unless they were your best friend whom you had no idea was dying from her injuries all this time.

Scrolling through her contacts, Max found Chloe’s number, her finger hovering over the screen, a pang of bittersweet nostalgia in her heart, wishing she had a happier excuse to call her childhood best friend at four in the morning.

Now or never, Max.

She hit the call button, pressing the phone to her ear, waiting for the call to be picked up or go to voicemail. Max counted five rings before they stopped, replaced by Chloe’s sleepy voice, still strained, still so hoarse and quiet. Yet, Max heard that little hopeful note creeping in to her words.

“Max? You’re calling me at this hour?”

“Your call woke me up,” Max whispered, heart beating a little faster–from nervousness or nostalgia, she wasn’t sure which, perhaps both. “I had to call you back. Why’d you never tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re…” Max couldn’t bring herself to say the word dying. “That you won’t see Christmas. That your respiratory system is failing. I had no idea, Chloe. I’d thought you were doing okay. That you were hanging in there, like the strong, stubborn Chloe I know.”

A long silence.

“Chloe?”

“I guess I just–didn’t want to rain on your parade, you know?”

“I really wish you’d just been honest with me, that–” Max’s voice caught in her throat, and she took a deep breath. “You��re not a burden, okay?”

“I am–”

“Not to me. Chloe, there’s no way I want to forget you. Really.”

“Everyone else did. I only ever get letters from you now. Not that you cared enough to visit me yet.”

The bitterness in Chloe’s words was almost too much to bear–if Max had her own car, she’d sneak out right now and drive straight over Chloe’s place.

“Chloe…” Max sat up, wondering if it was worth it to call a taxi, never mind that it was so fucking early. “I actually do care. You matter. Hell, you matter enough that I’m calling you at four in the morning because I hated to let you suffer alone after hearing your voicemail. I had no idea–like no fucking idea–that you’re not as okay as I’d hoped. That you’re in so much pain every day.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Doesn’t mean you should suffer alone, okay?”

“I don’t have much choice do I?”

“Chloe, you don’t have to pretend to be anything, okay? I’m still your best friend, right?”

“…right.”

“Remember when we’d call each other at stupid hours of morning all the time?”

“Happier times.”

Happier times…

“Chloe, promise me, okay? Promise me that you’ll call me anytime. And I do mean anytime. Like one in the fucking morning anytime. Like we used to.”

“A hell of a lot harder now, even with this app.”

“Chloe. Promise me.”

Another silence, before Chloe spoke again.

“Promise.”

“Swear on it.”

A series of coughs interrupted the line from Chloe’s end, followed by a couple more struggling breaths. The line fell quiet for a few moments before Chloe spoke again.

“I swear I’ll call you if I need to talk. Even if it’s one in the morning.”

“You best honour that now, Chloe Price. I know you’d make me do the same too, right?”

“Right.”

“Hell, I’ll call a taxi at three in the morning if I have to, just to come keep you company. Pretty sure your parents won’t mind.”

“They’d love it,” Chloe said, her voice much lighter now, to Max’s relief. “Thanks, Max. I’m…glad you called.”

“So am I. Don’t be a stranger. Even if I’m busy with socialising and homework, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you. Understood?”

“Thanks, Max.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay, Chloe? Swear.”

#Life is Strange #Chloe Price #alt!Chloe #alt!Max #Max Caulfield #Maxine Caulfield

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eats-the-stars · 3 years

Text

ok so i’m probably not going to word this the best, but I think I’ve finally convinced my bro-in-law-to-be (white, straight) that he can’t keep making homophobic/racist jokes around the house or out in public. and for context, he’s actually not a very racist/homophobic dude, but when he hangs out with his dude friends (a group that includes one gay dude, a bi guy, and a black guy) they all tend to throw around those kind of jokes in good humor. which is fine if they’re out laughing it up or whatever. but...not around the house, when none of those people are present to reciprocate.

and the bro-in-law-to-be has explained over and over that “my gay/black friend was the one who said this joke so it’s cool for me to tell it” but...his gay friend is not here to laugh at the joke. his black friend is not here to laugh at his joke. The only people in this house are me (white nonbinary ace or lesbian i’m still figuring it out, also autistic), my sister (white, bi), and our straight white dad who is very racist/homophobic but usually keeps it on the down low since he knows that we do not share his views and WILL debate him if he makes a nasty comment.

So our dad is usually quiet about his messed up thoughts...UNLESS someone says something to indicate “Hey, I’m racist/homophobic, just like you!” and makes it a safe space to suddenly start talking about “the Chinese virus” or “businesses should be allowed to refuse service to gays” and all this other horrible stuff, which then means that my sister and I have to go through another grueling debate with our dad about how “eugenics is bad” and “refusing to bake a cake leads to refusing to lease an apartment and it’s a slippery slope” and EVERY TIME the bro-in-law-to-be has been like “wow i didn’t know your dad thought those things” while my sister and I are like “AND WE WOULDN’T HAVE TO HAVE THIS ARGUMENT AGAIN IF YOU STOPPED TELLING THESE JOKES AND ENCOURAGING HIM TO BE OPENLY RACIST/HOMOPHOBIC.”

I can’t believe we had to explain to my bro-in-law-to-be that ppl who are racist/homophobic keep an ear out for these kind of jokes in order to recognize each other. A joke is the safest way for them to test the waters. If it’s poorly received, they can just brush it off and go “oh it was just a joke, guys, it wasn’t serious, I don’t really think those things, haha.” BUT it also provides the option for ppl to laugh and go “oh yes, that’s a good joke, i’ll tell you an equally horrible joke to prove that i share your beliefs.” and BAM, they’ve identified a fellow racist/homophobe/etc. and now know that they can talk openly in front of this person, or look to them for support if an argument breaks out. And then suddenly the space you’re in has the potential to become very ugly very fast if the majority of people signal that they’re comfortable with this, and then, if you’re a person who doesn’t agree, you have to either step up and try to shut that shit down and potentially put yourself at risk (which can range from actual physical risk to the emotional/mental damage that comes with listening to someone say terrible things about a group you belong to).

And my bro-in-law-to-be has the luxury of not belonging to any of these groups. Which means that if he makes a stupid joke at the wrong time that lights the racist/homophobic/ableist fire in the room, he’s not at risk of getting burnt. At most he’s going to be uncomfortable or feel like “wow that’s horrible” but he won’t actually be at RISK in the same way my sister and I will be. The way anyone else in that room who’s black or gay or autistic will be once he starts that ball rolling.

And right now we’re trying to focus on him not starting those fires inside our house, around our dad. Because my sister and I have tried very hard over the years to try to talk our dad out of a lot of his shitty mindsets and it’s slow progress, but we’ve managed to convince him of small things over time. he’s a lot less ableist and sexist, for example. Those were easier to work on because he has three daughters (us) and we milked that angle hard, and because I’m autistic, which we also milked hard since i was able to convince him to look at me as having expertise about disabilities that made him value my opinion. We’ve also made strides on the homophobia front, too. If I ever figure out that i like girls (still working on that) and actually date a girl, I think he would be uncomfortable at first, but he wouldn’t reject me as his daughter or anything. likewise, if my sister (bi) broke up w/her boyfriend and started dating a girl, he would probably accept that. We know this mostly because our dad apparently thought that our youngest sis (the irony is she’s the only straight one) was dating her bff in high school and was cool with it. Might have a harder time if, like, his grandson turned out to be gay (he’s more accepting of lesbians/wlw??), but we’re working on it, and we got him to accept using our trans friend’s chosen name and pronouns instead of his deadname, which took time (i’m still not out to him as nonbinary, tho. my sister and online peeps are the only ppl who know right now). So we’ve made progress!

But THEN my bro-in-law has to throw dad a bone with these lame jokes that are uncomfortable to hear coming out of his mouth in the first place (why is it always a cis straight white guy who thinks he can tell any kind of joke as long as he “doesn’t mean it”?) and so this has brought back a lot of those old beliefs in our dad that we’ve been trying to smother. These last few years under Trump have already set him back, ngl, but bro-in-law-to-be was not helping.

it’s also so hard to try fighting racism in our dad, partly because our area is so white and most of our POC friends don’t live here anymore (so far our best success is directly exposing him to a person belonging to the group he hates, and slowly letting him see that they’re human. he’s so non-confrontational that he’s not going to say anything in front of the person, either, and we supervise the whole time, and inform our friend beforehand–our trans friend volunteered to help us previously). and you can’t just say “black lives matter because they’re human beings with intrinsic value equal to a white life” because...he’s racist. he’ll debate you all day or say “ok ok” and let the subject drop w/out changing his mind. you literally have to force him to regularly have positive reactions w/a real life person to change him. god...it’s like training a dog or exposure therapy or something but it’s the best we’ve got. it’s not like there’s a school where u can send ur racist parents to learn human decency.

and it’s hard because he’s our dad and we love him and it’s hard to look at someone you love and know that he believes that straight white abled lives have more intrinsic value than anyone else...just because. i hate that we live in a society where so many ppl hate each other for these things. and it’s just...up to everyone else in their lives to decide to do anything about it. and even then, it’s so hard. and our dad is just one person, and we’ve had years and the benefit of him loving us enough to listen. i can’t imagine trying to reform a stranger, or tons of ppl all at once...

#2020 #personal #racism #homophobia #it's one thing to hang out w/a bunch of LGBT+ pals and joke around #or to make jokes w/in your marginalized group #like here on tumblr it's generally fine to do that #i can make 'random thing' gave me autism jokes #or joke and say that i'm getting extra vaccines to level up to super saiyan autism #but i would never make those jokes around my conservative aunts #because i know that they genuinely believe that vaccines cause autism #and they would turn my joke into a debate #or literally not gonna lie ask me if i think 'random thing' really did give me autism #ah...but even then it's not the same as my bro-in-law because i AM autistic...#he's making gay jokes even tho he's straight #and like yeah ok w/ur friends who know ur not serious that's fine #but if you're in a room full of strangers and you make a joke like that #you're suddenly opening up a chance for the new topic of discussion to be something like #'should businesses be able to refuse service to gay people?' or 'should autistic ppl be allowed to reproduce?'#and BAM suddenly that space is very hostile for any gay/autistic/etc ppl #while bro-in-law will remain safe because he's not any of those things #which means his silly jokes are really hard for me to find funny at any time actually #because some ppl LITERALLY THINK THOSE THINGS #about ME PERSONALLY #i have to take these things seriously because they can affect my life #and i think it's kind of wild that it's the straight white dude who feels comfortable enough to throw these kind of #unfunny jokes around. like i get it he can just laugh and walk away but uh not everybody can do that #and there's a difference between cracking a gay joke on your liberal college campus #and cracking the same joke at your conservative family reunion #like just...don't do it please

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bubbletimestories · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Beck (Quentin/reader)

Summary: The story of how Quentin Beck is so bored during confinement that he decides to find a damsel in distress for Mysterio. Except he falls on your profile and you start to trot him in the head. Between the heat, the confinement and the fact that he can send drones to observe whoever he wants, Quentin could well lose his mind.

Warnings: stupid Beck, he’s an asshole, as usual. Broken mug.

Themes: love, obsession, being bored, quarantine

A/N. This is not an ad for Smule (the application used at the end) but it is true that it relaxes. I especially wanted to stage a slightly stupid Beck and the fact that he sings ^^ Fic written quickly, without proofreading, for fun.

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540031 (eng)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539569 (fr)

*************************************************************************

Everything was ready for the big appearance of Mysterio, for the Elemental’s very first attack which would bring a whole new hero into the spotlight. Everything, absolutely everything was ready. And then the Covid struck.

At first, no one really cared, they weren't planning to launch any of their virtual creatures in China. A little Asian virus was not going to steal them the limelight in the newspapers, not against an earth giant or a walking tornado. But the little Asian virus did not stop there and we all know that in the space of a few months, the whole world was frozen behind thick windows. When the confinement was announced, more than one citizen felt a ball of anxiety crushing their throat, but it was nothing compared to the dull terror experienced by all the members of the "Mysterio" team. Being locked up is one thing, but when the greatest danger is cloistered between four walls with you, the global pandemic seems very slight.

The confinement was declared several weeks ago, the spirits are still heating up but many have already resigned themselves to having to wait quietly for the sun to shine on them again. Speaking in a low voice in a corner of the warehouse that has served as their home for far too long, Janice laments, carefully dusting the costume of the hero who does not yet exist.

"There is at least one good thing ... the helmet fits perfectly with the rules of hygiene. "

Victoria chuckles behind her back, recovering almost immediately with a concerned look upstairs, where their leader has taken up residence. Amid the debris of drones and other shattered objects, he turns in circles like a tiger in a cage, his slender figure cutting against the smoked glass window. Impossible to launch their great illusion now, it would be ridiculous to see a monster devastating a deserted city. No drama, no tension, it would have as much effect as a wet firecracker. So they have to wait, wait again, praying a little louder every day so that the operation chief does not commit murder. When he grabbed the hammer lying there yesterday, everyone held their breath as they imagined their last hour arriving.

" Hello everybody ! "

A cheerful voice startles the two women as Quentin descends the shaky staircase to mingle with the crowd, his face radiant and freshly shaven. He greeted everyone, patting one on the shoulder, saying funny word to an other, his irresistible charming smile on his lips. He’s sorry for yesterday, he got a little carried away, nothing serious. After all, there are worse things than being stuck here with friends. It gives them time to discuss, to refine certain details, to perfect what they have prepared with such care. Maybe they could think about how to add a little emotion to their script, although the tearful story of the bereaved soldier is already a great teardrop. Finally, he comes up to the costumer, slipping a hand behind her back, leaning over to watch her work.

- I am always impressed by the detail of this cape, all these hours of work… - It's ... it's because it's for you, Quentin.

The young man smiles and darts his blue eyes on Janice, just long enough to see her lose all means. It is easy for Beck to lead his world, a simple look is enough for him, a smile or a well-placed word opens all the doors. He decides to prepare a coffee before returning to see the seamstress, taking the opportunity to exchange a few words with Guterman on the story they have invented, the alliance on his finger... After having recovered the drone control bracelet to be able to check certain settings by speaking (he likes to be able to play with them), Quentin returns to his armor which he examines with a critical eye. Suddenly, his face darkens as he points to a small scratch on the shiny surface.

" What is that ? "

There is silence all around them although the tone of the young man has remained calm and playful. Janice suddenly feels in balance on the razor's edge and explains like a mother would talk to her son, if the latter was armed with a butcher's knife.

"Well ... it's a trace of past battles. The story of the Quentin Beck fighter will be more credible if the public sees traces of wear on the armor. "

He was the one who made this remark, insisting strongly that small details are the glue of good lies and that it should be as true as possible. The team leader nods slowly when he hears this common sense answer.

"More credible for the public ... it is for the public to believe in it ..."

With a great movement, he smashes the happily empty cup on the edge of the desk. He doesn't even pay attention to the handle that remains in his hand while the rest of the ceramic lies in a thousand pieces around him. His immense eyes give off a burning anger, unless it is madness dancing in flames in his angelic pupils.

"The audience will see what I want them to see. They'll believe what I want them to believe. Everything must be absolutely perfect, I mean PERFECT, for the arrival of Mysterio and perfection does not admit a scratch on the armor! "

He laughs as he steps aside, his fingers absently gliding across the control screen to make the drones fly, these obedient extensions of himself. Unlike others whose metal tentacles are the real masters, he can fully rely on the robots that roar around the warehouse, their weapons out and ready to fire. Quentin walks slowly, scratching his thin beard, deeply saddened by the fact that he has to live with people who fail to meet his ideal.

"I invest myself body and soul, we are all investing body and soul in this adventure, to make all these years of work something more important than stupid therapy for an alcoholic billionaire. All this hard work shouldn't go up in smoke because of a little mistake. "

No one dares to answer for fear of being shot in the head. Beck seems to regain his calm as he gently places the broken handle on the costumer's desk. The latter, tense of apprehension, feels uneasy when she feels a hand go up along her back to her shoulder, pressing gently as for a massage. The contact, as unexpected as it is sensual, is accompanied by a warm breath that disturbs the strands near her ear.

"Janice, Janice, Janice, you are a pearl ... Forgive me for this moodiness, I'm sure you can rectify that without problem. "

The woman nods vigorously and the drones all disarm together to return to land in their corner, their leader smiling, whispering before standing up.

"I knew I could count on you, honey. "

He can count on everyone here, they are a very close-knit team. Why these burial faces? It's a good day. Quentin regains his good humor, as do his comrades, as if the mug incident no longer existed. Well, since they're stuck here, why not put a little spice in the frame of their future hero? The young man has been thinking about it for a few days, but finding a damsel in distress would be a way for Mysterio to gain points. Who doesn't love rescue stories with a hint of romance? It's decided, he will take advantage of this confinement to choose the ideal candidate as others would peel the dating sites.

“We will find the ideal pigeon for our history. "

That's it, he is again totally focused and excited by their project, which reassures more than one person in the group. They are coming together, it will be like a game where everyone will judge the female profiles, even if the last word will obviously go to Beck. The latter settles down quietly, letting Will do the research and project the images using drones (they are very useful for watching a film). Quentin's eyes sparkle as he imagines the perfect prey, the one who will swoon in his arms under the applause of the crowd.

"She has to be pretty but not vulgar, not a bimbo or a brainless doll. Nor should she be too self-confident or intelligent, that would sound elitist. It is out of the question to take a teenager or an old woman, maybe a few years younger than me and obviously without disability, I don't want anyone to think that it is out of charity. Besides, she must be able to run and shout my name. Skin color doesn't matter, I'm not picky. "

Despite this last sentence, William realizes that his boss will not take the first young lady and it is by mopping the sweat on his forehead that he begins his research, going from photo to photo, from a Facebook, LinkedIn profile to another at the whim of "no", "no", "too cliché", "too ugly" from his leader. Hours go by and no woman really finds favor in Quentin's eyes, in his quest for perfection. If only he had a really clear idea of what he wants ...

- Walentyna Chmielewska… - Unpronounceable. - Alina Baez, dermathologist… - No - Y/N, she is currently in… - Ordinary - Christina Liang, professional dancer. - Lesbian, take a better look at her profile.

With an annoyed sigh, Quentin puts an end to this game which no longer amuses him, which in fact no longer amuses anyone. He will look for a young woman on his own, it will be simpler and faster. He therefore goes back to his office, giving free time to his team, eager to take advantage of a little calm. All the glimpses seen mix in his mind with a crisp buzz, hundreds of fake smiles, photoshoped skin and seductive poses. Although a photo trots in his head, very clear compared to the fog of other female figures. He found you ordinary and didn't even take the time to reflect on who you are.

Y/N... You are far from having a beauty of a model and besides, you don't seem to know how to pose or show off, even in selfies. But there's something in your eyes, in your way of smiling as if you were thinking of something secret that catches Quentin's attention. Since there is nothing else to do, he will be busy for an hour or two. Peeling your Facebook page turns out to be excruciatingly fast, you post nothing, your likes being limited to a few trivialities. Empty Instagram account, the only source of information is from your LinkedIn profile. If your photos reveal a blatant lack of narcissism or even self-confidence, your professional career shows that you are far from being stupid. You even have a higher level of education than Beck, which should offend his pride. He has rejected more than one profile for fear of being overshadowed, he likes to be the smartest one in the room. But no, you don't seem aware of your genius or you don't care.

"A girl like you posts more than that ..."

It is sure, you must have a pseudonym to browse other sites. Finding which alias you use takes him longer than he would like to admit, but when he finds out, it's the cave of wonders that opens before his eyes. Starting with your Tumblr account, nourished for years with your obsessions of the moment : fandoms, ships of all kinds. If a man's heart goes through his stomach, yours goes through your passions. With infinite fun, Quentin discovers what makes you vibrate, sometimes laughing with you in front of some funny posts.

Outside the office, the atmosphere gradually returns to normal. The debris from the cup are swept away, the drones carefully stored out of sight. Beck's absence gives the team some respite and they take advantage of it while it lasts. They do not know that a young qualified woman of some sort is currently occupying their chief, making him smile without even having met you. Without saying that you are fascinating, the engineer discovers you day after day, layer after layer, first the intelligent woman then the obsessive fan. Finally, he comes across a nugget, an oil well: AO3.

He should have suspected it, you love to write, it's an uncontrollable impulse that takes you to your body and pushes you to strum furiously on your computer for long hours. When he starts reading your fics, Beck likes to imagine you in front of your screen, shortness of breath and dilated pupils, letting the stream of words flow freely at your fingertips. Even if he is not really interested in these fandoms of which you speak, he swallows one, two, five fics without realizing it, carried away by your style. He imagines you as the reader, chatting with fictional characters, quivering under their caresses in your few writings for adults. Hidden behind your screen, you expose yourself and reveal a sensuality that cannot be totally imaginary, totally fictitious. You have written several since the beginning of confinement, translating your thirst for adventure, your hunger for physical contact, with a touch of humor. But do you only have experience in body and love games? It is not certain and it is all the more exciting: he can make you discover sensations that you hitherto only partially imagined.

Without even knowing it, you creep into the mind of the young man to occupy his thoughts, ghost or fantasy that has nothing to do with the companion he wanted for Mysterio. You are neither magnificent nor the kind to languish against a hero in armor, but Quentin does not think of you for his avatar. He imagines you with him, behind the smoke screen, impressed by his ideas and his virtuosity. Confinement is bad for him and he spends most of his time with you, in thought, until he decides to go further with the discovery. He wants to see you, not only in pictures but moving, living. Without really telling the rest of his team, he sets out to send a drone outside, devoured by curiosity. After all, if he has to make you the love interest of Mysterio, it is normal that he learns as much as possible, he is the perfectionist type.

This is not really voyeurism, he does not intend to spy on you in intimate moments and, anyway, he could only see through the windows. Feeding his obsession, Quentin does not care about the surprised or even disapproving whispers which fill the warehouse a little more every day. Opinions are divided between those who find that their leader goes too far, especially using their precious drones, and others who see this little break as a deliverance. As long as Beck is busy elsewhere, the team is safe from his rage. Even though citizens are cloistered at home for their security, Quentin sees the world scrolling from his small screen as one could walk on Google maps. You're not hard to find, sitting at your desk above your study books. Since the announcement of confinement, your brain has paused and you can’t work, even for an hour. Not knowing you are being watched, you breathe a dramatic sigh while rocking back, arms dangling on each side of your chair.

"I'm so lazy..."

Your unsightly and totally natural posture has something comical, especially for the one who spies on you, drinking from you for days. You look younger than he thought, maybe because of your loose t-shirt that makes you look like a teenager. It’s strange to hear your voice for the first time, as if you suddenly became real. The ambient heat makes your skin shine and you get up by shaking your top to get some air under the fabric, still grumbling. Beck loses nothing of your movements or the detail of your silhouette with full curves that terry shorts absolutely do not hide. He suddenly wants to be really close to you, to feel your thighs streaked with white under his fingers, to hear his first name in your mouth. What is your laughter like? What does your skin taste like? Do you like popcorn in the movies? It’s totally unrealistic, stupid and even perverse to be so interested in you. He really has nothing to do with his days to be so bitten. He hadn't been spying on a woman for years, it was the withdrawn and bizarre teenager who resurfaced. Today, he can have all the women he wants with a snap of his fingers and yet he still finds himself fantasizing about a chance encounter, a way of approaching you.

"Show yourself instead of looking at me from afar, it's scary. "

Immersed in his thoughts, Quentin jumps when he hears you say that, he made sure to hide the drone, you cannot have seen it and even if it was, you cannot react so calmly by knowing you were being spied on. An icy chill runs down his back but you are not looking in the right direction, your eyes lowered towards a ball of hair which comes to rub against your legs. A cat, you were talking to your cat.

« Since you're here, I consider that you send me a sign. No more work, I relax. »

Always ready to see signs of the universe when it comes to not working, you close your book and get a headset and your phone, your thumb fluttering at high speed on the cold surface of your screen in a gesture automatic. Intrigued, Quentin bends down slightly to observe your strange ride, the way you walk back and forth by adjusting the microphone of your headset before clearing your throat. Are you about to call a friend? You dance slightly while staring at your screen, marking a rhythm that only you hear while continuing to stroll under the bewildered gaze of your voyeur. What are you doing ?

In sleep, he sang to me In dreams, he came That voice which calls to me And speaks my name…

You sing ... you sing into your micro while holding your phone, your voice soaring up to the drone as you smile without being able to stop yourself, as if you were on a Broadway scene, simmering with excitement. Hidden in his warehouse, Beck does not believe his senses ... Not only do you sing well but you are simply magnificent, radiant with simple joy, thinking you are alone in the world. Thinking that you’re out of sight and criticism, you have fun without shame and it makes you beautiful. Fascinated, the young man who shakes an entire team of engineers, who is only animated by the burning fire of pride and revenge, has eyes only for you. Without realizing it, he begins to sing too, joining you softly for what is technically a duet. When the song ends and you catch your breath, Quentin lets out a satisfied laugh. He holds his solution to approach you, not as Mysterio but as... himself : he will join you on this application and sing with you.

More cheesy, you die.

#fanfiction #quentin beck/reader #Quarantine Beck #Covid-19 fic

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clintashaotp · 5 years

Text

Author’s note/summary: Flashback to 2012 fics. Clintasha! :) it’s a little long, but ya know, it happens. Enjoy!

Just a Game

2935 Words

Friday, 5:43 PM

“Say you yield,” Natasha growls against Clint’s ear, her gun pressed against his ribs. “Yield and I won’t shoot you.”

“Nice try, Nat,” Clint manages, but before Natasha can register what he means she feels something sting and her arm twitches with an electric shock. She jerks away from his hand taser and almost drops her gun.

“Cheater!” Natasha shouts, her normally neat hair in a wild braid. Clint just cackles evilly, but when Natasha raises her gun and turns off the safety, Clint freezes.

“You wouldn’t actually shoot me, Natasha,” Clint says nervously, and Natasha shrugs, walking towards him menacingly.

“I don’t know,” she smiles, “maybe, maybe not.”

“It was just a stupid game, Nat.” Clint frowns, but the fear for his own life is too imminent for him to just ignore the weapon pointed at his face. “Natasha?”

“Was it a game when you painted my room pink?” Natasha is still smiling, but her voice is dripping with poison. “Was it a game when you traded in my guns for water pistols? Oh, and I’m assuming it was all fun and games when you decided to filled my SHIELD office with packing peanuts?”

“Nat, I’m so sorry,” Clint winces, and she just glares.

“Goodbye, Clint.”

She raises the gun and fires without hesitation.

...

Monday, 2:38 PM

“Fury said it’s a team bonding activity?” Tony shrugs, not looking up from the screen. “So, being me, I went above and beyond.”

“With capture the flag?” Natasha scoffs, and Tony shoots her a look.

“Red, you should know by now--I can make anything awesome.”

Clint and Natasha exchange a look, but Banner looks nervous.

“I don’t know if this is a great idea for me, Tony,” he winces. “I think I might...what’s the word? Oh yeah, murder you all?”

“Don’t worry, Bruce,” Tony grins, “you’ll be playing in the Hulkbuster, so there’s no way you’ll hulk out.”

“I don’t think the Hulk listens to those rules.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Tony shrugs, then gestures everyone to crowd around the hologram table. “Alright, capture the flag players, here are your boundries. I’ve managed to turn the entire Avengers Facility and the surrounding areas into an equally divided field of play. JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you please put the grid boundaries in effect, real time?”

The team turns around to watch a golden light appear, shining from floor to ceiling in a solid laser pointer beam. The line extends outside of the control room and out of sight, where it presumably marks the halfway point across the whole territory.

‘Woah…” Clint gasps, and Natasha just sighs.

“You live in the same building as arguably one of the most advanced mechanics out there, and he makes our house into a laser tag room and it impresses you?” She smirks at him, and Clint shrugs.

“I like the pretty lights, what can I say?”

“Since it’s fun and not a mission, I’m not going to let Cap bore us all by talking two hours to pick times.” Tony smirks at the group and Steve sighs.

“Tony…”

“You don’t need a pros and cons list every time, Rogers,” Tony throws up his hands, on the edge of a rant, but he takes a deep breath. “But that’s not what this is about.”

“Well, I think basing teams off of strengths—” Steve tries, but Tony cuts him off with a long sigh.

“The teams are Natasha, me, and Thor, and then Steve, Clint and the doctor.” Tony says firmly. Natasha and Clint exchange a look, and apparently Tony picks up on it because he grins. “Yeah, I gotta split up the master assassins over here. Sorry, lovebirds, but you gotta break it up for just a while.”

“Fine,” Natasha shrugs nonchalantly, and Clint just nods indifferently. “Not a problem. I’ll still kick all your asses.”

“You know, expect for the people in our team,” Tony grins nervously, and Thor laughs.

“You only put the Widow on your team because you didn’t want her to attack you!” Thor points out, and Natasha raises an eyebrow while the rest of the team chuckles.

“That’s totally not true,” Tony glares, and Natasha just shakes her head.

“When do we start?” She asks.

“Well, I’ve designed each team a different colored uniform. Our team will wear these awesome red uniforms, and you guys get...purple.” Tony grins, apparently thinking that purple was a punishment.

“What’s wrong with purple?” Clint frowns, but before Clint can launch into his defensive rant about purple, Tony hands out the uniforms. They are essentially normal workout clothes in the color of the team, except Steve’s purple workout clothes are embossed with purple Stars and Stripes of various shades.

“Each team member gets a holographic communication device, or an HCD of my creation. You can communicate with your team members and see a holographic image of the playing field and your location on the field at any time. you know, unless I disable it.”

Tony hands out the watches, and Steve groans when Tony hands him a red white and blue wristwatch.

“Tony…” Steve sighs, but Tony just grins, not even bothering to address it.

“All teams may now convene on their sides to discuss. My team stays here, and Clint, your team can take a hike, my man.” Tony smirks. “The flags are literally flags, and it’s near your jail. You have five minutes to hide it, and when JARVIS announces the beginning of game play, you can go.”

“Sounds good,” Clint shrugs, and Banner and Steve follow him past the laser grid and out of sight down the hallway.

...

“Alright team,” Tony grind wickedly. “What are you thinking for strategy?”

“Tasers are always good,” Natasha muses, “Maybe stun guns. Anything to knock them out of commission.”

“Um, it’s a game,” Tony raises an eyebrow at her, but Thor cuts Tony off.

“I agree with Natasha, we need weapons if we are going to best the other team.” The god rumbles, and Tony suddenly feels very small next to the giant god and the deadly assassin.

“Uh, okay.” Tony shrugs. “JARVIS, please make an announcement that non lethal weapons are allowed in gameplay.”

“Non lethal?” Natasha groans. “Boring.”

“It’s a game!” Tony gapes at her, and JARVIS relays his message over the loudspeakers.

“Three minutes till gameplay,” the AI adds and Tony jumps.

“We gotta hide the flag!” He scrambles for the piece of cloth only to see Thor grinding at him in amusement. “Where’s the flag? Where’s Natasha?”

“She chose to hide our flag while you were conversing with your JARVIS.” Thor chuckles, and Tony just groans.

“She’s going to kill me in my sleep one day.”

...

On the other side of the laser grid, Clint and Steve gather as many weapons as they can in a barricade.

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be,” Banner says nervously, and Steve shrugs.

“Every soldier counts.”

“I’m not a soldier, Steve. I’m literally a murderous monster, so...”

“So you’re even more helpful!” Clint grins from where he’s strapping grenades to his arms.

“Oh god.” Banner sighs. “Alright, what’s our strategy?”

“I’ll crawl up through the vents, and Steve will guard the border. Bruce, you stay close to the flag with a stun gun and shoot without mercy.” Clint says with finality and Steve nods.

“Good plan. But won’t they expect you to come from the vents?”

“I’m counting on it,” Clint nods. “Natasha will try to taser me but if I get her early on and get her out, she won’t bother us for the rest of the game.”

“Smart,” Bruce nods in approval.

“One minus till game play,” JARVIS says over the speakers.

“Bruce, you hide the flag.” Steve instructs, strapping his shield to his back. “Clint, lets move out.”

“Wait, where do I hide it?” Bruce tries, but Steve and Clint have already started jogging towards the borderline and Bruce just sighs. “This is going to be a long game.”

...

“The game will begin in twenty seconds,” says the voice room the ceiling. On both sides of the border, players tense, checking guns and making sure knives are strapped tight. “Ten seconds.” Natasha brushes her hair back from her face and twirls her butterfly knife between her fingers expertly. “Five seconds.” Clint adjusts his quiver and straps his bow tightly against his back. “Four. Three. Two. One. Let the first annual Stark Hunger Games begin!” JARVIS says loudly over the speakers, and everyone but Tony groans.

Without hesitation, Clint scrambles into the vents and begins the crawl as quietly as he can through the metal pipes.

“Thor,” Natasha whispers through her com. “Get to the vent exit in the kitchen. Clint’s going to drop down there. Get him and bring him to jail.”

“Message received,” Thor’s whisper is far from quiet but Natasha elects to ignore it. She listens for a moment and can hear the telling scrape of metal on metal above her to let her know that Clint’s making his way to the kitchen.

“Gotcha,” she grind to herself, then sprints towards the border.

...

Clint drags himself forward on his forearms as he comes up on the first vent exit. Leaning down, he sees Thor sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of orange juice, and it takes all the self control he has not to snort as the god chugs the glass and burps loudly. Clint shakes his head. Natasha must have figured he’d come through here, but the jokes on her.

He pulls out an electrocution arrow from his quiver as quietly as he can in the cramped space, and pulls his bow off his back. In one swift movement Clint kicks the vent open, notches the arrow and shoots Thor straight in the chest. The electricity sparks and the god falls to the ground, twitching. Clint grins, pulling the grate backup and strapping his bow back on. Silently, he continues his crawl through the vents with a triumphant smile on his face.

...

Steve softens his footsteps nears the border, shield raises. If Clint hasn’t already been ambushed, Steve’s the next best option to getting the flag.

Steve passes through the laser grid silently and surveys the territory. The room appears empty, so Steve walks cautiously towards the door on the far side, walking carefully to avoid creaky floor boards.

“Steve!” Clint’s voice echoes from his watch and Steve curses under his breath, ducking behind one of the couches in the living room.

“What?” Steve hisses, “I literally just crossed the line.”

“Natasha got past me,” Clint whispers. “I think I got Thor, but she’s still in play and she’s close to the border.”

“Yes she is,” a cheery voice says from behind him, and Steve raises his shield just in time to block a gunshot. He curses, rolling behind the couch and assessing his options.

“Language,” Natasha laughs and Steve just groans.

“Tony said only non lethal weapons,” Steve sighs and he hears Natasha chuckle.

“I heard him.” She laughs. “C’mon, Cap. Worst things worst, I tag you and you go to jail.”

“No, worst case scenarios is you shot me!” Steve scoffs indignantly, and he turns his head to see where she is only to come face to face with the assassin, who had snuck up on him while he was looking around for her. Steve freezes, and Natasha grins widely. She reaches out a long manicured fingernail and bops him on the nose.

“You’re out.” She smiles sweetly, and Steve groans. “Have fun in jail, soldier.”

Steve walks towards the hall that leads to the jail as Natasha reaches for her com.

“Tony, we got our first prisoner. Watch Steve, make sure he doesn’t get out.”

Tony answer affirmatively and Natasha disappears behind a doorway and out of sight.

...

Thor wakes up with a headache and an empty bottle of orange juice in his hand.

The memory comes flooding back to him and he groans. The god of thunder, bested by electricity.

He sighs and sits up, fumbling for his hammer. It sits on the counter, and Thor flips it casually in his hand. Time to cross into enemy territory.

Thor slips through the laser barrier quietly, but as soon as he gets into the living room he trips over a table and the lamp in the table falls to the floor and shatters. Thor guiltily tried to put the pieces back on the table, but its shattered. Thor sighs, then adjusts his grip on his hammer and continues through the room. After combing through the living room and the home theatre, Thor walks into the back porch to see the golden flag sparkling on top of the outdoor fire place.

“Found you,” the god laughs triumphantly, and he grabs his watch. “Natasha and Stark, I have found the—”

A powerful fist cuts him off and Thor goes flying into the glass doors, which shatter. Thor looks up to see the Hulk standing in front of him, looking very annoyed.

“Go to jail, tiny human.” Hulk rumbles, and Thor sighs.

“What, you’re not going to apologize?”

At Hulk’s angry growl, Thor backs away slowly.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go to jail.”

“Jail right here.” Hulk points to the laser bars that Thor hadn’t noticed sitting next to the flag.

“Oh, super.” Thor sighs. “We get to spend some quality time together.”

“Don’t be mean.” Hulk pounds his fist into his palm and Thor scrambles into the jail before Hulk decides to express his annoyance.

...

After about twenty minutes of waiting, Steve grows impatient. Tony’s annoying, and science jokes get old after the first few. Steve reaches for his watch to com Clint again, but a loud, resounding crash echoes from the main room of the house, and Tony and Steve both freeze.

“What was that?” Steve asks slowly and Tony frowns.

“Damned if I know,” Tony shrugs, but both his and Steve’s coms go off at the same time.

“Spider lady and hawk man are fighting.” Hulk‘s low, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.

At the same time, Thor’s booming voice overlaps with Hulk’s, “Uh, Tony, I think Clint and Natasha are trying to kill each other.”

“Uh oh,” Tony mutters, then presses a few buttons on his watch and his voice comes through all three cons. “Alright guys, lets pause the gameplay and go break up the fight, huh?”

A chorus of affirmative answers cracked through the com and Steve and Tony sprint down the hall to see Clint and Natasha wrestling on the floor. Clint has Natasha’s head pulled back, a gun against her head, and Natasha’s butterfly knife is pressed against Clint’s windpipe, hard enough to draw beads of blood.

“I tagged you first,” Natasha huffs, struggling to get out of his grasp, but Clint just tightens his bicep around her neck.

“I tagged you first and you know it,” he hisses and Natasha growls at him dangerously.

“Alright, I’m going to intervene,” Tony laughs nervously, and both assassins glare at him, not relaxing their grip on their weapons.

“What?” Natasha snaps and Tony winces, slightly terrified.

“Um, this was just supposed to be a fun game...and I think it got a bit out of hand, so...”

“Back out if you want, Stark,” Clint laughs, “but Tasha and I have some scores to settle.”

“I’ll just check the security cam, okay?” Tony says, slowly grabbing his iPad that he set on the counter. “Alright? Lets look...just...let go of each other.”

Clint reluctantly drops the gun and releases his hold on Natasha, who lifts her knife from his neck and closes it hesitantly.

Tony pulls up the security cam on his iPad and flips through the frames quickly.

“Okay, I found it.” Tony waves them over, and the whole team crowds around the iPad to watch.

Tony flicks through the footage frame by frame to see Natasha’s hand snag the back of Clint’s shoulder a fraction of a second before his hand hit her hair, and Natasha shrieks in triumph.

“This isn’t over.” Clint growls at her, and she smirks.

“Oh please, Clinton, you lost. What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to get you back if it’s the last thing I do.” Clint says menacingly, and he turns to dramatically exit the room when he rubs face first into the last person he expected to see at the compound.

“And here I was taking team bonding would work out,” Fury sighs, shaking his head, and Clint just sighs.

“You ruined my exit,” Clint huffs under his break and Fury raises his eyebrows.

“Did I now?” Fury scoffs. “You and Romanoff are assigned to paperwork duty for a month thanks to you.”

Natasha groans behind him and scurries out of the room before she can throw her knife at him.

...

The reckoning came for Natasha, however, and even though she found Clint’s variety of pranks extremely annoying, she had to admit he did a pretty good revenge job.

But when she arrived to do her paperwork, and her office was filled with packing peanuts, she decided she had reached her limit. Clint Barton needed to know he had messed with the wrong assassin.

...

Friday, 5:43 PM

The stun gun hits him straight in the chest and Clint falls to the floor, twitching as electrical currents bounce through his muscles. Natasha brushes her hands together with finality.

“I tagged you first,” she nods at his unconscious body.

“Agent Romanoff?” The familiar voice rings behind her, and Natasha doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“Dammit.”

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clintasha #avengers #marvel #otp #tony stark #steve rogers #thor odinson #bruce banner #nick j fury #original 6 #fanfic #clintashaotp fanfic

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years

Text

We Voted for Murderers

65.2%.

That’s the percentage of people who voted for the Conservative candidate in my constituency, and I feel completely heartbroken. See, things have properly gone to shit.

If we’re talking numbers?

Local councils estimate the number of people sleeping rough on any given night between 2010 and 2018 has risen from 1,768 to 4,677, a 165% increase. The Trussell Trust, the UK’s largest food bank charity, has reported a 5,146% increase in emergency food parcels being distributed since 2008. An 8% cut in spending per school pupil since 2009. Funding from central government to local government cut by 60% in that same period. £37 billion less spent on working-age social security compared to over a decade ago by 2020. A 90% fall in the number of social homes being built since 2010. A £7,300,000 decrease in funding for women’s shelters between 2011 and 2017. Don’t even get me started on the government’s treatment of the NHS.

I’ve heard stories of individuals applying for PIP due to mental illness being berated about suicide attempts and the likelihood of another as part of a “formal interview” process to see whether they qualify. People collapsing in job centre queues, freezing to death on the streets and the elderly in their homes, suicides whilst on never ending mental healthcare waiting lists. In fact, 17,000 sick and/or disabled individuals have died whilst waiting for PIP payments to come through, and in total, UCL researchers have linked 120,000 deaths to austerity (I’m not going to comment on the irony of my former university that’s notoriously lacklustre when it comes to giving a fuck about the wellbeing of its students publishing this unless...I just did?). 8 years of negligent homicide of the most vulnerable people in our society under the Conservative government and we voted them back in.

So I ask, are people really stupid enough to believe that the politicians responsible for this mess are the ones who are going to fix it just because they make a few characteristically empty promises on TV or does the British public at large really give even less of a fuck about other people than I thought? As in actually not give a fuck about people dying?

I have to tell myself it’s the former. The press’ treatment of Jeremy Corbyn and Labour was scathing.

Corbyn, a man who has stood by the same principles of fairness, justice, and equality, for the entirety of his career, was criticised by the likes of The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Telegraph, for being indecisive and a threat to this country whilst Boris Johnson, a man who can barely string a sentence together when he is asked to give a straight answer to something and blocked the release of a report covering Russian interference in British politics, was held up as the one people should put their faith in.

I know, the press are never going to be completely neutral. But shouldn’t they at least be committed to integrity? And the truth? Isn’t that the WHOLE FUCKING POINT of journalism? I’ve been hearing the phrase “post-truth world” thrown around a lot and it’s probably an indication of my privilege that it was only with this election that I properly understood what that meant; it was found by the NGO First Draft just 2 days before the election, damage way past the point of done, that 88% of the Conservative Party’s Facebook ads (compared to 0% of Labour’s ads) contained misleading information. The repercussions were non-existent. After Boris Johnson’s claim that Jeremy Corbyn wanted to raise corporation and income tax to the highest levels in Europe was publicised, only Channel 4′s Factcheck website published the actual statistics (France, Belgium, Portugal and Greece all have much higher corporation tax rates than Labour’s proposal). Similarly, in many constituencies, the Lib Dems were posting fliers where Labour candidates were, in the previous election, the runner ups to the Conservative candidate, claiming that it was instead THEIR party’s candidate who had the highest chance of unseating the latter. Days before the election, the headline of one of Britain’s most highly circulated papers claimed that a Corbyn government would plunge us into a crisis the likes of which “we haven’t seen the Second World War”, which is kind of wild considering that 130,000 preventable deaths have been linked to austerity under the Conservative government compared to 70,000 civilian deaths in said war. Not that either is good, obviously, and I can’t believe I have to point that out. But then, right-wingers did paint Jeremy Corbyn as a monster for passing up watching the Queen’s Christmas Day speech to volunteer at a homeless shelter, so I thought I’d just cover my back, y’know.

Shouldn’t there be standards that the media is held to? You know, like not making slanderous statements about some politicians that have no actual basis in fact whilst brushing over the statements of others. Whilst the PM’s father Stanley Johnson was on nation television calling the public illiterate, and Jacob Rees-Mogg was blaming the Grenfell victims deaths on their “lack of common sense”, and Michael Gove was stating that people who needed to use food banks had brought it on themselves because they were not “best able to manage their finances”, it was Jeremy Corbyn who was being called an enemy of the people, accused of trying to plunge us into a “Marxist hell”...I mean, if Denmark and Norway and Finland with some of the highest living standards in the world are “Marxist hell”s then sure, that’s what he’s doing. But that’s a hell I’m sure a lot of people would find much comfier than a freezing cold pavement. Before Labour had even released their (fully-costed!) manifesto, barefaced lies were being published about how much it would cost and how it would plunge us into trillions of pounds worth of debt, as if it hasn’t increased from £1 trillion to £1.8 trillion in the years since David Cameron took office. Meanwhile, when Labour did publish their manifesto and the Financial Times published a letter signed by 163 prominent economists and academics backing their spending plans? Crickets. Nothing sums it up better than the debate around Jeremy Corbyn’s alleged anti-semitism, discussed ad-nauseam whilst Boris Johnson’s actual racism, islamophobia, misogyny and classism, RIGHT OUT OF THE HORSE’S MOUTH, was completely ignored by most news outlets.

You know what, maybe people earning £85k just DON’T want to pay an extra £3 in tax a week to make sure children get an education. Maybe everybody IS just as selfish as that one twat on Question Time who got all red in the face over the prospect of having to give up an amount less than the cost of a tub of Ben and Jerrys a week. But if that’s true, this isn’t a country I want to live in at all, or a planet I want to live on, really. I hope it’s not. I hope it’s a case of a need for some kind of collective realisation that the Sun ain’t shit. Merseyside did it. The younger generation are catching on. And look at the results there.

Labour probably couldn’t fulfil ALL of their promises. No political party is perfect. I was told again and again how unrealistic those promises were as if that was enough to make me go ”oh...I guess I’ll vote for 4 more years of people dying in the streets instead”. Yes, in an ideal world, the entire manifesto would be made a reality, but it depended on far too many rich people being good and honest. Let’s be real-the elite will always find a way to avoid paying their fare share on the premise that they “earned it”, as if anybody earns billions by sheer hard work alone and past a certain point, not off other people’s backs. As if there aren’t nurses and teachers and firemen and other public sector workers who don’t put in just as much energy and as many hours and emotional labour as CEOs and business owners and investors. But the point is that Labour under Jeremy Corbyn acknowledged this, and their manifesto aimed to give the power back to the average person, from the vulnerable to the supposedly middle class still struggling to make ends meet, and give them the quality of life they deserve. It was built on the simple premise that the people should use their government, not the other way round, and that everybody deserves the basic human rights of shelter, nutrition, safety and dignity, regardless of their fortune in life. However many of Labour’s policies would actually have been fulfilled, it would’ve been a shift in the right direction.

Now the election’s been and gone and I’m scared. Already, the narrative is being rewritten by the billionaires in control of this country that a manifesto like the one we saw this year will never sit right with this country, when it is what so many desperately need. The people putting this information out there know the truth: that Labour’s membership trebled in size under Corbyn (more people voted for him than for any Labour leader since Tony Blair), that most of the safe labour seats were lost because of Brexit, and that if the manifesto had been represented accurately, there’s a good chance that Boris Johnson would no longer be our Prime Minister. I’m scared a person like Jeremy Corbyn will never front Labour again.

Because I do not want a tory painted red who’s friends with Jacob Rees-Mogg behind the scenes, I do not want a war criminal who thinks that bombing innocent people is ever acceptable, I do not want a person who doesn’t see people of colour as part of the working class and indulges in the occasional bit of TERF-ism.

Already, the Conservative party are backpedaling on the few promises they made to increase NHS spending, and I am scared. I am scared for myself, in the event that I need urgent mental health care again, and I am scared for those less privileged than me who don’t have a family to support them, who don't have a roof over their head, who weren’t fortunate enough to be born in a country with relative economic and political stability, who cannot physically go out and work to earn a living. I am worried about the bigots that this election has already emboldened, the Katie Hopkins and the Tommy Robinsons of the world, who think the things that blind luck have graced them with they somehow earned, who pride themselves on ignorance and cruelty and selfishness.

So for now, what can we do?

Join trade unions. Organise. Write to your MPs. Bring attention to those who are vulnerable. Be vocal with your criticism of the establishment. Call out those in politics for an ego-trip hiding behind “personality”. Do your research. Keep an eye on the numbers. The “it doesn’t matter who you vote for, just vote” sentiment is old, because it does. No “as a feminist, I exercise my right to vote for whoever I want”, because as a feminist, you should care about ALL women, not just the white, middle class, able-bodied ones.

And if anyone has any more suggestions, let me know. Because I am sick and tired of living under a government who doesn’t give a fuck about the people it’s supposed to protect.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: The photo is not mine. Just devastated and trying to find the words to express it.]

#socialism #labour #politics #british politics #feminism

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vento-di-fata · 5 years

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Heilig - Kaminari Denki x OC

Hello everyone! This is my entry for @kazooli 's contest, for which I chose the following prompt:

While I love my beautiful tired boi, I decided to change the destination of the prompt to Kaminari Denki a.k.a my pikachu prince <3, for which I can write better and also I know better as a character.

Hope you like it!

Trigger warning: graphic description of panic attacks and depression, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal thoughts and medication overdose

If you feel like any of these warnings may affect you, please refrain from reading further. I tried my best to portray my character's disability and her and Kaminari's struggles with mental health as realistically as possible.

The title is inspired by the song Heilig by Tokio Hotel. Yep I still like Tokio Hotel because I’m still in my emo phase since I was 7, sue me.

Heilig

It wasn't the first time it happened.

Actually, it happened so many times that Moe had gotten kind of used to it.

It had been a stable occurrence since her childhood, and so many time there were mornings when she would wake up and know that she couldn't do it that day.

First it was the weight on her chest, then the numbness that seemed to fill her head with white static noise, like the one made by her hearing aids that time she broke them.

Then, it was the whirlwind of thoughts and anxiety, that made her heart race and her hands tremble uncontrollably.

On those times, if she managed to get out of bed, she just plugged out her hearing aids and took her medications, then went to class like always, completely zoning out until it was time to go home.

If anyone noticed, no one ever asked, for there was nothing to say.

Nothing for her to hear.

On those times, Moe wondered if joining U.A. had been a good decision. She never knew about heroes like her

(Disabled, said her mother.

Broken, said the rest of the world.)

and on those times she thought that maybe there was a valid reason why.

On those times, the colorful line of pills disposed neatly on her bedside table that she had to gulp down every morning felt like a constant reminder that something was wrong with her, that she was flawed, not good enough because heroes shouldn't be like this.

But she still swallowed them, childishly telling herself that it was the last time, this time the pills would fix her.

But it never was.

With a sigh, Moe rolled onto her back and blindly reached for her phone, squinting her eyes as the light of the screen blinded her for a second.

11:30 am.

She overslept again. Fuck.

With trembling fingers she typed a message to her boyfriend Denki, asking him to come over in the afternoon, and her thumb lingered on the send button for a while.

He probably had homework to do and didn't have time to deal with her. She should probably just let him be.

Just as she stared blankly at the screen, thumb barely brushing on the button, a message from said boyfriend popped in the chat.

PikaDenki: Hey Moe-chan, do you mind if I crash at your place after school? I have homework and cookies! Plis I luv u babe <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Cloudy Freckles: I wanted to ask you the same thing lmao also cookies sound fantastic please tell me they're with chocolate chips

PikaDenki: Chocolate chips it is! See ya after school love <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 remember to drink something and take your meds <3 Love you fluffle puff <3

Cloudy freckles: Love you too Pika

Once she turned off the phone, the white static filled her head again. All she wanted was to go back to sleep and drown in nothingness so she would stop shaking, and the weight on her chest would disappear.

But Denki said she had to take her medications and drink water... she didn’t want to disappoint his boyfriend further, did she? She was already a disappointment as she was.

With that thought in mind, Moe forced herself to get up and do the things she was asked to do, but soon – too soon, right when she poured the pills in her hand and realized how easily she could take an extra pill and forget – she found her thoughts swirling in her head again.

“I can’t do this. I’m useless and weak and broken and weird and” The broken string of words that she slurred out, not actually hearing them because she didn’t have her hearing aids, was choked, breathless, waking an ancient terror that never left her body and soul.

Her hands felt cold and she let the pills fall down between her fingers to start idly scratching at her arms in an attempt to get some feeling in her frozen fingers, her eyes burning with tears, she felt so upset and useless and she couldn’t breathe, oh kami she couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t remember falling on her side, but the feeling of the floor beneath her and the throbbing of her head where she banged it helped her try to focus. But everything was blurry and her head was buzzing, she was so tired, she should probably have stayed in bed for a while longer. Sleep sounded really good right now...

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

"Moe, wake up please. C'mon baby, you're fine aren't you?"

Denki cursed himself for being so stupid, he should have picked up something was wrong right when Moe skipped school: she never skipped unless it was really bad.

And when he went to her house and knocked he just assumed she had her hearing aids off. How could he have been such an idiot?

He gently patted her cheek, trying to get the girl to stir and wake up. When he saw her eyelids flicker and open slowly, grey eyes hooded by pale lashes, he breathed in relief and kissed her forehead. "Good girl sweetie, you're doing amazing." He praised and gently held her hands as she woke up groggily, blinking confused at him.

"Mhmh... Denki...?" Moe slurred.

Denki nodded and gently kissed her forehead. "Let's get you in bed okay fluffypuff?" He said, more to himself than to her, since she obliviously couldn't hear him. He helped her on her feet, legs shaking as a newborn foal as she clutched his hands tightly.

Once his girlfriend was safely lying on the bed, still looking pretty confused and lost, he sat beside her and tucked a strand of curls behind her ear, taking note of the angry red of her earlobes, as if she had been scratching them.

It wasn't the first time Denki found his girlfriend in a state like this, he knew about her anxiety and how it took an heavy toll on her life and health. More than once Moe had confessed to him that she felt like she was losing her mind every time she had a panic attack, the fact that it was always when she had her hearing aids off only made her more terrified because there were no sounds, nothing that could anchor her to reality.

With that thought in mind, he reached for the small box containing Moe's hearing aids on the bedside table, placing the other hand on Moe's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "C'mon Cotton candy, sit up for me?" He asked. "Let's put your hearing aids on, 'kay?"

The girl only blinked slowly at him, sitting up with his help and letting him put on her the small objects.

With a soft click, Moe's world was not silent anymore.

Wind outside.

The neighbor's dog barking.

Kaminari's breaths and his voice.

"Can you hear me, sweetcheeks?" She nodded. "Great!" He smiled and gave her a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better...” Moe’s words were still slow and slightly slurred, but she was starting to look more focused on reality and Denki internally took a breath of relief for this.

“Did you do what I asked? Drank a glass of water and took your meds?”

Moe frowned, lost in thought. She didn’t remember if she did it or not... she probably didn’t. she was taking her pills and they fell because...

God, she was such a disappointment, wasn’t she?

Denki noticed her confusion and the panic that she was starting to feel, and gave her a tight squeeze on her hand. “Hey hey, it’s not a big deal, okay? You can take them tomorrow. Now you need to eat some cookies and rest!” He declared. Cookies sounded really good to Moe and she perked up at the mention. “I have the ones with chocolate chips!”

In a matter of minutes, the both of them were safely tucked under a blanket, a bag of cookies on Moe’s lap as she laid her head against Denki’s shoulder and kept an hand on his chest, gripping lightly at his shirt as her boyfriend played with her hair and made stupid jokes. His other hand was gently tracing circles on Moe’s wrist, feeling under his fingertips the light rise of the scars he knew littered her arms.

In those moments he wished he could protect her always, not letting anything hurt her, much less her own mind that turned against her for no reason. He wished that Moe could always smile and laugh and be happy, like she deserved to be, and not be haunted by anxiety and nothingness.

Denki hated not being able to help Moe like he wanted to. He loved her so much, and it hurt to know he couldn’t do anything but try to be always here for her when it all became too much. He could just be there and hold her, try to distract her from the storm of her mind and hope it was enough.

“I can hear you thinking, Arashi.” Moe mumbled suddenly, munching on a cookie.

“Sorry, Kumo.” He kissed her forehead, smiling apologetically. She hummed contentedly and closed her eyes, a soft smile on her face.

He would have done anything to see her smile like this.

“du wirst für mich, immer heilig sein Ich sterb' für unsere Unsterblichkeit Meine Hand von Anfang an über dir, ich glaub' an dich du wirst für mich, immer heilig sein”

“To me you'll be forever sacred I'm dying but I know Our love will live Your hand above Like a dove Over me Remember To me you'll be forever sacred” – Heilig, Tokio Hotel

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ship-ambrosia · 5 years

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Silverlight (RWBY) - Chapter 2

Chapter 2! This fic literally my life rn besides school...

Link to the fic on AO3: Chapter 1

It wasn’t something she absolutely hated, but she shifted uncomfortably under the gazes bearing into her. Normally, going into bars were nothing to her. Maybe it was because this one was crowded with people she didn’t know. Maybe it’s because she wasn’t searching for her mother this time. Either way she was sure the faster she left, the better. Was it that obvious she didn’t belong here? Did they all think she was going to try to bust them? She was in the heart of the black market, but she wasn’t stupid. Any wrong move and there’d be seven knives and hatchets pressed to her back. Still, she thought it was pretty clear she was a Huntress and that none of them would be stupid enough to go toe-to-toe with her, but she didn’t particularly want to test it. She approached the bartender and sat down on one of the stools, resting both arms on the counter in front of her. Slowly, the older woman standing behind the bar cleaning glasses moved over toward her with an interested expression. The busty, crimson-lipped bartender gave her a once over and her smile appeared more amused as she tucked a loss strand of burgundy hair behind her ear. “Doll, aren’t you a little young to be here?” She asked with a sultry voice. “I get that a lot. Heard this is the heart of the town. Just here to ask something.” “You’ll get an answer depending on what it is you want, sweetie,” there was an ominous, daring tone to the woman’s voice now, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Still, she knew to play coy. “I don’t know why everyone’s so suspicious of me. Just looking for someone selling a bike around here. Working condition, I don’t have time to fix her up.” The bartender looked her up and down once again, some coldness disappearing from her expression. “We’re just not very fond of people who come around carrying themselves as righteous as you do. But if you’re just here for the business, I think I’ve got something for you. Heard there’s a man on the north end of town who’s got his hand on a nearly brand-new motorcycle. No questions asked where he got it, and it’s yours. Provided you can pay.” “I don’t think that’ll be an issue. Thanks for the tip, Miss... uh... sorry, I never caught your name.” “Mathilda,” she answered with a smirk, a sultry gaze fixated on the young Huntress in front of her. “Mathilda Applegate. But don’t go thinkin’ just cuz you’re cute that you can name drop me all over town, sweetheart.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she saluted the older woman with two fingers as she got off the barstool. “Thanks for the tip, Mathilda. Hope I see you around!” With that, she took one final look around the bar before pushing the door to the outside back open with a bright yellow arm that caught the bartender’s eye for the first time. “That must be the Branwen Clan’s girl,” the older woman mumbled to herself as the door closed behind the girl with golden hair. Yang blew out a breath as the doors closed behind her, taking a moment to stretch before continuing on with the information the bartender had given her. If there was no bike, she was going to be really freaking pissed. The whole situation made her miss BMBLB more than anything. Though she could hardly say that she regretted the actions that had befallen her beautiful bike - running over a psychotic terrorist who had tormented her best friend for years and had caused her disability was wonderfully therapeutic - she did regret other things that this was reminding her of. Therefore, the faster she got a new ride, the better. Her scroll went off just as she had started her trek to the northern side of lower Mistral. Yang walked with a carefree attitude, but unlocked her Ember Celica just in case anyone thought it would be a good idea to jump her while she was distracted. “Hey sis, what’s up?” “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to check up on you. You’ve been gone for a bit now.” Yang laughed. “Ruby, it’s only been a couple days. I think I’ll be okay.” “I know I know, if anyone would, it’d be you,” her sister replied. “General Ironwood said he wants our ship to Vacuo leaving as soon as possible, though. He doesn’t know we’re only waiting on you.” “I mean, if he’s going to make a big deal about it, you guys can leave and I’ll catch up. Or just a few of you can go.” “You know we don’t want to split up again unless we’re forced to,” Ruby said with a downtrodden expression. Yang felt a sense of nostalgia and guilt twisting in her stomach at that. Though she was perhaps the only member of Team RWBY to pick up and leave everyone behind after what happened at Beacon, Yang knew that mentally, she’d been gone. Ruby had left with Jaune, Ren, and Nora because Yang had not been ready to go with them. “I don’t want to split up unless we have to either,” she mumbled, before her expression became sunny again. “Listen, I think I’ve found a guy. As long as the bike’s in working condition, I’ll be back on the train to Argus by tonight! Doesn’t that sound great?” “Yeah, but Yang...” Ruby squinted her eyes on the small screen. “Where are you?” “In Mistral?” “That doesn’t look anything like when we were there before!” Yang glanced around herself before offering a sheepish smile. “I miiiiight be in the bottom levels of the city... where Qrow told us never to go...” Her sister’s eyes grew wide. “Yang! He told us not to go there because it was dangerous!” “I know, but where else was I gonna get a bike? Besides, I think I’m okay,” The tone of her voice portraying the actual meaning of her words, I don’t think anyone is going to mess with me, and I’m going to leave as soon as I get the bike so that I don’t test it. Ruby sighed. “Okay Yang, just... be careful. Please.” “When have I ever given you a chance to worry?” She offered in a sort of playful tone, watching as her sister’s expression darkened once again. There were plenty of times. Guilt sunk in Yang’s stomach again as she almost found herself sunken back into her memories. Before she could be completely swallowed, however, a sudden commotion behind her caught the blonde brawler’s attention. “Yang? What is it?” Ruby asked, though her sister did not hear her. Yang had put her scroll down to her side as she turned, where she saw a small group of men huddled around an alleyway. As she watched, one of the men raised a gun to the sky and fired off several warning shots. “C’mon kid!” The man was laughing. “If you don’t hand everything you got over, we’ll just have to take it from ya!” “Pretty boy shouldn’t have anything on the bunch of us,” said another within Yang’s line of vision, warming up his fists by hitting them together in a similar manner to her. When he did, she could see sparks from electric dust come off his bracelets. A familiar sensation made its way to the surface from inside her, of hitting thugs where it hurt when she was just starting out fighting. Of dueling her mother’s bandits on her search for Ruby and the others. Of being tricked and lied to, over and over again by people who just didn’t care about others. She remembered looking into the gray eyes of a man who had lied to her, who had used her, who had turned everyone against her and turned into a damn puppet and laughed about it the whole time. She remembered how much she really, really hated that feeling and her eyes went red. Were these guys some slimy Huntsmen? Or just low-lifes who got their hands on Huntsmen weaponry? Yang guessed to the latter, since this was the area of notorious black market deals of Mistral. That’s why she was here, after all. “Yang! YANG!” Ruby was still calling from beside her. She rose her scroll back to her face. Her sister looked concerned. “What’s going on?!” “I’m fine Ruby, but I gotta go! I have to help him!” Yang explained quickly. “Wait, don’t-“ she cut Ruby off by hanging up on her and stuffing her scroll back in her pocket. Taking off by letting out a blast from both her Ember Celica and the gun on her prosthetic arm reminiscent of the old days, Yang went flying at the men laughing and firing intimidation shots into the sky. So much for laying low, echoed in the back of her mind, but as Yang swung her fist at the first asshole she came up on, she remembered that laying low had never really been her style. ~ It had been longer than 24 hours since leaving Salem’s palace, and what a quiet few hours it had been. Mercury wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. In that time he’d bounced between taverns, keeping his ears open as he listened to the mumbling between tavern drunkards and sketchy shopkeeps for any jobs that caught his fancy. He had to start from scratch. He wasn’t going to ride on what he’d done for Salem and Cinder, and the idea of using Marcus for legacy left a bad taste in his mouth. That meant he’d need to take the dirtiest jobs he could find, the ones that not just any assassin would take. He figured becoming a regular mercenary wasn’t a bad idea either, since all he knew was how to fight and he saw no point in limiting himself further. Anything that gave him a new reputation and a neutral place in the world, and made it clear that no one could mess with him. Every voice that triggered a memory made him jump though, every flash of red, green, or gold made him freeze. He was so freaked out at the prospect of being recognized that he hadn’t been able to sleep. This was the life that he was leading now, and he knew he’d have to get used to it. A fake sense of freedom while he ran from everything he had left behind. Mercury was glad he’d remembered his money in his haste to leave Salem’s palace, after getting himself some food and restocking supplies of dust and ammo that he loaded into his greaves. An assassin caught without his weapons was a dead one, though he knew he could overwhelm anyone with his kicks he didn’t want to risk it. Especially with so many people after him. He was just leaving the shop, and glanced up toward the higher levels of Mistral along the side of the mountain when another familiar caught in his ears. It rattled in his head, causing his breath to catch in his throat. “Thanks for the tip, Mathilda!” Called the worst possible voice he could hear right now, even worse than Salem’s. “Hope I see you around!” Mercury whipped around, looking for the source of the voice. Had he imagined it? Was he literally so paranoid at this point that he was hallucinating? If he was going insane though, he could handle that. Anything was better than actually running into anyone. Than running into her. But then the flash of gold caught his eye. There she stood, a hand on her forehead to block the sun from her eyes as she looked around. Blonde hair just as wild and free as he remembered. Same clothes, with a purple bandana tied around her leg that should’ve given away that it was her. But what really convinced Mercury was the lemon-yellow paint job on her prosthetic arm. He stood, frozen, for some time, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real. He was staring with his mouth agape too, and vaguely saw people giving him odd looks as they passed by. They probably just thought he was perverted or something, which was perfectly fine by him. Anything was better than being spotted by her. What was she doing here? Why was she in Mistral? The last thing he knew about her and the others, they’d been in Atlas. They had already gotten the Relic from Haven - he’d chosen to hide in Mistral over Vacuo for that exact reason. Because he knew they wouldn’t be here. What the hell was she doing here? Mercury finally steadied himself, and backed away slowly. He noticed she had started to walk in the opposite direction with her scroll up to her face, speaking to someone, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This was it, he thought as he watched her form moving further away from him, her golden hair getting swallowed by the crowd of loners and mercenaries. This was his escape from the old life. But you could ask her why. The voice was so sudden, so unexpected, that Mercury looked around himself, expecting someone to have crept up behind him and whispered in his ear. When he found no one, he realized that voice was his. The traitorous Mercury had returned, the one who had kept reminding him of her and her arm before. Before he could even wonder what it was that he wanted to know, it struck him. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Mercury was moving swiftly through the crowd toward. He shouldered people out of his way, just barely holding on to the last he could see of her golden hair. It was as if his feet were moving on his own as he drifted behind her. He couldn’t make out who she was talking to, but he caught some of the words. “-Listen, I think I’ve found a guy. As long as the bike’s in working condition, I’ll be back on the train to Argus by tonight! Doesn’t that sound great?” So she was in Mistral looking for someone, and the rest of the team was in Argus. What were they doing back in Anima though? Had Ozpin directed them there? If so, he was incredibly stupid. Going back to Argus was just as predictable as going to Vacuo. Salem would surely go after them there. At least he knew now to stay as far away from Argus as he possible. “In Mistral?” He heard her ask as he got closer, still keeping distance to prevent her from noticing him and to keep anyone from noticing that he was following her. He had garnered some of his senses by this point, remembering that he needed to be inconspicuous. The question sounded less like an inquiry, however, and more of an effort on Yang’s end to answer whatever the person she was talking to had asked; a coverup, if Mercury had ever seen one. Finally, he made out the voice on the other end of the call, and Mercury ducked into a nearby alley after realizing how close he was to her. “That doesn’t look anything like when we were there before!” Of course it was Little Red, the irritatingly hyper leader of their team and her younger sister. “I miiiiight be in the bottom levels of the city... where Qrow told us never to go...” He heard her sister begin to whine in protest, but Mercury was suddenly knocked to his knees from a blow to the back of his head. Stars covered his vision for a moment from the impact as his entire body was immediately on edge, sense of survival alerting him instantly to a group of people having now surrounded him. In a burst of adrenaline, Mercury whipped his body around so that he had a better angle to defend himself from. He finally shook the stars out of his eyes and faced the group above him. On instinct, he took them all in. Five people, four men and one woman holding what appeared to be a modified falchion. A gunshot went off in his ear, but no pain registered to him. Mercury looked down to his legs, but saw no bullet hole. Instead, the bastard with the gun was just standing there, grinning down at him with the barrel raised to the sky, smoking from his warning shot. “That’s an awful fancy pair of boots you got, sweetie,” the woman with the falchion purred. “Mind if I have a look?” “C’mon kid!” The first man laughed when Mercury didn’t reply. “If you don’t hand everything you got over, we’ll just have to take it from ya!” Mercury geared up into a fighting stance in response, glowering at the thugs from behind his messy gray hair. “Pretty boy shouldn’t have anything on the bunch of us,” spoke one of the other men, who slammed his fists together. The bracelets around his wrists crackled with electric dust, but what really got Mercury was how much that pose reminded him of the girl he’d been tailing. He shook his head though, pushing her to the back of his mind. This wasn’t about her anymore. This was about his survival on the streets. A warning shot, huh? What a group of morons. Mercury lunged forward at the nearest adversary, a third man holding a surprisingly vanilla knife. They were just a bunch of wannabes. They couldn’t hold a candle to the real deal. The knife collided with the armor covering his bicep, and all he could do was smirk at the dumb expression on the man’s face as Mercury swept his feet out from underneath him, and then spun around and nailed him in the cheek with his other boot. As the man went flying, he turned around to face the others. “You should’ve taken the shot and gotten the upper hand on me when you had the chance,” he mocked, lifting his leg into the air and cocking the pistol in his boot. Before he could take his own shot, a deafening, high-pitched yell echoed back from the main street and sent chills down Mercury’s spine. A flash of gold erupted in front of his eyes, brilliant and blinding and the combination of the worst possible thing he could imagine in that moment. Her own gauntlets went off as her fist collided with the man holding the gun, sending him flying in a similar manner to what he’d done to the man with the regular knife. Mercury didn’t really know why, but he froze when he realized she’d come to help him. “Hey, leave him alone you freaks!” Yang exclaimed, before turning her gaze toward where he stood in the middle of the group. “Are you okay ma-“ he watched her eyes grow wide, shock and fury increasing by the second as recognition fell over her. “Mercury?!” Unsurprisingly, she had come to his assistance without knowing it was him. He wondered if she was going to regret that punch in the long run. He sure was. Mercury lifted his chin up in her direction, offering her the same smirk he’d given her when they reunited at Haven Academy. He wasn’t quite sure what was possessing him, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “How’s it going, Blondie?” ~ The wind that whistled through the valley and the cries of the nightmare creatures being birthed of the pools of tar around the castle were the only noises around as Emerald entered Salem’s throne room. She disliked the palace’s grand view very much, especially since Salem had never fixed the shattered glass windows. Her hair whipped around as she stepped forward, getting down on her knees. “You wanted to see me, your Grace?” The witch turned around when she spoke, looking down with indifference toward her pawn. No, at this point Emerald had become at least a Rook. Cinder was the Pawn now. And the loss of one of her Knights greatly displeased Salem. “I did, yes,” she spoke in that soft tone, the one she used when appealing to her conspirators’ needs. “I wanted to talk to you because it has come to my attention that Mercury has left. You two are rather close, aren’t you? Did he tell you where he was going?” Emerald faltered, shifting awkwardly. “No, he didn’t say anything to me. And we aren’t that close,” she looked down toward her feet. “We worked together because we both worked for Cinder. And then, you.” “I can tell when you lie, Emerald,” Salem sounded displeased, but not angry. “You care about him.” “Only because he’s some of the only family I’ve had. You and Cinder are more important to me.” “Good,” Salem’s voice came from right above her now. Emerald hadn’t even realized she had been walking closer to her. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Because I have reason to believe that our poor, dear Mercury left with the intention of running away from our cause.” Her eyes widened at her mistress’s words. “No... no, there’s no way! There’s no way he would walk away from this!” Emerald immediately flinched, years spent with Cinder instantly reminding her that to speak disbelief, to argue even with the older woman’s best interest in mind was inviting punishment. But Salem did nothing. When she looked up toward the witch, Salem was almost looking at her with pity. “I’m very sorry to be the one who tells you this,” there was no sympathy in her voice though. Salem, physically, didn’t have the capacity for such a thing. “But Mercury Black has fled. He not only forfeits his place in my world and the desires I would have gifted him, but he has also forfeited his life. I will not be sending you after him, as I have more important things for you to accomplish and I feel that my Grimm will find him soon enough, but you must understand Emerald... if you were to run into him out in the world of Remnant, you are to kill him.” There was another silent moment of horror as she took in Salem’s orders. She had worked with him, ended up trusting her back to him. He was some of the only family she’d ever had. But at the same time, the news of his abandonment burned an anger within her unlike anything she had ever felt before, even after she believed Cinder had died. When she had been doubting their allegiance, he had scorned her. Insulted her. And he’d constantly made fun of her for caring about Cinder all the while before. Now he had left her alone. Salem was right, she realized bitterly. Mercury was either with them or dead. He didn’t get a choice any other way. Emerald closed her eyes and bowed her head very so slightly. “Of course, your Highness.” Salem stopped at the tone of her voice, turning around toward the young woman with a smile. “Very good.”

#original post by bree #bree writes #silverlight #gauntlets and greaves #gng #liquid gold #disabler #rwby ships #bree ships things #multi chapter #yang x mercury #mercury redemption #mercury black #yang xiao long

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janiedean · 6 years

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It really sucks how judgmental you and some people in this fandom are of anyone who doesn't interpret the text the same way as you or who you deem as intellectually inferior to you. I agree with so many of your ideas about the characters, but I hate how high and mighty you are about those ideas. Someone isn't an idiot if they interpret Jon or Cersei differently than you.

......

lmao

okay anon, thing is: one thing is being high and mighty, one thing is telling you that you’re not reading the text.

like. I read yesterday someone being like ‘omg I read someone dared saying C. abused people and murdered someone before puberty HOW STUPID CAN PEOPLE BE’. it’s textual evidence that a) she molested tyrion sexually and that’s even without taking account my opinion re lann*ncest, b) that SHE KILLED MELARA WHEN THEY WERE TWELVE THROWING THE POOR GIRL DOWN A WELL, which means that whoever said it cannot fucking read the text because it’s black on white that she did both those things and refusing to accept it is Not Reading The Text. that’s not even text interpretation, that’s basic textual reading.

now: never mind cersei who gets a pass for about every fucking shit she pulls because she’s a woman, and don’t tell me she doesn’t because if she got as much shit about robert’s fifteen bastards that she ordered dead without even blinking as theon got for two kids that he’s felt guilty about since it happened then we could discuss it but she doesn’t and that’s not even the beginning of it. now: do you see me tagging my opinions? like, honestly, if I think something shitty about cersei, do you see me tagging it? I didn’t even tag the one time I ranted about the valonqar prophecy with her, I only tagged it with the prophecy/meta/the two characters I thought were the v. and the younger and more beautiful queen, because in the middle I said that imo cersei only cares for herself and I know ppl on her tag aren’t into reading that opinion. so: I didn’t tag it. now: how many people came in my inbox informing me my opinion of c. sucked, was biased and so on never mind lann*ncest never mind actually harassing me for it? well, enough that I had to shut down anon to avoid feeling like shit for two days about it. so like, I’m so high and mighty that I keep my opinions about people I don’t like untagged even if I think that the other side can’t read. but okay.

now, about jonc: listen, fact is, there’s exactly ten people in this fandom that I know of who give a shit about jonc period and three of them are fanartists who show up once in a while. like. exactly TEN. I made peace with the fact that no one gives a fuck about jonc, I 100% embraced that if I want content I have to do it myself, fine, whatever. but what I’m really getting sick of is that every goddamned fucking time I see the jonc tag updating (as in, five times each month if it’s a good month), it’s someone informing us of how selfish, pathetic, useless and dumb he is FOR THINGS THAT ALL OF THEIR FAVORITE CHARACTERS ACTUALLY DO ALL THE TIME and for which fandom at large praises them. or something about how him being in love with R is the most horribly pathetic thing that’s happened to adwd, or how he’s an idiot because he apparently hasn’t understood that aegon is fake because his eyes aren’t the same color as R’s when not even dany’s or viserys’s are, but no one says they aren’t targs for THAT now, do they? and sorry but reading that this dude would treat either rhaenys or jon snow like shit when this is canon:

Last night he'd dreamt of Stoney Sept again. Alone, with sword in hand, he ran from house to house, smashing down doors, racing up stairs, leaping from roof to roof, as his ears rang to the sound of distant bells. Deep bronze booms and silver chiming pounded through his skull, a maddening cacophony of noise that grew ever louder until it seemed as if his head would explode. Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in his guts.

Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept. The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince.

now: it’s there black on white that he feels guilty for BOTH elia’s and rhaenys’s death, it’s not interpretation, it’s what is fucking written in there same as you can’t interpret that ned’s head got cut or cat’s last thought before she died was about ned loving her hair. so excuse me but I’m tired of going into a character who’s in my goddamned top ten and have to always, always run into people assuming he’s a pathetic selfish asshole (and the one time I tried to argue that there’s no way he’s *selfish*, maybe all the contrary to a pathological degree, the answer was basically ‘lol cannot hear you’ and not even a reblog but nvm that) rather than actual content because any of those people who have a obvious hateboner for jonc can’t just fucking tag it with *anti* jon connington. no, they have to use the character name and it’s never *content*, it’s just this drivel over and over again. and since I don’t do it with characters I don’t like, I’d appreciate if I could have the same courtesy spared for this asshole.

that said, the situation is that *one* single person (that I blocked but that’s apparently not enough for tumblr to spare me from seeing them on the tag) has asked that question to multiple blogs which all agree on jonc being shitty which means that it has popped up on the tag a whole lot in the last month and like....... if you don’t like that character why do you care so much, IDEK, but wow, I wrote one post, that I tagged with the character only, saying that ppl don’t bother to read his chapters (btw, one of the people who replied that he’d have been shitty to both jon and rhaenys was someone I ended up blocking because they were on the tag like ‘lololol grayscale I’m sure elia is laughing from the afterlife’ and when I told them it wasn’t funny and if they could avoid tagging that stuff I got told to fuck off but fine I guess, that was me being holier than thou I suppose...) which is true because they don’t, they only base their reading of jonc on that ONE line about elia which is a) obv. proof he’s jealous, b) way less bad than anything cersei and barristan think about her just to say two but lmao I don’t see them getting dragged for it, but everything else? what? two full chapters? do they exist? tyrion’s chapers? never knew them.

like.

anon, tbqh at this point if you wanna think I’m holier than thou just think that because while I like to think I’m not, if there is one thing I know I’m good at is text analysis (okay, last time I said I got two degrees based on text analysis I got told ‘ah okay so if she studies she’s obv. bragging so she knows nothing’ by someone whose main theory was robb stark is the unsung villain of these books but lol I mean having studied this counts for nothing, right???) and it irks me that in a fandom based on books/text analysis I have to read **meta** which is obviously made by people who haven’t read the text and then when given a counterargument ignore it. but even with that, do you see me engaging with it? nah. I can 100% assure you none of the people I would like to see out of the jonc tag actually go on the jonc tag nor follow me, so they will never know that I think their opinion is shit unless they go looking for it. and this because I might have engaged with at least two of them on the topic once - and nicely, not *judgmentally* - and no one gave a shit or reconsidered their stance, so like, excuse me if once per month I write a post on my own blog venting about how imo a character I like gets a shit treatment.

and for the love of god, anon, sorry, glad you like my opinions, but the fact that you’re coming at me assuming I am judgmental when I come from a fucking month and a half of people literally harassing me on anon over my fucking triple-tagged opinions on c/ersei and lann/incest and ignoring anything I said about how uncomfortable it was making me just because I happened to, in the most generous explanation, WRITE A META WHERE I C/P-ED CANON QUOTES WHERE C. WAS AWFUL TO J. WHEN IT CAME TO HIS DISABILITY which GRRM wrote, certainly not *me*, and it happened to get reblogged by asoiafuni, is really, really rich.

like, I tagged that shit to hell and back so people who aren’t interested in jb wouldn’t find it, I made sure to warn every time, I even tag anti-c/antijc posts so they don’t show up on mobile search in case ppl don’t have the anti tag blacklisted because I’m THAT invested into making sure other people can blacklist if they feel like it, but I can’t fucking say on my blog that I think some people in this fandom pull their meta out of their asses and haven’t even read the chapters of the character they’re supposed to discuss? like... really?

also, I’ll tell you a secret: I don’t remember 90% of what happened in dany’s adwd chapters and I don’t remember about 60% of what happened in her got-asos chapters. zero. now: do you see me meta-ing about dany and/or discuss her arc if not in extremely broad terms unless asked? no, because while I don’t particularly like her, I also don’t think it’d be fair for me to meta about her BECAUSE IF I DON’T REMEMBER HER CHAPTERS THEN I’D BE PULLING OPINIONS OUT OF MY ASS, and I don’t go judging anyone’s opinion re dany beyond the basics because mine is that her chapters are so boring I can’t even remember them. at most I’ll discuss the show version and I can swear to you that even if I’m not a fan or anything I’m still more lenient with her than about 90% of people who aren’t fans, and since I don’t pull meta out of my ass for people whose chapters I haven’t read, I would be extremely grateful of the rest of this fandom paid jon connington the same damn bloody effort, especially when he has TWO of them and hating on him that way is like... why would you, just ignore his fucking existence and let us ten ppl into him have a decent tag.

btw, the ONE time I dared say on a post that wasn’t tagged to hell and back to avoid people finding it ‘it’s kind of hypocritical that people fight themselves over bi!CHARACTER headcanons *because asoiaf doesn’t have lgbt POV CHARACTERS* when they ignore jonc exist and he actually is an lgbt pov character so maybe it’d be nice if they cared about the rep’, I got someone like WELL HE ISN’T LGBT REP ENOUGH, and on the other side I’ve had people actually giving me shit for liking him/writing him content because I’m straight so how do I dare writing a gay dude, and like, idk, since I can’t like him in peace in that sense, can the universe allow me to at least not see bullshit on the tag or is that too much to ask?

and to end this rant: anon, not to be that person, but fyi I’m hardly the person who dictates how the wind flies in this fandom unless we count maybe theon/robb fandom as a ship, my opinions aren’t nearly as popular as opinions belonging to ppl who imvho don’t read these books and that’s fine, I don’t particularly care beyond cultivating my garden as voltaire used to say and see if anyone else wants to come and see the flowers and in case they’re more than free to take some, but like...... the idea that me expressing an opinion about the fact that people in this fandom don’t use the same standards when judging characters and some haven’t read the book or forgot it and assume they know anyway is somehow being high and mighty when I also don’t tag that shit 99% of the time (with jonc I do it just because I know no one but me and ten other ppl goes on that tag) when there’s people in this fandom who outright deny what’s written black on white and actually literally harass you on anon for it when I can 100% swear to you that the only times I’ve gone on anon in my entire life were for a) memes that required being on anon, b) sending people headcanon requests, c) sending people I ALREADY KNEW and who KNEW IT WAS ME personal things that I didn’t want ppl to attach to me because I don’t owe 100% of my life history to tumblr dot com and I always put my face to my opinions.

like, glad you like my opinions, but honestly, if you think this is me being judgmental, fair enough but maybe I’m also tired of having to read stuff that’s based on not having fucking read the book.

thank you.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #i mean IDK MAYBE SOME OF US ACTUALLY LIKE JONC BUT THAT'S LIKE TOO WILD TO ASSUME #idek #ch: jon connington #anti-cersei lannister #anti-cersei #anti-lannincest #anti-jaime x cersei #long post for ts #anyway jonc would <3333 any kid of r's thanks for coming to my ted talk bye #Anonymous #ask post

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years

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HEY (41) "Damn auto-correct..." With Plance pls?

listen. man, dude, my friend. i know you like fluff and fun fluff is like your specialty but this fic turned into angst and for that i would like to apologize…but i hope you like it anyway??

canon-verse, ~4000 words, not proofread because i shouldn’t be awake now

warning for slight ableism??

Pidge couldn’t believe her luck, stranded on a huge,isolated asteroid with almost no gravitational field and no ships in sight.

(Though,of course, space was so empty that she naturally had to suffer the probabilityof getting stuck in it.)

Sheclung to a crevice on the asteroid’s surface with one hand and her feet, herhead still spinning from when the Red Lion expelled her into space. With theother hand, she fiddled with the comm in her armor, seeking a signal strongenough to contact someone - anyone- nearby, or at least within a few light-years of her position.

Stupid Lance, stupid so-called ‘valor’, stupid misguided attempt at being ‘heroic’,I’m going to kill him the next time I see him…

Pidgescowled when all she found with her comm was static, but it faltered the tickshe thought of Lance.

Quiznak, I hope he’s okay…

Herheart sank into her stomach, heavy with dread and worry. She tried to push itout of her mind - she had herself to fear for right now - but every time shereturned her attention to the task at hand, her thoughts drifted back to Lance.

We both would’vestood a better chance if I’d stayed with you, dammit.

Pidgechecked her biometrics with her armor’s systems, and when she found nothingamiss - her life support still at full capacity thanks to the wonder of tenthousand-year-old Altean technology - she sagged, resting her forehead againstthe asteroid.

Castle on the other side of a wormhole,Galra ship blocking communications, nothing to amplify a signal or detect onethat isn’twithin range…

Empty-handedand alone, Pidge searched again.

Afterwhat felt like vargas - after her stomach growled and her throat turned parchedand her eyes drooped with exhaustion and the air her life support recycled grewstale - she found something.

Staticcrackled, louder than any other instant, and Pidge straightened her backagainst the asteroid with a start.

“Hello?” Pidge said, her voice hoarse. “Isthere anyone there? Come in, this is—”

What if they’rean enemy?

Pidgeswallowed and said, “I’m stranded alone in the middle of an asteroid field without aship. You’re the first vessel I’ve been able to hail. Can you please rescue me?”

Thestatic quieted, and Pidge’s heartbeat echoed in her ears as sweatslid down her face. She pinched her eyes shut, preparing herself to hear thesignal go dead, until:

“Give us your approximate position, lana, and we’ll be there in doboshes.”

“Well…” Pidge scanned as much of hersurroundings as she could with her cuff, letting it view the stars as she sawthem, then sent them through the same signal. “Is that enough information?”

“Oh, it’s perfect, lana!” her savior said. “Hold on.”

Theconnection clicked off - her heart skipped a beat at the sudden silence - andPidge wondered, “Whatthe quiznak does lanamean?”

Pirates.

Theship that picked her up belonged to pirates.

Theycuffed Pidge’swrists behind her back before she could so much as thank them for their rescue,before she could take off her helmet and inhale the breathable air inside.

Atleast she could savor the gravity dragging her down when her knees hit thefloor.

“You didn’t tell us you’re a Paladin ofVoltron, lana,” a humanoid alien with one eye at thecenter of his forehead said. He crossed his arms and clicked his tongue in aneerily human expression of disappointment.

“This is why,” Pidge grumbled. She tried towrench her shoulder from the grip of the part-Galra pirate that held her down,but her only reaction was to squeeze her hard enough she could feel it throughher armor.

“Well, then to the brig you go!” announcedthe cyclops alien with an unfriendly smirk. “At least give us the next varga todecide your fate.” His single eye glinted while the other pirates jeered andhonked and crowed.

Pidgestared at him with wide eyes, fear churning in her stomach and making her heartthreaten to burst its way through her ribcage. “I—”

“Save your threats and promises, GreenPaladin,” the Galra pirate said. She grabbed her arm and tugged her upright,and without waiting for Pidge to find her footing, dragged her away from thecrew.

Theyconfiscated her armor and left her only with the insulated black suit she woreunderneath, though not before Pidge slid her bayard under the thin mattress inher tiny, square cell. She tried to keep a wrist cuff too, but the pirate thatcame to collect was smart enough to count the pieces.

Shewas relieved she had the foresight and the timeto hide the bayard in a different place.

Butmuch good it did her while she was locked in a cell.

Heroptions for escape lay heavily on her mind, but the prospects were thin. She’dseen so little of the ship - not even the bridge - since coming aboard, sounless she could talk a crew member into giving her a tour…

Shecould talk a crew member into giving her a tour!

(Sheavoided thinking that it was exactly the sort of thing Lance would do.)

Pidgecould scarcely believe how straightforward it was to convince the pirate thatbrought her meals to show her around the ship.

Theship’smain engineer was a woman with unseeing blind eyes, but she compensated for thedisability with long, bat-like ears that spun towards the slightest hint ofnoise. Tall and willowy with an easy smile, she was exactlythe type Lance would go for, Pidge observed.

(Sheignored the flare of jealousy that rose within her; now was not the time.)

Sheintroduced herself as Mara and grinned at Pidge. “You’re lucky it was Heli’s turn to cookyour first meal. If it had been my turn, you would’ve spent the next few vargaskneeling next to the toilet.”

Pidgenarrowed her eyes at the bowl of…some kind of stew, made from a starchypotato-like plant, a vegetable that looked and tastedas pungent as an onion, and a meat that she suspected was the alien equivalentof “mysterymeat”. “That’s a…relief to hear,” Pidge said.

Thistime when she spooned the bite into her mouth, she didn’tgrimace, though Mara wouldn’t have seen it either way.

Sheset aside her bowl after finishing only half of it, the scent emanating from itturning her stomach, and mused that she even preferred Coran’s cooking to this stew.

“Say,” Mara said, still lingering beyondher cell door, “are you really theGreen Paladin?”

“The one and only,” Pidge said withouthumor. “What gave it away?”

“The green armor, of course!” Mararetorted, chuckling.

Pidgeraised an eyebrow, unsure what she found funny…until she recalled that she was blind. Shefidgeted with the hem of her sleeve and muttered, “I guess it would’ve…”

“I did have a question, though,” Mara said.“Are those all the real Paladins in The Voltron Show?”

Pidgeturned her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “What?”

“The Voltron Show.” Mara clasped her hands together,twiddling her thumbs. “I wondered if those were all of you or if they were justactors.”

Pidge’sjaw dropped, but she cleared her throat and wondered, “Why do you want to know?”

Marasmiled. “Iwas curious. I ama fan, by the way, and wanted to know if there would be more shows to lookforward to.”

Pidge,stunned, could only stutter, “Uh, w-well, Voltron has other things toworry about at the moment.” Like finding me…and Lance.

Herface fell, and she said, “Oh, then, maybe you could tell me moreabout everyone?”

“I…”

Pidgedecided to seize her chance.

Shesmirked - working to keep the smugness from her voice - and said, “I’dlove to tell you everything, but why don’t you give me a tour?”

Marashowed Pidge some of the inner workings of the ship - which she learned wasnamed Outlaw Heart. She gestured toevery bit and bob, every nook and cranny, with easy, pinpointing each by sound(or so Pidge assumed).

Sheobserved it all with curiosity, wondering where, exactly, her salvation lay.Sabotaging the mechanisms of the OutlawHeart and holding them hostage?

”You remind me of Hunk,” Pidge said whenMara clasped her hands together while explaining something.

“The Yellow Paladin?” Mara wrinkled hernose.

“He’s not really like he is in the show!”Pidge reassured her. “He’s actually a genius and“—she flinched when Mara hither forehead against a low air duct—”not nearlyas clumsy as you are.”

Abeat later she heard the offense Mara could take from her words, but before shecould stammer an apology, Mara grinned. “Oh, I knewI wouldn’tregret asking you!”

Hijackingthe ship for long enough to find an entity allied with Voltron and theCoalition?

”Tell me about Keith!”

“He’s grumpy and passionate and…” Pidgesighed and admitted, “He’s…not around so much anymore.”

Marafrowned. “Isthat not him in the show?”

Pidgelaughed. “That’sthe thing; Princess Allura actually played him in The Voltron Show.”

Or,perhaps, communicate with the Castle by sending a transmission from the Outlaw Heart’sbridge?

”What about the Blue Paladin? He seemsinteresting!”

“Every other fan has a crush on Shiro, butyou choose Lance?” Pidge rolled her eyes while she inspectedthe ship’s navigation and communication systems as covertly as she couldmanage. Any tick, someone else could walk in and catch taking advantage of theengineer’s blindness…

Maraheld her hands behind her back and said, “I never mentioned anything about a crush.”

“Really?” Pidge raised an eyebrow, barelylifting her attention from the comm station. Could she send a distress signalstrong enough it would reach the Castle? “Too bad, though. He would’ve loved tohear that.”

(Maybefrom anyone but her…)

“I’m sure,” Mara said doubtfully. “Are youready for the next part of the tour?”

“Oh, just a tick,” Pidge said.

Shereached for the comm, mentally running through the steps that would project adistress—

“Mara!” a new voice bellowed.

Pidgejumped backwards - and straight into the waiting arms of the part-Galra crewmember responsible for manhandling her.

“Oh, First Mate Yorik!” Mara said,straightening her posture. “I—”

“Let our prisoner onto the bridge?” The crew member - First Mate Yorik -picked Pidge up as easily as she would a pillow and threw her over hisshoulder.

Shescowled, lashing out with fists and kicks while anger made her clumsy andcareless about where they landed. But her blows proved ineffectual, the firstmate ignoring them as he leveled a furious gaze at Mara.

“Did you not see that she was trying tosend a signal to her allies?” First Mate Yorik demanded.

“I-I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t!” Yorik stormed outof the bridge, Pidge bouncing in his grip. “Why Captain Nubo took on a blind engineer…”

Pidgesmacked his back and glared at the ground, blood rushing to her head. But sheyelled, “Letme go, you bastard! Let me—”

Shegasped when Yorik jerked her around and dropped her unceremoniously onto thebunk in her cell. She pinched her eyes shut and clutched her head, onlydistantly hearing the cell door slamming shut as Yorik locked her in.

“I don’t know what you said to Mara toconvince her to let you out,” he growled, “but rest assured if anything like ithappens again, you’ll regret it.”

Pidgepeeked out from between her fingers in time to see him storm away. Then shesighed and lay down on the bunk to consider her next plan.

Thecyclops alien - who introduced himself as Captain Nubo - visited her within acouple vargas of Yorik “escorting” her back, standing just outsideher cell. “I would like to apologize for my first mate’s behavior,” he said. “I’mafraid he sees you as an enemy more than most aboard the Outlaw’s Heart.”

“I wonder why…” Pidge grumbled.

“Oh, it’s not what you think, lana,” Captain Nubo said, chuckling. “He’s nevermuch liked the legitimate side of the law, Galra or not, but his mother did,and, well…”

Pidgebit her lip and guessed, “She died in the war.”

CaptainNubo hummed, not quite validating her suspicion, then wondered, “Asidefrom that, are you enjoying your stay, lana?”

“It’s better than a five-star hotel,” Pidgereplied icily. “Theywould’vemade me keep the handcuffs.”

CaptainNubo laughed, a sound that burst out from deep within his belly, and said, “Oh,if we weren’t natural enemies I might’ve asked you to join my crew.”

Pidgenarrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“We know enough about Voltron to have anidea of your skills.” The captain curled his dark green goatee around a finger.“We find our tech in need of update, every…legitimate party far outstripping our capabilities.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Pidge asked.“Aren’t you worried I’ll exploit that?”

“Because you haven’t already tried?” Nuboshrugged and admitted, “Perhaps I’m hoping that you’ll abandon Voltron and joinus before this is done.”

“Not a chance,” Pidge said. She stood andpaced to the cell door and met his eyes with a glare. “Voltron needs me, and I—”Ineed them too.

Butshe wouldn’tconfess to that, not to a man intent on making himself her enemy.

“Very well,” Nubo said. “I’m sorry to hearthat, lana, but I suppose I should tell you what the crew and I have decided about your fate.”

“What?” Pidge snapped when he paused fortoo long. “Spit it out.”

“It’s simple, really. For now you remainhere.”

“What the quiznak do you mean by fornow?” Pidge demanded.

“Lana,you’rea valuable commodity on this side of the universe.” Nubo smiled. “On most sides of the universe, in fact.”

Pidgeignored the sweat dampening her palms and hoped that her shock didn’tshow on her face. “All right,” she said, somehow keeping her voice fromtrembling. “Explain.”

“My crew is divided, you see,” Nubo said. “Halfwish to ransom you to some fragment of the Galra Empire, and the other halfwould prefer to ransom you to Voltron. Each has their reasons for choosing whothey will, but neither option is desirable.”

Ransom me to Voltron…

“What about me?” Pidge said, wrapping hersweaty hands around the bars to her cell and standing on her toes. “Does myopinion matter?”

“What do you think?”

Herheart plummeted, a rock falling through the air from a great height. “I—”

“What benefits the Empire’s factions oreven what benefits Voltron can scarcely benefit my crew,” Nubo explained, hiscordial tone evaporating. “So you see what I must do? And until we decide, aprisoner you remain.”

Pidgestared at him, unable to formulate a proper response.

I could kill Lance…if he wasn’t someone’s prisoner too.

“What’s the matter, lana?” Nubo inquired, his single eye blinkingslowly. “You look like you wish to ask me something.”

Many somethings, Pidge thought, but aloud she said, “Whatdoes lana mean?”

Nubosmirked. “It’san affectionate name you would call a child.”

Theretort rose automatically to her lips, “I’m nota child, I’m—”

“A Paladin of Voltron,” Nubo conceded, “butdon’t you agree that it’s a childish thing to be stranded in space without aship or much means of communicating with your own allies?”

Pidgeblushed, averting her eyes out of embarrassment. “It wasn’t my fault,” she muttered. She curledher hands into fists as a tear rolled down her cheek.

They’llfind him first, she told herself.They have to.

“I will leave you to mourn your lot,”Captain Nubo said, “and I hope you won’t risk leaving your cell again.”

Ashis footsteps retreated down the hall, Pidge leaned against the wall. She sliddown, hugging her legs to her chest and pressing her forehead to her knees.

She’dattempt another escape soon, she promised, but first she’d cry.

Shewas ready the next time Mara opened her cell door to deliver her a meal.

Pidgeactivated her bayard.

Itmorphed into the grapple, so silently Mara’s bat-like ears didn’t pick up on it.

Pidgeswallowed her shame, heart pounding in anticipation, and stepped behind Mara,holding the blade to her throat.

“I’m reallysorry about this, Mara,” Pidge admitted, “but I have to get back to my team. They need me.”

Marastiffened, her ear twitching. “I understand, Green Paladin.”

“Then take me to the bridge again.”

“No.”

Pidge’seyes widened, her breath catching in shock. “What?”

“I admire your loyalty to your team,” Marasaid, “but you think you’re not the only one loyal to a crew?”

“I—”

“I don’t think you’ll kill me to make apoint,” Mara continued. “I have no doubt you’re capable if the situationdemands it, but I’m not Voltron’s enemy.”

“Y-you don’t know what I’d do!” Pidgeretorted, blood boiling with anger and her back rigid. “You don’t know what Idid to rescue my family, and you don’t know what I’d do for my team if theywere in the same danger!”

“I’m not your enemy—”

“You’re not,” Pidge conceded. She swallowedaround a sudden lump in her throat and blinked hot tears from her eyes and quiznak why wasn’t she done crying? “B-but one of myteammates is in danger and I have to go save him! What about that d-don’tyou understand?”

Marasagged. “I’msorry, Pidge,” she whispered, “but I can’t let you.”

Pidgeclosed her eyes. “You haveto, Mara. I need to see my team - all my family. I need—”She sniffed when she tasted salt on her lips. “I-I need to t-tell him I—” Shelowered her bayard and whispered, “It wasn’t his fault.”

Herbayard slipped out of her sweaty hand as she choked on her first sob.

Somethingwarm engulfed her, arms wrapped securely around her and rocking her back andforth while she cried.

Stop, shetold herself. Stop crying in front ofstrangers.

“I’ll talk to Captain Nubo,” Mara promised.“I’ll tell him you need to rescue your friend.”

Pidgebit her lip, struggling to get her sobs under control. She trembled, but Marastill held her.

“Tell me more about him,” she said, voicesoothing. “Which Paladin is he?”

“I-I don’t know anymore,” Pidge admittedwith a shaky laugh. She rubbed her itchy eyes and added, “But h-he’s more thanhe seems…”

“Captain Nubo wants you brought to thebridge.”

Pidgeopened her eyes. She’d been trying to sleep since Mara left, but between the promiseand her fear for Lance, she hadn’t managed more than a restless doze.

Soshe sat up and faced First Mate Yorik.

Heunlocked and opened her cell door with a creak of metal hinges. “Whatare you waiting for, Paladin?” he demanded when she just looked at him. “Thecaptain wishes to speak with you.”

Pidgeblinked, her brain sluggish and exhausted, but as she processed Yorik’swords her breath caught in her throat.

Hopereignited.

Pidgeshot to her feet and skipped to the door. She tried to slip past the firstmate, but he caught her arm and pulled her back.

“What’s your rush?” he asked, narrowing hiseyes.

“The sooner I return to my team, thesooner—”

“Nothing’s decided,” he reminded her. “AndI never said anythingabout your return.”

(Well,it was obvious where he stood…)

Pidgeglared at him but accepted his escort up to the bridge.

“What changed?” she demanded, her gazemeeting Captain Nubo’s. “Was it just what Mara said?”

CaptainNubo grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We are not so different, you and I, yourteam and my crew. And to hear the rumors, even one of yours is part-Galra.” Heblinked - or maybe winked; Pidge couldn’t quite tell when he only had one pairof eyelids - and said, “Or, if you wish to believe I was moved by yours tearsand had a crisis of conscious, I won’t stop you.

“So…how would you like to make a deal withus, lana?”

Herheart sank; of course it couldn’tbe so easy…

“That depends,” Pidge said, though a partof her desperately wanted to accept whatever deal he offered, if only it meantfinding Lance and the rest of her team safe. “What do you want?”

Nubosighed. “Perhapsyou can guess.”

“A…ransom? I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“All right.” To her amazement, he agreedeasily, but… “I will send a transmission telling we have the Green Paladin.”

“Wait, I need to reassure them that I’msafe and that this isn’t a trap, Captain,” Pidge said.

CaptainNubo considered her, frowning slightly. “They must pay your ransom before wedeliver you then.”

“Great!” Pidge grinned, her heart alreadypounding and the words she would say rushing through her head.

“In GAC.”

Pidgeslumped. “Wedon’t…the Coalition doesn’t deal in GAC.”

“Then I’m afraid—”

“Wait!” Pidge said before Nubo could domore than turn his back. She wrenched her arm from First Mate Yorik’s firm gripand stepped towards the captain at the comm station. “I-I can upgrade your ship’ssystems instead, and maybe even convince Princess Allura to give your crewamnesty - or, well, maybe convince her to try to convince the Coalition to giveyou amnesty because frankly I hatepolitics and I have no—”

Yorikcleared his throat, cutting her off.

Pidgesmiled sheepishly at the captain. “I can’t promise more than to talk to her.”

“Well, that is as much as Mara promised you…andif you do fix our systems that would be enough.”

“AfterI contact the Castle of Lions,” Pidge insisted.

“Very well.” Captain Nubo made quick work -quick enough that Pidge suspected he’d already prepared it - setting up atransmission. “I’m afraid it’ll be text-based correspondence in the Galrascript. Can you manage?”

Pidgebit her lip. It was scarcely ideal, but… “Fine,” she said. “They can translate it.”

UnderCaptain Nubo’ssingle watchful eye, Pidge composed her first message:

Allura, it’sPidge. I was captured by pirates and they want to make a trade. Ask me toverify.

Pidgetapped her foot, her hands sweating while she waited for a reply that camefaster than she dared to expect:

Pidge! Verify: what did you name the Galra droid youreprogrammed?

Pidgesighed, freed of a burden, as she wrote back:

I named him Rover. Allura, is everyonesafe? Do you know what happened to Lance?

Everyone is safe, Pidge. And we recoveredLance. He’snow recovering in a healing pod. The first thing he asked when we found him wasif we’d found you, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you once you return to us.

Pidgecovered her face in her hands and muffled a laugh, but not before irritationtook hold again when she remembered how, exactly, she and Lance got separated:

Good, because when he’s awake I’m going to kiss him.

Do you want me to tell him that if he wakesup before you get back?

Bloodrushed to her face when she reread the message she sent. “I—what—no—”She hurriedly corrected:

Wait no don’tI meant that I’m going to kill him! Damn auto-correct…

Herheart pounded wildly - quiznak, it neverbeat this fast even when she was in danger! - while she waited for Allura toreply again:

I asked Hunk what auto-correct is. He’s not convinced your statement was amistake.

Pidgelonged to return to her cell and bury her face in a pillow, where no one couldsee her red cheeks or hear her frustrated scream.

#plance #lidge #pidgance #flirtyrobot #i'm not sure how i feel about this one tbh #and hmm i feel like my fics are steadily growing more and more OCs #it's mostly the canon-verse ones though #AUs don't rely so much on OCs #voltron #reem writes fic #qna #elby9001

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nevillelongsbottom · 6 years

Text

microwave meals and math student meltdowns pairing: rowan khanna x andre egwu x charlie weasley word count: 2,597 links: ao3 for the @rowanprotectionsquad june ships event

Here is Rowan Khanna’s predicament.

There is a fraternity house three blocks down hosting the party of the year – red solo cups, booming bass, sex on the dishevelled heap of coats – but Ben Copper has just asked Rowan if he’d do Ben a solid and cover his shift down at the 24-hour library, where apparently the math majors have set up tents trying to cram for their finals. Rowan’s curiosity is piqued. He wants to know what kinds of snacks math majors eat to keep them alive, and fuck, he’d just like to spend a night in the library and pretend he’s Night at the fucking Museum.

But Bill Weasley is at that party, and Rowan has spent the past year of his college life losing his shit and discovering his sexuality over Bill Weasley.

Whichever option he chooses, he is absolutely fucked. If he decides to whittle away his almost-blossoming college life by taking a free shift at the library, he will miss out on Bill Weasley (but not miss out on the joy of inhaling book-smell, an activity Rowan doesn’t get to do so much now that he can’t even afford a book a month unless it’s digital and on sale). If he goes to the party, he is going to have a terrible time because he can barely stand the burn of alcohol in the back of his throat and because he can also barely stand anybody else at the college. He should’ve gone somewhere better. He should’ve done Harvard – but he can barely afford this run-of-the-mill state college, so where the hell else could he have gone?

Doesn’t stop him regretting, though. He’ll never be Bill Gates now.

Spinning around on the barstool behind the desk of the record store he works in, he decides to consult Tumblr. Rowan is startlingly popular on the website, yawning out his thoughts about every franchise that takes off everywhere across the social media spectrum and smashing out a fanfic now and then. Occasionally a fanfic involving copious amounts of sex, because Rowan has to make up for his saint-like lifestyle somehow, and he’s never going to manage enough food to eat more than microwaveable pasta for the rest of his student life. People also keep sending him asks about college. He’s not sure how to answer, because the real answer to surviving college is never sleeping, making sure to eat three meals a day even if they’re all Pot Noodle, and studying so hard he’s started getting migraines.

anonymous asked you: be a good Samaritan and go help your friend at the library xx

anonymous asked you: you’ll get other chances with that guy you like. parties are shit anyway

Rowan groans so loudly at the messages that a patron whose entrance he hadn’t noticed gives him a frightened look, and he shoots an apologetic look back. It’s certainly not his job or his prerogative to scare customers off from his own stresses, and he tries to shift the thought as he asks if the customer is looking for anything specific –

and joyfully enough for Rowan, he is indeed. So the predicament gets to sit a little longer in the back of his brain.

By the time he’s finished work and has consumed a dinner of grilled cheese, he’s long since given up on the idea of the party. He doesn’t feel damn near sociable enough, and just the thought of drinking alcohol makes his stomach churn; Rowan’s not so good at surviving an entire day without a nap, and he wonders if it’d be acceptable just to doze off behind the front desk to the lull of weeping students. Or maybe he could just read.

Maybe write a chapter or two of his ongoing no-powers high school Spiderman and Deadpool romance epic.

The library’s pretty quiet for all the myths he’s heard: when he arrives, there are indeed actual camping tents set up where some tables used to be and a good selection of about ten math majors all camped out inside and a couple milling about with packets of crisps. One boy is eating a pot of pasta in the doorway to the library kitchen; Rowan figures that the anarchy has already been installed, so brews himself a cup of tea and takes his spot at the library front desk, picking at the various knickknacks and tchotchkes.

He’s slight enough from his pasta-related malnutrition to be able to fit into the bucket chair with his legs crossed, and he serves an hour in peace with his cup of tea and his Kindle and a trashy gay romance novel he bought for a dollar on the Kindle store. He used to feel guilty, but he can’t find it in himself to even summon a single piece of guilt shrapnel; he spends so much time reading textbooks with sentences he has to decipher like he’s a codebreaker not a student that he needs some kind of switch-off, and who’s to say he isn’t allowed a bit of mind-numbing reading?

And, all in all, Rowan’s having a pretty decent conclusion to his dilemma when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching and glances up from between the pages of unabashedly shameful sensual pottery. It’s a math student. His cheeks are tear-stained.

“Got any tissues?” he asks nervously. Rowan does not, but he can’t say the same for his well-stocked maze of a temporary desk, and he finds a packet in one of the jam-packed drawers, handing it over to the student, whose arms are surprisingly muscular for a math geek. Rowan wonders if he’s in the soccer team; he’s too short for basketball. He asks. The math boy laughs. “Oh, no, I’m not in a big sport. I’m on the lacrosse team, but I’ve taken a break for the math stakeout.”

“Have you considered that studying at home might be more relaxing?” Rowan asks, offering the math boy a stress ball; he declines, likely on the fact that it’s the grottiest thing Rowan’s ever had the misfortune of picking up and he immediately counters it with a choking amount of hand sanitiser.

“I work best under stressful conditions,” math boy elaborates. “And since I’m living in a tent, I don’t have time to worry about all the stupid things I usually worry about, like plucking my eyebrows or what clothes I’m wearing or how my hair looks.”

Math boy has little more than a buzzcut. Rowan raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and avoids letting his eyes linger for too long on the math boy’s incredibly extra outfit of a striped turtleneck and wide leg red corduroy pants with some on-trend ugly Nikes. Rowan has to admit that he’s good-looking, and he does like math boy’s dedication, and he hasn’t had sex since that time with his best friend in the back of a rental in high school. So. He wouldn’t mind.

“I’m Andre,” math boy says. Shit. He’s likely noticed Rowan’s unsubtle idea of checking him out, but the name drop can only be a good sign.

Rowan goes in for the handshake. He’s so thirsty that he practically gets flushed from that alone. “Rowan. Khanna. History.”

And, with that, Andre returns to his inevitable doom and Rowan returns merely to imagining the fires of passion. It’s not that he’s ever been particularly interested in sex, or romance, or any of that - but it’s been way too long, and he’s going to cry if he eats any more microwave meals, and he wants someone to distract him from the call of the void that seems to follow being a single college student with at least two crushes. He groans.

“Problem?” an inquiring voice laughs. Rowan recognises the accent: it’s Southern and hillbilly but too gentle to belong to an actual hillbilly, and his head snaps up, expecting Bill Weasley and his tousled hair and his fang earring and his accepting attitude and his lax alternative style–

but it’s just an amused Charlie, and Charlie’s no Bill. He’s shorter, with a shaved head, an explosion of freckles, and a dragon tattoo. But God, Rowan thinks. As handsome as Bill. Just less outgoing. Charlie purportedly just lets things happen.

“I hate being a student,” Rowan sighs, and Charlie concurs. Their eyes meet long enough for Rowan’s heart to skip a beat. He looks like Bill.

Charlie leans in.

“Bathroom?”

“Oh, Christ, please.”

Rowan doesn’t bother making a sign explaining his absence; nobody seems to want to speak to him, and that’s probably because it’s eleven at night and the only people in the library are the math crew, those lacking in the will to live, and him.

And he’s now backed up against the wall of the disabled toilet with Charlie under his waistband, so he’s not sure he gets to stack up well anymore.

Charlie makes short work of Rowan and lets him sink to the floor, breathless. He sets himself up, legs wrapped around Rowan, but sits still anyway. It’s a shit vantage point.

“Math?” Charlie asks.

“History.”

“Cryptozoology.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“I get to go on field trips to find wendigos.”

“Oh, my fiery feet! My burning feet of fire!”

“That’s the one. Can you get on all fours?”

Rowan does, resisting the familiar urge to gasp as Charlie pushes himself between Rowan’s thighs and lets this follow with tumbling expletives. Rowan can feel Charlie’s hands shaking a little where they hold his waist, and doesn’t think he’s worth that much, honestly.

Charlie starts moving, slowly at first but unable to temper himself. “Oh, God, I can’t,” he stutters, pushing faster and faster until Rowan’s thighs ache and he thinks he might come again just from the sounds of Charlie slipping over the edge and him grabbing Rowan’s hair as he thrusts.

Rowan’s so easy.

Charlie spills over his legs and then flips him round to finish Rowan off again until he can’t see straight anymore and is lying enjoying the last of his ethereal moments before he comes back into the realisation that he’s lying on the floor of a bathroom stall and his stomach is sticky and his hair is so out of order that he looks like he hasn’t brushed it in weeks.

He groans, and starts a little when he feels something soft run across his snail trail and down to his legs.

Charlie’s cleaning him up with a wet wipe.

“Do you carry those around with you everywhere?”

“Listen, do you want to try and clean yourself up with one-ply?”

Rowan supposes not. “Thanks.”

“You volunteer librarians. You always look like you’re desperate for it.”

“I’m covering for my friend Ben.”

“Even more desperate.”

“Have you and Ben ever…?”

“No. He kinda looks like he’d fall apart. I’ve got a bit of a thing going with Tonks, though. She’s amazing.”

“So, Charlie, what exactly started you on your path of having bathroom sex with all the student librarians?”

“I don’t know, really. It happened once and then I just kept going for it. Makes me feel a little less like I want to drive away and never come back.”

Charlie runs a hand across Rowan’s cheek and tucks some of his hair behind his ear. Rowan looks back at him.

“I get that,” Rowan says, and stands up.

Rowan is not very pleasantly woken from his slumber at seven in the morning by the next student volunteer, who seems entirely nonplussed by the fact that Rowan has slept through the majority of his cover shift.

He decides to be cordial enough to return the mug he’d borrowed to the kitchen, and of course, just to ensure that Rowan Khanna never gets any peace and is always living a life of predicaments, Andre and Charlie are kissing in the corner.

“I know this library is twenty-four-hour, but you can go home,” Rowan sniffs. “You can wait before your next conquest.”

“I was waiting for you,” Andre clarifies, and he laughs awkwardly for a moment. “I hate being in that fucking tent. I’m not learning anything. It’s not even a political stance; the board don’t care. I saw you two go into the bathroom yesterday, and- goddammit, I just want to be free to do what I want to do and not eat their idea of fucking meals which have no nutritional value whatsoever!”

“If we’re having sex, we’re going to breakfast first,” Rowan says. Charlie laughs.

“I’ll pay,” he says.

They have a slightly crappy breakfast in Starbucks, but the caffeine hits Rowan like a sledgehammer, righting all the wrongs in his system like the ultimate pill. Charlie has a roll and a hot chocolate and seems at an almost eerie bliss at his corner of the table, as if the stress of student life has entirely evaded him. Andre’s still got that math student vibe of being permanently jittered. He takes two toilet breaks in the time it takes them to eat breakfast.

“Don’t you drink coffee, Charlie?” Rowan asks. He has to ask. He doesn’t even understand how someone could survive a day in college without being fuelled through it by caffeine highs and bathroom blowjob crashes. Andre’s drinking tea, but that’s still caffeine.

“No,” he says. “I don’t like it.”

Rowan is hit by a wave of newfound respect for Charlie: under the influence of no stimulants, he survives daily college life, from lessons to screwing in library bathrooms, and he never once seems to look out of place. He almost wants to think fuck Bill. Bill might be cool, but Rowan’s seen him disheveled and grumpy in sweatpants: Charlie doesn’t seem to know how to be a mess, and though Andre is clearly an emotional wreck, he’s an emotional wreck in good trousers.

“I don’t want to have sex,” he says suddenly, and Charlie looks up so quickly that Rowan is hit by the urge to retract the statement; but it’s true, so he ploughs on. “I’m tired. And I want to just – watch Netflix with you guys.”

“If I’d known you’d say that, I’d have let Charlie do me in that kitchen,” Andre huffs, but concedes. Rowan’s correctly gauged that he also doesn’t have the energy left in him for any sort of vigorous physical exercise, or even any mental exercise. Rowan wonders what would happen if he asked Andre to read a book; perhaps he’d explode. “Depends on what you’re watching.”

“My vote’s on a Stranger Things marathon,” Charlie says.

This is how Rowan finds himself making out with his crush’s brother on a math student’s sofa whilst Barb finds herself left on her own at the pool. He bloody likes Stranger Things, too, but Charlie’s handsy. He can barely catch a breath because Charlie’s made it his mission to steal them all. Andre is content with Netflix.

Doesn’t stop him from nabbing a kiss or two.

Rowan’s not sure if this was the ideal answer to his initial predicament: after all, Charlie isn’t Bill, and he now seems to have acquired two boyfriends that his parents will disapprove of and whom he barely knows at all. But he guesses that he’s probably chosen right, because he’s not hungover, and he does have two boyfriends, one of whom is kind of the supreme Bill, the other a sobbing math student with an infectious smile and a sharp sense of style.

He could’ve had worse. And this is his reflection of the day that makes it to Tumblr, right after Peter Parker’s confession of love to Wade Wilson, a true slow burn at Chapter 52.

#i write shit #i need jesus #hp #rowan khanna #fanfic #hogwarts mystery #andre egwu #charlie weasley #hprarepairnet #hptriadsnet #rowan x charlie x andre

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shigironki · 6 years

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~BIO FOR MY BULLY OC, VICTORIA CLAIRE KENNEDY~ i feel like i left too much out for my baby girl, and also changed so much of her. :B ALSO I FINALLY GOT OFF MY LAZY ASS AND MADE HER A FULL BIO, GO ME!!

Biographical Information Name – Victoria Claire Kennedy Age - 17, sophomore year Birthday – September 7th Astrological Sign - virgo Gender - female Ethnicities Distant Descendants: none that she truly knows currently.

Dominant Descendants: American Physical Description Hair Color – hazel/black hair, very wavy and curly, never has it straight Eye Color - Hazel Weight – 165 lb Height – 5′5 ft Figure/Build – Is an hour glass figure, thighs are big, is 37 C cup, curvy waist, and has slight chub onto her stomach, face is chubby as well. Distinguishing Features/Scars/ or Birthmarks – There are scars (very light; you can’t see them unless you look very close) on her right wrist that are medium sized, very light. has a scar onto her knee from when she was little. Has stretch marks on her hips that are very deep, and also on her breast, arms, and knees. She does have freckles, on her face, shoulders, and crotch-area. Tattoos: none Piercings: has two little piercings on her ears, and a nipple piercing

Frequently Worn Jewelry: She tends to wear rings on her middle finger, does wear chokers (mainly black, but sometimes pink as well).

Typical Clothing Wear: Victoria tends to wear her school uniforms more often, but out of school she tends to wear cutesy clothes; pink shorts, “kawaii” dresses/skirts, formal shirts. She does also tend to wear one of Johnny or Gary’s shirts (ones they gave to her) With a pair of leggings. Never wears jeans unless they’re shorts.

Personal Information

Current Living Arrangements - Currently lives in a two story home in towards the forested areas of Bullworth.

Traveled Territories – She currently has only traveled from Florida (last home) to Bullworth.

Hobbies - Writing, knitting, playing games, drawing, and sleeping a lot.

Fears – Abandonment, overcrowded places, the dark, father, and abandoned places.

Religion/Beliefs – Currently has no idea.

Why?: She was raised in a non-religion family household, her parents nor grandparents never really got her into religion

Health Behaviors

Physical Ailments/ Disabilities/ Issues – Currently has PTSD, MDD, anxiety and Bipolar Disorder. She has has loss of feeling in her pinky on the right side of her wrist.

Addiction(s) [Sex, Drugs, Smoking, Alcohol, Other]: She currently smokes pot, and has trouble saving money and spending it on important stuff

Why?: Smoking pot helps her calm down, and it was sorta forced onto her at a young age (13 years old) and she never really tried quitting, along with money, she never fully had anything so spending it on stuff she immediately loves is “always the right thing”

Any regular medication taken? – Antidepressants, and nighttime medications.

Chronological Information

Profession – A waitress for a local diner

Likes – Pastel clothes, cute stuff animals, animal crossing, Word Of Warcraft, G&G, and reading, along with smelling candles and perfume

Dislikes – Anyone who’s a dick, bullying, toxic people, and acne

Goals/Ambitions – Currently wants to be a nurse for a children’s hospital

Most Instructive/Painful/Memorable Experience – Mainly her childhood; as she was bullied to the extreme, she turned off her emotions and stopped caring for others. Along with her father being put into jail, she grew with her grandparents and with her two sisters. This caused her to go into a mental meltdown, soon cursing and getting extreme mood swings, and with getting into violent situations, she grew hating everyone and everything, and never letting anymore get close to her.

Weapons/Equipment – Mainly uses her fist and feet for combat, also carries a rainbow pocket knife for protection. (She also has a Hello Kitty bat in her dorm room in case).

Personal Attributes

Personality - Victoria’s personality can be summed up with two words; asshole, and caring person. As she grew with showing nor feeling any emotions, it takes her awhile to understand which emotion she’s currently feeling, which ends with being a bitch towards others in defense, and even being sarcastic towards those she feels are gonna toy with her or use her. She’s very hard to get used to, or even close to, but once you do, she’s a very gentle and sweet girl. She truly cares about those that have shown her love and kindness, and sometimes gets too trusting and stops caring for herself, just to love those who have shown her politeness and love. She gets carried away too much, and sometimes overreacts to stuff very quickly, but once you get close, she will truly love you for who you are and accepts you instantly.

Strengths - Quirky and very funny, knows a lot about science and math, knows how to fight, very good at talking out of sticky situations, persuasive to the maximum, and knows how to copy someone else handwriting very quickly.

Weaknesses - Very angered easily, low self-esteem, her PTSD makes her scared of being hurt and yelled at, cannot be in the same room as a male adult, trust too easily, cries nearly about everything.

Good Habits – Tries to be there for everyone, helps when needed, charismatic, drops everything for others.

Bad Habits – Doesn’t watch her language as often, eats waay too much, gets upset and irritated instantly, makes everything into a joke about herself, (Doesn’t do this anymore) uses pain as a way to help her emotions onto herself.

Fetishes/Strange Behaviors – No fetishes, but does bite her ear bud cords, shakes her legs hard, bites her nails and sweater sleeves.

Stereotype – With wearing cute clothes and looking very sweet, she certainly does not fit the stereotype. She’s a potty mouth, bluntly tells the truth, and makes sure people know not to ever mess with her.

Ratings on Personal Qualities

Physical Strength: 7/10 As good as she is with fighting, she currently does feel pain a lot more than normal, as in one good punch to her and she’s down to the ground.

Attractive: 7/10 her outfits put people off instantly, but people seem to admire how she looks in a lot of pastel colors.

Honesty : 4/10 As much as she wants to tell the truth most times, she sadly can’t bring herself to tell the full truth about someone. She cares more about the person than the harsh truth.

Rule Abiding : 3/10 Lmao, rules? They don’t exist much to Victoria. She does break a lot of school rules, but makes sure to never break her home rules or grandparents.

Sociability : 8/10 She truly is the social butterfly type. Cliques don’t matter to her at all, she likes you? She’ll want to be your friend instantly.

Bullworth Academy Information

Victoria has attended Bullworth for two years, for freshmen and now sophomore. As she dropped out of middle school to get her life more stress free, she had to repeat 8th grade in order to go into high school. And with all the troubles she had caused in Florida, Bullworth was the only academy to accept her.

Knowledgeability

Language(s) – English, and French.

Schooling Level – Sophomore(??)

Expertise – languages

Reading Level – above average

Relationships Statuses

Trusted Companions

Closest Friend(s) – Beatrice Trudeau

Even with Victoria not so big into math or any subject, her and Beatrice have been extremely close since Freshmen year. They both have a close friendship, and are there for each other 24/7, no matter the situation. She doesn’t like some of her best friends choices, but she makes sure she’s okay and safe and sound. ((When her and Jimmy “had a falling out” Victoria was there for her all night, helping her and making sure she was okay)).

Friend(s) – cornelius johnson, algernon papadopoulos, peanut romano, lola lombardi, petey kowalski, jimmy hopkins

* cornelius johnson: They both enjoy musicals, and science most of the time. She tends to go to him for the latest update of a musical that’s going on, and they both can giggle and cry over anything like Romeo and Juliet. They’re good friends for sure, and never really hang outside of school.

* algernon papadopoulos: As much as the two never see eye to eye, they usually have a good time during G&G, him joking about her “Edgy” characters she plays, and make jokes about the campaign. She never bothers to get to know him, as she never has the energy to handle his excitement, or usually understand what he’s talking about.

* Peanut Romano: He’s her first ever real friend when she had gotten to Bullworth, and nothing makes her happy than to hear about what Lucky or Ricky did that was stupid. She sees Peanut as a brother type of person she can trust, she tends to go to him when she feels like Johnny’s out of line, or what to do when he’s not okay. They both really enjoy each other’s company.

* Lola Lombardi: They both didn’t see eye to eye after her and Johnny broke up, and Victoria began to date him. Of course, with some small talk and hanging out, they both became good friends instantly, with Lola showing what type of clothes could get Johnny going, or helping her with make up tips. Lola is a type of friend to listen to Victoria talk about anything and just nod and agree.

* jimmy hopkins: As much as he isn’t okay with her dating both Gary and Johnny, he’s still there for her a lot of times. They have a weird friendship, at times they wouldn't’ speak to each other for weeks on end, then the next time they’re talking non stop and making a fuss in the classroom. *Pete kowalski: Victoria was really the one to never call him a dork or a loser, she actually enjoys hanging out with him, playing video games and talking about drama of the school. She does love his comebacks to Gary a lot of times, and always is there for him no matter what.

Hated Rivals

Worst Enemies – The Jocks, she truly hates them all due to constant bullying they do with the nerds.

Intolerable Students –

* Mandy Wiles: With her constant putting down on Beatrice, she truly cannot stand Mandy for the dear life of her. The constant joking and poking fun at her best friend, it made her hate her instantly as soon as she had gotten there.

Tolerated Students – She doesn’t tolerate much people, either she likes you, dislikes you, or just doesn't talk much to you.

Tolerated Townsfolk - No one currently

Hot Encounters

Hinted Attractions - Gary Smith, Johnny Vincent (before they all had began to date)

Crush(es) - none

Lover(s) - Gary Smith, Johnny Vincent.

She wasn’t fond of Gary at first, but given that they started to tolerate each other, she began to learn more and more about him, understanding where he’s coming from as she had parents who didn’t care for her, or wouldn’t try to. They became friends with benefits at first, as she was hypersexual and he wanted a stress relief, but as soon as they made it a normal thing, he began to develop a crush for her, hating it ever so much as she got into a relationship with Johnny. As she brought up that she could date both of them, with their consent of course, Johnny wasn’t okay with it at all first, as that was his girl and only his, but as she began to stress more and more about this, he caved in and gave it a try. It was all very stressful and full of fighting until Johnny began to try and get close and get used to his presence. They’re all fully comfortable now, still some annoyance from both boys here and there, but it’s easily resolved.

Ex(s) - Unless you count people who dated her for a day, then no

Extra Information

Eating Habits

Omnivore/Carnivore/Herbivore – omnivore

Favorite Food(s): Bagel Bites

Favorite Drink(s): Soda, red bulls, smoothies, and orange juice

Disliked Food(s): peas, Brussels sprouts, and tomatoes

Disliked Drink(s): tea

Added Information

Scent – Lavender, and/or honey

Favorite Color: black, pastel colors

Favorite Season: summer

Favorite Animal: frogs, chickens, bunnies, and cats

Favorite Music Genre: kpop, 2000′s pop, 80′s, 90′s, and death metal

#art taggy #bully oc #canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #cce #self ship #self insert #victoria kennedy #this took so long jfc

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merigreenleaf · 6 years

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Short Story: “A Glimpse of the Past”

(This is the story I was talking about this week, where I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it or not. This started as a flashback scene in an early draft of book 2 that I discarded in the next draft, so it’s no longer canon to the series, but I think it’s cute and sweet and romantic and I’m glad I edited it to turn it into a story. :) You can find the masterpost with links to read all of the short stories in this series here.)

—————————————

Blythe scrubbed at the soil caught under her nails until they were as clean and neat as she could get them in the poor light. She hadn’t intended to work in her window garden, but she needed the familiar comfort of cool dirt and growing life beneath her hands. Etri had left to do… something tonight, something he’d kept vague, and she was alternating between annoyance at being told just enough to make her fret and aggravation that if it was that important, he should have taken her with him. If Etri wasn’t telling her, it was because it was dangerous, and if it was dangerous, it was her job to watch his back. He’d done his horribly annoying vanishing thing where she looked away for five seconds to check her watch and when she turned back to ask him a question, he was out of sight. One of these days she was going to tie a length of string around his wrist and keep him near her like he was an ill-trained puppy. Try to see him slip away when he was connected to her!

Gardening had calmed her as it always did, yet a strange feeling still fogged her mind. She could have sworn she’d been somewhere different a moment ago. At the same time it was so right to be repotting her aloe in the new yellow pot Sol had bought her to replace the cracked one he’d accidentally knocked over. As she reached for a towel to dry her hands, she glanced out the window above the sink. Lantern light glimmered off a thin layer of freshly-fallen snow. It was pretty and it probably brightened up the wagon considering she’d been too stupid to remember to light a lamp.

Snow… that couldn’t be right. There hadn't been snow for months...

A knock on her door echoed loudly in the dark even though it was hardly louder than a tap. Everything always seemed so muffled and quiet in winter… or was it spring? She tried to ignore the lingering disorientation and walked over to see who needed her at this hour. Etri stood on her doorstep, his head bowed as he wrung his hands together. “I need your help, Blade. I have been poisoned.”

Blythe was about to chew him out for disappearing earlier when his words stopped her cold, half out of fear and half out of recognition. She’d heard this before. She could remember standing here with fear eating at her heart, she could remember taking him by the arm and tugging him inside out of weather, she could remember the way he looked at her with faith in his pale eyes when she began to heal him. She tried to take a few deep breaths to clear her mind and found her body wouldn’t listen. Instead she watched herself lead Etri into the wagon and hang his wet coat to dry by the stove, just as she knew she would. She knew she would because she already had.

She had no idea how it happened, but somehow she’d inadvertently managed to read her own memories. Wonderful. She knew from her training that she could only sit back and let this play out until she snapped out of it or the memory ran its course, so she hunkered down in her own head to watch. When she was back in her current time, she was going to give herself a stern talking to because this was not okay for a fully trained healer to do. This was an amateur mistake. She hadn’t screwed up telepathy and memory reading in years and never her own.

“What do you mean you've been poisoned?” past-Blythe asked, oblivious to her later self being carried along for the ride.

“I touched a trapped window while I was attempting to break into the home of a merchant. Normally I avoid such things, but this was a type I had not previously come across. It contained two kinds of needles instead of one. I caught sight of the other and disabled that which I recognized. Too late I realized it had a secondary mechanism. It was not the paralyzing type, which was the one I disabled. I believe that one was intended to incapacitate a thief long enough for the authorities to arrive, in which case the needle which pricked me would have allowed the thief to give away why they were there. I did not spring the first trap, so I was able to get in and then out again with the information I needed. The house did in fact belong to-”

Past-Blythe interrupted him mid-sentence. “I thought you didn't do that kind of thing anymore.”

Blythe, both past and present, could have immediately guessed something was wrong even without his reveal about triggering a rigged window. Etri never chattered, even to her. On occasion he would get talkative about books he'd recently read, but not about something that was supposed to be a secret, and never in a way that was an unceasing string of sentences spoken in one breath. Rambling was something Adair did. At the time they hadn’t known Adair, so past-Blythe didn’t make a comment about the two of them rubbing off on each other. Pity, because now-Etri would have calmed and smiled at the mention of his boyfriend.

If this memory was going where she thought it was going, though, Adair definitely hadn’t been in the picture. All the more a pity because he would have liked this.

As Etri spoke he strode back and forth across the floor, his long legs only managing to squeeze in four strides before he was forced to turn around again. This, at least, was familiar to both Blythes. He always paced when he was agitated and it was something she was sure he’d picked up from her, unless it was the other way around. “I usually do not, but I acquired information of a potential member of the syndicate living in this town. I wished to investigate so I could send word to Sapphire in order to alert her of merchants in this location who could pose a problem.”

“Uhh... great.” Past-Blythe’s only concern was Etri getting to the point so he would stop pacing and chattering. “Can you stand still for a minute so I can check about this poison?”

Etri did as he was instructed and stood still in front of her, but he continued to chatter. “It is a toxicant, not truly a poison… It is silly for me to say this, of course you would be able to determine that as you are a healer. Are you going to see if it remains inside me to determine the exact type? I know you can deduce this, because you are very good at healing. I did not wish to go to Wysta because I prefer you as a healer. I do not like other people touching me, but your touch I do not mind. I also did not wish to tell Wysta this information, so you were the better choice for that, as well.

“If this was supposed to be a secret, you do realize you’re still blathering all this to me.” Past-Blythe ignored the first part of his reason considering she had already unbuttoned Etri's shirt so she could slide her hand inside to place it on his chest. Obviously she was going to check him. Under the layer of soft hair, his chest was cold, as his body always was, but his heartbeat ran faster than usual. Past-Blythe found this worrisome while Blythe possessed hindsight and wondered if it truly was the toxicant causing it-- or if it was something else entirely. She would place her bet on the something else.

“That is different. You are my best friend and I trust you. You do not cause me fear or discomfort. The opposite, perhaps. I enjoy being near you. You care for me. You may act gruff on occasion, but you are quite sweet.”

Etri was normally nothing like this and it was disconcerting to hear him voice every thought crossing his mind. It was making past-Blythe uncomfortable and Blythe wasn’t exactly put at ease by it, either.

To Blythe's relief, which was dumb because a memory could only play out one way, her past self did what she herself had done and distracted Etri with a question. “What's the syndicate you were talking about?”

As he began to blather, past-Blythe listened with half an ear. Most of her attention was spent on focusing her thoughts on Etri so she could determine how thoroughly he was affected by the toxicant and what kind of healing pattern would be needed to eliminate it. The real Blythe, however, realized Etri had said more than she previously remembered. Likely now it had more relevancy since she had met Sapphire and some of Etri's previous carnival troupe-slash-thieving crew. She also lacked the worry of her past self. She knew Etri was going to be fine, although she kind of wished she could move this body so she could smack him in the back of the head. It wouldn’t be a hard hit, just enough to make her feel better about the five months of stress he’d caused her before he finally made another move.

“You are aware that merchants are the people responsible for buying and selling art created by the artists, yes?” Past-Blythe rolled her eyes, which was good because Blythe wanted to do exactly the same thing. It wasn’t like she’d spent her life living under a rock. For Petra’s sake, she was the Concordian here, not Etri. He didn’t seem to notice her reaction and continued, “Under normal circumstances this works properly and the sentinels have a selection of merchants to whom they can sell in order to attain a reasonable price for their artists’ creations. A portion of the merchants have banded together to form a group under the leadership of a few corrupt individuals. The members of this group all offer the sentinels less than acceptable values and force them to sell only to this group or not at all. The corrupt merchants then turn around and sell this art to buyers, usually foreign, who pay their regular price for it. This means the artists earn less while the merchants are padding their own pockets with ill gained profits.”

This, though, Blythe hadn’t known-- or at least hadn’t remembered-- and she was interested in hearing more about it now that it was relevant to her current situation with Adair. Unfortunately her past self hadn’t cared and stayed true to her memory by speaking when Etri stopped to catch his breath. “There’s definitely a toxicant still inside you. I think I know what to do to nullify it, but I've never done this on my own before. You'd do better seeing Wysta.”

Blythe mentally winced, the only way of wincing she could do at the moment. Had she really been so unsure of herself? Removing a foreign substance was easy-peasy compared to when she’d removed harmful weaving from Adair’s mind. That had been difficult and even then she’d managed it.

Etri shook his head so rapidly that both Blythes hoped dizziness wasn’t a symptom of his poisoning. “I cannot tell her this! I have faith that you can help me. You have healed me many times before without complication.”

Past-Blythe fought to keep herself from pacing, which amused her later self. She and Etri really were pretty damn compatible. “Those were colds and stuff. This is poison!”

“As I have said, this is not poison in the true sense of the word since in my experience it is made simply to incapacitate and not leave long-lasting harm.”

“Tomayto, tomahto, this is a foreign chemical in your body, Etch! You need more help than an assistant healer.”

Blythe silently scoffed at herself as Etri took her hands and stared into her eyes. That shut her up, even if it was directed at a different version of her. His pupils were tiny, a result of what was coursing through his body, and in the lamplight his blue eyes seemed almost amber. Blythe felt a rush of affection her past self hadn’t experienced. Amber was Adair’s eye color. “And I know you can do this. Trust me that I trust you.”

Past-Blythe, who didn’t know Adair and certainly didn’t go soft at that intense yet tender look he and Etri had both perfected, simply nodded. Blythe could remember her mind racing as she’d struggled to remember the antidote. While she could feel this body moving and listen to it speak, she couldn't hear her own original thoughts, which was probably for the best. Her head was crowded enough with her own thoughts.

After a few moments, her past self recalled what she needed to do to clear away something like poison. “Okay. Let me mix together a paste and I'll try.”

Etri smiled at her with a grin full of dimples that had once been few and far between. Now his smile was as familiar as those eyes and the cool touch of his hands in hers. He gave her hands a squeeze and let go so he could return to pacing across the narrow wagon. Blythe allowed herself a few moments of fond later memories about his touch while her past self began sorting through her herbs.

Blythe brought her attention back to this moment when Etri began to speak again. “The corrupt merchants are running an illicit scheme where artists are no longer making a proper income off their creations. My previous troupe works to help the artists in such a situation. Often we will steal back the ill-gained art and clandestinely return it to the home of the original artist. Most of the time, however, we sneak into the homes and offices of the merchants to attempt to locate records of who is responsible. Once we have proof a merchant has joined the syndicate, we set it up so they are caught by the authorities. As a result they have put more effort into guarding their homes and offices. The troupe must avoid the sentinels to return their art, but generally their homes are not trapped in any way. The merchants, on the other hand, occasionally have hired guards and inevitably have traps, especially since they are beginning to suspect that someone is working against them and that it is no longer coincidence when they are caught.”

Past-Blythe still wasn’t paying much attention since art-related issues had nothing to do with her. Blythe wished she could shake her by the shoulders because this was important. Past-Blythe was going to end up in a relationship with an artist and this would have been something useful to know in advance.

With no way to communicate with her former self, she could only watch as her hands finished mixing the paste she had no contribution in concocting. If she had, she would have added more tarragon. What was past her thinking? “I'm ready. I'll need you to lie down for this. There's another reason Wysta would have made more sense, you know. She’s got low cots in her wagon specifically for patients.”

“I am not an invalid. The bed is fine even though it is high.”

Etri was so tall he was able to hoist himself up into the loft without needing to use the rungs built into the cabinet below. Past-Blythe used the ladder and climbed up after him. Her bed was a kind of alcove built into the wall and she had to squeeze in to get past Etri. This was the one and only time she ever shared this space with someone else because later they’d moved to the floor. Adair’s fear of heights apparently included beds, but she loved him too much to complain that a loft really wasn’t that high off the ground.

Past-Blythe positioned herself with her back to the wall so she could place the bowl of healing paste she held on the shelf. Later it would be claimed by Adair’s cat who liked looking out the tiny window. For now it held only a book and the bowl. “Take off your shirt.

As she dipped her fingers into the bowl to stir the contents, Etri obeyed without comment. This was another sign that he was under the influence of something. Normally he delayed removing articles of clothing by complaining about the cold, although she knew it was also because his upbringing left him terribly self-conscious about showing skin.

...which he wasn't this time. When past-Blythe looked over again, he was sprawled on his back with his arms behind his head, his dark hair in disarray against her pillow. In the lamplight his pale skin seemed to shine with a deceptive inner fire, as though he had gained his twin's lightweaving. The glow on his skin shifted into a new pattern every time the lamp's flame danced.

Blythe felt her past self's heart skip a beat as she stared at her friend laying in front of her. Past-Blythe quickly looked away and back at the bowl, much to the annoyance of the person reliving this who appreciated the view, thank you very much.

Past-Blythe brought her fingertips to Etri's chest and begun tracing a pattern onto his skin. She was only as far as the first vertical line when he reached up to touch her braid. It had fallen over her shoulder and Blythe remembered thinking at the time that he was going to push it back for her, but this wasn't his intention. Instead he tugged away the ribbon securing the bottom and started to unbraid it with his deft fingers. “You would look pretty with your hair down. I mean, your hair would look nice framing your face. You are already very pretty.”

Past-Blythe's breath hitched and only partly from the affectionate words he spoke. At the time he had no idea of the intimacy he was implying with that deceptively simple action. She caught his wrist before he could finish freeing her hair. Blythe wished she hadn’t been so keen to follow tradition because she loved when Etri played with her hair. Her past self was missing out. “Please stop. Protectorates don't go out in public with their hair loose. Only their muses and immediate family can see them with their hair unbraided.”

Etri slid his hand into hers and entwined their fingers so she was holding this instead of his wrist. “I would be your muse if you asked.”

“You're delirious, Etch. This is the toxicant talking.” Past-Blythe's voice came out little more than a whisper. This was something she’d half-wanted for a very long time, although in hindsight Blythe knew she’d always wanted it entirely. Being neck-deep in denial really hadn’t done her any favors.

With his free hand, Etri reached up to bury his fingers in her loosened hair before letting go to gently pull her down to him. Past-Blythe didn’t resist and when Etri lifted his shoulders off the bed, she met him halfway. His kiss was everything her past self had hoped for. Even her current self, who, along with the help of a certain artist, had given Etri a lot more practice, couldn’t find any fault with it. Etri was gentle yet passionate. Firm, then letting her lead, then pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. It was as they were in their relationship and in their role as sentinels: equal, balanced, and ever in tune with each other. While his lips and mouth were cold, his chill was something she had long grown accustomed to even back then and experiencing it in this unfamiliar way had only made her crave more of it. Her current self certainly wanted more.

Except past-Blythe came to her senses and realized it wasn't something that was hers to take. As Etri nuzzled against her neck, she pulled away. “No, Etch. We can't. The toxicant-”

Etri’s face went even more ashen than its usual pale hue. “Please tell me I did not cause it to harm you. I do not wish to hurt you. I never wish to hurt you.”

His concern, even while under the influence of something other than himself, tugged at Blythe's heart both in the past and in the present. Creators, she loved him so much. “No, it’s not that. Something like this can usually only be transferred by injection into the blood and my body could probably nullify it anyway. Healer, remember? What I meant was we can't do this. It wouldn't be right. I'm not going to take advantage of you.”

Etri’s disappointment was all but tangible and Blythe wished she could assure him that things would work out fine. Better than fine. Still, he was her friend and even in this state knew she wanted to protect him. He nodded and brushed her cheek with his hand, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. When he spoke, it was with a small, kind smile that both past and present Blythe found comforting. “Do as you think is best. I trust you. I always will.”

Past-Blythe smiled with relief and went back to tracing the healing pattern on his chest. Blythe, meanwhile, was caught between affection and the returning urge to smack him with the book sitting under the bowl of paste. The toxicant driving his actions had left Etri with no memory of this day and he’d waited months to make any kind of move again. Blythe had been too embarrassed to do this herself and if it hadn’t been for Adair blundering his way into their lives, they’d likely still be ignoring the elephant in the room. Granted it would have been a rather small elephant because the wagon could barely hold three people and a cat, and it was possible she might have just given in and kissed Etri senseless one day regardless of said elephant, but all-in-all, Blythe was quite thankful for Adair’s inadvertent nudging of the situation.

Whenever she landed in her own time again, she was going to show him how thankful she was. Then she would probably hit Etri with a book. Five months. Sheesh.

—————

I’m going to tag people who expressed interest in being tagged in stories. If you don’t want to be on this list, let me know. And if you do want to be on this list, also let me know and I’ll add you. It’s all good. :) @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @firewritten @joshuaorrizonte @writtenhastily @writerlydays @ava-burton-writing @josephmxa @megan-cutler @dragonscanbeplantstoo @alittle-writer @elliot-orion @perringcentral @an-author-in-progress @aceduchessdragoness @madmooninc @thatwriternamedvolk

#writing #writeblr #short story #short fiction #polyamory #my writing #fantasy story #unexpected inspiration series #my writing ramblings #UI POV: Blythe #I really hope this makes sense because having two Blythes was a little weird to write

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noona-la-la-la · 7 years

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Nursemaid

(Jimin’s crush comes over to his house to help him out after he suffers an injury that leaves him with limited use of both hands.)

Warnings: 6000+ words of smut, Jimin POV, I’ll let you guess what kind of smut takes place

“I can’t believe you managed to injure both of your hands on the same day.” Hoseok’s girlfriend, Sophie, stifled a laugh while she said it. “I can’t tell if you are dumb or just unlucky.”

Jimin sighed. He had been stupid and drunk when he and Jungkook went out into the street to play with fireworks. One went off too close to his hand, burning his right palm requiring a trip to the emergency room where his injury was cleaned and bandaged. The doctor gave him a lecture about drunk people and explosives and how fortunate he was not to have blasted off his fingers.

While exiting the hospital, Jimin immediately tripped over the curb and landed with his full weight onto his left hand resulting in a small fracture and return trip to the emergency room to get a splint to immobilize his other hand. Now, every time Jimin saw someone, he had to suffer the embarrassment of explaining what happened. People had a hard time not laughing when they heard how he managed to get hurt twice in one day.

“Does it hurt much?” you asked him.

“Not really. As long as I don’t bump into anything or use my fingers too much, it’s okay.” At least you seemed to be genuinely concerned about his well-being. That’s one of the reasons Jimin liked you, you always seemed caring and sincere. The other main reason he liked you was because he thought you were incredibly hot. There were plenty of nights Jimin stayed up fantasizing about what it would feel like to be with you. He wanted to ask you out, but had been waiting until there was some indication that you were even the slightest bit interested in him. He was starting to think that maybe he had a chance with you, but he felt neutered with his injuries, unable to do things like casually touch you and see how you would respond to his advances. Jimin resolved to make a move as soon as he had full use of his hands again.

When his roommate, Hoseok, first started dating Sophie, Jimin was annoyed by how often she was over at the apartment. Sophie was brash and a little crude, made herself a bit too comfortable in Jimin’s home. But once he discovered that you were Sophie’s roommate and that you would occasionally tag along to just hang out, Jimin learned to tolerate Sophie a lot better. Anything that kept you coming by was worth it.

“It’s good that your fingers aren’t bandaged as well. Are you able to use them to grip things?” You leaned over to take a closer look at Jimin’s hands, causing your blouse to fall open a little and allowing Jimin to peek inside and see the curve of your breasts encased in a lacy pink bra.

Jimin surreptitiously slid one of the throw pillows from the couch onto his lap to prevent the growing tingling feeling between his legs from becoming visible to you or the others in the room. “I can’t really do anything that requires much strength to grip, like, I have to use both hands to hold onto a glass of water or turn a doorknob. Anything that requires actual manual dexterity is a lost cause.”

You were close enough to Jimin that he could smell you; it was a clean scent, soap and water, the faint lavender of your shampoo. He liked that you didn’t wear heavy perfume like some girls did -- instead, you smelled fresh and pure. It almost made Jimin feel guilty for the constant dirty thoughts he had about you… almost.

“That must be difficult. Are you able to dress yourself or does Hoseok have to help you?” you asked.

“Hell no! He does that on his own!” Hoseok responded loudly from his seat in an armchair across the room. Sophie was sitting in his lap, her arms around his neck and Hoseok’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist. As irritating as they could be, Jimin had to admit he was a little jealous of their public displays of affection. He would do anything to have you sitting in his lap right now.

“I’m just wearing sweats and tee-shirts for now. Stuff I can pull on easily. It’s kinda bad how sloppy I look all the time.”

“I don’t think you look sloppy, you just look casual. Since you’re a good-looking guy, you can get away without having to be dressed nice all the time,” you advised him.

Jimin’s heart beat a little faster at the compliment. Were you flirting with him or just being nice? He couldn’t help himself but to look at your lips and think about how soft they looked and how nice it would feel to kiss them. Then his eyes traveled to your neck, mentally tracing a line from your ear to your collarbone, wondering what it would be like to run his tongue over your skin. He held the pillow in his lap a little tighter.

“What I want to know,” Sophie said, “is how do you jerk off?”

Hoseok burst into a fit of laughter at his girlfriend’s audacious question. Jimin closed his eyes and shook his head, he could feel his face heat up, a combination of embarrassment and irritation.

“Jesus! Sophie, how can you ask such a thing!” You admonished your roommate, glaring at her for asking something so crass.

“What? No one else here is wondering the same thing?” Sophie looked around at everyone as she spoke. “Just because you don’t have the guts to ask the question doesn’t mean you weren’t curious. His hands are all wrapped up so he can’t be whacking off the traditional way and he doesn’t have a girlfriend to help him out, so it’s got to suck unless he’s got some other method to get himself off.”

“I’ll be fine, but thanks for your concern,” Jimin responded sarcastically. The truth was that he hadn’t been able to masturbate for the past three days since the accident and he was starting to feel a little desperate, realizing it might be weeks before he had adequate use of his hands again. Just last night, he had been on the internet looking at different sex toys and wondering what would be the best thing to buy to make things easier on himself. The only reason he didn’t make a purchase was because he wouldn’t have been able to open the box without assistance.

“It’s too bad you don’t live in Japan. I was watching this documentary thing the other day and they have these services for physically disabled people where you can have a trained nurse come to your house and give you a handjob. They showed this guy who has cerebral palsy or something getting it done to him. Like a medically necessary ejaculation or whatever. You need something like that.” Sophie pointed to Jimin for emphasis.

“That’s some crazy shit you’re watching, babe.” Hoseok pulled his girlfriend in closer to him. “Are you sure you weren’t just watching a porno?”

“It’s not like they actually showed his dick on the show or anything, but they filmed the whole set up and interviewed him and the nurse lady. It was all very professional,” she insisted. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea… it would be terrible to never be able to get yourself off when you need to. At least for girls, we can just grind against a pillow or something if our hands aren’t working, but for a guy it’s different.”

“Nah. It’s not all that different. If a guy really wants to, he can get off by rubbing his dick against something, like grinding it against the mattress or a pillow. It’s not the best way, but it’s totally doable.” Hoseok and Sophie were now in their own world, just casually discussing hands free masturbation techniques without regard to Jimin or you.

“Can we please stop talking about this!” you interjected forcefully, trying to change the subject. “I did not come all the way over here to talk about people jerking off!”

Hearing you yell made Jimin smile to himself. You were normally so calm, it was a special occasion to see you get flustered, your ears getting darker as you heated up with frustration. He wondered if that happened when you got excited about other things, too. Jimin could hear you arguing, but he couldn’t really focus on what was being said. Having you close by was too much of a distraction and he found himself gazing at you while your attention was on Sophie who had just called you a prude. You were gesturing vehemently with your hands while trying to make a point and the motion caused your breasts to bounce enticingly.

Jimin’s mouth began to water and the warmth in his groin started to spread. He was grateful for that pillow in his lap, especially since he had elected not to wear any underwear today and his sweatpants did little to conceal any signs of arousal. When he finally looked away from you, he saw Hoseok staring at him, grinning knowingly.

“Girls, girls!” Hoseok interrupted their argument. “What exactly was it that brought you over here in the first place? Not that you aren’t always welcome.”

“It was her idea, really,” Sophie said while pointing in your direction. “She thought we could come by and help out since Jimin is hurt, especially since my Hoseok here is domestically impaired.”

“Really? That’s nice of you.” Jimin was flattered and made a mental note that it had been your suggestion, hoping that this was a further sign that you would be receptive when he finally got around to asking you on a date.

“Yeah, I thought we could run some errands, maybe do your laundry, cook dinner tonight, things like that.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know. It’s just nice enough that you thought of me,” Jimin replied shyly.

“Don’t turn her down!” Hoseok argued. “I’ve heard she’s a really good cook and I’m tired of eating take out every night.”

Jimin laughed. “Okay, in that case, I would love to have a home cooked meal. But we don’t have much food in the house -- unless you can make something out of a case of beer and potato chips.”

“I guess that means our first errand will be doing some grocery shopping for you.” You smiled brightly at him, “Is there anything you have a particular taste for?”

“I’m not picky. Anything will be fine. Thank you.”

Sophie stood up from Hoseok’s lap, telling you, “Let’s go check out what little they do have in the kitchen before we go to the store. Jimin you just kick back and relax.” Sophie grabbed you by the hand and led you into the kitchen. A few seconds later she called back out to Hoseok, “This kitchen is a fucking mess! I understand why Jimin can’t wash dishes, but babe, what’s your excuse!?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion before telling Jimin, “I think she’s going to put me to work. You should go hide so you don’t have to listen to all the complaining.”

“I think I’ll go take a nap while they go to the grocery store.” With that Jimin stood to go to his room, still carrying the throw pillow in front of him.

Once inside his room, Jimin flopped down on his bed dramatically. He could hear your voice coming from the kitchen and he imagined what it would be like to have you as a girlfriend. Would you cook for him regularly? Why did he find the thought of you making a meal so exciting? He looked down at the front of his sweats and could see his semi-hard dick pushing through the fabric. Everything you did was sexy, he thought. It wasn’t unusual for Jimin to have to relieve himself sexually after you came over for a visit. After spending any time with you, he was generally consumed with thoughts of pressing his body against yours, tasting you, touching you. Today was no different, only doing something about it was going to be much more difficult.

He glanced over at that throw pillow he brought in from the living room and remembered the masturbation conversation from just a few minutes ago. Jimin had never considered humping a pillow before, but it was starting to sound like a pretty good idea given his current condition. Tonight, after you had gone home and when Hoseok and Sophie were fast asleep, he would definitely try it. But for now, he needed to focus on how to get the budding erection between his legs to go away before dinner tonight. The last thing he wanted was to try to have a pleasant dinner conversation with you while a raging boner was in full view of everyone.

Think unsexy thoughts, he told himself. Sports were usually sex free, so Jimin thought about basketball; he had seen a slam dunk contest on television earlier in the week and he was impressed by the skill of the athletes. As Jimin remembered the moves of the basketball players, he also remembered the cheerleaders dressed in their tiny skirts and midriff baring tops. Those outfits reminded him of the cheerleader costume you wore last Halloween -- it was blue with white trim and the top didn’t expose your belly, but it was a size too small and clung tightly to your breasts. When you saw Jimin at a party that night, you asked him to hold your drink while you did a cheer specially made up on the spot using his name. You did a series of high kicks that revealed the white cotton panties you wore underneath the skirt. To this day, whenever Jimin fantasized about you, he imagined you wearing white cotton underwear as you slowly stripped for him in his imagination. In fact, he was imagining it right now…

“Fuck. Me. This is not going to work,” Jimin said to himself.

As he contemplated what he could do to take you off his mind, he heard the front door open and close. Jimin closed his eyes and listened carefully, but heard nothing. There were no longer any voices coming from the kitchen; instead, the house was completely silent. Realizing that you and Sophie must have finally left to pick up groceries, he thought again about the option of hands free masturbation. Perhaps I just need to do it now and not wait. As horny as I am right now, I should be able to get this over with in plenty of time.

When he rolled over onto the pillow, the increased pressure on his dick sent a small jolt to the base of his spine. He propped himself up on his elbows and began to rotate his hips, his genitals rubbing against the inside of his sweatpants, pressed against the pillow -- the sensation was better than Jimin thought it would be. His position was somewhat awkward, with his legs hanging half-way off the mattress and lacking the leverage he needed to control his hips the way he would like.

Jimin stood up and considered what might be a more effective arrangement. He pushed the throw pillow to the center of the bed and then was struck with the idea that it needed to be a little higher up off of the mattress to get the best angle. Moving too quickly, he grabbed for one of his bed pillows, and tried to grasp it in his hand, forgetting his injuries until the searing pain shot up his arm. Instead he pushed the bed pillow towards the center of the bed, stacking the throw pillow on top of it slowly, carefully. He worried about cumming inside his sweats and the stain it might leave as a tell tale sign of what he had been doing while you were away, so he lowered the pants just enough for his dick to spring free and leave his buttocks exposed to the cool air. As a final precaution, Jimin picked up a tee-shirt from his laundry basket and placed it on top of the pillows as a protective barrier from any spillage that might occur.

With everything now arranged to his liking, Jimin knelt on his mattress, lowering himself cautiously onto his belly, his weight held up by his forearms and his hips at a comfortable angle -- he slid his bare cock against the softness of the pillows. He spread his knees wide to better support himself and thrust against the fabric beneath him, sighing at the pleasure it provided. Thoughts of you crept into his mind, the curve of your backside, the delicateness of your fingers, the brightness of your eyes. He let himself pretend that the pillow was you, maybe after a date you would be too shy to let him take you to bed, so instead he would kiss you, holding you close to his body while he ground his hips against you. His thoughts drifted further to that glimpse of your bra he saw today and he imagined you topless, slowly unfastening your bra and letting it slip down your arms to leave you naked in front of him. You weren’t large breasted, but he imagined them to be just enough, no more and no less. He thought of you laying under him, squeezing your breasts together and imagined with every thrust that you were allowing him to slide his dick in the small valley between the fleshy globes.

Jimin was so lost in his fantasy, enjoying the friction on his genitals, that he didn’t hear the sound of soft knocking. His eyes were closed as he envisioned you, so he missed it when his bedroom door slowly opened. It wasn’t until he heard you call his name, followed immediately after with a shout of “Oh my god!” that he realized what was happening. His eyes flew open to see your mouth agape as you stared wide eyed in shock.

His first instinct was to push himself off the bed and try to cover himself, but the moment he put his hands underneath himself to try to get up, the pain radiated up his arms and instead he collapsed face first onto the mattress. He stayed there, face buried, praying that this was all some sort of horrible nightmare and that you weren’t really standing over him while his naked ass was on full display.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I am so sorry Jimin. I am so sorry. Really, I am so sorry,” you repeated. He turned his head just slightly, allowing him to see your legs, which appeared to be turned towards the wall in a belated effort to shield yourself from what you had just seen.

Jimin swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to wrap the loose end of his bed covers over his bare behind. “I thought you went to the store with Sophie,” was all he could manage to eke out.

“Hoseok said he wanted to go with us so he could pay for the food, but I didn’t think it was right to leave you in the house alone, so I stayed behind to clean up in the kitchen.” You had your forehead pressed against the wall to afford Jimin some semblance of privacy while you were still too surprised to know what to do with yourself.

“You know, this isn’t what it looks like,” Jimin said in a last ditch effort to retain his pride.

“Oh? Sure. Of course.”

Jimin propped himself up slightly to look at you; you were still turned away from him, for which he was grateful. “Was there something you wanted? You must have come in for a reason.” He tried to change the subject, keeping his voice steady to not give away how discomposed he was.

“I noticed all the dirty towels in the bathroom and thought I could do a load of laundry while I waited for Hoseok and Sophie to get back. I just wanted to check if you had anything in your room you wanted washed. But I can come back after you’ve finished… um… you know… whatever it was you were doing. You might want to have your sheets washed after you are done… napping or whatever.”

“I think I’m pretty much done… napping.” Jimin felt like his face was on fire, but he appreciated your efforts to pretend like everything was normal. “You don’t have to do my laundry. I appreciate how helpful you are being, but I feel bad inconveniencing you like that.”

“It’s not an inconvenience. I like doing things to help you,” you said while lifting your head off the wall but still not turning around to face him.

Hanging his head low, Jimin wondered if you would still feel the same way if you knew the types of thoughts he had about you. “Thanks. You really are a nice person to do all these things. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll be out of the room and can try to… um… help you with… I don’t know… something.” He really didn’t know what to say or do, he felt useless.

“Ok. I’ll leave you alone. There’s no hurry. Knowing Sophie, she’ll end up taking forever at the store or she and Hoseok will end up making out in the car for 30 minutes before driving home. You know how they are. I would plan on eating late.” Jimin nodded his head in agreement even though you couldn’t see him. You began inching your way out the door, but paused as you exited, hesitating.

Jimin held his breath, he could tell you had something you wanted to say and he dreaded what it might be.

Turning your head to the side, just enough so that Jimin could see your profile, but not enough so that you could see him, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath before speaking. “You know, it would be perfectly normal if you were doing something other than, uh, napping when I walked in on you. I wouldn’t think any less of you.”

He knew you were trying to make him feel better, but he couldn’t help but wish you would drop the whole subject. “Thanks,” was all he could think to say.

You didn’t let the subject drop, though. “I know I yelled at Sophie earlier for talking about it, but she was kinda right. It would be terrible to not be able to take care of certain… personal needs. Maybe having someone to do that for you would be helpful. Like a nurse… or a friend.”

“Or a friend?” Jimin propped himself up to see you better, your head was still turned to the side, allowing him to see your ears get darker as the blood rushed to them. You rubbed the back of your neck and bit your lower lip, indicating your uneasiness. “What kind of friend?” he asked.

“A friend like me.”

Jimin could feel his heart start pounding uncontrollably. This has to be a joke, he thought. There is no way she is saying what I think she is saying.

“It’s okay if you want to say no,” you continued while shifting your weight from from foot to foot, as though you weren’t sure how to stand comfortably. “But if you needed someone to help you reach certain parts of your body, I could be that person. Like I said, I like being able to help you.”

“This is a little different than you offering to do my laundry,” he said through shaky breaths. Jimin still wasn’t sure you were being serious. This all seemed too much like one of his dirtiest fantasies and he started wondering if he was even awake right now.

“I think I would like it a lot more than laundry. In fact, I know I would like it,” you told him. Jimin wasn’t sure how to respond, he struggled to find words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. You took his silence as rejection. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line here and I shouldn’t have said those things to you. It’s okay that you don’t want to do this. I’ll just go and we can forget the whole thing.”

You turned away and began closing the door behind you when Jimin finally found the courage to speak. “Wait! Don’t go! If you really mean it, I would welcome your help.” The erection that had faded when you first walked in on him was rapidly returning at the thought of you touching him.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of something in my life,” he replied.

Stepping fully inside Jimin’s bedroom and closing the door tightly behind you, you turned to look at him directly and smiled shyly. You walked over to him and sat on the edge of his bed, placing your hand on his shoulder and then gently running it down over his back and stopping at the base of his spine. “May I remove this?” You tugged at the sheet he had hastily thrown over his butt to try to conceal himself.

“Sure,” Jimin said in a whisper, as if he was afraid of waking himself up. He could feel you slowly drag the sheet from his body until he was exposed. You dragged your fingernails softly over his haunches, sending a chill up his body.

You continued running your nails down his thighs until you reached his sweatpants and then tucked your fingers under the waistband before noting, “These should probably come all the way off as well.”

“Ye-ah.” Jimin’s voice cracked as he answered, adrenaline starting to rush as he grew more excited by the prospect of what would happen next.

You pulled the sweats off his body and folded them neatly, placing them at the foot of the bed, before you kneeled up on the mattress behind Jimin. Placing a hand on each of Jimin’s legs, you ran your palms firmly up from his ankles, over his thighs, across his buttocks, and slipped them under his shirt to continue along his bare back to his shoulders and then all the way back down again. “Do you want to take your shirt off too, or leave it on?”

He was increasingly aware of how you were fully dressed while he lay half naked in front of you and started to become anxious about how exposed he was. “I think I’ll keep it on, for now.”

“How do you want to position yourself? Laying down or sitting up? Do you need my help to roll over?”

Rolling over on his back would be the quickest and probably the most comfortable way to get started, but Jimin couldn’t pass up the chance to see for himself what you were doing, to be able to look at your face while you ministered to his needs. “I’ll sit up.” He rolled to his side, away from you and threw his legs over the side of the bed so he could stand. Jimin was nervous about turning to face you and letting you see his manhood for the first time. Would you be disappointed? Would you find him attractive? Inhaling deeply, he walked to the head of the bed and crawled on top, rotating so his back was against the headboard and his legs straight out in front of him. You sat next to him and stroked his inner thighs, indicating he should relax and let his legs fall open naturally. He looked at your face and followed your eyes to where your gaze fell on his sex. Jimin cursed the fact that he was only semi-erect at this point. “It will get bigger when you start touching it.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I like it.” You held your hands against your cheeks and looked at Jimin’s face. “I’m blushing because I’m nervous. I’ve never done something like this before. I mean, I’ve touched a penis before, but not quite like this. I’m nervous because it’s you. I just… ugh, I’m rambling. I just want to do a good job. I want you to like it.”

It made Jimin feel good to know he wasn’t the only one with butterflies in his stomach. “Trust me when I say I’ll like it. Anything you do, I will like.” He wanted to tell you that it was because he liked you, that he had liked you for a long time, but confessing his feelings now seemed a little out of place.

You went back to stroking his thighs until you found the courage to finally reach out and touch his dick. You started simply, running one finger across the top, from the base to the tip. Jimin found it difficult to breathe as he watched you. You grew bolder and took his penis in your hand, running your ten fingers lightly up and down the length of him. These feather light touches caused the blood to rush from Jimin’s head to his dick, causing it to swell up even more. The teasing was agonizing and intense. He wanted to touch you back, but couldn’t.

Without warning, you gripped him tightly in your palm and gave him one firm stroke. Jimin groaned aloud and the change in sensation. “Is that a good groan or a bad groan?” you asked.

“Good. You have no idea how good.”

“Jimin, do you usually use lotion or something? Tell me how you like to be touched.”

“I have a bottle of lube in the nightstand next to you.”

You let go of him and reached into the drawer next to the bed, pulling out a half empty bottle of lube. “Looks like this gets well used,” you smirked while pouring some in your hands and then rubbing them together to warm it up. With your now slick hands, you grasped him loosely at first, stroking him slowly.

Jimin felt overcome by the feeling of you rubbing him. He threw his head back and heard it thud against the headboard, but felt no pain. You looked up to make sure he was okay, distracted by the noise. “Don’t stop. Please… ugh… don’t stop.” Jimin pleaded with you to keep going.

Spurred on by his request, you gripped him a little tighter and stroked him a little faster. He could feel the warmth in his groin growing, the tingling of his nerves as they fired off. “Is this how you like it? Tell me, Jimin. Tell me what I can do to make this better for you.”

“Slower,” he said. You kept the same strength in your grip, but decreased the speed. You worked your hand up from the base of his shaft to the head of his cock and then twisted your hand around him as you went back down to the base. “Fuck!” is all Jimin could say.

“I’ve heard this is a good spot. Is it true?” On your upward stroke, you paused at the head and let your thumb rub small circles against the frenulum at the underside of the head of his dick.

Eyes fluttering and chest rising and falling erratically, Jimin nodded his affirmation. He watched you as you studied his cock, lowering your head so you could more clearly see. You were so close he could feel your breath against him and he started to fixate on your mouth and how amazing it would feel if your fingers were replaced by your tongue. But he was too fearful that asking for a blow job would ruin the mood and cause you to stop altogether -- and the last thing Jimin wanted was for you to stop.

He ached to touch you back. In his many fantasies about you, Jimin never saw himself as being the passive recipient of your attentions. He wanted to seduce you, to undress you and throw you on the bed beneath him. He wanted to taste you… your lips, your skin, your sex. He wanted to crawl between your legs and fill you with his fingers, with his dick. He wanted to be the one making you moan and gasp in ecstasy.

Instead he did the only thing he could, reaching out his bandaged hand to gently stroke your head with the parts of his fingers that were not bound. Although it wasn’t much, being able to feel that small piece of you made him shudder and caused you to look back at him and smile.

“Do you like it better when I touch the head or the shaft?”

“All of it,” Jimin expressed through heavy breaths. “I just want you to touch me everywhere.”

Buoyed by his request, you swiped your thumb over the tip of his cock and spread his precum down the vein that ran his full length. You started pumping him again, this time using both hands; one hand focusing on the tip the other working the shaft. Jimin moaned wantonly.

“I like the noises you make,” you whispered in his ear. Jimin shivered at your words. Inspired by his lust, he turned his head and kissed you. You pulled away in surprise and he worried that maybe he had misunderstood your motivations, until you dove back in placed a fevered kiss on his lips. He instinctively opened his mouth and you tangled your tongue with his, pressing against him passionately. You tasted like he imagined, fresh.

“This is not how I i-i-imagined our f-first kiss would go,” Jimin stammered.

“So, you’ve been imagining kissing me?” you asked.

“For longer than you can imagine,” he admitted.

“I doubt you’ve been thinking about it longer than I have,” you retorted.

You leaned in again, pressing a softer, sweeter kiss against him. But he was instantly reminded how this moment was far from sweet when you moved one hand to cup his scrotum while you continued to pump him. You rolled his balls in the palm of your hand while your hand continued slipping up and down the expanse of his erection.

“Hnnnggghhhh! Fuck! Fuck!” Jimin wanted to whisper something romantic to you, but he was too far gone. His dick was stretched to its limit, it throbbed with every touch; his balls were tightening as he drew closer to his ultimate release. “I’m so close. So close. So close,” he repeated over and over, his forehead resting against your own.

“Let go. I want to see you cum.” Your words were hushed but deliberate. “I want to be the one who makes you cum, Jimin. Please.”

Hearing you speak like that was the final blow. He felt like he was unraveling, his abdomen tightened and his shoulders slumped forward as he felt his dick start to jerk and spasm. Finally, his eyes rolled back and he let out a low groan as his seed shot out from his body. All he could see were flashes of bright white while he came, unable to control his body as you kept stroking him through his orgasm.

When it was over, Jimin sat back against the headboard, with his eyes closed and took a moment to catch his breath. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw you looking back at him, beaming. Your hands were dripping with his cum and your shirt was stained. “I’m sorry. I made a mess of you,” he apologized.

“Don’t be sorry. It was totally worth it. I was going to do laundry anyway and I’ll just throw my shirt in with the rest.”

Jimin chuckled. “I can’t believe this just happened. Would it be weird right now to ask you out on a date? I mean, I usually ask a girl out before I get a hand job, but… you know.” He suddenly felt a little shy.

You kissed him on the cheek. “I would love to go out on a date with you. I’ve been trying to get you to notice me for the longest time!”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you. I’ve been doing nothing but noticing you for months.” He picked up his injured hands, showing them to you. “It might take a little time before I can take you anywhere proper, but if you are willing to wait for me, I will make it worth your while.”

“I’ll wait, as long as you let me come over from time to time to help you out around the house and maybe provide some more, um, special nursing services,” you answered slyly.

#bts smut #jimin smut #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios

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