#you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

#this has like t wo more parts #pre steddie #wayne as a BAMF #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #ya'll are gonna have to put up with my weird ass jumping all over the place warm ups sorry lol #Gary's fourth piece is coming no worries #and then this will either take its place or the other one I have will #you CANNOT look me in the eye and tell me all the blue color workers arent aware shits going down #like 100% local crews took one look at starcourt and went what the fuck #nevermind you know the local power plant lol #and with demo critters running around its not like they were tearing through brushes and shit #your local hunters are gonna know somethings up #anyway #beat to shit Steve Harrington #my beloved #hes gonna show up busted to shit with a major grade concussion and Eddie is gonna shit himself #steve harrington #steddie #I spelled collar color and im not changing it #outsider pov #wayne pov #I will write the first person who knows where I pulled John from a prompt of their choice #catholic wayne munson #jim hopper

[july-angel-wings]

Descendants-Part 1

Masterlist

Oracle of Ages! Raven x Female! Reader (Romantic)

Link x Female! Reader (Platonic)

Descendants-Part 2: TBA

(In case you didn't know, Raven is Link's ancestor! Takes place in Oracle of Ages manga!)

Summary: You're always such a curious young lady. In the period of disharmony in Labrynna, Sir Raven comes back with a new arrival of a young boy named Link. For a reason that you cannot explain, you wanted to help the young hero. But he seems troubled…

~~~

(I do not own this image)

~~~

Under the warm sun outside your home in a hidden village, you hum a sweet song under your breath whilst watering a small garden pot near your door. A green germ was developing much bigger. Surprisingly, you had only planted it three days ago!

The seed that Raven has given you from his travels is utterly extraordinary. No other seed grows so fast and you should know because you were born in a farming community as well!

You sigh in longing.

You still recall his sweet smile when he gave you the seed...

~~~

You and Raven met when this secret village developed to house the people who ran away from the forceful and harsh slave labor of the Queen's tower construction.

This action technically made you and the villagers outlaws of disobeying a royal decree of the Queen. But thanks to Raven, the new knight in training from Hyrule, you were all able to avoid the eye of the guards.

With Raven's bonus knowledge of farming and other survival skills, you and many villagers survived. For that, you admired him and respected him immensely.

You didn't know when, but curious glances and stares were shot between you two across the village. Brief talks became long talks and so on. It has grown at a steady pace for older adult village women and others to tease you about your obvious attraction to Raven.

Your relationship grew until one day when you went to work in the fields, your relationship with Raven takes an extra step began...

You and the knight were working alone in the farming fields near the secret settlement. There were not a lot of workers to take care of the fields, but you were determined to finish all the fields even if night falls. You needed the food, and this village needs it, too.

Raven turns from the plants to face you, who is tending the sprouts with great vigor, with a mysterious expression on his face. Feeling the gaze on your back, you turn to look at him.

When you saw his direct gaze focus on you and you only, your face flushes. You call out to him, a bit embarrassed.

"Sir Raven? Is there something on my back or something?"

"No, no." Chuckling, Raven stood up and started walking towards you, a smile appearing on his face. "It's just...I was right to entrust you with helping me with the crops, Lady (Y/n). You do excellent work."

Your cheeks pinked as his muscular build now stood in front of you. Gosh. He was always the most attractive among all the males in this village.

"Such words are far too generous, Sir Raven." You sigh, somewhat regaining your composure. "You were doing most of the work yourself! Anyways, didn't I tell you NOT to call me a lady?"

You puff your cheeks, making him chuckle, and then you see his hand shuffling in his satchel before his words attracted your eyes to his own.

"My apologies. I cannot help it. Well, if that's what you want, then you can drop my title as well."

Your heart made a little beating sound. Dropping a knight's or noble's titles and only speaking their first name means you are close to the person, like a family member or... a significant other.

You glanced down at your feet bashfully.

"I can't do that! You are a knight! Why, it would be greatly disrespectful for a man such as your station-!"

Suddenly, an open-gloved hand suddenly appeared in your own view. It was a fruit seed of a unique purple color with blue tribal-looking markings. You look up at the man with warm blue eyes and a gentle smile. The sunset behind him made his outline glow a beautiful golden hue like his hair.

"(Y/n), It would be my greatest honor if you can call me Raven."

~~~

Oh, the teasing from the other village ladies when you returned with Raven, hand in hand. Crimson cheeks and all…

It wasn't a secret anymore that the Hyrulean knight was now courting with you. The odd fruit seed was certainly a strange gift for a woman, but it was Raven who gave it to you, which makes it all the more special.

Two weeks after, you both were on the line to be formal, but sadly...A letter from the castle had arrived by a reliable messenger. A sudden dire situation with the tower construction prompts Queen Ambi to call for Raven's duties to her.

A little sad to see him leave to the castle so quickly, you stand by the village entrance early in the morning. You see him ready himself on his horse named, Puini, and ride up towards you. Stopping by your side, he looks down at you with a small reassuring smile.

"...Please be safe." You reach up and grab his hand softly. He leans down and kisses your knuckle tenderly for a few moments before reluctantly letting it go.

"I'll be back. Please wait for me."

With those departing words, he was gone.

Staring after his leaving form, you didn't notice your hand clutch the fruit seed that was in your pocket.

~~~

Now, a few weeks later, a sigh leaves your lips as you pick up the little pot. You place it on your lap while sitting on a nearby fence. A tiny grin comes on your face as you stare at the plant.

You wonder how Raven is doing...

You hoped he wouldn't be arrested as a result of the discovery of the hidden village. Or the increasingly ludicrous demands of the Queen that will make him hesitate to obey, which would be an instant death sentence.

You started to frown at these negative thoughts plaguing your mind until...

A loud clip-clop sound made your head snap up.

In the short distance, a familiar Hylian man riding on the horse made you beam widely. You nearly didn't see the second passenger on the horse behind him, but Raven had your entire focus.

The knight's handsome face had a half smirk and smile with almost visible happiness when he sees you.

I'm home, (Y/n)."

"Raven!"

You leap over the fence and sprint up to Raven as he dismounts his horse and turns to face you, now grinning widely. Instantly, you hug him tightly while holding the plant under one arm. He returns your hug, just as tightly.

"Welcome home...I'm so glad nothing had happened."

Raven chuckles when you nuzzle into his chest. "Glad to know you have such faith in me."

You were basking in his closeness and earthy smell when you thought you heard the second passenger remark something like 'She couldn't be…'

Curiosity drove you to pull away from Raven's embrace and gaze behind him to see a young Hylian kid on the horse still.

Your eyes widen in shock as you take in his complete appearance.

The boy resembles Raven nearly exactly!

His hair color, eyes, and even his nose! He could identify himself as his relative or…

A sudden nagging thought enters your head, causing you to side-eye Raven suspiciously…

(A sudden chill ran down Raven's spine, and almost as a defensive mechanism, he squeezed your free hand reassuringly. That had calmed you down. For the moment.)

When the youngster noticed you looking at him curiously, he offered you a shaky smile and a wave.

"Ah, hi... I'm Link."

~~~

Hello, everyone! I made this a two-part of my favorite character Raven from the Oracle of Ages manga (besides Link).

I hope you like this story! I spent quite a few days making sure the story flow just right. I might take a bit more time to make the second part longer than this one. Think of this as an introduction! And I will be making more one-shots during my writing of the second part!

Stay safe and tuned, everyone! Have a wonderful day/night!

#legend of zelda #ooa! raven x reader #link #family love=> #link x reader #oracle of ages #loz #linked universe x reader

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

nyangnyang | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You, Min Yoongi's wife, adopt a cat without telling your husband. Nyan.

warnings: nothing really, just a casual mention of sucking dick; wholesome suga-sweet domestic fluff ew what came over me, sheesh

-

“What is that?”

You didn’t even look up from your chopping. “That is a cat, Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve seen one.”

“Nyan.”

“Yes, but why is it in our home?”

“Nyan.”

You paused, wondering if that was too many green onions. Too little, you decided, and continued cutting some more. “I brought her here.” Yes, with the eggs, and possibly some ham. Add rice and it would be excellent. Should you add some spice? You didn’t want to ruin the colors though. Colorful food was nutritional food, after all. Perhaps a spicy sauce on the side.

“Nyan.”

“Her?”

“Well, of course, I took her to the vet first before we came home.”

“Wife.”

“Nyan.”

This was new. Two voices calling for your attention instead of one. Both with relatively the same tone. Not urgent, but not pleased with your partial attention either. You cracked three eggs and set the shells aside so you could rinse them later and put them in the compost. “Hm?” Best have a fourth. Yoongi needed to eat more.

“You cannot just bring home an animal.”

You looked up, finally.

Black wavy hair framing dark brows, pointed eyes, and the ghost of a frown on the incredibly handsome face of Min Yoongi. Hands in his pockets, wearing a loose white t-shirt that hung off his tall but slender frame and flowy black pants that dragged on the clean white-tile floor, covering most of his feet. Beside him, a medium-sized, very fluffy white cat sat patiently, bushy tail thumping against the ground.

Both curiously and deceitfully youthful faces.

You looked from the cat to your husband. Picked up the chopsticks and casually began beating the eggs, responding very calmly.

“Why not? I brought you home.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Anyway,” Yoongi suddenly said after the mute appreciation for you taking the chance that he had walked right into but also simultaneously refusing to acknowledge it to give you that particular satisfaction. His calm, borderline bored tone still hadn’t changed. “I thought we were going to pick out a cat together?”

“We were,” you continued, fluffing up the eggs lightly as you turned on the gas stove. “However, I passed by the pet store and she was looking at me in the same way you look at me, so I was convinced to stop by and at least have a look.” Too easy, some might call you, and you would respond with, no, intuition. You hovered your hand above the pan and hummed. Not quite hot enough. You reached over to the sink and dipped your fingertip under the water for a millisecond, flicking the droplet onto the pan. Ah, see, no sound yet. “She’s about a year old, and the worker said no one was adopting her because everyone wanted kittens. You said you always wanted a white cat, and I always wanted a cat in general. I think she’s a perfect fit. Very lazy. Sleeps a lot.”

The water droplet popped and you added the lightest dallop of oil, spreading it out with a twist of your other wrist that was holding the pan handle.

“Nyan.”

The cat seemed to agree.

“She seems rather noisy.”

“She’s noisy because her father is supposed to name her.”

You snuck a glance and Yoongi’s eyebrows had shot up.

“F… Father?” He stared down at the cat. As if on cue, the furry feline looked up curiously, bright blue eyes to dark brown.

“She is our child now.”

“Nyan.” The cat agreed for sure this time.

You added the eggs and tilted the pan letting them spread out as the oil simmered. Waited for the eggs to cook slightly so they held their shape, and then sprinkled the diced ham and green onions in, sneaking a glance at Yoongi, who was now crouched down to view the white cat at a more reasonable level. You folded the eggs lightly and kept them from browning, earning a pale-yellow color with an airy texture. A little white pepper. No need to add salt – the ham and fresh onions would provide the additional flavor.

You saw Yoongi hold out his hand.

The cat sniffed it.

Then rubbed her face against his knuckle.

You spied Yoongi's smile as you took the eggs off the heat and herded them into the glass container for his lunch tomorrow. You set a little aside for your own. Now, rice and the sauce. Maybe a side dish? The pickled radishes and kimchi, perhaps.

“Nyangnyang.”

You nearly dropped the pan. Wasn’t he going to name the white cat Sugar? At least, he said that when you were discussing it ages ago. Although, Nyangnyang was very cute, considering how vocal the cat seemed to be around her dad. Probably because she knew he was the more lenient parent. Clever girl.

“Murr,” was the cat’s reply, rubbing away with a loud purr.

“Heh, you’re noisy, aren’t you?”

“She’s still young,” you chuckled, rinsing off the pan. “One year old is barely an adult for cats.”

“Just like us, eh?”

-

“Yoongi.”

“Yes?”

You looked up, straining your neck. “This cat tree is nearly two meters.”

“Nyangnyang loves it already. Look, she’s getting ready to nap.”

The white fluff was willingly settling on the top floor of her new princess tower.

“Where are we going to put it?”

“I thought you had been watching interior decorating on YouTube? I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“What about one for our bedroom?” you asked, reaching up so Nyangnyang could lean over the carpeted edge and pepper your fingertips with nose kisses. It was a habit of hers that you had learned these past few weeks. That and her endless obsession with fresh laundry. Especially your husband’s clean underwear. She loved to roll on them and get her white fur all over the black.

You would call her a nuisance but someone this cute couldn’t be a nuisance.

Yoongi placed his hand on your head and messed with your hair.

“Nah, she likes sleeping with you more. That’s a waste of money.”

“She takes up the whole bed.”

“Ah, that’s how kids are, I guess.”

Nyangnyang purred.

“Weird, she’s not saying much when you’re petting her.”

The cat turned her head and looked straight at Yoongi, striking blue with an indifferent expression.

“Nyan.”

“She knows she can get something good if she keeps yelling at you.”

“Nyan.”

“Hah… Come down then. I’ll get a treat.”

Instantly, Nyangnyang popped up and limbered down the humongous cat tree the second she saw Yoongi turn and head to the kitchen.

“You’re too easy.”

“She deserves a treat for letting me know my purchase was worth it.”

You would have said she needed time to adjust. You listened to Nyangnyang’s insistent meows and Yoongi opened the cabinet and selected some freeze-dried chicken. He looked annoyed as he fished out a few pieces – too many, you thought fondly – and shushed her lightly as he placed them in his palm so Nyangnyang could eat out of his hand.

The next seconds were silent except for the pleased satisfaction of chomping down some treats.

Yoongi looked up, sensing you watching him.

“What?”

“I thought you said those were too expensive?”

He frowned, looking at the package as if he had just seen them. “She likes them.”

“She likes any treat.”

“She should eat healthy ones.”

Mhm. “I guess we’re cat people now,” you commented as Yoongi frowned at the furry peanut gallery and shook out one last treat for said peanut gallery.

“We were always cat people. That’s why we got married.”

You both liked to say you got married for any other reason other than I love you, which was the actual reason. There was no reason not to have some fun before you die, after all. “I thought it was because you got mad when you see me, and even madder when you don’t.”

“Either way I’m suffering,” Yoongi agreed. “Might as well get my dick sucked.”

You laughed as Nyangnyang trotted past, satisfied with the number of treats.

“Speaking of, my evening could use some dick sucking.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, trying to hide his smirk. “You’re in luck.”

“Not in front of the child.”

“She’s on top of her princess tower; she won’t be looking.”

That was how you knew Yoongi was your match. He called the massive cat tree a princess tower even though you hadn’t mentioned thinking it. Some called that telepathy. You would call it perfection.

“I thought about calling it a princess tree just now.”

“And that’s why I’m your husband. Now stop sticking out that tongue and use it on me.”

-

shower, m pheromones, m

-

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[butlersbabe]

Good Man’s Land– Cowboy!A.B. x Reader

a/n: hiii my sweet loves! i appreciate all the love and support! only one more part!! i’m working on requests! please be understanding with me, i move to college tomorrow! this week i will seem very transparent but i really hope to post as much as i can! i really cannot express the amount of thankfulness i have for ALL of you!

warnings: SMUT!! minors please please please DNI. swearing, pet death, fire. this one is kinda angsty.

w/c: 3.7k

part three 🌾

Part IV.

You ran a stick of brownish lipstick across both of your lips. Rubbing them together, you pick up a brush and relax your curls that you’d done earlier but let them sit so they’d stick a bit more. Granted, you had no hope in them but you’d look cute for at least an hour. You wore a cute pair of bell bottoms and a striped tube top. Papa cleaned your nasty boots for you but you didn’t exactly tell him why you’d asked him to. Unplugging the curler and cleaning up your vanity, you give one last look before going downstairs.

Austin waits on the couch in the living room and whistles when you finally stand in front of him. You smile and he grabs you hand and gives you a little spin before he speaks when his eyes are already saying. “Aren’t you just the prettiest cowgirl?” You grin and hum, “Well I’ve got the most handsome cowboy, so it’s fitting.” You receive a kiss on the cheek from him and he turns you so that the both of you can leave. Mama and Papa were already winding down, which meant you both were free to do virtually anything you wanted. There was a church but they could skip if they played their cards right. But they shouldn't get in much trouble even if caught. You take the passenger’s seat as Austin hops into the driver’s and starts the 68’ Ford F-150, taking off after a few seconds. The sun was coming down and painted a beautiful gold scene on anything it touched. His hand found its way onto your thigh, making you smile as you glance out the window.

It was about a 15 minute drive to Marfa, 5 minutes to the restaurant. That left a bit of time for talking, getting to know one another. You found out he has a sister, Ashley. He was born on August 17th. He hates cookie dough ice cream, and his favorite color is blue. You also found out that he lost his mom a while back too…You were hesitant to admit the same thing, you didn’t want to make him feel like you were downplaying his near identical loss. But you told him about yourself, how you played soccer for 6 years as a kid, took up ballet for a day, cried and didn’t go back, how you used to spend summers with Mama and Papa. You even told him about the one time you couldn’t get out of the tire swing and peed your pants because you were so upset. Then you talked about your dad, how he worked as a dispatcher and was kind of a freelance worker, and you talked about your mom. How she was the sweetest lady on earth and you wished to be like her one day. You didn’t necessarily mention her death but Austin took notice.

Arriving at Planet Marfa, he tells you to wait in your seat before he could run around the front of the truck, to your side and open the door. “Let me get this for you, darlin’.” he says. You scoot out and thank him, granting him a kiss on the cheek. He closed the door and you hook your arm around his and enter the venue. There was live music playing and lights were strung all over the “beer garden”, as Austin could best describe the place. You both took a seat at the only table that seemed empty and awaited a server. The waitress, she said you could call her Trixie, asked what you were having and Austin ordered nachos for the table. After showing her ID’s, you both ordered drinks. A Corona with lime for the blonde boy, and you just got a rum and coke. The nachos and drink came to the table after only about five minutes, you were impressed with the quality of the food. The drinks were good too. You really enjoyed the music, the atmosphere, everything. You two talked and laughed, the date was near perfect.

Back at home, you and Austin find a couple more beers to crack open. He sat at the table while you stayed standing, grabbing a glass of water along with your alcohol. “I’m gonna have to take you dancing, I’m sorry I didn't take you out on the floor.” He apologizes, you shrug. “It’s okay,” you say, taking a sip of your cold water. “I’m not much of a dancer. The best I can do is sway and pray.” He stands and pushes the chair in then starts tapping at his phone.

“Well let's get to swayin’ and prayin’ then.” He clicks his phone off and sits it on the counter. “Rainbow” by Kacey Musgraves begins to play and he leads your arms to wrap around his neck and his own find comfort on your hips. You both begin to sway in sync. He gives you a dorky smile, you roll your eyes then lay your head on his shoulder, his head following to lay on yours. You two let the song play while you slow dance in the dimly lit kitchen. He softly hums along to the tune. One of your hands gently drag your nails wherever they could reach.

Austin holds you like you’d leave the second he let go. His grip on you was never painful but it was so secure. And you felt so at home in his arms. Like you’d been longing for this feeling from another person for as long as you could remember. You’d been in a few relationships but never had such a good connection. It was a new feeling. It made you a bit nervous. Your heart was beating so hard you were sure it’d leave a dent in the blond’s own chest.

Both pairs of boots scuffle across the wooden floors, denim against denim. The ending of the song comes too soon, he spins you and gives you a dip. Finishing, you fall apart from each other. He stands in front of you and places a hand gently on your face and slowly his face gravitates towards yours, a single hand still on your hip. The pitter patter of rain starts to tap the tin roofing, it gets harder by the second. But you swore you could only hear Austin’s breathing. He must’ve been nervous too. That’s probably why he didn’t take you out on the dance floor.

His lips were inches away before you both heard creaky footsteps finding their way to the kitchen and you both pulled away before anyone could see anything. “What in tarnation are you two doing? Go get in bed.” Mama asks, her hair back in a ponytail and her muumuu wrinkled.

You both chimed “Yes, Ma’am.”

Something told you to go stay with Austin that night. You didn’t want sex, but you wanted to be next to him. You weren’t ready to have tonight end just yet.

You turn your light off and your feet take you to Austin’s room as quietly as you could. He was already in bed, lights off and everything. So you just climb into bed with him. You throw the covers on and fit into his arms. He wakes up for a second but doesn’t fret. “What's going on, pretty girl?” He asks. “Nothing, just felt like having a sleepover.” He nods, “I’d like that.” And he pulls you in and sleep finds you.

You wake up to Papa shouting. You shoot up from your spot in the bed and Austin hazily asks what you were doing. And then Mama’s shouting for the both of you. That rids Austin of any tiredness he had a split second before. You and Austin jump out of bed and race downstairs and slip your boots on. The scent of burning hay, wood, and whatever else fills your nostrils. You fly out of the door to see the chicken coop, pig pen, and part of the stables engulfed in angry orange flames. Your heart stopped beating for damn near the whole 10 seconds that you stood on the porch in shock.

Austin brings your back from your paralyzed state and hurries off the porch, out to the pen and stables, you follow him. Papa and Mama are already letting the horses out. Austin opens the coop and rushes Hank to heard the chickens out. Though old and tired, Chuck is already at work with the hogs. You grab the garden hose and start to spray the fire as much as possible. Austin takes the chicken’s water bucket and pours it on the hay that was set ablaze, taking most of it out then stomping on the rest.

Papa hollers at Mama to get water from the inside and throw it on the pigpen hay. The stables grew even more burnt by the second even though you were spraying it with water. Nothing seemed to be going out. Austin runs to shut the gate even though the cattle guard did a lot of the work on its own.

Papa takes the hose and gets closer to the fire and starts to lessen the burning. “Go help Mama.” He demands, you take off into the house and begin to fill a bucket with water that sits next to the counter that’s usually for eggs. After it is filled, you struggle to take it out and throw it on the fire.

Chuck was a good dog. He always listened. But when you hear Austin screaming at the dogs to get back from the flames, it stumps, and honestly broke your heart, when Chuck didn’t listen. He ran straight into the pigpens which meant there was probably still livestock. And you hated that Chuck was such a good dog. He knew his job was to clear out all the animals. And he was doing his job.

“Chuck!” You screamed, dropping the bucket. You ran as fast as your legs could go. “Chucky! Get out of there!” Your voice wailed, tears starting to stream down your face. “Y/N!” You suddenly feel strong arms holding onto you, picking you up and then dropping you to your knees. Of course it was Austin, he couldn’t stand seeing you get hurt. So he did as any good cowboy would do, he told his cowgirl to stay back while he went to find your dog. All the while, Hank barks and pleads for someone to save his best friend.

Within minutes, Austin walks back out, Chuck’s lifeless body in his arms.

“No!” Your scream was bloodcurdling. You rush to Austin and the cow dog. He places him on the ground and Chuck just flops to the ground. “Mama! Papa! Help!”

Mama quickly came over and felt for a pulse, breath, anything. Nothing was working. Her watery eyes look at yours and she shakes her head. You break down, laying on the sweet, loyal dog. “Goddamnit.” You cry, tears falling from your eyes. You couldn’t do anything but cry over your dog.

“Deanna! I need help!” Your papa shouts, and you look up to see Hank whining over your and Chuck’s body. Austin and Mama run to him and start to help.

Then, you felt a droplet on your head. And another. Another. It starts raining. You look over at the fire, the hard rain makes it shrink at an incredible pace. Until it’s out and Papa drops the hose. And Mama starts shouting praises to God. But you were almost positive Chuck was the one who made it rain. The three came back to you, everyone was crying. Papa laid a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Poppy. He was a good dog.” You breathlessly sob over his body until Austin pulls you off of him, you shake your head begging that he left you with the dog. That you wanted to wait and make sure he was going to wake up. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s go back inside.” Unwillingly, you went back inside and took a tearful shower and went back to bed, curling into a ball, crying yourself to bed.

You all had a short and sweet service for Chucky that rainy morning before church. He was buried underneath the tree that he would chase you around as a child. The tire swing that once hung wasn’t there anymore. Instead, a small wooden cross staked into the ground. It had a small epitaph written on it with a chunky sharpie.

Good Boy, Chuck. 2008-2022.

You didn’t bother doing makeup that morning. Austin held onto the whole day. You couldn’t get through the service without crying. Mama was crying the whole time too. You had gone out to the car half way through. The sermon was about how there was a place for all of us after we die. And although you weren’t sure about your religion, you hoped Chuck went to that beautiful place they promised there was.

You knew things at home wouldn’t continue the same. There was a lot of rebuilding to be done and though it wouldn’t take much for the stables to be boarded up and painted. And the pens for the pigs and the chickens wasn’t a big deal. Everything just felt so heavy.

You were washing up the plates from lunch when you feel a pair of strong arms come around your waist and a head rest on your shoulder. “Are you okay?” You nod because that felt easier. It felt a lot easier than explaining how your childhood was wiping out a lot quicker than you had liked it. You were being forced to grow up without a reminder of what a lovely childhood you’d lived.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I can’t keep crying. I’m so tired of being sad.” Your lip wobbles.

“Then let’s do everything we can to make sure you’re not sad anymore. Let’s be happy, okay? The sun isn’t out but it’s raining. And rain helps the crops and there are puddles we can jump around in.”

You laid down the dishes and wrapped your soapy hands around Austin.

“I’m really lucky to have you. Please don’t leave me?” He says and it didn’t feel out of place. Just…unexpected.

“I never will.”

Finally, it’s the evening. The rain had seemed to stop and it became warmer. You and Austin take Elvis and Jagger down to the pond to let them frolic while you two sit and talk about whatever was on your mind. You laid back on the plaid quilt while Austin skipped rocks across the lake. The setting sun smooches your skin with its golden glow as much as it could through the wandering clouds. You wore a little sundress you’d been hoarding for months, Austin said the color was a good one on you. You listened to anything this boy said. It amazed you. The way you were so infatuated with this soul. The wind whistles as it passes by you to say hello. Against the gusts, Austin’s music played off his phone. Just a bunch of country oldies, Chris Stapleton, George Strait, Johnny Cash. All that jazz, it was his favorite. And quite honestly, it was becoming yours too. Your eyes fall shut under the impression you’d take a nap while Austin did whatever it was he brought you both out here to do.

“Y/N.” The boy plops down next to you. You roll on your side, propping your head up with your hand, the boy mirroring you. “Hi, lover.” You smile, cupping his face with your free hand. “We need to head back soon.” You remind him of the time. 7:42, your phone displayed last time you checked. “We don't have to go back just right away, right?” He asks, giving your wrist a gentle peck. You take that hand and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear that was blown into your face.

He leans in to give you a kiss that lasts at least 25 seconds. He pulls you in, you now laid on your back. Your heart was racing after he kissed you again, this time with tongue and you knew he wanted more. You did too.

His lips attach to your neck, sucking soft pretty pink marks that were almost invisible into your tender skin. His free hand finds the hem of your pulling it up just enough to reveal your panties and he plays with the band, wanting to break through. You prop your legs to give him more room. His lips litter chaste kisses across your chin. His fingers migrate towards your heat and back up to your belly that rose and fell with your shaky breaths.

Austin lets a deep breath out and his hand finally breaks the barrier between you and him. He looks at you for confirmation. You nod. Two fingers divide your folds and they rub tiny gentle circles into your clit. A huff exits your body, your eyes closing. Austin’s lips gently suck at your neck again, the pace picking up, pressure starts to build in the pit of your stomach. You let out a whimper that could only be described as desperate. Desperate for more than this.

His fingers dance along your clit while you writhe, your voice calling out his name every other second. Austin speeds his pace, making you lose control of your legs. They shake while the wind plays with your dress. You prop back up when you feel the sensation becoming too much to handle. You gasp and moan until your climax runs through your whole body. A sound that Austin would later call “the most heavenly thing” left your lips as you trapped his hand between your legs. You grab his wrist, pulling it away. He smiles at you in your hazy state.

You eventually grinned back, the quiet thunder woke you from your open eyed rest. You reach over and push him to his back and settle between his legs. Stretch and begin to pluck the buttons of his shirt until his chest is on full display. You both giggle at the deed that was being done, unbuckling his belt. With his help, you pull his jeans and boxers to release his painfully hard dick. You take it in your hand and lick the length of his cock, taking the tip in your mouth once you reach the top and swirl your tongue around it for a few seconds. Taking the rest into your mouth, you place your hands on his thighs, gripping them. He lets out a filthy moan, a hand grasping the picnic blanket.

“Fuck, Y/N. Feels so good, baby.”

You suck hard and bob quickly, trying your best to get a good reaction out of him. You knew he was feeling good from the way his hips would buck to help the tip of his penis meet the back of your throat. He was close, very close. He grabbed your hair as you let off with a wet pop. Austin’s face contorts into a confused look. You stand as he sits up. You slip off your panties from under your dress and toss them.

You straddle Austin and slowly, you lower yourself onto his cock. You let out a sweet, soft moan over Patsy Cline sorrowfully singing about how she’s crazy over someone. Austin enveloped your waist with his arms, prompting you to move. You do the same to his neck, pressing the side of his face into your chest. Thunder cracks, but you two don’t care a bit. Your breath is heavy again as you roll your hips against his. He would push his pelvis into yours as much as he could without support behind him.

You both kept the pace slow, it was enough to get both of you off but that didn’t even seem like the point of the current moment. Just being intimate and so close felt like the only thing that mattered right then and there.

Soon enough the rate picked up. You couldn’t help but throw your head back in pleasure, whimpers falling from your lips again.

“I’m close, baby.” Austin hums into your shoulder. “Me too,” You said, panting.

“Austin! Y/N!”

You both froze.

“Dinner’s almost ready! Come inside before it starts to rain again! Bring the horses in too!” Mama’s voice rang out all the way from the house.

“Okay, coming!” Well, not now, you weren’t.

You both got up and made yourselves presentable, but you had one minor problem, you couldn't find your underwear. You searched around but gave up after 2 minutes, not wanting Mama to worry about you two anymore.

After calling the horses back to you, walking them back to the stable and taking care of all of that, you walk straight up to your room to change. Austin just sits on the couch with Papa and discusses rebuild details.

“I’m glad you and Austin get along now.” Mama says, chopping the potatoes up while you make gravy. You laugh, little did she know. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“Papa! Can you come in here for a second?” She hollers from the kitchen into the living room. Shouting was her specialty. “Yes, ma’am?” Papa says, leaning against the counter. “Why don’t you tell Poppy the good news?” Papa smiles and crossed him arms.

“We’re buying you a place in Denver.” He starts, your breathing stops. “In the same place as your daddy. And we’re giving you money for a few month's rent and some groceries. I have a friend up there who just started a feed business and I told him about you and he said he’d love to give you a job in the office or hands on.”

You were caught off gaurd to say the least. “That’s great! Uh- I- Thank you!”

“Well, we’re just super proud of the work you’ve been putting in and we wanted to set you up and make sure you knew how much we appreciated all you’ve done.”

“Does Austin know?”

“He doesn’t yet but we don’t think he’ll mind being the only farmhand again.”

“Can I tell him?”

“Well, sure, kiddo.”

You nod and go on with cooking. You’re leaving. After such a short time with Austin. How was the timing always so bad?

#austin butler #elvis 2022 #austin butler x reader #austin butler fic #elvis x reader #austin butler imagine #elvis presley #elvis movie #austin butler elvis #cowboy!austin #austin butler x reader smut #austin butler x y/n #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction

[inquisimer]

if there was a right way

Kicking off oc kiss week with some sad Lavellan hours between Irosyl and @rosella-writes' Virelan! Thank you for letting me borrow your girl for this little piece💜

read it on ao3 here

Summary: In the bar at the end of the multiverse, Irosyl presses Virelan for answers she cannot give.

Female Lavellan/Female Lavellan | Rated G | 673 words | No CW

-

She steps through the Eluvian in a fine blue uniform that is just a bit too broad for her slight shoulders. She looks relieved.

Virelan’s heart aches for her instantly. There is suffering in Irosyl’s future, and loss. More loss. She wonders if the girl is more likely to forgive and hope, or if she will mirror Virelan’s own anger when next they meet.

“[[little moon]].” Her voice is low but carries easily to Irosyl.

“Vir!” She’s flexing her hand against a cramp as she approaches. Virelan grabs it, pressing the heat of the anchor between thumb and forefinger to relieve the pain.

Hers used to cramp too, right before it ended. The technique Bull used isn’t as effective with just one hand, but Irosyl relaxes all the same.

“Ma serannas,” she sighs. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Not hardly, Virelan wants to say. But she can’t quite figure how to keep the words from falling bitter, so she bites her tongue. Instead she takes advantage of her grip on Irosyl’s hand and swings her into a nearby bar stool. Her fingers play with the fine golden fringe capping her shoulders as Irosyl calls for a drink.

“And where are you off to all dressed up, hm?”

The look Irosyl gives her is wholly unimpressed, but there’s no bite behind her glare. Just exhaustion at the corners of her eyes; stress in the lines on her brow; sadness in the downturn of her mouth.

“As if you don’t know.”

“There were several insufferable meetings Josephine took us to trussed up like this,” Virelan protests. “But—I can guess. How far out from the Exalted Council are you?”

“We’re on the way there now. Took the opportunity and swung through some unexplored ruins at the edge of the Dales and now—“ she shrugs. “Here I am. Seemed like the last break I would get for…a while, at least.”

Virelan grunts. There isn’t anything to say to that—she’s right.

The bartender slides a peach-colored glass to Irosyl and she musters a grateful smile. As she ponders the drink, she tries—and fails—to hide her watching Virelan from the corner of her eye. Her violet gaze is still disconcerting without the filter of Mythal’s smoky gray brands, but Virelan meets it steadily.

“Will he be there?” Her voice is quiet and low around the hesitant question; Virelan has to lean close to make it out. Her blunt nails dig into her palm as her fist clenches in anger.

“Do not ask me that.”

“Please, lethallin. I am already bracing for the angry shems—sathan, I would know if I need to brace my heart, as well.”

Virelan stares down at the ice melting in her drink. Her lips disappear into a thin line and she wonders how kind Irosyl’s world has been in comparison, that the other Inquisitor does not yet harden her heart by default.

“I cannot.”

Irosyl’s fist falls harsh against the bar top, rattling the glasses. Her pleading eyes turn harsh.

“Then what is the point of this place?” she hisses. “Why does it crop up at moments like this, if not as a warning? If not to keep me from making your mistakes?”

Rearing back, Virelan’s remaining hand catches Irosyl’s chin in a bruising grip and her own rage rises up to meet frustrated anger. Virelan brings their lips together and presses her burning grief through the kiss, tells Irosyl why as best she can without the words she cannot find. Without the secrets that are not hers to tell.

After a moment of surprise, Irosyl responds. She kisses back as she always does—like this might be the last time. Her unmarked hand tangles in the front of Virelan’s tunic, pulls her closer as she feeds her own desperate, worn-down tenacity into the embrace.

When they break apart, Virelan rests her forehead against Irosyl’s. She exhales, breath washing harshly across Irosyl’s bare face as she brings the fury back under her thumb.

“Ir abelas,” she says raggedly. “I cannot.”

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #my writing #oc: irosyl lavellan #virelan lavellan #mirrors to the multiverse #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dai

[troolyart]

Entity AU pt 1.

[How long?] Stanley asked. The Narrator looks at him through those damned yellow lenses, the green of his eyes being hidden by more than just the lights in the Zending that they currently are enjoying.

"What do you mean, how long? You really must expound more, Stanley. You can't just ask one simple question if you want a straight answer. How else will I know what you're talking about?"

Stanley just sighs and flops down onto the cool carpet, letting the lights illuminate his face as he stares up at the ceiling. His hands start to move while his face remains eerily blank. [How long have I been here? How many resets has it been, Narrator?]

The lights that have been bouncing around in the dome pause for a split second, almost imperceptible, before they continue as they were. Stanley can hear his companion let out a sigh and mumble to himself, most likely checking through his script for the answer.

"Ah, here it is," the Narrator muses as he fixes his glasses to be higher up on his nose. "It's been around six hundred and thirteen resets at this point. Although some of those weren't even my doing, I'll have you know."

There's a shuffling to his left before a small thump sounds next to his head and a warm, soft hand lands on top of his forehead.

"Stanley, I can tell something is bothering you. Why else would you ask me this out of the blue? You can tell me anything, honestly you can."

Stanley finds it in himself to sign again. [How long were you trapped here...before you changed?]

The hand atop his forehead jolts a bit before it calms down, a thumb creasing the worry lines Stanley's accrued over the years to try and smooth them out some. The office worker's eyes meet his Narrator's, green pools that appear haunted despite the colorful atmosphere. Stanley can't blame him for that; all of the years he's told him about, trapped with nothing but his own voice until the Parable decided to take pity on him must have been hell.

The hand leaves his head and the Narrator sighs heavily, his voice still present as a groan in the air that leaves him, as if he cannot be silent in any way. "Ohhh, I don't know, Stanley. It could have been years or three days outside of this place, but inside it...it felt like a millennium."

The Narrator turns his head to look at the man next to him, and Stanley does the same. "What brought this on?"

He can't help but flinch ever so slightly as he finally sits back up, knees drawing close to his chest. Stanley can't look at him when he asks this. Hell, signing might be difficult given that his hands are starting to shake.

He manages a shaky [Can't] before turning away. The hand is back, this time on his shoulder, pulling as if begging him to turn back around. It's still warm. Alive. Real.

"Stanley, please...talk to me? You're starting to frighten me a bit. What's troubling you so— good god, your hands are trembling. Stanley??"

Stanley buries his head into his knees and projects his thoughts to his companion, something he hasn't done in a long time given how much he prefers to sign in person.

"How long do I have until I forget who I am, Narry? Until I don't remember I'm human?"

It's quiet in the dome. Too quiet for how much his Narrator likes to talk. The last time it was so quiet was when Narrator became upset with him and left him alone for an hour or two. Probably the worst two hours he can recall. Oh god, why isn't he saying anything? Did I say something wrong? Is he upset about what I asked? His thoughts start to spiral and he can't even hope to know if he shut off that link to him and the Narrator.

Suddenly, the warmth on his shoulder moves to encompass him, pressing into his back, his sides, everywhere arms can reach. Soft hair tickles the side of his neck and a shiver runs through him as warm breath hits his skin. The Narrators voice comes to him soft but firm, as firm as the arms around him, directly into his ear.

"I wouldn't let that happen, Stanley. Ever. Not to you."

Stanley can't remember the last time he cried outside of the Parable. He's cried plenty inside it, though, usually after the discovery of a new ending that brings the both of them nothing but grief. He's crying now. Stanley is certain that the Narrator can feel the tears falling from his face onto the man's hands. One of those hands cradles his face and tries to pull it out of the nook his knees have made. He obliges and looks back into thoes green eyes, now also beginning to tear up.

"I will not let you forget, Stanley."

The office worker pulls away a little bit, takes the Narrators hands in his, and leans forward to touch foreheads with the man. His thoughts stop their spiralling enough to try and get his thoughts across. "But what if that doesn't work? If I'm too far gone, then—"

"Then I will remind you as often as you need me to," he interjects. "As often as I think I should, even if you're completely fine. Your name is Stanley. You're human. You are real."

A small smile starts to creep along Stanley's face as he takes in those words. "I'm real. My name is Stanley. My name is Stanley and my coworkers are missing."

The Narrator let's out a chuckle at his thought, the sound reverberating in Stanley's head as their foreheads still touch. It's so real. He's real. His Narrator.

"Ah yes, your coworkers are still missing aren't they? And yet here we are dillydallying in this room. Oh well, they can wait can't they?"

Stanley let's out a chortle at that with his companion following suit. God, this felt right. All that worrying about what could happen to him while the whole time he has his Narrator to look out for him. And he'll do the same for his friend. No...friend didn't quite fit their relationship.

He's so close. Not even inches apart, the Narrator is basically in his lap at this point. His lips are right there...he could just...

So he does.

Stanley's always been an impulsive protagonist, always diving headfirst, logic be damned. The kiss is nearly the same, but it becomes more thought out when his Narrator leans into it. Where he should place his hands becomes almost second nature, when to take a moment to breathe through his nose so their lips can press against each other for just another moment.

Stanley pulls back first, the Narrator lingers in his space, eyes half-lidded. The lights in the Zending have all gone pink, which does nothing to hide the blush they both are sporting. Both men smile before Stanley brings his hands back up.

[Thank you, Narry. For reminding me how real I am. And for the kiss.]

The older man grins mischievously. "Oh don't thank me just yet, dear boy. I'm going to be reminding you so much you'll get sick of me after a while."

Stanley quirks and eyebrow before pecking his cheek. [Will that also include kisses every time? Because I might not get sick of that.]

"You'll just have to see won't you," he says as he starts to get up off of Stanley's lap in order to stand. Once up right, he holds out a hand for Stanley to grab. "Ready to reset, darling?"

Stanley takes ahold of his hand and gladly let's himself get pulled along like always. [Ready.]

#tspud #tspud narrator #the stanley parable #narrator tsp #tsp #tspud stanley #tsp narrator #EntityAU #tspud entity au #TSP Entity AU #idk which tag looks better honestly #but yeah! part one! #the comic of their first meeting will take a while to make... #stanley x narrator #you can tell i wrote fanfiction #might post to ao3 who knows #are you still reading??? #why???

[fadingoftheveil]

Fading of the Veil: 4

⏮ First Episode | 📃 Table of Contents

The steam from the locomotive cast a hazy veil over the platform, which was busy despite the odd hour. People in top hats and waistcoats, or voluminous dresses and feathered hats, bustle past in every direction. The scene is a riot of color and movement; the bright hues of the women’s dresses and the dark, muted tones of the men’s suits blending together in a mesmerizing dance.

Beyond them was the suspension rail. Unlike the city trolleys — which rode on a track inlaid into the road — the locomotive rode underneath its track.  Without fear of weather or traffic blocking the tracks, it was so efficient that people boasted you could tell the time by the arrival and departure of trains.

Ellamae could see a series of tubes on the locomotive engine side that glowed with the same energy that powered glowcells. It was a power source that Aldwin and his co-workers were responsible for; spending hours transferring what little magic they had into the factory machines, and yet she knew her brother would be thrilled by the technology of it.

She, on the other hand, could not help but feel a tainted by bitterness as she watched the wealthy all around her; enjoying the luxury of the train powered off the struggling lives of others.

‘Perhaps I could remember enough of it for a letter.’

Ellamae had no idea what words could describe the mechanics of what she was looking at, but she moved to take in every detail of the engine. As such, she squashed her nose right into the back of another person. The woman stumbled forward a step, and the huge arrangement of powder-blue hair on her head waved like a puff of candy-floss in a sudden wind.

“Well, I never!” The blue-puff woman snarled, swirling her heels and glaring down at Ellamae. “You need to watch where you are going! What if I had been hurt? What then?”

Ellamae meekly lowered her head in apology. They expected the tilt for someone of her class, but it also hid her features under the newsie cap her hair was crammed into. “I apologize, ma’am. This is my first time on a platform, and I am feelin' overwhelmed.”

“First time here, you say? Well, you certainly do not look like you could afford to be here yourself. Who are you here with? Where is your guardian? I would like to speak with them.”

That was not an unreasonable question, but Ellamae realized that she didn't know the answer. Fionntan Ward was nowhere to be seen in the sea of faces.

It took only a few steps into the crowd, and she had already lost him.

'Maybe I should leave,' she mused, but whatever amusement that thought brought was ruined by what the woman did next.

“I asked you a question!” Blue-puff snapped, jabbing Ellamae in the shoulder with her white-gloved finger.

Familiar burning anger lit up to protect her as Ellamae stared at the finger.

It would be oh so easy to break.

‘Just grab, and bend it back.’

Her fingers twitched eagerly.

“If you cannot produce someone, I will have no choice but to assume you stole your ticket to be here and call for assistance. Do you want that? Do you want me to scream for police? No, I bet you do not. So, one last time, where is your guardian?”

“That would be me,” Fionntan Ward’s voice said as a blur of dazzling white stepped between them. He leaned on his cane; his body positioned so squarely in front of Ellamae that she had to lean to see around his dark frock coat. "My apologies, ma'am. Has something happened with my ward? If so, I will take full responsibility."

The woman’s eyes were wide with her rage, but not for long. As soon as she took note of the patch on his shoulder, fear whitened her face and she edged back; as if the spot she had been in was now risking contamination. 

“N-no,” blue-puff stammered. “No, just see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

She spun on her heels and flounced away, her large pool of skirts swishing behind her.

Fionntan shot Ellamae an irritated glance.

"It was an accident," Ellamae said.

His hand landed between her shoulder blades, urging her forward with a firm push. 

The platform continued to buzz with activity, announcements echoing overhead. The steam train hissed like an over-sized tea kettle.

"I barely even bumped her," Ellamae snapped as they manoeuvred around families saying their goodbyes.

"I never said you did. However, it never would have happened at all if you were with me, like you are supposed to be at all times."

"Can you blame me for losing you? You're practically dressed the same as the rest of this lot; all dress shoes and top hats. I might as well 'ave been looking for a single sheep in a running herd."

He leaned in and said in a hush tone only just able to make it over the crowds; “I thought you might have run."

‘I thought about it.’

“The train distracted me,” she explained. “I thought I might try to remember it to put in a letter for my brother. ”

His eyes looked at her for no more than a moment, and his mouth pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. No words were necessary, because the message was very clear to her; Aldwin might not want to hear from her.

The surrounding people seemed to grow tenfold; all looming forms blurring past at unimaginable speeds.

There had been countless times Ellamae begged the police to let her talk to her brother, but they always refused. What if the reason was that it was Aldwin who had not wanted to...?

Within the mud of the alley, her brother looked at her with the expression of someone staring at a monster. On others, it was ignorable. On him, it was a weapon that cut cold pain into her chest with the ease of a knife.

“This is us,” Fionntan announced.

Far down the line, trailing only the caboose, stood a train car that starkly contrasted with the others. While the rest were lavishly adorned with vibrant wallpapers and scarlet curtains, this one consisted of plain wooden panels and a wall adorned with medical supplies.

In a remote corner, a silver-lined cell barely wide enough to sit in caught Ellamae's eye, briefly stirring a sense of panic. However, Fionntan guided them past it.

Entering one of the three unoccupied compartments, he gracefully placed his briefcase and cane on the shelf above the bench, then relaxed with a relieved sigh, closing his eyes.

“Close the door and sit down,” Fionntan instructed without looking to see if she complied.

Hesitantly, she did so, sliding the door shut and clicking the lock.

As she sat down, Ellamae had to stop her hands from reaching out to gather skirts that were not there. The trousers felt strange as she sank into the cushions. She didn't even have to worry about rearranging fabric for modesty reasons.

The stranger across from her remained silent, and when the train suddenly lurched forward, Ellamae gasped and clutched her seat.

As the platform with its bustling crowd slid out of view, the city of Sheeglen came into sight, still shrouded in the dark cloak of night. Perched on a sea cliff, the walled city appeared majestic. Ellamae strained her eyes but couldn't spot the stairs leading to her sea-level neighborhood.

In an instant, the train gained speed, leaving Sheeglen behind and venturing into rolling farmland.

New clothes, unfamiliar scenery, unusual transportation, and a seat with cushions more comfortable than any bed she could remember. All of this was enough to leave her head spinning, but it was only the beginning. She had tested positive for magic, witnessed a murder, and her life with her brother was... gone.

The shock that settled over Ellamae plunged her into silence.

Eventually, Fionntan — seeming content with ignoring her — roused and brought out a book, but he didn't bother to adjust the dim lamp suspended above them. Instead, raised bumps on the page awaited his touch to glide across.

As he delved into the text, Ellamae rested her head on the cool glass and watched distant twinkling lights speeding past, resembling shooting stars. With every passing moment, she felt herself growing further and further from the life she once knew.

Time allowed her overwhelming fatigue to dissolve into a deep pool of exhaustion, and her eyelids grew heavy.

Ellamae hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until a strange tingling feeling sent goosebumps prickling across her flesh jolted her awake. On her feet before her eyes had fully fluttered open, Ellamae frantically looked for the source of danger she knew was there.

The room remained unchanged, yet Ellamae's heart pounded.

‘Run.’

Fionntan halted his page-turn, fixing his gaze on her.

The train glided smoothly.

Her breath quickened, like she was in a frantic race.

‘Escape!’

The world closed in.

‘HIDE!’

The book snapped shut and was promptly discarded on the bench beside Fionntan. "Ms. Holt, it seems you may be experiencing a panic attack, but you can overcome this. Look at me. Good. Now, try to breathe with me. Take a deep—"

That's when she smelled it—a floral scent mixed with moss. Ellamae had encountered that scent before, but not here. It was from a place that couldn't exist.

‘It's too late now.’

Tearing her eyes away from Fionntan felt like breaking free from an anchor she desperately clung to, but dread compelled her to glance out the window just in time to witness the destruction.

A bolt of lightning crashed from the sky, but it didn't diminish. Instead, it lingered at the point of impact, expanding like a crack in stone.

As if seeking to contain it, a purple smoke rushed in and engulfed the spectacle.

Lightning and smoke swirled and thrashed, interweaving and compressing into a tightly wound ball of pulsing energy.

Then it exploded.

It radiated outward in a formidable wave, toppling trees and reducing houses to rubble.

Fionntan swore and grabbed her arm. 

She was wrenched to the floor as the blast tore the train apart.

Suspension Railway

The trains run on a suspension railway, which means the track is high up, and above the train rather than under it.

This train engine design was based on the designs by Raymond Loewy, specifically the PRR S1

#fadingoftheveil #gaslamp fantasy #fading of the veil #aetherpunk #ellamae #writblr #writeblr community

[dandelionlovesyou]

My Shelter - Chapter 4

Confession Day!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39255591/chapters/102282369

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14086779/4/My-Shelter

.......

Here we go! This is the last chapter for now. An epilogue will come later, but I'm not sure when I can write it since on-site work restarted again. Life will be super busy, with commuting and all, but I am very excited to get out of the house! Don't fret, though, for I will write this epilogue, and there will be more cats in it. =)

A special thank you to my friend, @jhsgf82​, for beta reading this chapter. Your support, input, and appreciation for this fic mean the world to me. Thank you, too, for the cat info! I learned a lot about cats from you =D

….….

Here we go. Everything begins today.

Peeta rounds the curb to Katniss' house and then parks his car in the driveway overlooking the small house. The Everdeens’ house is a home, really, despite its lack of wealth. Before Mr. Everdeen passed away, he made sure that his girls had a permanent roof over their heads. It was one of his dreams being a blue-collar worker and growing up in a life of poverty. Toiling away and doing odd jobs was tough for years, but he did them all for his small family.  

Peeta admired the man.

Painted mustard yellow with a gray and white door, the bungalow house is simple and quaint. It's surrounded by Prim's herb and flower garden, adding character and color to the exterior. On more than one occasion, Peeta helped them fix a leak on the roof or replace a pipe under the sink. Nothing too out of the ordinary or something that Katniss herself cannot fix. But he would always volunteer, anyways‒if only to spend more time with his best friend.

"Hi, Peeta!" Prim chirps from the doorstep. She's growing too fast and looks radiant in her cobalt blue and yellow summer dress. Skipping on along the path, her sweet smile brings levity to Peeta's heart. It's always good to see Prim very happy.

"Hey there, Prim," Peeta greets back, checking his car for any last-minute item that needs to be cleaned. He spent two hours yesterday under the summer heat, vacuuming, washing, and polishing his new (but old) Honda Civic.

"Can I ride in front? Katniss and mom aren't done yet, so I get first dibs on the seats."

"Yeah, sure." Peeta exits his side and hustles to open the car door for Prim.

"You didn't have to do that," Prim says, then rolls her eyes. "I'm not my sister."

Peeta lets out a nervous laugh. At this point, it's only Katniss who doesn't know about his intentions. Mrs. Everdeen gave him her permission to court her eldest daughter last December. That was a long time ago, and she's been giving him expectant looks every time he brings Katniss home.

"Cool car," Prim interrupts his unease. He closes the door gently and then leans in on the window.

“What do you think about my baby?”

"She's nice and tidy. Smells good. Soft seats too, but … your radio's ooold, Peeta." Prim scans the archaic device; no doubt it's something Peeta found in his dad's attic. "Haven't seen a tape player before in my life. That's probably ten times older than me." She chuckles and flips the opening where the cassette tapes go in.

“Hey, don’t insult the merchandise. It still works pretty well, I tell you.”

"Yeah, if you want to impress grandmas," she banters back and wrinkles her cute button nose in an adorable smirk.

"It's just bodywork, Prim. The engine is good; the wheels are relatively new, and the heater and AC haven't stopped working for three months now."

"I suppose so… Katniss did say that your body looks good." Prim giggles at her not-so-subtle insinuation.

Really? Katniss said that about my body.

“I mean the car, Peeta,” Prim coughs out, smiling mischievously. She’s definitely not the innocent little sister Peeta is used to.

Prim continues, “Not your body. God knows Katniss thinks your body is more than alright. She can't stop talking about how strong you are." Prim shifts in her seat and tries in the most comical way to exaggerate and mimic her older sister, "Did you know that he can lift hundred-pound bags of flour? That's not nothing, Prim. Peeta's strong!"

"No way she said that!" Peeta protests, though the slight flush on his cheeks must give away how happy he is about such revelation.

Did she really notice that? I mean, did Katniss really?

“She said that over dinner many times before, Peeta. Too many to count, actually. My sister would defend your honor to her grave.”

“You’re kidding now.”

“Nope. I’ll send you a video if I have to.”

They both laugh at each other, easily conversing as if they were family. Prim transfers to the driver's seat and asks about all the buttons and pedals while killing time. She honks the horn thrice, telling her sister to hurry up.

"You better not do that again, Prim!" Katniss yells back from the house. For good measure, Prim honks the horn again. Peeta can’t stop the monkey grin from spreading on his face.

“So?” Prim turns to him. He is now sitting in the passenger seat and biting his nails as he watches the front door.

"So," Peeta answers back, then stops himself from looking at Prim, who undoubtedly is sporting a naughty grin.

Damn, Prim’s going to grill me now.

"Why didn't you take my sister to prom?" she queries and taps his shoulder like a demanding little sister. Buttercup startles him by jumping through the back window and stretching before loafing in the back seat. Gossipy cat.

"I mean, you could have confessed your undying love then!" Prim presses, not so quietly.

"Prim, keep it down. She could hear you," Peeta pleads under his breath. Prim just smiles at him, and they both ease back into their seats.

With a huff, Peeta brings out his phone from his pocket. “It was the same day as the annual adoption fair,” he explains. “Here, take a look.”

On his phone are hundreds of pictures of dogs, cats, volunteers, and the crowds of people in the park; no doubt he was documenting the entire event three weeks ago. "There was a concert in the evening, and Katniss didn't want to leave until everything was finished and packed away. It's important to her, and I couldn't take that away from her."

Prim scans through his gallery. The event did look fun and meaningful. There were various booths from sponsors, basic obedience training sessions, and a spread of tables where possible adoptions were processed.

Sliding the screen further up, she opens a folder with a heart on the corner named "My Shelter." Inside are pictures and pictures of Katniss throughout their growing-up years. Some were taken candidly, but most with her permission.

“Peeta …,” Prim sighs.

"I know," he breathes out and joins her in looking at the photos of the one who holds his heart. "I'm a goner, Prim."

"That you are," she concurs sympathetically. She hands Peeta back his mobile, lingering on a selfie of the two of them with Whitney and Rye-Rye at the fair. They both smiled from ear to ear, clearly ecstatic because the two dogs were finally adopted into loving homes.

“For what it’s worth, you already had my vote years ago.” Prim squeezes his shoulder. “I knew you would take care of my sister and make her happy. She’s better with you, Peeta. You’re always hopeful, kind, and patient. My sister needs that in her life.”

“Thanks, Prim. That means a lot coming from you.”

Peeta swipes the screen and taps it to enlarge a file. "Want to see a video of her dancing at the fair?"

“With you?”

"Nah, I'm always behind the camera," he says, unsure if he should be happy that he got the chance to capture so many memories of Katniss before she leaves for university, or sad because it means that he hasn't taken the leap yet. "She's swaying with the cats as usual."

"That's my sister…except with Buttercup," Prim utters with a chuckle. "Okay, let's see it."

In the video, the park was lit with warm yellow lights above the dance floor, and a country band was playing a familiar love song. In Katniss' arms was Pepper, a brown and white, short-haired Tabby cat that was one of the kittens they rescued.

Last fall, an emaciated, young female cat appeared in Peeta's backyard. She was scavenging in the garbage bin when he saw her that afternoon. Noticing some milk in her teats, he was unsure whether the female cat was pregnant or if she’d already had her kittens. Peeta gave her some cat food and named her Paprika because of her red and white coloring. When he told Katniss about her, they set up a birthing box on his porch. But after a few days, it was obvious that Paprika had given birth somewhere else. Worried about the kittens, they set out to follow her when she would leave at night. Peeta had a hard time with his prosthetic, often staying farther behind so as not to alarm her with his loud footsteps. It was difficult, and Paprika was quick and so sneaky that even Katniss couldn't keep up with her. It was Jo who came up with the bright idea of putting a GPS collar on the feline. Paprika protested and pawed at the collar when Peeta put it on her, but eventually, she got used to it. Three days later, they found her kittens.

Paprika had five kittens. Two females and three males in all. They were Tabby cats with red, white, and brown coloring. They named them Pepper, Cardamom, Ginger, Sage, and Wasabi. Pepper was the last one to be adopted from the litter of five. It was a miracle she survived because she developed a severe upper respiratory infection a month after being rescued. She was sneezing, had a runny nose and eyes, was feverish, and lost her appetite. Many thought she was going to die with her swift decline, but Katniss and Peeta both took turns nursing her back to health. The Everdeens fostered Pepper, and Peeta helped tend to her until the wee hours of the night before sneaking back into his house. He cared for her and decongested her with the steamy shower running every night. Katniss slept while Peeta was with Pepper, so she could take the night shift. It was a grueling two weeks. They were falling asleep in their morning classes from exhaustion. In the cafeteria, they were often seen napping together during lunch breaks, which caused suspicion from their homeroom adviser.

Katniss and Peeta were ecstatic when Pepper was eventually given the all-clear by Doc Wiress. It took a while for the little runt to return to her old self. Loafing, scratching her cat pole, and climbing the kitchen cabinets at the Everdeens’ became her favorite pastimes when she got her strength back, though. Prim enjoyed having another cat in the house, and Katniss relished seeing Buttercup being ruffled-up by another feline with no boundaries yet. Two weeks later, Pepper was back in the shelter, and Jo began training her for adoption.

That night at the fair, Pepper finally found a home with Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter.

As the band was playing, Pepper placed her head on the nook of Katniss' arm as she was cradled like a baby. Katniss had wanted a last dance with her. With a gentle gaze, she seemed to memorize the features of the cuddling bundle in her arms. Peeta couldn't resist taking a video of them, smiling at them, and loving them. His heart overflowed.

"She's really magnificent, isn't she?" Peeta whispers as his finger skims over Katniss' face on the screen. "Fierce, protective, devoted …" He longs for these moments of vulnerability. Tender and soft instances when Katniss wears her heart on her sleeve.

Just perfect the way she is.

"Prim, come in for a second, please," Mrs. Everdeen all of a sudden calls from inside the house.

"Okay, Mama," Prim replies, shifting in the driver's seat and giving Peeta a hopeful smile. "Just go for it, Peeta. Tell my sister you love her already. Don't be scared; she won't bite."

“I will … Thanks, Prim.”

Snapping back to her bright and witty self, Prim walks back to the house to attend to her mother's request. Buttercup follows her, but not before rubbing his face on Peeta's shoulders. He gracefully leaps through the window, meowing about as he parades himself lazily.

Stepping out of his car, Peeta can hear the youngest Everdeen scolding her sister and mother for being so slow and making Peeta wait for ages. Katniss grumbles back, saying that Peeta is always early anyways. This earns a snicker from him, delighted as he is that Katniss knows him so well.

I’m always early for you, my love.

Except ... for telling you that I love you.

Well, no more. Today’s the day!

Five more minutes pass, and it's Prim who exits the door first. She skips to Peeta's car, hastily opening the door herself in the back seat. Mrs. Everdeen then comes out next, greeting Peeta with a cheerful smile. He meets her halfway and escorts her to the car. Smooth, but totally natural for him to do.

Opening the car door, Mrs. Everdeen gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations, Peeta. You did wonderfully all these years,” she praises him, patting his rosy cheek.

He closes the passenger door and takes a few steps toward the house to wait for Katniss. He almost misses the moment she strolls out the door because he notices a watermark on the windshield. Promptly searching his pocket for a handkerchief, his whole body stills when he briefly glances at the gray and white door. There, under the soft morning sun, is his everything.

[… … …]

No word, no image, no thought revolves around his head. Only the beating of his heart exists.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

When she smiles at him, the ballad "Can't Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon begins to play in the background. His blue eyes go into tunnel vision, zooming and ending only on Katniss. She's wearing a flowing, evergreen summer dress with a mockingbird pin on her chest. Her dark, majestic hair is in an elaborate braid that their art teacher Cinna would surely praise. Her cheeks are a modest pink, and her lips are a subtle crimson.

Bellissima.

Peeta deliberates if he has already died and gone to heaven.

I can't fight this feeling any longer

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow

What started out as friendship has grown stronger

I only wish I had the strength to let it show

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever

I said there is no reason for my fear

'Cause I feel so secure when we're together

You give my life direction

You make everything so clear

"Is this real or not real?" he whispers to himself before his feet start moving of their own accord. It feels like walking on pillowy clouds.

My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you

I've been running 'round in circles in my mind

And it always seems that I'm followin' you, girl

'Cause you take me to the places

That alone I'd never find

"I'm not waiting any longer," he says next, halfway through the narrow path where Katniss is waiting. Everything feels warm and fuzzy under his gray suit. He's crawling out of his own skin.

And even as I wander

I'm keeping you in sight

You're a candle in the window

On a cold, dark winter's night

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might

“Hi, Peeta.” Katniss’ sultry voice penetrates through Kevin Cronin’s singing in his head. “Sorry to keep you waiting. My mom…and my hair…”

“You look beautiful.” Peeta swoons, reaching for her hand and placing a gentle kiss there. Katniss' cheeks turn a slight pink, and she bites the insides of her bottom lip.

Blue eyes meet grey ones.

Like lightning, though, a moment of panic pricks Peeta’s gut.

What did I just do?!

His eyes start to go wild.

BEEP! Beep! Beep! The sound of the car horn snaps them out of their trance (or dilemma?)

“Hurry up! You both won’t make it to your graduation!” Prim yells out, leaning on the driver’s seat and pressing the horn again.

“Shut up, Prim!” Katniss reluctantly shouts back. She squeezes Peeta’s hand in hers and tugs it before briskly walking together to the car.

…..

Graduation flows smoothly as the newly promoted Assistant Vice Principal Fulvia Purpletown runs the whole ceremony. Emilia Fernsby, also known as 'Foxface,' gives an impassioned valedictorian speech, earning a standing ovation from three teachers‒Mr. Flavius (Trigonometry), Ms. Venia (Human Anatomy), and Mrs. Octavia (Logic).

As Pomp and Circumstance Marches plays, the seniors climb up to the wide-open stage. Everyone takes their turn on the wooden platform receiving their rolled-up fake diploma and moving the tassels on their dark blue graduation caps. Peeta and Katniss cheer profusely, whistling and clapping their hands as the other marches up to shake Mr. Heavensbee's hand. Proud as ever and moved by the momentous music, they are both teary-eyed as they accept their diploma.

High school was not easy. Juggling it with their families’ situation and their time at the animal shelter made studying very trying, but they succeeded. Together. Effie and Haymitch advised them from the start of their high school days that they could accomplish anything as long as they remained as a team.

Twenty more photos and a lengthy video of Katniss' march were added to Peeta’s favorite gallery folder by the end of her turn. Both their families stood up to watch them, glowing with happiness under the breezy summer day.

After Principal Heavensbee gives the final message to the graduates‒a highly philosophical speech about history lessons and the human condition‒the song "Glory Days" by Bruce Springsteen unexpectedly booms in the background. He’s startled by Bruce’s “Let’s go!” causing him to spill his juice from his teacher’s mug all over his brown, tailor-made suit.

The entire faculty scrambles to their feet, some briskly walking backstage to find the source of the loud rock music that is causing young hips and shoulders to shake rhythmically. Principal Heavensbee is red as a ripe beet, pointing at all sorts of icons on Vice Principal Fulvia’s controller. The tech crew, wearing black shirts, tries to stop the music to bring back the solemnity of the ceremony, but to no avail. The crowd is already wild!

Tough luck, Mr. Heavensbee!

The whole assembly dances and sings like the crazy teenagers they are. Thresh and Marvel run across the field, shedding their togas and shirts and popping confetti guns with suspicious-looking colored powders. All the while the school’s Golden Victor mascot is chased around by Mr. Flickerman because he is running buck naked and flashing everyone. All color drains out of the teachers’ faces.

That’s the 74th batch of Panem High for you folks.

"Oh, this is definitely Cato's doing!" Peeta announces to Katniss, leaning near her ear to be heard above the loud music. "It's got his signature written all over it!"

“Well, they can’t expel him now!” Katniss all but shouts as she stands on tiptoes to reach his ear as well.

Peeta’s warm cheek grazes hers.

Katniss steadies herself, grabbing his solid arms. She leans into his masculine jaw.

For a moment, they both freeze at the contact. Had they rotated their heads just a little more, their lips would have certainly met. Actually…

Akjfkjdfsdfjdsvdsnvj!

But the moment is not right, Peeta thinks. So he just holds her close and envelopes her in his arms. Following suit, Katniss lets her palms crawl up the expanse of his back, keeping them flushed against each other's graduation gown-covered bodies. They both breathe in each other's scent.

Cinnamon and dill.

Lavender and oatmeal.

The scent of forever.

Their schoolmates continue to sing in chorus; some throw their graduation caps in the air, and many stand on their chairs to take a live video. But Katniss and Peeta are frozen in time, existing in a unit of space where their shelter is each other's heart. All too soon, the music stops, and a tech crew laughs mightily from pulling out the main electrical plug, killing the mood. Principal Heavensbee chestily declares without a mic, "With the power vested in me by the Committee of Education, I now pronounce you all as graduates! This concludes the year and your entire high school education." He emphasizes the word 'concludes’ and makes a shooing gesture to everyone out in the field after he finishes.

"Congratulations, Katniss," Peeta whispers, his joy expanding to her as he holds her.

“Congratulations, Peeta,” Katniss murmurs against his chest. Her ear rests over his heart, listening to every beat it makes. “We did it.”

Gingerly, they break away from each other, slowly letting go of the other with closed eyes. Their families find them amidst the rowdy crowd, and they all take obligatory pictures, reluctantly setting aside the closeness they had only seconds ago.

Wheaton holds the camera, and everyone smiles at the count of three. Always the fun-loving one, Rye demands that they all say 'cheese buns' instead when Wheaton takes their photos.

Peeta shoots his brother a death glare.

“I’ll see you all for dinner at our house at eight,” invites Mr. Mellark. Mrs. Mellark stands beside him, surprisingly in a good mood. She must have been a fan of Bruce Springsteen.

"We'll be there with some soup and cider," Mrs. Everdeen replies, then gives Peeta and Katniss a final congratulatory hug.

Everyone then piles out to attend to their regular work. The Mellarks have tons of cakes and pastries to deliver, and the Everdeens have patients to attend to.

“You ready?” Peeta asks Katniss once everyone is out of earshot.

“Ready,” she replies, a lopsided grin on her face. “Let’s go!”

Their plan had been forged since they were in freshman year. They promised each other that when they graduated, they'd take selfies in all their favorite spots in school. But since Katniss is leaving for university, they've expanded the plan to taking photos around the district as well. It’s easy, all they need to do is ride on Haymitch's bus. The D12 stops in all their favorite places, except the park. They will just take Peeta’s car later to go there.

The first stop in school is in front of the bust sculpture of the Committee of Education's Chairman Coriolanus Snow. Many despise him for his overly intellectual and competitive revision of the curriculum, which slashed the art budget by half. Peeta positions his index finger to pick Snow's nose while Katniss scowls and puts a whole cabbage on top of his head. They take three shots, switching positions and snickering like naughty children while making funny faces at the bearded old man.

Next is their usual lunch table in the cafeteria. Producing a marker from his suit pocket, Peeta quickly draws a bow and arrow and a loaf of bread underneath. Symbols, no doubt of themselves, they’ve claimed the orange table. They spent many conversations on this worn-out furniture‒lots of friendly banter, catching up on homework, and planning for shelter events or foster care.

A picture of their lockers follows, which thanks to Peeta's silver tongue was never changed for four years. Katniss' was locker E518, and Peeta's was M314. They slip a thin note inside for the next freshman who will inherit the green metal compartments. It lists invaluable tips for surviving high school in Panem.

#1. Respect Mr. Cinna.

#2. Don’t sit in the first row of Mr. Flickerman’s class…unless you want a shower!

#3. Mr. Flavius always gives a pop quiz on the first Wednesday of the month, so study up!

#4. Library. SC-081-019-62. Best book ever!

#5. A friend that gives you a loaf of bread is a keeper.

#6. Eat breakfast. Seriously, it’s the most important meal of the day :)

…

#12. Volunteer at the animal shelter. You’ll find good people there.

Their last stop in school is Mr. Cinna's art studio. It's been their quiet space for four years. When the school crowd became too much, they often retreated there, either alone or together, for some peace. A spacious room meant for free expression and creativity, Mr. Cinna never once locked the doors, so anyone wanting to express their feelings on a blank canvas could. Not once was the room vandalized or taken for granted by any of the students in Panem High. They all respected and loved Mr. Cinna.

"Remember this window, Peeta?" Katniss asks as she stares out across the school's field. "You loved sitting here and watching the sky change color."

I also loved watching you from here when you trained for archery. I often melted like ice cream from your awesomeness.

"Do you still have some artwork here?" Katniss walks away from the glass window and scans the nearby wall filled with sketches from students. It's a nifty wall, really. Anyone who appreciates art could get lost in the many works students have left throughout the years.

Peeta walks toward the other end of the vast wall, joining her as she tries to identify one of his works. Truth be told, he had already taken every one of them down, except for one. He purposely left one for her to find. Today.

Just a little bit more to the right, my love. I hope you’ll like it.

A not too subtle "Oh” escapes Katniss' lips. She covers her open mouth with her palm, clearly in awe of the painting in front of her.

Peeta holds his breath.

"What do you think?" he finally asks as he stands beside her. Katniss' index finger brushes his. Courageously, Peeta takes her hand, interlacing his calloused fingers with her slender ones. It feels so natural, so perfect, like the easy swirl of fresh paint on canvas. Not one of them dares to let go.

"You did this for me?" Katniss marvels at the painting of her aiming her bow and arrow in the field. "It's beautiful."

“You’re beautiful,” Peeta follows smoothly. For once, his thoughts of her now have a voice. “And I have always loved you all these years.”

A companionable silence stands between them, then a few tears escape Katniss’ eyes. Her other hand hovers over the canvas. “You have?” she asks, lips quivering from the rush of emotions flooding her.

Peeta smiles and meaningfully bobs his head in answer. The twinkle in his eyes is clearly visible from the joy of finally letting his heart out. "Since we were five…took me thirteen years to finally muster up the courage to tell you. But yeah …" Peeta turns to Katniss, unafraid and determined to hold her gaze now. “I love you, Katniss Everdeen.”

"Oh, Peeta," she breathes out, and he tenderly brushes away the tears falling down her rosy olive cheeks with his thumb.

"I only have four weeks to win your heart…make you fall in love with me. I don't want to waste any more time being afraid or doubting myself. I'm running out of time to make you love me as more than just your silly old best friend... I know, I'm not perfect…”

"You don't have to ...," Katniss cuts him off, placing her trembling fingers over his lips. She surely feels the rush of air he takes from her unexpected gesture, then the warm breath he steadily exhales after. Slowly, Peeta takes her hand away from his tingling lips and slides it down to a distinct place on his torso‒over the muscular organ pumping blood throughout his body.

The one that beats only for Katniss Everdeen.

"You already won my heart, Peeta," Katniss follows, ghosting her index finger over the thumping in Peeta's chest. "It has always been yours." She then moves her gaze from his chest to his handsome face. The bluest, gentlest eyes meet her. She smiles at him, softly and a little playful. "But I always thought yours belonged to Delly Cartwright, so ..."

"Oh, Katniss, I'm such a fool..."

"Maybe," she snickers, then pauses. "Now…are you gonna kiss me, or should I wait a couple more years?"

Laughter bubbles up in Peeta's chest. He can't believe this is all happening. He had only hoped for a chance, yet here is Katniss giving her heart to him in return.

Her heart to me. Peeta Mellark.

"So?" Katniss scowls from being made to wait again. Peeta beams.

"Come here."

Their lips meet in a sure kiss, taking each other's breath away. Greedily, they seek more before slowing down to take their time. Katniss wraps her arms around Peeta's neck, tickling him as he pulls her closer. They chuckle between kisses as Peeta confesses about all the cheese buns he’s shoved her way. He’s all too endearing, and Katniss can’t help but fall in love even more with her best friend.

Woof! woof! woof! The loud barking of Driver sounds from the field outside the window.

"I don't believe it," Peeta says, pulling his mouth away and leaving Katniss mid-kiss. Sometimes he really can’t help but become a tease.

"Peeta, what?" Katniss breathily complains, eyes closed and confused but still feeling like she’s in a fairy tale.

"Driver's here, love."

Hmmm, love. I can call her that now.

"I guess it's time to go to the park," Peeta follows and rubs the back of his neck.

Together they meet Driver in the grassy field, peppering him with hugs and getting slobbery kisses. They take Peeta's car to the park, the tune of Bruce Springsteen's “Glory Days” echoing from Peeta's cassette player. With Driver leading the way and Katniss and Peeta holding hands while stealing kisses, they find the evergreen tree where they first got "married" as children. Around the "K+P" Peeta carved out when they were seven, Katniss adds a perfect heart around it, sealing it with an arrow for good measure.

I love that my cheese buns and I are not the only cheesy things around here.

Kisses then follow ‒ lots of them ‒ punctuated with adorable wet licks from Driver. All is perfect under the evergreen tree and the silky orange sunset on the horizon as Katniss and Peeta finally give their hearts away. To each other.

“My shelter,” Peeta coos.

“My shelter,” Katniss repeats with a kiss.

 -- The end --

.……………

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic. 

#thg #everlark #dandelionlovesyou writes #my shelter #Paprika's story is loosely adapted from a real life rescue #adoption #foster #cats and dogs #I'd love to see your fur baby =D

[gaysimpsstuff]

Flightless Birds Chapter One: Feathers in Fukuoka

Chapter Two Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four Here

Chapter Five Here

Summary: Y/n unexpectedly meets the current number two hero Hawks in Fukuoka. The grayish blue Parakeet catches the eye of the speedy hero, who promises himself he’ll meet them again.

Word Count: 2.5K words

Warnings: Child abuse, Karens, blood, Hawks being creepy, chaotic best friend, gore, shitty parents, deadbeat dad

Other: The amount of research I put into this, wing anatomy, feather anatomy, types of birds, parakeet behaviors, cities in Japan, I even found a good Japanese name for the best friend, since this does take place in Japan. If you wanna know, Izanagi, the name of Y/n’s best friend in this fic, means ‘First male, god of creation’ and I love that name. Actually, I love anything in the Japanese language, it’s such a beautiful language and I cannot wait to learn it. Also, there was a problem with the spacing in the flashback scene so I just fixed that real quick, sorry for the inconvenience!

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin (If you want to be added/removed from the taglist let me know).

You stared out the window. It had taken forever but you’d convinced him to let you look down at the streets surrounding his penthouse. You rested one hand on the cool glass, letting out a breath. Your other hand was tracing the scars on your legs, You had long given up on getting them to heal.

You fluttered your wings, or what was left of them. No matter how many times your primary flying feathers would grow back, it would never deter your captor from simply clipping them off again. Thankfully, he did a better job than other people. He would never cut a blood feather. Well, mostly.

You closed your eyes, the house was so stifling at times, despite the large open rooms, and the fact that your captor would occasionally allow you out into the garden. You attempted to recall the last time you were free in Fukuoka. You remembered a bright sky, blue as your wings, and clouds fluffy and soft as your feathers. You remembered the ache in your body from working yourself all day, and just how heavy your legs felt. You remembered a kid’s joyful cheers when she saw you….

“Mommy! Look, look at the pretty bird! Can I touch it please?” you were standing on the street, waiting for a friend to pick you up and take you over to their house to watch movies and eat popcorn. You looked up from your phone at the sound of the child’s loud, innocent voice. 

“Go right ahead, Kaneko!” a woman’s voice this time. You frowned. Whatever bird they were talking about it probably wasn’t a good idea for the kid to just run up and touch it. You were forcibly removed from your thoughts when sharp pain shot up through your wing. Oh, you were the ‘pretty bird’ the kid was talking about.

Your quirk was Parakeet, and that was fine by itself, but it came with pros and cons. Some pros were that you could fly, even though you couldn’t do that in public in most places in Japan. Some cities in Japan had laws that allowed flyers to take to the skies under strict sky traffic laws, but Fukuoka was not one of those cities. Maybe you would have been better off in Miyagi or Fukui, where you could fly freely, but at the same time, you had lived your whole life near Fukuoka, plus it was such a beautiful city, it was easier to stay here.

Another pro was simple, the thing most people think about when they say they want a mutant-type quirk. The looks. Your wings had three different colors, but the base color was a beautiful summer sky blue. At the very top of your wings, your marginal coverts were a curious shade of gray. Not dark enough to be black but not light enough to be white. Underneath were your secondary coverts, which were white as the clouds in the sky. The rest of your feathers were pretty blue colors. Your tail feathers followed the same pattern as your wings.

Everything else about your quirk wasn’t very fun. Behavioral issues that had gotten you in trouble in school and at work, especially during mating season. Plus the sheer amount of people with prejudice against mutant quirks. You’d heard it all. People thinking they had the right to touch your wings and tail, people shouting to you in a high-pitched voice to force you to repeat their words, people claiming you weren’t human, people insisting you fly them somewhere, etc etc. This was unfortunately something you dealt with on the daily.

Just like this kid grabbing your wing. 

“OW! Don’t do that!” you shrieked, yanking your wing away from the kid, spinning around to see her. Her little hand was wrapped around one of your darker feathers. Fuck. Of course, she grabbed a blood feather. The little girl’s eyes welled up in tears, and she turned and ran back to her mom. Thank the stars, she let go of your feather.

You sighed, running your fingers through your wings to smooth the ruffled feathers. 

“Excuse me, bird!” the mother of the child grabbed your shoulder, forcibly spinning you around to face her. She was middle-aged, and furious. “What did you do to my dear Kaneko?”

You glanced between the woman and the girl, Kaneko. Kaneko was in tears, holding onto her mother’s leg. She had to have only been three or four, she probably didn’t know any better.

“I didn’t do anything to your child, ma’am. She ran up to me and grabbed my wing, which is very painful, and actually very rude in case you were unaware.”

“I don’t give a shit!” the woman screeched. You flinched away from her. She was cursing in front of her toddler? Irresponsible. “It’s my dear Kaneko’s birthday, and I say she gets whatever she wants! You’re just a fucking bird, so why can’t you sit still and let my daughter pet you!?”

Great, she was a fucking Karen. This was just what you needed after dealing with co-workers and clients at work. Getting your feather pulled and a crazy lady all up in your face, freaking out at you. Because her daughter hurt you.

“Because it’s painful, and I’d prefer not to let strangers touch my wings.” You explained yourself calmly.

“You fucking bitch!” the woman was screaming, her finger in your face. “You selfish, greedy little pig! She’s a child, let her live her life!” Shadows danced in your peripherals as her words faded from your ears. 

Cold metal was pressed up against your feathers, you dreaded the snipping noise that meant she was cutting. You could feel the scissors press into the stem of your feather before the metal blades connected, severing the feather from your wing. 

“Ow! Mommy that hurts!” hot, wet, salty tears stained your cheeks. “Mommy please stop it!” You were five, getting your wings clipped for the first time.

“Shut up! Don’t be so fucking selfish!” a harsh voice snapped at you, the aggression making you shudder as you sobbed. Your pupils were blown wide in fear as you screamed.  “Stop, Mommy that one hurts more!” your mother didn’t even hesitate, cutting off another feather. It hit the ground like the rest of them, but something else came with it. Blood dripped down your wings, staining the pretty blues and plopping onto the ground.

“You’re dirtying my clean floors!” mother screeched behind you. “When I finish with your wings, you’ll clean that up!”

“Mommy?” you sniffled, trying to hold back your chest-heaving sobs. “Why do I hafta have my wings clipped?”

“So you don’t fly away like your jackass of a father. I won’t let you leave Mommy.”

“Get your finger out of my face, woman!” you shouted at her, you were just seconds away from biting it off of her ugly hand. You were trembling, and you could hardly breathe what with the marching drums hammering away at your ribcage

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you inhuman!” The little girl shied away from her mom, crying harder. You opened your mouth to retort against the crazy Karen, but stopped when you saw the girl’s reaction. You knew she probably felt bad for hurting you, and now her mother was screaming and cursing, you knew how scary that was.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a whoosh of wind and a flash of red. Something wrapped around your arms, tugging you away from the woman, and something tugged the woman away from you. You looked down, seeing red feathers curled around your biceps. You’d only seen red feathers in one other place. When your own feathers were soaked in blood from your mom’s clippings. You shook your head, pushing the dark memories from your mind as you grabbed the feather and pulled it off of you as quick as possible, it flew away from you almost immediately, heading towards a man far taller than you. His golden hair was messy but very soft-looking. His slitted eyes glanced between you and the woman behind his golden goggles. His hands rested in the pockets of his large brown jacket. But none of that compared to his intimidatingly large red wings. It would be impossible not to recognize him, he was your best friend’s favorite.

Number Two Pro-Hero in Japan; Hawks

“What’s going on here?” he asked. “I heard shouting.” he said, a lazy smile resting on his face.

“This crazy bird-bitch hit my daughter!” the Karen screamed hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” you thought she’d at least be above that, but it looked this woman didn’t give a shit about morality. “I didn’t touch her at all! She grabbed my wing then you freaked out when it hurt me!” 

“Hey, now, no need to get upset.” Hawks turned to you, and something in him changed. His wings shivered, and his eyes slitted, before blowing back out to normal size. “Birdie, tell me your side of the story.” you took a step away from the hero, something about his reaction to seeing you didn’t seem natural. It creeped you out. Also, why was he calling you ‘birdie?’

“I was standing around, waiting for my friend, then this kid saw me. She must have thought my wings were pretty because she ran up to be and grabbed one of my feathers. A blood feather, actually. It hurt and I yanked my wing back and told her not to do that. This woman seemed to have some delusion that her daughter has every right to touch and hurt me and I’m supposed to- and I now quote- ‘sit still and let her pet me.’” You explained.

“Ah I see.” Hawks nodded, turning to a young man on the street. “Sir, who’s explanation is correct?” he asked.

“Uh- the bird’s?” the guy seemed out of it, just staring at the hero.

“Thanks, sir. Ma’am, could you and your daughter apologize to this nice person?”

“No way in fucking hell!” the woman screamed. “Come on, Kaneko, we’re getting out of here. And I’m throwing away all your Hawks bobbleheads, now I know he’s a fucking biased pig.” The girl glanced up at her mom before quickly running to you, taking your hand.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t wanna hurt you, your wings just looked so pretty!” you softened a little, crouching down and patting the girl’s head, smiling at her.

“It’s alright, I forgive you. Next time you see something pretty, tell the person it’s pretty, then ask if you can touch it.” The girl lit up, nodding eagerly.

“I will!” she exclaimed before her mother dragged her away. 

“You didn’t need to apologize to that asshole. They were the one that made you cry.” she grumbled, walking down the street as she fumed. 

“Poor girl…” you muttered. “Having a Karen for a mom.” you stared after her empathetically. You didn’t notice the look in the hero’s eyes, staring you up and down, shifting from one leg to the next. “Oh um, thanks Hawks,” you said, turning back to him. “For helping me.”

You froze when you saw his face, eyes seemingly staring into your soul, expression blank. He seemed to be calculating something, scanning you for information. Your blood ran cold when you noticed his pupils, thinner than paper.

“Oh!” he was shaken out of his daze by your voice, a careless smile dawning his features as his pupils returned to normal. “No problem, Birdie.” you pursed your lips, nodding. You saw a small black car turn the corner, and you honed in on the license plate. Saved at last! Your friend was here!

“Alright, uh I’ve gotta be going now…” you chuckled nervously. 

“Wait, a sec, I’m gonna need your name for a report.” he dug around in his pocket, pulling out a small voice recorder and holding it up to you. “Just speak it in here.” Oh, yeah that made sense, Heroes had to make reports of everything they resolved in a day, so it was probably best to get the names of the people they help in case the PHSC needed to contact them.

“Y/n.” you spoke as clear as you could when he pressed the button on the side of the recorder. “Y/n L/n. Hawks helped me win a petty fight with a Karen.” you chuckled a little into the recorder. Hawks nodded, putting the recorder back into his pocket. He glanced back at you for a moment, expression aloof and apathetic.

“Thanks, Y/n!” he flashed you another smile before taking off into the sky, leaving you confused. 

Why did he use your personal name and not your family name?

The door to the small black car opened, and your friend stumbled out, running forward a few paces before cursing.

“You fuckin kidding me, Y/n? You got to meet Hawks?” he stared at you in disbelief. “You couldn’t have made him stay a minute longer? You know he’s my celebrity crush!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. Your best friend since you were a young child, Izanagi Fujikawa. Bisexual, chaotic, and your mortal enemy. 

“Iza, he’s a pro hero. He’s got shit to do!” Izanagi pouted, crossing his arms.

“I know… I’m still mad at you though.” you rolled your eyes, scoffing. 

“We can deal with that.” you poked his cheek, climbing in the passenger seat before he grabbed your elbow, pulling you back towards him.

“Your wing’s all messed up- what happened?”

“I’ll explain in the car.” you shrugged him off, climbing in and buckling your seatbelt, unaware of the sharp golden eyes watching you.

Hawks was perched on a nearby building, eyes slitted as he glared down at your friend. You two were close, he could tell. Why did that make him so fucking furious? His feathers twitched as he played back the recording you’d given him. That laugh, golden and free. He looped it, your gentle voice blessing his ears and relaxing his body for him.

“Pff- hahahaha!” he closed his eyes, re-imagining your face, the soft smile gracing your angel-like features, the way your wings flapped slightly, the nearly inaudible purr vibrating in the back of your throat. He wanted you to laugh around him more, he wanted you to be around him more, he wanted you to be his. 

Even if he only got to talk to you for a minute, he felt like he already knew everything there was to know about you. You didn’t like causing trouble, seeing how polite you were at first to that crazy lady. You could stand your ground though, not afraid to stand up for yourself. You were kind, and forgiving, he got that from how you treated the kid. 

A sudden realization struck Hawks. It was frightening, terrifying even. He loved you. Breathtaking Y/n L/n, the pretty parakeet. Ah, but that guy. That guy was in the way. Not to worry, he could remove the… complication.

Soon.

You would belong just to him.

#yandere hawks #yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha hawks #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha keigo #bnha hawks #mha keigo x reader #mha keigo takami #mha angst #bnha angst #hawks angst #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #flightless birds

[monicashipsnickyjoe]

(part 2 of my advertising agency office au. read part 1 first here)

Something’s different.

Nicky can’t place his finger on what, exactly. At least, not at first. But when he finishes his usual morning work with twenty minutes to spare until lunch, he knows. He’s had no interruptions today. No mistakes born of distraction that he’s learned to allot time to correct.

Joe has not been to the water cooler.

Sitting back in his chair, Nicky frowns at the clock in the bottom corner of the monitor. Twenty minutes is not enough time to complete any of his planned afternoon work. He could start something, but would have to stop for lunch. Unless he worked through lunch. But no, then he’d only get irritable. More irritable.

Why would Joe not visit the water cooler today? He usually came by twice in the morning and twice in the afternoon. He’d tell anyone who would listen that he liked to take a break from the computer screens and stretch his legs.

Did Joe quit?

If Joe quit, Nicky will have to adjust his time management and find a twenty minute long project to fill the new empty spot. He’ll have to learn to live with the unpleasant sinking in his stomach that almost feels like... disappointment.

He should find out one way or another, he reasons. For the sake of his schedule. So he grabs a pile of paperwork that needs copying and heads out into the main hallway. He passes the water cooler, crossing from the cubicles to the offices, and remembers far too late that his pile of paperwork to copy is only so tall because the copy machine is still broken. Despite Nicky’s pleas the day before, the technician insisted he couldn’t visit their office until after noon.

The copier mocks him, usual green lights flashing red. Paper jam, the touchscreen announces, white block letters on a red background. Open tray and remove paper. Someone replaced Nicky’s scribbled note with one written in black marker, Out of Order.

From the cubicles comes the chatter of one-sided phone calls. Sellers making sales. Accountants trying to reconcile uneven numbers, yelling at other accountants.

From the offices, the steady tap of keyboard presses and mouse clicks.

Overhead, the air conditioner breathes through a humming fan.

Nicky holds his pile of papers toward his chest and approaches the copier.

“It’s broken,” says a well-meaning co-worker, walking by with his coffee. He doesn’t stop for a reply, which is good, since the best Nicky could muster is a small apologetic shrug. He waits for the co-worker to disappear into an office. Then he waits a second more.

He takes one step back toward his cubicle, then berates himself for wasting his own time, and peers into Joe’s office.

Joe has his back to the door. The blinds are open this time, thank goodness, but even the blue sky beyond cannot compare to the vibrancy of the color splashes on Joe’s screen. His mouse is a paint brush, bringing forth images, fonts, and patterns in a flourish and dismissing them as quickly.

Headphones cover his ears. The straightness of his shoulders aligns with the back of his chair. He is intensely focused, lost to the rest of the world.

But he hasn’t quit. Not yet.

The sinking in Nicky’s stomach dissipates. Instead, he feels foolish.

Face burning, he rushes back to his cubicle and returns the pile of paperwork onto the corner of his desk. He straightens it.

He checks the clock. Ten minutes to lunch.

He waits.

*

The copier technician finds the paper jam easily enough, but the broken pencil is a different, more complicated matter. In the end, he disassembles half of the machine. It takes hours. At 4:30, Nicky’s co-workers are glaring every time they pass his cubicle. At 5, snide remarks start flying around the water cooler.

The administration staff cannot leave without making copies of their reports for Merrick and the other executives. Merrick likes hard copies, not emails. Nicky suspects he has them sent to a file cabinet and never looks at them. No, Merrick has already told them, emails will not be allowed ever, not even in this special case.

“I can’t have you getting lazy,” he told one co-worker, loud enough for the others to hear.

Merrick, himself, ducked out soon after. The other executives followed. They might have looked sheepish, if they looked at their employees at all. One carried a golf bag. It smacked against the side of Nicky’s cubicle as he walked by, knocking down the printed-out picture Nicky had pinned to the wall, the one of a cat hanging on a tree branch above the words, Hang in there!

To stop his co-workers plotting his murder, Nicky agreed to make copies of everyone’s reports, quadrupling the size of his already impressive pile of paperwork. Worth it, he knew, when his co-workers left with smiles and not glares.

At 7pm, the technician finally has the copier working again. Nicky catches him in the hallway.

“No more pencils,” Nicky says, trying to make light.

“Do whatever you want,” the technician replies, while texting on his phone. “This overtime means I get to charge double.” Laughter follows him to the front of the building. Nicky sighs. He really hopes Merrick doesn’t know his name. He imagines he’ll lose more than one paycheck to that bill if Merrick holds true to his threat to make Nicky pay for it.

With that worry heavy on his mind, Nicky collects his pile of paperwork and hauls it down the hallway.

Lights on the far walls begin to switch off, until only the lights over the main hallway and the small desk light in Nicky’s cubicle remain on. Being surrounded by so much darkness is unsettling. It’s quiet too – no phone calls, no click-clack of the keys. Only the air conditioner keeps him company, whirling overhead.

He loads the pile of papers into the input tray and starts the copier. It whistles and whines as the papers file through, and he sends up a quick prayer that the machine holds out long enough to finish his co-worker’s reports. And maybe his own.

Halfway through, Nicky notices one more light is still on in this building – the one in Joe’s office. Did he forget to turn it off? Nicky peeks inside.

The blinds are drawn. The screens are black. Joe is slumped in his chair, head crooked at an uncomfortable angle, chin resting on his shoulder. His lips are parted, mouth open, drool gathering at the corner. Each inhale couples with a soft snore.

If he sleeps like that the whole night through, he’ll be sore as hell in the morning.

Nicky should leave him, though. It’s not his business, and as far as he knows, Joe fell asleep on purpose.

Except his bare forearms have goosebumps and the overhead light is burning bright. Wouldn’t he have a blanket if he intended to sleep here? Wouldn’t he have turned off the light?

The copier seems to be working well, so Nicky abandons it and steps into Joe’s office. He walks softly at first, unsure, before he realizes how potentially creepy that is and stomps the rest of the way to Joe’s office chair, hoping he’ll wake up on his own. He doesn’t.

“Joe,” Nicky says.

No reaction.

“Joe,” he says again, louder.

Joe snores in response. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks. His curls are wild, bouncing out in all directions. His lips lift softly at the edges, as if a good dream has entrapped him. He’s more than attractive, he’s... cute, in a way that startles Nicky, embarrassed, to action.

He places a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Joe. Wake up.”

“Nicky,” Joe says, laughing, as he turns his head further into the chair. “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Nicky freezes. His breath catches. He’s sure even his heart skipped a beat.

But Joe’s eyes are closed. He’s still sleeping.

“Brighter than the moonlight,” Joe says, words slurring. He sniffs. “Deeper than the ocean. I could drown,” he yawns, “looking at you.” He curls around his arms and snores again, louder.

There could be other Nicky’s with bright eyes, Nicky reasons, as his hands tremble and his heart thunders, alive in a way it has never been before.

Nicky should wake him, right? He should.

At the copier, paper whirls through the machine. It’s finished scanning now, and is stapling the sets. Nicky walks past, down the lonely lit corridor to his cubicle. He snatches his green jacket off the back of the chair. The outside is coarse, waterproof material, but the inside is soft cotton. He brings it back to Joe’s office. Carefully, he drapes the jacket over Joe like a blanket, tucking it under his arms.

“...if you... hold me...” Another snore.

“Joe,” Nicky says again, trying only once more to wake him. When Joe’s eyes do not open, Nicky sighs. “Sweet dreams, Yusuf.” He runs his hands down Joe’s covered arms, making certain the jacket is secure. At the door, Nicky clicks off the light.

When he returns to the copier, it has finished the reports. Nicky delivers them to the mailboxes of the executives.

He shivers all the way home, but he doesn’t mind, knowing Joe is warm.

#i wrote something nickyjoe #nicky x joe #joe x nicky #kaysonova #this is a direct continuation please read part 1 first #there will be more!!! #these two nerds crushing on each other #advertising agency au #merrick cw #no powers au #au

[suicidalslasher]

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her.  i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed.   The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be. 

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again.  But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite  easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that  glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second.  The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash,  wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire)  but a name - Harry Warden.  1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened.  For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed.  Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters,  buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with  love in their hearts and a smile on their face.  Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself.  Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs  got decomposed, rotting corpses,  instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings. 

  It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as  a threat.  Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable.  A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay  as they read the paragraph out loud all while  shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.  

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards.  The recent two cards had said;  From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near!  And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot.  Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.  Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps.  It could have very well been  the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying.   (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance  before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song. 

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

 (Of course, there was more.) 

 (The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.)  Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs.  "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the  radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully."  "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N)  turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs. 

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her  as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason.  Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was. 

(Y/N) was  trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge.     With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things.  Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel.  She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse.  "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital."  (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name,  the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up.   Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received  has said he's been missing since two days ago.  He can be anywhere.  More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.  

 Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off.    "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.  

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's.  The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same.  She instantly regretted not doing so now, however. 

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'.    (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together.  She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like  footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe.  Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice.  ​​​​​​​And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere.  She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself.  Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open.   There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself.   He looked up, surprised she had answered the door.  Giving her a weak, lopsided smile,  Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle.  "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N).  (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to  the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant.  "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together."  Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet.  "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right  now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything.  Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right.  "Tom..."  "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes.  "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a  coincidence. 

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up. 

Now that she was thinking about it.... 

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago.... 

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne.  If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner.  Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.  

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her.  A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too.  "I love you too."   Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles  her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot. 

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to."  "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs."   Tom grins and  (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

[seancekitsch]

Out of the Rain: a Marko x Reader fic

Warnings: bloodplay goes without saying bc vamp, rough sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, telepathy?? me projecting my music taste on this fic again. drug use, fast and loose use of vampire lore bc when i write i am god and u cannot stop me. also can u tell i have like…. v clear descriptions of the setting like i used to work at the place im describing but its not in california

No one had come in for hours. What's the point of staying open? You dim some of the lights in the store, which is one of three head shops in Santa Carla, but the only one open late. You're not really sure why this is the only store that stays open, why everyone else if worried about the three am walk back to their car on a weekend night. You've never seen anything of suspicion, just sometimes that biker gang watches people shuffle out. That was almost comforting, though. People didn't like those guys, so no one would make you use your switchblade if they were around.

The bright while fluorescent lights of your typical daytime ambiance faded away, and now green light bathes you in the “mood” lighting your boss thought was a good idea. The green lighting reflects off of the glass counters, shining it back at the ceiling and making everything that much more green. It fits, you think with the overall vibe of the store. The stale scent of weed, gently and miserably covered up by some nag champa incense, always burning in at least four different spots within the store. You'd long since gotten used to the smoke in your eyes. The music does everything to add to the ambiance. You always have full control of the music in the shop, usually because no one else is willing to take the night shift in Santa Carla. In fact, most of the boardwalk shops had a revolving door of night shift workers. You never got why, something clearly spooks them that does not spook you. Whether that makes you brave or stupid, you dont know. Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow pumps through the speakers in the store. But I suppose no one knows, you're my plastic fantastic lover.

The rain batters the boardwalk outside, a roar much different than the typical hustle and bustle of drunk teens, of the cliques and crews that come in and out; the few that sit and snicker in the doorway, never entering. Some too afraid to be associated with the implication of being spotted in the shop. We sell jewelry and vinyl too, you always say, when they balk at the idea of being in the same room as a bong or incense.

But then there's the other group that stands and idles in the threshold, also not entering. It's that biker gang. Four guys, a girl, a kid. Maybe he’s the brat of the girl and the one who takes himself too seriously, but maybe not. She looks too young for that. They'd been hovering around quite a bit lately, always after dark. You’d spoken to them, at least the ones that are talkative. The hair metal wannabe and the cute short one. Paul and Marko. You knew the dark haired one was Dwayne, but all he ever offered you was a curt nod and a tight lipped smile, respectful but indifferent. They're nice, not worth the spooky reputation they have. Any time it's not just you at the shop, your boss tries to spook them away. Good thing your boss isn't here tonight, because one of them is prowling around the storefront in the rain. That is, if it's not your spliff induced haze playing tricks on you.

No, one of them is out there. Without his little pack. The cute one. Marko.

You walk over to the door, which you haven't had propped open since the rain trickled in as a drizzle at the beginning of your shift. At least he had enough sense to be huddling under the awning. Fuck, he’s handsome even when he looks like a drowned rat.

“What are you doing out here?” You scrunch up your nose as you ask.

“Y’know, waiting for you to show up.” Wanted a look at that cute ass.

You blink at him. Did he really just say that?

“Okay… well, you know it's raining out there, right?”

“I might,” he offers noncommittally, eyeing the spliff still in the hand that's not holding the door. If it were anyone but him, you'd probably get fired for it.

Why is he just hanging around out here? That's hella weird. His curls are getting matted to his forehead, slick with rain, his jacket starting to look a little sad.

“C’mon in, Marko. It’s too wet out here. You’ll fuck up your jacket.” You nod towards the interior of the shop holding the door open as he passes you.

Wrong move, sweet cheeks.

“What did you say?” What did he mean, wrong move?

“I didn't say anything,” he offers nonchalantly as he thumbs at one of the tapestries on the wall. A garish mess that’s supposed to be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, but it’s distorted by a botched tie dye job of dark muddy colors. Every time you look at it, you assume one of the day workers did it.

“No, you said something.”

“Do you want me to say something?” there's both a threat and an innuendo in his tone. Maybe you do, but you just laugh, a sharp exhale through your nose, and bring the spliff to your lips again as he follows you deeper into the store.

You jump up onto the counter next to the ash tray, easy reach for each time you need to ash.

“So why are you really here?” your eyes narrow at him, kicking your sandal off on the floor where it lands a few inches from his boots. He looks uneasy in the space, like for all the wild shit you assume he’s into, he might not actually belong in it. He sways a little to the music, perfectly in tune with the rhythm. You sway along too, and suddenly he fills the space like he belongs. He just needed someone along for the ride with him.

“Do you ever come around during the day, or just at night because I’m so fun?” You’re teasing him, but it’s a nice easy feeling between you.

“Not really a sun guy,” bullshit, he would look beautiful with a tan, “but I do drag everyone here just to see you.”

“Awww, all for me? Do you have a crush, Marko?”

It’s more than that. You hear the words clearly, but his smile doesn’t move. You kick the other sandal off.

“I can hear you, I don’t know how, but I can. I bet you can hear me too.”

I can. You’re wrong about the tan thing.

You straighten up, mind clearing as you blurt out your next question. Something absolutely stupid.

“So what are you, a vampire or something?” he laughs at you, but his big toothy smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there's something predatory, extremely dark in his eyes. Otherworldly.

How could you guess?  

“Well, that for one big fucking clue.” You ash the spliff for the final time, leaving the roach in the tray. You would think you’d be more surprised, more upset that you just found out vampires were real, and that you were in the same room as one. You have to say, weirder things are probably afoot in Santa Carla. Murder capital of the world can’t all be from some rowdy teens and a ten year old.

“You do those surf nazis?” is all that leaves your mouth. You kind of hope it was. They were the fucking worst. Racist, misogynistic, destructive. You’d had to threaten them a few times to leave your store on your shift.

“The—? Oh! Surf nazis. Yeah that was us. Ate a few of them.”

“Good for you. I mean— murder. bad. But they were nazis, and now they’re dead. so…” you trail off. Not really sure what to say next, but then you keep going. Remember everything you know about Marko.

“No, no I mean, it makes sense. Right? You and the guys only hang around at night. Aren’t vampires solitary hunters though? I don’t remember Dracula being in a frat.”

“They’re my pack. We take care of each other.” He says it with such fondness and devotion.

You feel a pang of jealousy run through you. You work alone for the most part, live alone, you’ve got friends but they’re all over the place. He belongs to something.

“And you're down with this?” he’s legitimately asking. You nod. You don't really have a choice, you're down or you get eaten, but like genuinely you are down with it. If he was going to eat you, he probably would have by now. There's probably a reason they've been hanging around the store, and in your sightline while you close up. You're putting things together.

“Like really?”

“Well, you haven't made me a kebab yet.”

He shrugs, frowns.

“Could still skewer you on something.”

Laughter erupts from your lips while you roll your eyes, music to Marko’s ears. This is why he took a shine to you, it's easy to get along with you, and you're not one of his brothers.

Something heavy falls in the room, and it's not the haze of the incense. He steps towards you, big blue eyes raking over your body, but always coming back to meet your gaze. He closes the space between you, easily fitting between your thighs; the rough patches of his jacket brushing against your bare skin where your shorts ride up. He leans in, like he's about to kiss you, and against all better judgement, you're going to let him.

You're going to let him.

The record skips. He holds out his hand, more like a gentleman than a biker gang killer, and helps you off the counter.

“Hold on, let me pick out a new record,” you turn without waiting for his confirmation, not at all surprised when Marko follows hot on your heels to the back room. Your boss’ office, the record room. Whatever you wanted to call it. His hands ghost over your arms as you push past the wooden bead curtain to enter the room. You can feel his presence close enough to touch. That's it, right where I want you. There’s his voice again.

He lets you actually pick out a new record. You slide it out of the sleeve and walk it over to the player. The static buzzes and pops as the needle finds the groove.

“Ocean Rain, you heard it?” No. He shakes his head, and you can feel it as he leans into your back.

“Echo and the Bunnymen. They've got a new album coming out this year.”

You turn to face him and his fingerless leather glove clad hands cover your cheeks.

He kisses you gently, tenderly. Not at all the way you’d expect. He’s eager, kissing like there’s something to prove. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue pushing your lips apart and you let him. His arms tighten around you as you kiss, tongues now greeting each other playfully. Your tongue explores his mouth, running along each and every tooth in his mouth. Huh, no fangs, you realize, and maybe he isn't actually a vampire. As if he reads your mind (maybe he does), he pulls away.

“They're, uh, hiding,’ he nods, almost to himself more than you. You nod as well, slow and uneasy, not quite believing him, but he pulls you back into a harsh kiss, more of what you expected. His hands roam your body as yours bury themselves in his curls. Still damp, but long and beautiful just as well. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, and his hands only briefly leave you to throw it and his gloves somewhere else, leaving him just in a thin white tank top. His mouth leaves yours to trail lower, kissing your neck. Your pulse point. Fucking irresistable. No, that's definitely his voice. Is this the end? Could be.

“I can smell you, hot stuff,” he moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You find yourself gripping onto his shoulders a little tighter, but he lets you sink. He guides you, again more gently than you thought he would; bare knees brushing the threadbare carpet floor before you plant yourself. You look up at him through your lashes and he all but bites back a groan.

“You gonna join me down here?” You lick your lips, waiting for something.

“Nah, I’m gonna let you have a head start,” there's a joke in his tone. You're learning that’s normal for him. He’s silent, or playing jester. It’ll be interesting when you let him fuck you. Shit, did he hear that?

“Quit thinkin’ so loud!” he runs an affectionate hand through your hair. “But yes, I heard you. Glad you're as eager as I am.”

That's encouraging. You take your time undoing his belt, connected to faded and soft leather chaps, not bothering to push them down his thighs before you move to the top of his jeans, teasing your fingers at the skin just above the waistline. He shudders under your touch, extremely reactive. Does he get touched like this often? Or is it just quick fucks? You don't want to think about who else he might be doing this with, focusing again on his body, and all of the offending clothing covering it. You unbutton them slowly, teasing. For a member of the undead, he seems to be out of breath under your movements. The zipper is pulled down just as slowly. You run your palms flat along the bottom of his stomach, to his hips before pushing his jeans down to around his ankles, hooking his boxers on your finger along with them. He’s beautiful, and you can help but stare. Hard, eager, and thick, greeting you with a small trimmed patch of golden blonde curls. You wrap your hand around the base.

You never expected a vampire to whimper, but that's exactly what happens when your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the head of his cock. Quick, tentative little lick, testing the waters. Your tongue swipes across the slit at the tip of his thick member and his hands animate like you flipped a switch, rising up, going to your hair, rising up again, slamming down against the desk. Your boss’ desk. You lick a long stripe to the underside of his cock, paying close attention to the prominent vein there.

“So good, so good, oh you feel so-” he pants out, hands white knuckling the edge of the desk. Heat pools in your core, loving that he’s so vocal. Fuck, if he could just keep speaking. Your other hand moves to your shorts, sloppily and hastily undoing them and wiggling them down to your knees. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and sink down on it, taking him as far as you can, until you couch when he hits the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like that. Please move, Please move, you’re so fucking good at this.”

You do, starting to bob your head up and down on the length of him, hollowing out your cheeks and flattening your tongue against him, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand. Your free finds itself between your legs, rubbing gently at your clit, stirred and encouraged by his praise.

“Does sucking me off get you hot and bothered?” Yesitdoes.

You keep bobbing your head, rubbing your clit, eyes trained on his until his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Don't wanna- don't wanna finish in your mouth,” he’s urgent, grabbing you by the chin and pulling your mouth off of his cock. He pushes you back by your shoulders, letting you guide yourself back to lay on the rug. He pulls your loose shorts easily off your legs and settles himself between your legs, too eager to bother with removing his boots and everything.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Do you know how bad I wanted this?”

“Fuck me, Marko, dont say it. Just do it,” youre breathless under him, wanting nothing more than for him to be fucking you. He pauses.

“I dunno…” his thumb swipes up along your clit, drawing a whine from your throat, “For some reason I think you like it when I say things.”

You nod, knowing words will fail you. And he gives you what you want, lining himself up and sinking into you, groaning as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“Oh I knew your pussy would feel like fucking heaven,” he pants against your neck, pressing a harsh kiss to the underside of your jaw. He sets the pace quickly, unmerciful and fast, fucking hard and deep into you. His hands push up your thin tee shirt, and you can feel his sigh of relief when he gets a handful of bare breast. He doesn't have to deal with a bra tonight. You hike your knees up, opening yourself as much as you can to him, wanting him to fill you to the brim. He looks into your eyes while he fucks you, which comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it shouldn't. You wonder what it would be like to be a victim of his. Does he treat them well? Have fun with them like this? Or is he vicious? You don't know if you could picture him like that… vamped out.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” he thrusts sharply, snapping his hips into you, making you yelp.

“To be fed on, but not to die.”

Are you serious? You hear him in your head.

YesIam. He thrusts like that again, earning an identical yelp, now coupled with your thighs squeezing him around the middle. You're close already, and he can tell.

He nods, a question; You nod, confirmation.

He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, already scooping so it doesn’t ruin, and exposes your shoulder. Somewhere non lethal. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, covering your neck but being careful not to squeeze it. You hope he bruises your jaw, you realize. A physical way to feel him when dawn comes. He slows his pace to a rocking, grinding into you, staying deep.

Then he bites. Stars erupt behind your eyes, and it feels like your blood has turned to seltzer. Every nerve in your body is in overdrive as you moan and shake and come undone around his cock. You're the kind of girl that comes from the bite of a vampire, apparently. He doesn’t let up. You can faintly hear him moaning against the open wound in your shoulder, and you hope you taste good to him. He licks the wound a few times more, softly, carefully, like he’s trying to soothe you when he finally lets you come down from your high.

When he pulls back to let you see him, his features are gruesome, full vampire with sharp brows and cheekbones, pointed nose even that much more so almost birdlike. Fangs and bottom half of his face covered in blood.Your blood.  He’s panting like an animal after the kill. But he doesn't scare you. Maybe he should, but he doesn't.  It's just Marko, no matter what, and if he wanted to eat you he would have. Several times now. His hand finally releases your jaw, to wipe the blood from his face. He wipes his hand then on your face, covering you in your own blood, hot on his fingers and palm.

“Fuckin sexy,” he pants, voice deeper and distorted. His thrusts speed up, trying to find his own release as your nails dig into his back, maybe making him bleed as well. You feel the rug burn forming on your back, you feel tears in your eyes. It's never felt this good with other guys.

When he comes, he comes with a howl, buried deep inside you as he shouts and shivers then stills above you. Your chest is heaving, trying to regain yourself as his face slowly fades to normal, and he slumps down on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, near the wound he tore open, now no longer bleeding. He mouths at any bare skin he can find, lazy half kisses as he spreads more mess and blood on you. Your fingers find his curls again, winding them around your digits as you stare up at the sickly green mood lighting bathing the walls of the room.

An hour later, Marko is helping you lock up early.

He makes sure to dump out all of the ashes from spliffs and incense, makes sure the vinyl is all in its right place while you make sure the register and inventory is all in its rightful place and order.

“You’re dangerous, you know.”

“Me?” you scoff, “That rich, coming from you.”

I’d do a lot of things I’m not supposed to for you. You kinda don't want to ask him what he means by that. For some reason that feels like a conversation you shouldn't have tonight. 

He leaves the store before you, holding the door open for you and letting you lock the doors. He slings an easy arm over your shoulder, not bothering to shield either of you from the rain as he steers you towards your car. You can feel the rain cleaning your face, the blood flowing away and saving you the shower you were going to take before collapsing into bed tonight.

“Where’s your bike?”

“I flew here,” he says with that devilish smile, and you're really not sure if he's joking or not. Your arm sneaks its way into his jacket and wraps around his waist, holding him close as he makes sure you get home same. Marko makes you feel calm, in a way you didn't feel before you moved to Santa Carla. How long had he been waiting to make his move? And does this mean he and his brothers would be coming around more often? Maybe being more friendly towards you. Each step towards your car feels heavy; You don't want to go home alone without him, but somehow you know he won't come with you. 

“Will I see you again?”

He grabs your car keys from your hand, and sticks them in the door handle. Of course you will.

Right. You just have to be near the beach at night. You know, where you work.

He kisses you full on the mouth, holding you close and tight, like you could slip away at any second. When he finally lets you go you pull away to be met with his face, full on grinning, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He doesn't look like a killer.

Marko watches you as you pull open the door to your car and more or less throw your ass into the seat.  He holds the door as he gives you one last smile, and says:

“You know, you should never invite a vampire into your life. Renders you powerless.”

And he winks. 

#marko lost boys x reader #lost boys x reader #marko lost boys #my work

[dysfuctional-family]

The IRR Pt. 2

{After a raid on the Interdimentional Rainbow Rocket home base the villains and everyone who works for them has been captured by strange people in armor and masks. so far, no one has been seriously injured, but all of this could quickly change. Click below the cut to read.}

!!TW for mentions of religious themes!!

Giovanni was led down to the "Main Land", the largest room in the IRR, located on the ground level. Many people had been led to this area both staff and soldiers, and to think all of this ended just as quickly as it started. Makes you question how long these masked assailants had been in the base. As he walked he heard the ever so recognizable yelling of their resident angry Unovan. The Italian honestly couldn't even tell what he was saying right now. All he knew is that death threats were involved.

It didn't take long for each team leader to be picked out of the crowd and brought outside. There were dozens of ships stationed outside... they stood no chance.

"Разделите их. по одному на каждом корабле." On of the masked people ordered, the leader from the looks of things. Each leader was taken to an individual ship, separating them so they couldn't form ant plan of escape. With the leaders of th IRR captured half of the fleet took off while th rest stayed behind to discourage any resistance.

Giovanni was silent throughout the ride, only eyeing the people around him and the ship he was being transported in. It all looked very futuristic, even for his standards. Far beyond anything they could ever hope to create. The ship was sleek and clean, its dark grey metal shimmering in the light blue lights. Then he began to think. The leader spoke Russian, as far as he was aware the only region that had Russian as a language commonly spoken was Sinnoh. Thats when he began to worry, if this was some alternate version of Sinnoh, if it was a Sinnoh where Cyrus won and was now ruling... what was going to happen to him and his team.

Giovanni wasn't given any more thinking time because they had arrived to wherever their destination was. He finally decided to say something, looking to the person in armor next to him.

"Just what do you hope to accomplish by bringing me and my co-workers here?" He asked firmly. He was only given a glance of acknowledgment I return. They then began walking again. They seemed to be in a large city. Large towers of white stone stood taller than anything he'd ever seen, roads weaving between buildings in layers. All of the main hustle and bustle was farther away as they were in a more remote are. That or the area had been locked down for their arrival. He and the others were taken into this large domed building, religious imagery carved into the walls. Symbols such as Arceus' spikes, the creation trio, Arceus itself, holy scripture, prayers, etc. It was all very impressive really...

The interior was just as extravagant, stained glass showing the story of Arceus hatching and creating the gods, the birth of the universe, the banishing of Giritina, all pretty standard for a church of this size... but everything seemed to shift halfway through. A human figure, who he could only assume was Cyrus, appears to the world shrouded in darkness and captures the gods. He takes them and forces them to do his bidding, but instead of destroying the world and creating anew the gods' power seems to instead rush into Cyrus. Overwhelmed with power he lashed out, destroying everything around him and tearing holes into reality itself. In the aftermath there was only destruction and this orb of godly energy. At least, that's what Giovanni could gleam from his experience reading stain glass pictures in church.

Suddenly all of the leaders were stopped in front of an old man. a very old man. He turned to look at the group, distain in his sunken in eyes. He was adorned with a robe and beads of various colors, modified priest attire from the looks of it. He supported his weight on a cane as he slowly walked up to Giovanni, seemingly knowing who he was.

"Hmm, Giovanni. Of all the people to do something like this, you were the last I expected." The man then eyed the rest of the leaders, eyes widening as his eyes fell on Cyrus. He stood up a little more straight as he looked back to the confused mafia boss.

"I am Saturn. Former admin of Team Galactic now priest of the people." He explained, much to the surprise of everyone but Cyrus.

"So, you've brought us here for what? Spill so we can get out of here." Cyrus practically demanded in a tired manner. Saturn looked to Cyrus, his face growing agitated.

"Hm. Very well. Giovanni Sakaki, why have my people been going missing and monsters attacking the innocent who are just trying to survive?' Saturn asked as his tone slowly became more aggressive. It took a second for the question to register but as soon as it did Giovanni responded.

"If that's why you brought us here I believe we have a common enemy. We've had an encounter with the man you're looking for and my own people are beginning to disappear." He explained smoothly. Those words surprised Saturn. He stepped back for a moment to think, humming as he did. The leaders looked amongst themselves, questioning practically everything that was happening at the moment.

"If this is true, then we have are all in grave danger. These creatures have been attacking our people for months, far longer than you've been around. Perhaps we could help each other to defeat a common foe." Saturn explained, making Maxie recoil in seemingly fear.

"Wait. He's been here for months?" He fearfully questioned. "In my home universe, months was all it took for him to tear down an entire country..." That news shocked everyone. There was a moment of silence after that news, the dread and horror of just how much danger everyone was in finally sinking in.

Saturn looked to the soldiers who had brought the evil team leaders before him. He waved his hand, dismissing them. He paced for a moment, pondering. Just what did this man want of them? The redhead seemed to know who this man was. He'd have to get some information from him after this meeting is concluded.

"If what you say is true, we are all in far more danger than we thought. This man must be stopped, his sins against nature cannot be forgiven."

"Then we are agreed. Working together could give us both some better protection and understanding of the current situation." Giovanni added.

"indeed. Apologies for our initial impression, but I'm sure you understand the circumstances are dire. Giovanni, Maxie, I'd like to speak with to further about this. everyone else if free to leave and return to your ship."

#tw religious mention #pokemon #writing #my art #pokemon giovanni #pokemon cyrus #pokemon maxie #pokemon saturn #ama #ask me anything #pokemon rainbow rocket #pokemon rr

[5lazarus]

Ultramarine

Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride.

Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident.

Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais!

A big thank you to @potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

Felassan drowses in the marketplace, listening to the gossip and basking in the bright sprint light of the Durgas Durgen’len. The Valley of the Children of the Dwarves marks the frontier of Mythal’s demesne, but is no less busy for it. Thaig-crawlers anxious for a Stone-milk fix bring the treasures of their houses. Elves from across the empire come to hawk their wares for the Stone’s blood, and under the Dread Wolf’s supervision, the two species live in uneasy coexistence under the Sky. He is a better procurator than Dirthamen, people whisper, but is that really a high bar to exceed?

Felassan shifts against the cool marble pillar of Mythal’s temple gate and keeps listening. One trader has come from Arlathan, seeking lyrium milked from the heart of the Titan itself. Another has high ambitions of dealing with the Dread Wolf himself, for a fragment of the Titan’s heart. Another is wondering what kind of money could be made out of the Children of the Stone’s need for the blood of their own god. Felassan lazily opens an eye at that. Fen’Harel does not want speculators driving the cost of living up, and is in rather tense negotiations with Mythal for a cleaner way to treat her new stone-children. He takes down the woman’s face: marked with Andruil’s vallaslin, but blue, so moderately wealthy and looking to buy her freedom soon. He resolves to arrange for her to meet an accident soon, but not too soon--he wants to see where she leads to.

“They could be useful, you know,” Andruil’s agent is saying. “Not just as miners, not just for their pretty little crafts. Since they need that fix, they can be controlled. You just need to mine enough lyrium and water it down to milk, and after a generation, you can train them into whatever you want. That’s what the Titans do to them, after all. Why not us? At least we’re brighter. And war’s coming, anyway.”

Felassan opens his eyes and stirs. He makes a show of warming his hands, trying to look like an indigent trader and less like the Dread Wolf’s spy. “War’s always coming, lethallin.”

The woman says, “Not like this. Of course, Mythal always stays neutral.”

“Hail the Adjudicator,” Felassan says pointedly.

Andruil’s agent rolls her eyes. “Hail the Adjudicator. I suppose news makes it to the frontier slow. Sylaise invaded Dirthamen’s lands last spring. Their champions are currently fighting it out for control of Dirthamen’s lapis lazuli monopoly. She’s declared that all colors of the sky are hers, and especially the stones that make blue.”

That’s remarkably stupid, Felassan thinks: but she has always been vain and foolish. He makes his excuses amiably, and heads out to tell the Dread Wolf. At the market’s gates he finds another of the Dread Wolf’s loyalists and sets them to track Andruil’s news-spreader. He ambles through the narrow streets, dodging clever halla guiding floating aravels to their destinations, and slinks into the Dread Wolf’s personal residence. As he suspects, he is still at home. He could hear music drifting from an upstairs window. He knocks on the door, and a hand emerges from the window to throw down the keys. Grinning, Felassan catches them, and lets himself in.

Felassan says, “I suppose you’ve heard the news. Sylaise has trademarked the color blue.” He has come bearing gossip straight from the caravansaries, right to the Dread Wolf’s headquarters—a cheap apartment at the outskirts of Mythal’s newest colony, Durgas Durgen’len. Solas has moved recently; Felassan glances up at the blank ceiling and notes he hasn't had the time to start drafting his starry mosaic yet. The Dread Wolf himself is sprawled in his chair, feet on his desk, reading a report and laughing. Solas grins. He hands Felassan the lyrium tablet. “Alas, not entirely--you know I was planning on painting my ceiling?” Felassan looks down at the tablet. It’s a trade manifest. “I put in a massive order of lapis lazuli seasons ago--and it arrived safely this morning, despite the current trade war. Sylaise may be fighting for the mines, but production cannot continue when there is war going on. So we have the largest supply of lapis lazuli in all of Elvhenan. And the All-Mother wrote me that they’re running low on blue pigment in Arlathan--so Sylaise will not have enough ultramarine paint to finish that magnificent dome she was planning for her palace.” Felassan reads through the trade manifest, impressed despite himself. The Dread Wolf preens slightly. Whoever named him pegged him perfectly. He does so like to be praised. He says, “I suppose you started hoarding pigment when you heard she started the project. So we’ll make some money. But what about Andruil? Her spy’s doomsaying war and talking about--shaping the stone-children with lyrium itself, turning them into a whole disposable workforce. How are negotiations with Mythal?” The merry mood dampens. Solas taps the crystalline music player, and the song shifts. It sounds like lyrium, except cleaner and somehow sad. He says, “The dwarves listen to this. They play it on their own crystal communications array. I’ve tracked two in the Valley, and there are at least three more. Beautiful, isn’t it? Unthinking, but with its own natural harmony.” Felassan thinks it sounds like waking up in the bright morning, tousled in the sweating arms of a still-drunk lover, when he untangles himself from the sticky sheets and picks up the abandoned wine glasses, knocked over but unbroken on the floor. It sounds like flicking a wine glass, slightly hungover. It sounds like the last time Solas let him stay over. Felassan coughs, a bit embarrassed; the lyrium song caught him. Fucking dwarves: he still doesn’t understand their enchanments. “What do you want me to do about the spy? Kill her?” The Dread Wolf looks meditative. “No. Not yet, at least. We do not need to give Andruil more reasons for war, and if we need to escalate let us have one of Mythal’s temple guards do it. If she’s talking about shaping flesh, she’s been talking to Ghilan’nain. And we know Ghilan’nain has been talking to Mythal.” He smiles thinly. That answers that, then. Negotiations with Mythal are not going well, and this petty war between Sylaise and Dirthamen covers up something nastier. The alliances between the Evanuris are shifting, and that leaves Fen’Harel and their people in the lurch. The Dread Wolf says, “If Andruil wants Mythal’s little stones, she will have to come to me first. Sylaise’s vanity will not be the reason for outright war. I will speak to her and Dirthamen both, and then we shall see what hand she plays next.”

Mythal’s court is terrifying. Felassan trails Solas, who has traded his usual homespun tunic for a more impressive set of lyrium-inscribed leather armor. The lyrium sings as they walk, and Felassan can almost taste the words. Solas projects an aura of calm authority, with a testier threat of violence underneath. It’s the lyrium, somehow. The Dread Wolf is manipulating it. When they approach the throne, Felassan kneels but Solas only ducks his head. Insane, Felassan thinks. He’s caught wind of an incipient civil war so he’s decided to tease Mythal. What a fucking madman. Mythal sighs. “Get up, you fool.” Felassan glances at Solas worriedly. Solas says laconically, “She means you.” Hurriedly he rises to his feet, blushing. Mythal shakes her head. “I have always said the People are too quick to bend the knee. I expect more pride from your people, Dread Wolf.” Solas gestures at him to retreat to his back. Felassan gladly slinks back into the shadows, and scans the hall for potential enemies. It is empty but for the lyrium ostentatiously woven into the very brickwork, shaping the earth into a temperature-controlled paradise. She could pull at it and made the whole palace implode, but Solas could as well. Even Felassan could give that a try. He realizes, slightly shocked, that the All-Mother trusts the Dread Wolf, as much as she is capable of trusting anyone. The All-Mother rises from her throne and stalks down to greet her favorite. She places one claw on his shoulder and caresses his face with another. The Dread Wolf stiffens but does not draw back. “My child,” she says fondly. “You’ve come to ask about the blue war, then.” “It’s a particularly idiotic reason to start a civil war,” the Dread Wolf says. “Particularly since I have enough ultramarine pigment to last out Sylaise’s monument to her own stupidity. And my workers have found a lapis lazuli cache in the Durgas Durgen’len, so we will be able to shift productive in the valley from lyrium to paint readily enough.” “Your workers,” Mythal says. “You mean my workers.” Solas says, “I do not own them.” Felassan tenses. When he was manumitted, Solas swore never to hold another in bondage, even the durgen’len. They are his workers only because they toil under his supervision, and Solas is quick to point out that he pays them and encourages their economic freedom beyond his holds. Mythal is doing this deliberately to upset him. Felassan knows how much Solas resents how Mythal keeps her hands on the reins of her freed slaves. He knows how much Solas resents how that is still how the court thinks of him, encouraged by Mythal: the All-Mother’s freed slave, her Dread Wolf—and not even his workers are safe from her clutches.

Solas says, “My man found one of Andruil’s agents, spreading rumors of war in the marketplace—and worse, suggesting we splinter the autonomy of your little stones, and addict them to their stone-milk to keep them pliable. You know Ghilan’nain put that into her head, and Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted. She dares too much, we cannot—“

“Ghilan’nain is not to be trusted?” Mythal is amused. “Dread Wolf, you’re the one who put her eyes out.” Solas opens his mouth and closes it. Felassan looks down at the ground. He has never seen him at a loss for words before. It is less satisfying than he imagined. Mythal laughs. “Trust in my judgement, as you always have. Ghilan’nain may overreach but her experimentations with lyrium and my new subjects will do Elvhenan no harm. These…weapons are soulless, but not at a risk to our own souls.”

“You do not know that,” Solas says. “Is this why you have allowed Sylaise’s hostilities to increase? Are you looking to test her new experiments in this petty war? Nevermind her…trademark,” he sneers. “We will begin production forthwith. This war will stop here.”

Mythal says, “War is inevitable. Winning is not. When will I next see you at court?”

Solas leaves seething, Felassan dogging his footsteps. Felassan follows him home. It is clear that he is upset. Felassan himself is more frightened than angry, but the gods are different than the rest of the People, even ones like the Dread Wolf, who had been born a spirit made enslaved flesh.

Solas lets him enter his home and finds a bottle of wine. He pours them both a glass, hands shaking, and settles back in his desk chair.

Felassan drags the chair in front of his desk and places it next to him.“I thought you were going to fight her,” he says. “I thought you were going to snap and yell at her.”

Solas says, “Drink.” He leans forward in his chair, pride demon eyes staring him down. Felassan wishes he would blink. He looks away and drinks the thick, sweet red wine that tastes too fresh, too close to the grape. This was a wine to get drunk to, not to drink.

He casts about for something to say, anything to move that stare away. Ghilan’nain and her grotesqueries are not an option. Solas will not respond if he tackles the issue of Mythal directly. Finally, he tries, “You’d think she’d do something about Andruil’s spies.”

Solas quirks an eyebrow. “Why would she? She’s paying her.” Now he leans back. The gold night is slating through the apartment’s window and lends a shimmer to his skin. Felassan watches him sip. The apartment might be small and a bit rundown, but Solas has arranged himself impeccably, glorying in the natural light. He is a god, he is Mythal’s procurator, he is a lord in his own right: and he is still ever the artist.

“What,” Felassan says.

“Oh yes,” Solas shifts in his chair, gesturing with his glass, “the All-Mother has spoken, before witnesses—yourself included—that Ghilan’nain’s experimentations with lyrium and Mythal’s own little stones are for the good of Elvhenan.” He barks a bitter laugh. “You know the dwarves sing a hymn to their own children, about the promise of Mythal’s freedom? Let me show you.” He waves a hand at the crystalline radio and once again the music plays, the odd echoing that vibrates within the nose and the smallest bones in the ear and the jaw.

Felassan closes his eyes and listens as the voice of the Stone reverberates, “Ir sa tel’nal, Mythal las ma theneras. Ir san’a emma. Him Sola evanuris. Da’durgen’lin, Banal males elgara. Bellanaris, bellanaris.”

Solas says, “She uses me to keep them placid, promising them their freedom—freedom of thought, through their imagination, but they will never freely walk under Elgar’nan’s sun. I have no love for the Children of the Stone. I find them lacking in understanding. What can be gleamed, by people who do not dream? But no one, for all the horror they have wrecked with their earthshaking, deserves Ghilan’nain. Mythal promised me my freedom. That should be extended to all the workers under my control.”

Felassan throws back his drink and sets his glass on the desk. “Pour me another one,” he says. “So. What are we going to do, to stop this war? Because that is what you intend to do. To make the need for these lyrium-worked stone weapons redundant. What do you need me to do?”

Solas is taken aback for a moment, though he should know better. He was the one who left him, after all. Solas reaches for him. Felassan leans into the touch reassuringly, knowing Solas is already making excuses, a moment of weakness, a moment of sentimentality, he has been alone for so long. They lock eyes, Felassan thinks let me stay over again, let me love you but the music changes pitch and Solas gets out of his chair to turn it off, and then shifts to the kitchen for better wine.

They spend the night strategizing how to prevent a war, but when Solas goes to bed, he chooses to go alone.

Arlathan is resplendent for the peace summit, but the Dread Wolf’s retinue is glorious in their wonderfully-dyed ultramarine silks. It is a statement and it is a bold one, and Felassan is feeling smug, because not only are they, the former foot soldiers of Mythal’s army, wearing an entire kingdom’s worth of cash on their backs—they also look magnificent in blue.

“You’re strutting,” Felassan tells Solas, beautiful in a blue tunic and a woven gold scarf.

Solas laughs. “Look at them, watching,” he says happily. “I see Sylaise’s little spies chattering away—the Dread Wolf has enough ultramarine to turn out his own court, and spare. I love this pageantry. Next time, if we live to see another time, I will ask the dyers to dress the cloth like peacocks. And then we truly will put on a show.”

Felassan was more referring to how he was walking so everyone would look at his ass, which was certainly one of the nicest he himself has ever seen, but he does like the idea of both of them done up in turquoise and gold, glittering in the sunset. Solas rarely dresses well outside of court, preferring the anonymity or alternate political statement of plain dress. But the message here is clear: the Dread Wolf carries enough wealth, independent from Mythal, to stop a war.

They process into Mythal and Elgar’nan’s palace, which is of course overheated. The ritual of welcome is interminable. Mythal is clearly amused, Elgar’nan is already drunk, one of Falon’Din’s slaves attempts to trip Solas’ herald, and Sylaise glowers the whole time. Solas is simply serene. Felassan does his best to arrange his face, but he’s best at parties, not the cult aspect of life as a servant of an immortal godking. When he first hit on that bombastic new recruit in the barracks, this was not how he thought it would end. He really had thought they would all be dead before then.

Eventually they are released to Solas’ own wing of the palace, much smaller than all the other children of Mythal and their co-rulers. There Solas will arbitrate the terms of the peace agreement between Sylaise and Dirthamen. Even for a former slave—and a rumored bastard child—the quarters are grandiose. An obsequious slave branded by Andruil’s insignia informs them that Sylaise specially redesigned them in line with the latest fashions, and then makes a quick gesture with his hand as Solas enters. Felassan catches it: pinky and pointer up, middle and ring finger touching the thumb. He’s made the sign of the wolf at them. He’s asking for help.

“Rubies,” Solas says. “Gold. Far too gaudy.” They stand in the atrium, bejeweled and overheated, with rooms all along the courtyard. The Dread Wolf’s retinue—loyal soldiers, clerks from across the caste system, kitchen staff and cleaners—all stay close. The heat is overwhelming. The red seems to shimmer in Arlathan’s bright light

“Well,” Felassan says. “It’s gaudy, but it’s a peace offering from Sylaise. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You’re wearing enough blue dye to buy an army.” He brushes against Solas, trying to get his attention, and Solas leans into the touch and then abruptly moves away. For fuck’s sake, Fen’Harel, Felassan thinks. For once I’m not trying anything.

“Which is the point,” Solas says, refusing to look at him. “This though,” he waves a dismissive hand, “is a migraine. But the expense and insult to Sylaise for redesigning apartments she so kindly put together…”

Felassan says, “I think some of this is colored glass.” He flicks a particularly obnoxious cut gem over the threshold of the drawing room. It resounds like lyrium-song, but even more distorted, haunting and hot in his ears. It’s red lyrium, and the retinue pauses and draws together quickly.

“Touch nothing!” Solas barks. “Pack up your things. This is red lyrium, and it corrupts what it touches.” He shakes his head. “Unsubtle. This is a gift from Sylaise, but at Andruil’s prompting.” He puts his hand on Felassan’s shoulder. “I must ask a favor from you, my friend. Stay close to me. I need you to be my slow arrow, to catch Andruil out.”

Felassan remains Solas’ only guard. The rest work quickly to calculate and capture the red lyrium contamination in their quarters. He’s nervous. Normally the Evanuris are more subtle, but Andruil has changed since the war. He tells him about the sign Sylaise’s slave made and Solas just looks smug, choosing to keep the story to himself. Of course Fen’Harel has spies in every court, of course Fen’Harel knows who needs him before they even do, of course Fen’Harel doesn’t communicate anything beyond need-to-know even to him, his personal guard. He thinks, not for the first time, that Solas is a hard man to love. At least Solas knows that too.

The peace summit is boring. Sylaise puts on a show, decked out in lyrium-woven silver and lapis lazuli, which makes her brilliant red hair shine gold and rather disruptive. Dirthamen is more severe. His graying hair is braided with silver thread, making the red in it even more distinctive, and the lyrium-silk he wears whispers the impressions of all that he has seen. At this point Felassan has ceased to be rattled by how very much Solas looks like him. Fen’Harel keeps his head shaved because it is anonymous and convenient, and also because it makes him look even less like his rumored half-siblings.

The children of Mythal gather around a round table. Solas opens negotiates. Felassan is bored. There is so much lyrium in the room, it thrums in his sinuses and he is afraid his nose will bleed. The conquest of the Durgas Durgen’len has brought plenty to Elvhenan. The excess is rather grotesque, and while Felassan likes grotesque—why else would he be in the Dread Wolf’s retinue?—the other Evanuris are a bit much. Absolutely no one in the room brings up Andruil or Ghilan’nain’s name, but their presence is felt.

The meeting ends after Solas successfully convinces both to sign a nonaggression pact that includes reporting to the other when they begin outfitting for war. They can track the movement of Andruil’s experimental soldiers that way, though the clause does not require them to inform Mythal. They have enough spies. Solas has them sign the contract in blood laced with lyrium, providing his own knife.

“Ah,” Sylaise says. “Fen’Harel’s fang. How cute. Did my mother give you that?”

Solas smiles coldly. “My father, actually. I have never asked how he received it.” Score, Felassan thinks. Sylaise has always been a fucking idiot.

Dirthamen says, “You’ve never asked?”

Solas says, “It was his once and is mine now. I rather think I have made written is backstory.” He glances at the contract, slowly drying on the table.

Felassan says helpfully, “In your blood. Literally.” Solas catches his eye and they both begin to grin before he looks away hurriedly. “Now, everyone will know, that it is at this daggerpoint that war was averted and peace brokered between two of the greatest powers of Elvhenan, and the nation’s supply of blue dye restored.”

Solas says mildly, “I should add that Mythal has asked me to draft legislature making it clear that colored dyes themselves cannot be patented, though of course ratios and forms of manufacturing may remain trade secrets to the craftsman.” He bows slightly to Sylaise, who visibly grinds her teeth. Felassan can hear the squeak.

Dirthamen says, “Good. If you will excuse me? I must tender my regards to our mother. She and I have much to discuss.”

Solas says, “Give her my love.” He means it, too. For all that Mythal has wrecked, Solas has always loved her. He may have removed the mark from his face—and Felassan’s too—but the writing is in the blood, as the saying goes. The vallaslin can never truly be erased.

Dirthamen leaves and Sylaise follows hurriedly, and Solas leans forward, elbows on the table, steepling his hands. He rubs the bridge of his nose, staring at the contract.

“Nicely done,” Felassan says. “Dirthamen came very close to acknowledging you as his brother. You might’ve alienated Sylaise, but she was always a lost cause.”

“I’m not,” Solas says sharply. He drops his hands. “As you know. But it’s interesting that he has an audience with Mythal. Perhaps Andruil approached him first, rather than Sylaise. Perhaps this all was yet another game of hers, testing to see how easily her children fracture if she chooses to leave Elvhenan unattended. Or perhaps they’re simply gossiping together, as a mother is wont to do, with her only son.”

Felassan says, “Fine. Forget I said anything. Sorry. But no one’s tried to kill you that well yet. The red lyrium was a cheap shot, but Sylaise has always been cheap. What now?”

Solas says, “I need to clean my dagger, file some paperwork, and see when Sylaise will try to kill me again. I hope, for your sake, that it happens so soon, because I can see that you’re bored.”

“Nothing like an assassination attempt to liven up a peace treaty,” Felassan says. “If you would try to risk your life in more entertaining ways, I would not complain.”

Solas says, “Don’t worry. Andruil’s slave, the one you saw? He invited us to a party. He’s working for the Forgotten Ones. Things will get entertaining yet.”

Geldauron throws the best parties. Everyone knows that. It’s because he’s no longer corporeal, so he focuses on the vibes of the space, to bring everyone’s desires to fruition. He is also a wonderful musician, because he is music and thought becomes music, and he knows how to sing everyone’s desires into a wonderful piece. Felassan is excited, because Solas is his favorite person to get fucked up with, and while both of them will have to pretend to be sober, the night promises to be fun.

Geldauron throws the best parties. He’s also a fucking asshole. The two return to Solas’ quarters to prepare—Solas changes his clothes and Felassan smokes instead. He lounges on Solas’ bed, watching him dress. Solas swaps the cloth leggings for blue-dyed leather and a gold-edged tunic. Picking up a wolfskin, he turns to Felassan, only to catch him ogling his ass. He raises an eyebrow.

Felassan says, “Good choice. But if you take those off you’re not getting back in them any time soon.”

Solas snorts. “I doubt it is that kind of party.”

“We could make it that kind of party.”

Solas grins. He says, “No.”

“I thought you like mixing business and pleasure,” Felassan says. He takes a drag and, concentrating, blows a smoke ring toward him.

Solas’ smile fades, and he returns to the mirror, adjusting his collar. “Not now,” he says. “I cannot afford to be so reckless anymore.”

Felassan sees himself, desirable in the mirror, and Solas looking frustrated. He says, “Why did you ask me to come along?”

“Because I trust you,” Solas says readily. “Because I care about you, and I will behave more cautiously so I may keep you safe. As you would to protect me. And that is why I must ask you—stop this. I am your commander now. It’s inappropriate concerning our differences in rank. We might no longer be slaves, but I have certain responsibilities.” He stops, seeing Felassan laughing in the mirror. “What?”

Felassan sidles up and puts his arms around him. “You’re so full of shit,” he says fondly. Solas stiffens, and then relaxes. “Sure. I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

“I,” Solas begins, and then stops. “Yes. Thank you.”

Felassan thinks, you want me to persuade you, don’t you? You’ve always enjoyed being courted. But tonight, I’d rather not. It’s my turn for some flattery. I’m tired of being hung out to dry. He pushes him away and goes to the door. “So,” he says. “Where in the Void are we going? Didn’t Geldauron get rid of his physical form? This is a trap, isn’t it?”

“We wouldn’t go if it weren’t,” Solas says. “You asked for adventure, and I am glad to deliver.”

They have to take three different eluvians and briefly melt into the Void to get to the spot in the Abyss where Geldauron has shaped according to his munificent Will. Melting always makes Felassan have to piss, but there are no bathrooms in the Abyss. Geldauron eschews such mundanities.

Felassan grumbles, “Subject and object, actor and acted upon. Easy to say when you’ve jettisoned your bladder to become a fog of resentment and envy. That still smells like piss.”

The Abyss, triggered by Felassan’s desire for shape, sense, and a toilet, warps. Tiles, Felassan thinks. Please. A nice hole in the ground to piss in. I’ll take a tree. Solas waves an idle hand, and a cobbled path appears out of the blankness. A white threshold opens at the end. From there they feel the vibrato of lyrium-song, electric and hungry. Felassan shivers. Carefully they step on the path. Halfway up, Felassan stops.

“What do you think will happen if I piss off the map?” Felassan says. “Into the Abyss?”

Solas pauses. There is mischief in his eyes. “We know that Geldauron will not bother to manifest anything to accommodate our corporeality.”

Felassan squints into the blankness. “If I conquer his Will with my Will, it won’t bounce back.”

“It would be purely an experiment of magical energy,” Solas agrees. They stare at each other.

Felassan says, “I bet you I can aim farther than you.”

“There is no distance to measure,” Solas says. “It’s the Void.”

“Coward,” Felassan says. “Don’t you need to take a piss too?”

Solas looks exasperated. One more taunt, Felassan thinks, and I’ve got him. He’s never been able to back down from a bet.

“I bet you I can Will it farther than you, and get rid of the smell,” Felassan says. “And, anyway, there’s not going to be anywhere more private to take a piss than our personal pathway through the Abyss. Especially if we’re walking into a trap. Unless you want to weaponize your bladder.” He pauses. “Is that why Geldauron smells like piss?

“Geldauron stinks because as he lost his physical form, his body relieved itself of all its former functions. He captured himself in the moment of his dying renewal. Unfortunate, but to be expected for one as foolish as he,” Solas says, amused. “But to your question—are you saying you think you can piss magic?”

Felassan says, “Wanna bet?”

The lyrium-high hits them both as a physical force as they pass the threshold, and Felassan’s heart skips a beat as it thrums through his body, teasing his sinuses and twinging behind his eyes and ears. Solas takes a deep, steadying breath, and Reality begins to vein, blueing the whiteness into shadowy shape. Felassan sniffs: lightning, storm clouds, fertile earth, and—that’s it, just the hint of piss.

He whispers, “I think I found Geldauron.”

Solas chokes back a laugh.

The slightly stinking vibration that is the Forgotten One Geldauron wraps around them and gives a token attempt at conquering their Will. Solas brushes him off as if he were a fly. Felassan thinks very hard, shit piss shit piss shit piss fucker—and the buzzing stops. Geldauron backs off, giving off a sense of being decidedly rumpled. Felassan is smug.

“Greetings, the Will that is Geldauron,” Solas says. There is a touch of irony to his voice.

Geldauron arranges the particles of the voice into a throat, complete with tongue, lips, teeth, and vocal cord. Felassan eyes it with disgust, Solas with interest. Felassan has always thoroughly enjoyed having a body, and has never understood why the Forgotten Ones gave up their form to vibrate in the Abyss—and, of course, the fact that they backed down from fighting the Pillars of the Earth when thousands were dying in those earthquakes does not incline him to being kind. Solas, though, has always liked to experiment.

Geldauron says, “Welcome to the Void. I see you’ve brought a guard.” Felassan stands up a bit straighter and attempts to look intimidating. The vibration that is Geldauron twinges. “You wouldn’t trust your old friends?”

Solas says lightly, “I especially wouldn’t trust old friends. How’s your lyrium-mining operation going?”

“Better, if you’d give me the workers.”

“Which I would, if you added basic safeguards to your mindvision. The Abyss is still Evhenan, and follows the same operational safety protocol as part of the empire.”

Geldauron scoffs. “Anaris is still pissed you backed out of the deal. He’s looking for a better buyer.”

Solas says, “Anaris caused the death of three hundred and twenty-nine elvhen miners from my home province. Not every man has the ability to project, with utmost confidence, the certainty of their own mortality while handling certainly noxious substances. Is he here?”

Around them the party swirls in blasting lyrium-song and crystal colors, and Felassan closes his eyes to feel the Will solidify as the voices sing. He is not drunk and only a little high, but there is a hive and there is the mind and there are infinite and only two hundred people in this Void, just vibing, and six at least are vining around each other, flesh to plant twirling photosynthesis, and he tastes—

Solas says, “If you think your profit margin outweighs the worth of any freethinking person in my employ, I will override your thought-form myself.” He puts a hand out and grips a shoulder as he forces Geldauron to take shape, Will snapping Will back into Reality, and Felassan shakes himself and watches as the old god flashes into a form, snarling, and then unravels again. Showing up the host at his own party, Felassan thinks. That’s a mistake.

He steps in, to back him up. “Can you still be the Will when others have more Will than you?” He waves a hand through where Geldauron’s vibrato played. There are others staring at them, taking physical shape, and now the Abyss becomes a black castle, lyrium roots twinging at their feet. The air is hungry. He suppresses a shiver.

“Cute,” a voice drawls, and then there is a body to match: the slave Felassan saw, who warned them about the red lyrium in their quarters. Then the vallaslin melts away and he grows taller, face sharpening and eyes narrowing, pupils elongating to slits.

“Anaris,” Solas says neutrally. Felassan looks at him quickly. There’s history here. The most physical of the Forgotten Ones is unearthly handsome, as aesthetically perfect as a monument, and thus completely unfuckable. Judging from the slight tension in Solas’ posture, Fen’Harel once disagreed. Felassan checks a sigh. He looks at Felassan. “Give us a moment. I’ll meet you near the path.” Felassan pauses, because leaving him alone with the Forgotten Ones is ridiculous, however ridiculously overpowered Solas is, but Solas gives him that cold Fen’Harel look so he backs off without trying to argue. There is never any point. He never listens, and out of the few arguments Felassan has ever won with him, it has only been because Solas has already decided to agree. He bows slightly, only to make him uncomfortable, and wanders off into the Void. Maybe they are just meeting to talk over labor disputes. Maybe it is something more—but it is not every night that Felassan finds himself partying in the Abyss, and so he intends to take advantage of it while he still can.

Felassan has a crowd of sympathetic quasi-corporeal spirits surrounding him, and they all pet him and tell him he is right. He is drunk and this is the Fade leaching into the Abyss to massage his desires into reality, but that does not spoil it.

“I am done with bad bosses,” Felassan announces to the crowd. “Bad bosses who say they love you and take you along to arbitrate weird labor disputes with their exes and then cut you out of the interesting part. Bad bosses who when they’re promoted above you stop sleeping with you but keep you around anyway. This has been a centuries-long break-up and I deserve better.”

A Compassion spirit says, “You should tell him. Communication is always key.”

Felassan wails, “But he told me!”

The spirits rustle. The Compassion spirit looks slightly less sympathetic. A spirit of Authority and their friend, one of Geldauron’s lackeys who couldn’t quite eschew their form entirely, say in unison, “Is it the debasement that you like?”

Felassan pauses. “No. Yes.” He thinks. “No. Just the presence. I could handle the profession. I can! I am. But mixing business and pleasure?”

Suddenly, out of the Abyss, comes Solas’s voice, and then Solas’s presence. He says, amused, “Anaris is not my ex. How have you managed to get drunk off the Abyss? There is nothing here.”

Felassan flushes. Solas offers him a hand and helps pull him up. Felassan says haughtily, “I find the Nothingness very intoxicating.” Solas’ eyes crinkle, and Felassan hangs onto him a second longer before Solas gently lets go. Felassan says, “Someone manifested the drunk. Not me.”

Solas says, “Yes. Compassion, or Authority, manifested your current state of inebriation. Not any of your desire to taste oblivion.”

Felassan says, “Yes, that’s right. Everyone brought oblivion to me.”

Solas chuckles. “Ridiculous.” He takes hold of Felassan and walks him into the blackness. “Place more drunk,” he whispers. “We’re being followed.”

Felassan stumbles. Solas leans over to catch him. Felassan whispers in his ear, “Anaris? Geldauron? Ghilan’nain? Which one of your enemies is it today?”

Solas’ lips brush his cheek. “Andruil,” he mouths. He presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Felassan draws back, furious. Solas closes his left eye quickly, barely even a wink: Felassan whirls around, and Andruil jams a needle into his neck, and then he is falling as Solas backs away, eyes flashing with Mythal’s lightning.

“Where the fuck is that fucker?”

Felassan is rudely shaken awake. “Easy, easy,” he grumbles, putting his hands out. Anaris, beauty distorted by frothing rage, slaps them away. Felassan sits up, takes stock: he is sitting on the worn stone path out of the Abyss, hanging over the Avoid. Anaris looms over him. Fen’Harel is nowhere to be found. Felassan decides to play dumb. “What fucker?”

Anaris says, “That fucker. Your fucker. Fen’Harel.”

Felassan objects: Solas hasn’t let him fuck him since Mythal made him a god, citing the power differential. That, of course, has not stopped them from flirtation, tension, and angst, and Felassan is occasionally jealous that Solas seems to fuck everyone but him—Anaris, really?—but that all goes to say: Fen’Harel is not his fucker. He opens his mouth to say all that, but Anaris shoves him roughly to the ground.

“He’s mine,” Anaris says.

Felassan props himself up on his elbow. “Yeah. I had a nice talk with a spirit of Compassion early….” He looks over his shoulder, trying to find the entrance to the Abyss where Geldauron’s party was. There is nothing, which makes sense, because this is the Abyss. He shrugs. “Really, he’s no one’s but his own. Built his own brand on that. Terrible commitment issues, and not the most appropriate commander—you need to learn to let him go—“

“The fuck are you on about?” Anaris stares at him. “He broke our fucking contract. Mythal ordered him to sell us her workers, he backed out. And now he’s sitting on an entire kingdom of gold because of Andruil’s stupid gambit—biologic-fucking-weapons. Not like he’s doing anything useful with those dwarves. May as well test them out in one of Sylaise’s petty wars.”

Felassan stares up at him, disgusted. “They’re not weapons,” he says. “They’re people. Just because they don’t dream…we threw down the Pillars of the Earth and scorn them for making machines of their own people. We can do better than that.”

Anaris says, “Did I ask for moralism? No? Gods. You’re definitely one of his followers, ugh. Does he keep you around for his conscience?” He shakes his head. “I’m done with that shit. Geldauron said—whatever. Where the fuck is he? He owes me money. He broke our contract!”

Felassan thinks, I’m done with this shit. He rubs his aching head wearily. “I think Andruil took him.” He isn’t quite sure, but he thinks Solas was trying to protect him. He’s never been very good at letting his guards guard him, but Felassan is rather glad to still be alive. Doubtless enough time as Mythal’s thrall will teach him to let others die.

Anaris swears so loudly and angrily the path, which is itself a thought form, shakes slightly. Felassan eyes him warily. He points in a random direction. “I think they went that way.” A doorway, shining brilliant with white light, opens up onto the path. Felassan considers it. The wondrous thing about living in a malleable reality is that if one Wills hard enough, it comes true. Felassan wants Anaris to fuck off and find Andruil, so the gateway appears. “Nice,” he says aloud.

Anaris sets off. Felassan lays down on the floor, which obligingly broadens so his limbs won’t dangle into the Void. This is the sort of mess only Fen’Harel could get embroiled in. He thought they were just investigating a trade embargo, then a war, and now it’s a labor dispute. He pities himself and his aching head a little bit longer, and then rolls to his feet. “Right,” he tells himself. “Let’s get him out of there.” With that, he walks into the light.

The Void opens into a dark forest, somewhere south of Arlathan—Andruil’s demesne. The earth is warm and welcoming below his feet, and the trees press closely, watching his back. Felassan can hear the night-birds sing, bats chitter their paths through the darkness, and the ever-present insect scream. He looses a breath. He walks through the material world reassuringly, touching a tree or caressing a leaf as he goes. Anaris’ deep footprints mark an angry path through the mud. Felassan tastes the rain-rich air: it has rained before and it will rain again. Andruil will be quite damp.

A clearing with a warm fire opens up through the woods. Felassan hears Andruil’s laughter. Obeying his prey instincts, he hurriedly clambers up a tree to get a better view. Solas is trussed up, hands and feet bound, leaned against a tree. He is entirely nude, covered in mud, and looking a bit scratched up and tired. Felassan raises a hand and waves at him from the canopy. Solas looks up, makes a face, and looks down quickly.

Andruil says, “No. He’s mine. He ruined my bioengineering program and now my mother expects me to pay out of pocket for the trials. We’re going to test the red lyrium armor on him first and present him to her as a gift. You can use him when we’re done with target practice.”

Anaris stomps his foot. “He broke our contract and bankrupted half the Forgotten Ones—and you promised us you’d invest. I claim him, in the name of the Abyss.”

Solas, temporarily forgotten, begins to chew on the ropes binding his wrists. Felassan stifles a laugh. Intervening now would be suicide. He’ll wait for the right moment.

Andruil says, “Fuck off. Your Abyss is nothing.” Literally, Felassan thinks. It is an abyss after all. “He is mine to do what I wish. After what he did to Ghilan’nain, his life is forfeit.”

Solas mutters, “Notwithstanding what she did to me and mine.”

Anaris says, “Ghilan’nain isn’t here to pursue her claim.” He strikes a pose. “By the All-Mother’s law, there is only one recourse. A duel of honor!”

Solas says, “How flattering. And the winner gets my entrails. One does love to see the letter of the law followed.”

Andruil kicks him over; Solas takes the blow and falls with a grunt. She says, “Fine.” She draws her magnificent bow, reinforced with lyrium mined from the heart of the Titans itself.

Solas calls out, “Sylaise made her armor—there’s a flaw just above the right hip, where it curves to show off her shape. The silverite is weakest there. Stab well, my friend. And quickly, if you do want my entrails.”

Andruil shrieks, “Shut up,” but Anaris blurs, skin tearing into bear hide and his skull elongating into a bestial mix of lizard, bear, and elf. The two gods wrestle; Solas hurriedly rolls out of their way, towards the tree Felassan climbed. His nose is bleeding from the kick in the face, and his bottom lip is swollen. He holds up his wrists, and then twists them, easily slipping a hand out. He gestures: throw down a knife.

Anaris is stabbing wildly at Andruil now, trying desperately to get at the weak spot at her right hip. Andruil has her hands fixed around his throat. Felassan passes down the knife, unwilling to get involved in the carnage. Solas, rather than cutting through the bonds at his feet, stabs it into the grass and leans over the hilt, hiding it from view. He puts his hand back into the loops of rope, and waits.

“Try a sixty-degree angle,” he suggests idly. “No, twist the knife, if you please.”

Andruil’s hands fall from Anaris’ neck and he stands up, baring his bruised throat at the Dread Wolf. The Dread Wolf stares at him, amused. Anaris says, “Dead.”

Fen’Harel says, “Unlikely, but you are welcome for the break. Twist her neck to make sure. You owe me your victory, Anaris.” He smiles, teeth showing. Above, Felassan shudders slightly. He’s left his wolf’s teeth in—normally he eschews mixing shape as gauche. “She would have killed you outright, if I had not helped. You owe me my freedom.” He makes a show of displaying the ropes around his wrists.

“Go fuck yourself,” Anaris says angrily. “Fuck off, you halfbreed whoreson slavey bastard. I will burn my mark into your flesh, you imbecilic—” A gold-tipped arrow protrudes from his throat. His eyes widen, he tries to scream, but his knees crumble. Anaris collapses to the ground. Andruil, eyes flashing blood, drops her bow.

“My victory,” she says. “I never lose.” She presses a hand to her bleeding side and stumbles over to Solas. He scrabbles back, but she has him cornered against the trunk. Felassan pulls out his own bow and aims.

Andruil prints her bloody hand onto Solas’ face and pushes his head against the tree. Quickly he tugs his hand free of the ropes and grabs at the knife he hid, stabbing at her back. The armor dents the knife, and Felassan sees Solas begin to panic, but then she coughs in his face and falls over.

“Fuck,” Solas says. Felassan jumps down and quickly cuts the ropes at his ankles. Solas slowly pulls himself up, massaging his feet. “They’re in uthenera now, dreaming their wounds away.”

“And you’re naked,” Felassan says.

“And covered in the blood of my enemies,” he returns, holding his hands out. “Like one of Andruil’s own slaves.” He wipes at his face, but only succeeds in smearing the blood across his face. “Let us go—before they wake.” And so, they escape. Felassan tells everyone Solas chewed through the ropes, because that is better than the alternative: being drenched in the blood of your enemies, naked and afraid.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dai #the masked empire #felassan #solas #felassan/solas #solas/felassan #solas rarepair #mlm rarepair #dragon age slash #ultramarine #dark comedy #sorta political intrigue #arlathan #solas in the arlathan days #pre-canon #andruil #mythal #sylaise #dirthamen #geldauron #anaris #evanuris #forgotten ones #wild mass mostly incorrect guessing #red lyrium

[bossyleo]

Beautiful Crime, (CH 1)

Summary; Kat and the trio of women rob the grocery store. Their normal lives go down the drain when they met a leader of the gang. Kat has double life's, will her past life crash her down? will she keep running like she always has to start fresh or will she stay and fight from her past life and bad blood? Along the way, she fell in love with someone who she never expected to be.

Warning: +18, gun mention, robbery.

A/N; I want to say thank to @prettygangfriend, @cacoetheswriting for helping me and editing the story. Thank to @ skamlover to help me with my OC Spanish language. This is my first fanfic I publish is here, Please let me know what you think and I’m interested in your feedback, don’t be silent readers. I worry if I hear no comment, it mean that nobody like my story. I apologize if my grammar is awful, ENJOY!!! Also, let me know if you want to be TAGGED!!

Here is the cover @atriaedits has made

__________________________________________

The sound of the obnoxious chewing, followed by the sound of a loud, snapping pop, is coming from the backseat, slowly driving Beth insane.

“Oh my god! I asked you to stop doing that like five minutes ago.” Beth turned her head away from the window and glared at her friend, feeling annoyed by that ridiculous sound she’s been hearing since she picked her up.

“Damn girl. You know what, fine” Kat spits out the gum and tosses it to one of the trash cans standing outside of their window. “Happy now?” She glances at Beth then opens the vanity mirror to check herself out, trying to fix her hair. Pulling two strands of her brunette hair, she adjusts her face-framing bangs. As she takes a minute to admire her shining, golden hoop earrings, they hear a screeching sound of a tire coming up behind Beth’s van.

Both of them look up, only to reveal the red, rusty car, that belonged to no other than Annie. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Ruby sitting in the passenger seat, while Beth was already preparing her big sister speech.

“I cannot believe you,” Beth started, once Annie had parked her car. She threw her hands up in defense, trying to calm down Beth.

“Chill, sis. I’m like, two minutes late.”

The four women gather around and go up to the back of Annie’s trunk, popping it open to reveal four ski masks and four toy guns. Kat grabs the plastic guns from the gym bag, admiring the crafty work of Beth’s painting job. She has to admit, they look pretty realistic—well, realistic enough to make sure the hostages will comply.

“Wait, Annie, I think you should use the concealer to cover the tattoo,” Kat says.

“What, Nah, I’ll be fine, my shirt will cover it.” Annie reply.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ruby says, letting out a deep sigh, while Annie passes everyone their very own ski-mask. Both Beth and Annie wore a blue one, Kat went for the color black, as she wanted to make sure to match her outfit, and Ruby decided to go with a bandana instead.

Not wasting any more time, the four women walk into the ‘Fine and Frugal’ grocery store. It takes a couple of seconds before people notice their cloth covered faces, but once they do, the ladies go into action.

“Listen up!” Annie yells out, pointing her gun up into the air, “Everyone just stays cool, and nobody gets hurt!” 

The rest of the women are quick to follow Annie’s actions, and start pointing their guns around the store. People look around in both confusion and fear, but they make sure to get onto the ground. A smirk appears on Kat’s face, while watching the store manager walk up to them, his hand up in the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery,” Annie said as if she announced to the customers.

           THREE WEEKS EARLIER

The ripping of a wax strip echoes through the room, followed by a loud shriek of pain coming from Beth, who’s currently finding herself on her arms and knees.

“I wonder how Kat’s doing” she wonders out loud, “Oh god, she won’t hurt Ashley, right?” 

The lady waxing Beth has a look of concern on her face, silently praying for her co-worker Ashley. “She’ll be fine, ma’am”, she reassures Beth, before continuing her work.

“I can only hope-“ before she could finish her sentence, a young brunette walks into the room. Beth turns her head to figure out what was going on, or what was important enough to interrupt her session.

“Mrs. Boland? I’m afraid your card has been declined” 

Beth couldn’t help but frown and come up with something that would explain the situation, but Kat walked in just in time, handling it. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it,” Kat tells her, sticking her hands inside the pockets of her white, comfortable robe. The woman gives her a quick nod, before walking out again.

“I’ll pay you back,” Beth says, shaking her head while looking over at Kat. “I’m sure Dean just forgot to pay a bill, he’s been really busy and distracted, lately.” 

Kat raises an eyebrow at her explanation, already knowing there’s a lot more to it than just Dean forgetting the bills. She’s always thought of him as someone who’s rather suspicious, and untrustworthy, but she wasn’t going to insult Beth’s husband to her face, so she drops it.

“Yeah, I’m sure” Kat mumbles, hoping Beth wouldn't catch the sarcastic tone in her voice, which she didn’t.

Kat feels her phone vibrating, and she lets out an annoyed sigh. The name of her boss pops up on her screen, and she couldn’t mentally curse herself for hurrying to answer it.

“Hello, sir“ she rolls her eyes at the familiar sound of her boss yelling and ordering her around on the phone. “Yes, of course- Hello?“

 “He just hung up on me!” Kat calls out, making Beth scoff loudly. “First he insults my cooking, and now this? What an asshole!” She says, and Kat nods at her in agreement while remembering that day all too well. 

Last week Kat tried to get out of a work thing by telling Mark, her boss, she already did had dinner plans to attend. She didn’t know how or why, but apparently he thought it was a great idea to invite himself. If that wasn’t bad enough already, he felt the need to tell Beth he wasn’t a big fan of her cooking. Beth was ready to defend herself, but of course, Dean told her to calm down, which ultimately led to those two pricks becoming buddies, who even started hanging out.

“The truth is, he’s just an idiot who thinks women can’t be equal to men. One day I will prove that piece of trash wrong, trust me. Kat convinces Beth while taking off her robe, revealing her work outfit as an office assistant, underneath it. 

She was wearing a cream button-down paired with a matching suede jacket. She brushed a dark curl off her shoulder, walking toward the mirror against the wall. A glance at her reflection, reapplying a dark red lipstick with a flourish. She shifted her weight. “ I got to go, Adiós “ Kat picks up her purse and leaves the room, leaving Beth to sigh heavily as she picks up her phone, calling the bank wondering why her credit card decline, she knows her husband, Dean probably forgot to pay it.  Beth thought.

Kat enters her hybrid car small with a four-door which she got a good deal from her friend, Beth’s husband, Dean. She drove to the coffee shop which is near the diner where Ruby works at. She stands in line, waiting patiently for her turn.

 Then she placed the orders, she checks her phone to see what time it.  Glad I’m on my lunch break, can’t wait to see my baby soon. Kat thought happily.  Kat grabs two medium cups and hurries to her car. The girls would be expecting her at the diner soon. She quickly drives to the meeting spot and dashes in carrying her coffee. 

The bell ding above the door as Kat enters... See Beth and Annie is already in their booth near the window. Kat smiles at them as she walks over to them, “Hola.” She pushes Annie’s legs off the seat as she sits down.

“Ooo, Coffee!” Annie was about to grab one from the tray but Kat hit her hand as she scolds her “I promised my jefe I would bring him some, so keep your hands off “ Annie glances at her,” I don’t know what you just said, but it sounds hot” Kat shake her head as she chuckles.

“Where’s the translated book I got for you? You need to read it.” Annie shakes her head and replies “I tried to but then I fell asleep.” Kat chuckles again.

“ And she was only halfway through my wax.” Beth continued the conversion she had earlier to Annie before Kat walked in. “But I offer to pay it, What happens?” Mia asks.

Beth shook her head, “I changed my mind, You need the money for your son, Mateo.” Beth answers. Kat wants to help her friend Beth but knows she is right. “Gracias”. Kat reply, showing her red lips turn into a smile. “So, What happens?” Annie asks. Beth answered, “Well, now I’m uneven.”  

Ruby walks over to her friends, places the coffee pot on the table. “I don’t even wanna know.”

“Dean maxed out their credit card at some lingerie store,” Annie explain to Ruby.

“Do you think he’s sleeping around?” Beth glance at Kat.

Annie and Kat chuckle. Ruby shakes her head and replies in a sarcastic scoff, “Don’t nobody want Dean.”  

“MmM, Sometimes I wonder why you married your first boyfriend? I heard that the first boyfriend isn’t a good keeper.” Kat said out aloud.

“What, But, Annie married Greg!” Beth says as if she defends herself.

“Look how it turned out,” Kat replied sarcastically.  They chuckled.  “Maybe it’s your anniversary present,” Annie says, trying to make her sister think the bright side but fail to.

Kat tries to hold her snort from Beth but fails. “Yeah right, Dean isn’t the type, I have a feeling like he is one of the old fashion types.” Which led Annie to join in laughing with Kat. They take a breath as soon as the laugh dies.

Beth rolls her eyes and decides to ignore Kat’s comments “He already gave me 100 coupons to Bed Bath & Beyond.”  She looked at her friends.

Ruby’s upper lips curled in disgust. “Ew. Really?”

“Son of a bitch.” Annie says bluntly, hissed.

“No, I really do love it there.” Beth smiles.

“Really? He should’ve given you a coupon to Bath & Body Work instead.” Kat takes a sip of her coffee, Ruby nods in agreement.

“No. That old guy is stealing your tip.” Annie pointed her fingertip at the old guy. The trio follows her gaze, their eyes settle on an elderly man slowly but surely walking toward the empty table, and seems like he’s struggling to walk properly. He looked around, smiling harmless when a couple passed by. 

Kat placed her hand on Annie's hand. “Girl, pointing is rude.”  Mia shakes her head. 

Ruby turns around and gives an ‘Are you kidding me’ look to Annie “He can’t even walk.”  

Annie urged Ruby “ Go get it.” She gave ‘go get it’ hand gestures which cause Ruby to sigh then she gets up on her foot and slowly walks toward the table. Her eyes widen when the elderly man was about to lean in. Ruby quickly swipes up her tip just before he even touches it.  He sent Ruby a look as he made his exit, cane in his hand, dropping the act. 

“Shady S.O.B,” Ruby said shaking her head as she sat down, her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “absolutely shady.”

“Don’t let the innocent look fool you ” Kat says as she takes a sip of her coffee.

 A smile appeared on Annie’s lips, almost proudly. “At my old job, we just got robbed all the time, So I got the six sense now.” 

Beth looked at her sister, “Are you serious?” She hopes that Annie is kidding. 

“I mean, it’s no big ideal,” Annie said as she gave a half shrug.  “ All the stores I work at eventually get hit.” 

Shaking her head, Beth met Annie’s eyes showing concern in her eyes “You could get shot.” 

“Ugh. One can hope.” Beth took a breath. 

“These guys, they don’t want to hurt anybody. They just want the money. So we let them have it. Nobody’s trying to be a hero.”

Hunching over and leaning in closer. 

“Do they get caught?” Ruby asks. Beth slowly turned to look at her friend, brow’s knitted together as she looks at Ruby questionably.

Annie let out a ridiculous scoff, “Yeah, the dumb ones do ‘cause they park in the front by the security cameras.”  Kat mutters idota, but is glad that Annie and no one got hurt. 

“You gotta put your getaway car in the back by the loading dock,” Annie shows hand gestures as if she planing out the blueprint. “And you never get dick around with the registers.” She added.  “The real money is back in the vault.” 

“You’ve really worked this out. “ Beth nods is impressed by her little sister.

Annie’s shoulder shrug “Just keeping my options open.”  Kat nods in an agreement.

“How much is in the vault? Ruby asks as if she gives a thought.

“Thirty grand, give or take.”  Annie answer. Ruby’s pupils widen open, eyebrow up raises up. Kat let out an ‘O’ shape of her mouth. Letting out a whistle like she is impressed by how much.

“Damn, I could use that money.” Ruby says as Kat nods, “perfecto count me in.” Kat reply with a grin. 

“Oh my god, me too” Annie joins in. Beth looks at them like they are crazy or serious.

“So, when do you want to do this?” Ruby glance at Annie and Kat.

 Annie replies “Well, I already bought three automatics and filed off the serial numbers so really, name a day” 

Kat pauses her lips for a moment to think which day is better. Beth looks at the three women, not sure if they are serious or not  Until Ruby’s lips turn into a Cheshire Cat grin at Beth which causes the trio  to laugh at Beth.

“You should see your face” Annie points out.

“It’s whiter than usual,”  Ruby says, Kat chuckles.

The four women entered the Fines & Frugal with their masks covering their faces and a toy gun in their hands and stopped in the center of the hallway.

"I'm gonna need you to all get on the ground," Annie says as the four women point the toy gun at the hostages. "Get your cell phones out of your pockets and keep your hands where I can see 'em," Annie says as the hostages follow the instructions. 

“All right, good. Now, I need you to get your manager up here. Annie says, but no one is moving or listening. Annie says it again but still no reply.  Annie looks at Ruby as she shrugs her shoulder like she doesn't know what to do. Ruby yell in a nice tone "Hey, where's y'all's boss at?" Still no response from the hostages. 

All of a sudden, Beth decides to act like a bad cop.  " I better get a manager up here right now or I will start capping people! I'm not even joking, mother.” Beth kicks the wooden boxes with her right leg. Causing people to be afraid of her as they gasp in fear. Causing Annie's and Ruby’s eyes to widen as if they are in shock at Beth while Kat nods and is impressed by it.

                     ONE WEEK EARLIER

 Kat enters the entry foyer inside of the Boland’s Residence with her son whose’s six years old. He smiles happily when he saw his friends, Beth’s four children in the living room, playing. He let go of his mother’s hand and run toward them. as he pulls his little backpack off as he  drops it on the floor, Joining his friends. 

Meanwhile, Kat walks into the kitchen, seeing Beth cooking dinner and Annie sipping diet coke soda "Hola," Kat puts her purse on the chair and car keys inside the purse as she sits down next to Annie. 

"How was work?" Beth asks, chopping the chicken fingers into stars. Kat sighs heavily, “he’s killing me, I swear sometimes I just want to punch him en el hosico.” 

Beth and Annie look confused at first, and then Annie says “Ooo! Asshole” Finally, Beth understands what her friend, Kat’s saying. Kat looks at Annie “it amazes me that you don’t know Spanish words, just only cuss words.” 

Annie smiles. “What can I say, I love curse words.” Annie smiles, proud of herself which causes Kat to chuckle.

“Oh, because your life is so great. I should want this life?” Annie asks, frowning

“Woah, what’s going on?” Kat asks, wondering why the sisters are arguing. 

“Lil miss perfect think’s I’m running my life.” Beth looks at Kat and back to Beth. 

“I didn’t say that,” Beth said, cutting the chicken fingers.

Annie scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Look at Kat, She’s a single mother with a gorgeous figure and a cute son. She’s living the best motherhood life.” Annie says, flattering her best friend. 

Kat chuckles, “oh honey, No I’m not. My boss who thinks women can’t be CEO, I’m still his assistant which I should’ve moved next level, but noo. Also, My son keeps asking about his father every single day.” Katsays sadly. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Beth replies as she put her hand on top of Kat’s hand to comfort her as Annie gave her a hug. Kat has told her friends that the father isn’t in the picture.

“And, I mean, not to pile on, look who you married. “ Annie glances at Beth.

“It’s 20 years and four children. Marriage sometimes takes little work.” Beth says, defend herself and Dean.

“Well, It depends on the sex life, and when you told me that you and Dean aren’t wild like you used to, it means something went wrong ” Kat says then Beth glare at her like she can’t believe she says to her face.

“You could lose your daughter. Has that occurred to you?” Beth ignores Kat’s comments and focus on her little sister.

“Well seeing Greg is suing me for custody and I can’t afford it, yes actually, the thought has crossed my mind.” causing Beth to stop at what she doing. Kat hugs Annie for comfort. 

“I didn’t know,” Beth says.

“Now you do,” Annie replies as she pulls away from the hug. Then Dean car dealership Boland Motor commercial appears on the tv.

Beth glimpses at the tv as she sees Amber, the seller. She heard Annie said “Jezz, who’d this chick have to blow to get on TV?” as a joke.

Beth takes another look at the blonde woman on her screen, while Kat's words linger around in her head. She has seen the lady talking to Dean before, and now that she's thinking about it, it is awfully coincidental she's gotten such an unexpected promotion.

"Kat, Can you drop the kids at Annie's neighbor, the babysitter? We'll be right back." Beth asks.

Kat reply" yeah, sure" then she gave her car key to them because she knew five children won't fit in her car so she will use Beth's van instead.

"Hijos!" Kat yells as she searches for the children then goes upstairs and finds them in one of Beth's children's bedrooms, playing and coloring, drawing on the papers. She took them in Beth's van and drove them to Annie's neighborhood so the babysitter can keep an eye on them.

An hour later, "I'm back," Kat says to sing an along tone and is about to shut the front door until she hears a familiar voice "hey!" from outside and seeing it from one of her friends, Ruby. Kat let her inside. Then close the door.

"Guess who found those caramels Bugles at Kroger?" Ruby asks, trying to find Beth and Annie, but finds them in the living room instead. Normally, the four women would sit in another room to watch The Bachelorette but instead, they are in the living room and Beth is lying on the couch while Annie tries to comfort her sister.

Kat's and Ruby's brows knitted in confusion and then Beth immediately went up to them and hugged them. They hug her back but look at Annie over Beth's shoulders confused.

'Dean's having an affair' Annie mouths to us. Kat's pupils widened as she figures it out. But Ruby doesn't understand' what' Ruby mouths back.

Annie mouths it again but a bit more forcefully. Kat whisperer in Beth that she be right back. Beth nods and lets Mia go and hug Ruby's.

"Huh" Ruby questions again. Annie sighs 'Dean is' Annie says then makes sexual gestures then Ruby finally gets it "son of a bitch" She mutters. " Oh, what can we do?" Ruby asks. She rubs Beth's back.

"How about a screwdriver?" Annie suggested. Kat came in from the garage, carrying a sledgehammer over her shoulder.

Beth sees Kat over Ruby's shoulder and an idea pops in her mind, as she replies "a sledgehammer." Annie and Ruby glance at each other's confusion while Kat's lip turns into a smirk.

Shattering, Beth swings the sledgehammer and hits Dean's computer in his office. Beth hit his trophies and then the file cabinets as she yanks the files and throws them on the ground, the paper flying in the air. Continuing hitting the other file cabinets. While Annie and Ruby, Mia stand in the doorway of Dean's study office, watching Beth take her anger on the cheating husband's things and destroy them. "Are you planning on stopping this?" Ruby asks, "Hell no," Kat says as she's recording what Beth is doing on her phone.

Ruby glance at her friend, Kat. "What are you doing?"

Kat grins, "Dean shouldn't mess with Beth, I might post it on YouTube."

"Don't do that, her kids might see it." Ruby scold her. Kat rolls her eyes dramatically, and replies, "fine but I'm still keeping the video."

"Send it to me," Annie says. Kat nods and sends the video to Annie's phone. Ruby scoffs.

Kat says goodbye to the girls because she has to pick up her son and then head home. She picks up her son and drove to her apartment she shares with Mateo. She fed him dinner and gave him a bath before bedtime.

Kat tucks her son, Mateo in his bed at home. "Good night Mi Amor" Kat pecks his little forehead, "Noches Mami " He rubs his little eyes with his thumb. She sighs heavily, feeling angry at Dean and feeling bad toward her friend Beth. She doesn't deserve this at all. Kat thought.

Meanwhile, Beth sat in the dining room, waiting for her cheating husband to get home. Drinking her vodka out from the bottle. She remembers the conversation she has with Mia and wondering if she'd make a mistake to decline Kat's offer.

“Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” Kat asks, 

“Yes,” Beth responded.

“What if I break his nose a little?” Kat suggests. Beth gives her ‘no’ expression look.

"Are you SURE I can't punch him in the face?" Kat asks.

Spanish translate (Correct me If I’m wrong)

jefe- My Boss

En el hosico - On the snout

Mi Amor - My love  

noches mamá- Night Mama

#nbc good girls #eiza gonzalez #good girls rio #rio imagine #santanico pandemonium #rio fanfic #Rio x Katerina

[mikaze-discord]

OG Heavens: Love letters

For these Heavens posts, I had reached out to a few people who just never ended up responding. With projects like these, please at least hear them out, you don't have to do it because I know its a huge project but at least tell them you won't be doing it instead of ghosting them. But apart from that little road block, this project was really fun!!

Please enjoy under the cut!!!!

EIICHI OTORI

From @milkmateartist:

I have always leaned towards megane characters and Eiichi is no exception. However, it's not often you see idols wearing glasses, and that is something I appreciate about Eiichi's design. His color palette also intrigues me since I love deep shades of blue. His royal blue jacket is very attractive, and the way he pops the collar also makes me go "kya!".  His voice is also very sexy as well and is pleasing to the ear uwu. I love how egoistic he is too. Being incredibly ambitious he has been able to reach amazing heights that surpass other idols. The one thing that seems to make him unique though is that he really gets zealous and overly passionate when it comes to the power of music, so much that it makes him physically tremble. You could get high off that shit literally. His entire being is centered around being an idol, and all the components of him go above and beyond the requirements. It's not just a job for him or something that simply makes an earning or brings satisfaction. It's pretty much everything to him. For that reason he has made it to the top. There is also the component where he's lonely and isolated emotionally that interests me. Despite being a beloved idol, he clearly didn't get the love he needed growing up. Even though he had Eiji I feel as though his nature was more to protect Eiji and shield him from whatever terrors would arise. I admire his ability to come through all of that and pay attention to the things he really cared about. Eiichi can be himself, his strange, sexy self, but also he acknowledges the lonesome darkness within too. I think that component makes him incredibly powerful.

Extra Details:

While appearing to be a bad guy in the anime (at least), Eiichi seemed to be that typical bad boy idol that would steal away Haruka from the main group. The time when he approached Haruka and took her by the chin is a perfect example. How dare this new guy just think he can have his way with our protagonist!  To be honest I liked that aspect about him a bit. While I can't remember my first impression of Eiichi aside from not knowing how to feel about that, he slowly grew on me. He had the appearance of just another selfish idol, demonstrated by swiping the mic away from the announcer at one of his concerts and immediately declaring their foreseen victory. So far that looked rather bland to me, and I was still cheering for STARISH. They really made him out to look like some bad guy who would not play fair and do whatever he could to take the throne (and the girl).  It's not surprising his glasses shine adds to his 'freaky antagonist' vibe that the show seemed to try to give off, but however for me I love the glasses beam, thus having the opposite effect.

And then there is the Next Door episode. Now here's where we got to see more of Eiichi aside from when the HEAVENS Dragon demolished the entire stadium. Aside from kya-ing over the EiichiOtoya content (especially where he goes behind otoya and covers his eyes), I got to see more of him here. It surprised me that someone so cocky and confident was actually the same depressed, lonely person that Otoya was. But it was also evident to me as well that he did care about the effect it had on Otoya as well after he sort-of-well mind broke him. I like how he is ambitious but also still caring, as compared to an antagonist that would stop at nothing to achieve their goal regardless of how much pain they cause.

I also enjoy Eiichi because I feel like I can roleplay him well. Usually for me, roleplay has to achieve some kind of goal since I tend to be business oriented. I think to some degree I'm able to practice being a eboy idol through Eiichi, as I do enjoy charming the fans. It also helps that I can naturally play characters with an inflated ego who enjoy charming people.

From @/egoisticCEO on twt:

July 2019. When Eiichi was first introduced to me via his voice, I hated him from the very beginning. His singing, his appearance, his personality – everything about him made me despise him. It’s funny looking back and seeing how quickly my attitude changed towards him, realising I’d been biased against him because of a friend. Finding more about him, hate turned to interest. It seemed like his life hadn’t been the best. Maybe that was why he acted in such a way? Interest turned to liking him more. Maybe I’d misunderstood him. I’d made the mistake of taking him at surface level.

December 2019. Like was slowly turning to love. More and more, I found myself looking at him instead of my current favourites. I found myself wanting him to actually be a part of Egoistic. Once I started devouring HEAVENS Radio and unveiling his true character, it was shocking how quickly I fell. He truly acted like a father to everyone in his band. Giving them what he never received. Everything was for them to thrive.

2020. With how much I was at home, it only made sense I grew more obsessed. I found Life with Thanks’ translation. “We’re irreplaceable to him,” he tells us, and that made me certain that his heart wasn’t as evil as some people liked to believe. He’s a caretaker, someone who wants everyone to feel like they matter. Even at his own expense. Instead of selfish, he’s selfless.

I related to him more than I have to any character – it was comforting. Seeing someone have no choice but to put on a brave face, even when his confidence was at an all time low. 2020 got a lot harder for me, but when I recovered, Eiichi was like a home to go back to. Time and time again, I’d have to break away, but I’d always be invited back in by that stupid smirk and overexaggerated ego and the warmest heart you could ever find. Every scene I watched with him would make me smile. I’d tease him to myself. I still do.

2021. That brings us to now. I can’t see my love for this one of a kind man dying any time soon. I don’t want it to, either. Just looking at him makes me happy! He’s the type of character with so many facets to his personality that you can keep digging and never reach the end. So, in conclusion, I hope I never stop finding new things out about this wonderful idiot. More than anything, he deserves all the love he gives to others, and I’d love to provide it tenfold.

KIRA SUMERAGI

From Anon: 

Many have their reasons to love their favorite characters. As for me, why Kira Sumeragi is my favorite character is because there are several things about him that I can relate myself to and there are a few qualities he has that I like about him. If many do not know about Kira that much, they’d look at who he is. He may look intimidating at first and may not talk much, when in actuality, Kira is a considerate, dependable, and mindful guy. Mainly, he is the type of guy that lets his actions do the explaining. He is a hard worker, as an idol, he looks after his bandmates, HEAVENS, like family. It’s like what Eiichi said in HEAVENS Radio about Kira, “he is HEAVENS’ pride!” Although he may not say much, Kira is very observant of his surroundings and never hesitates in his decisions. The members of HEAVENS understand and acknowledge Kira, knowing that he means well.

You can even tell in his solo music! Although there are only two solo songs for Kira, if you read the lyrics carefully, Kira’s thoughts and feelings are shown. Kira always knew that if he cannot explain his feelings through words, then he’ll let his songs and his actions do it for him for you to see.  Although the anime doesn’t show much of Kira, the only way to get to know him more is through HEAVENS Radio, also drama CDs like Paradise Lost, and other media like LINE Messenger Japan. There’s still much that I’d want to know about him, but as a start, these things are what makes Kira my favorite character for HEAVENS.

From Anon: 

Aside from my huge bias towards OnoD the first thing that drew my attention to Kira was his design. Dark haired anime boys with bright eyes have such a vibe and I loved how mysterious he was set up to be in season 2. But the thing that really hooked me a lot was the found family that Heavens became over the progression of the anime.

Particularly since people in the fandom have a bunch of funky headcanons about Kira being the mom friend in the group, which is incredibly wholesome. Kira’s very quiet and reserved but clearly holds a deep caring for his group members and does what he can when needed which is one of the reasons why he became so loveable for me.

NAGI MIKADO

From @/_PXRFECTIONIST on twt: 

If I managed to stan Nagi, so will you.

Greetings. I present to you, once more, a story of how I came to love a character that I wished I threw hands with.

So.

Nagi Mikado.

The possible only utapri character that Shinomiya oshis despise. Thanks to what happened in the anime.

Truth be told, I too was one of them. Until I came to love Both Shinomiya and Nagi. Reason?

Research.

Ya see, it is universally agreed upon that the way Nagi was pushing and pulling at Shinomiya's trauma and DID was… Not okay. So I said "yeah okay what an obnoxious kid i dont think ill ever like him lol" especially since I never come to really warm up to people younger than me.

Boy was I wrong.

My heart really sways easily when I go deep into characters, and why they act the way they are. And also because I chose to roleplay as him, but let's not. Speak of that.

(its actually the main reason i like him in the first place who am i fooling)

Nagi is… Indeed obnoxious, and really has bad manners that are covered up by his cute looks and fame, especially since he's one of the original HEAVENS members, but once you get to really know him.. It makes sense why he's being such a brat. And that is sort of endearing. And knowing how his group is like family to him too, it becomes harder and harder to completely dislike him.

….

He really is a boss man.

He knows what he wants, and how to get it. He knows how to get people to like him without handing over the tiniest sliver of his weaknesses. He acts in his own way that shapes his personality to suit him, yet still manages to be caring and helpful, even if it's hard to see tenderness and good will through his aggression.

Reading his solo lyrics, listening to the drama CDs, even thinking of headcanons due to lack of lore, it all slowly comes together like a lovely parfait to suddenly make you realize..

'Wow…'

'I really do like that rat.

#utapri #utanoprincesama #uta no prince sama #eiichi otori #otori eiichi #Kira Sumeragi #Sumeragi Kira #Nagi Mikado #Mikado Nagi