#and i have a solution to this. its called the fucking block button

[pixelkip]

Ok i do understand why people shit on dnis when some people have like . Miles long highly specific lists in them or whine at people who dont abide to their dni rather than just blocking them, shit like that. But you must understand- aside from the aforementioned cases- most people who have a dni know that it isn't an impermeable fucking warding spell against people you dont like. It's just based on the simple principle of "if I loudly state that I don't want anything to do with certain people, they probably won't want anything to do with me either" and the block button deals with anyone that this does not apply to, i.e. anyone who either didn't see it or doesn't care. It just makes things a little easier.

These mfs will be all "curate your online experience" and act like this isn't just another way of doing that, even if it's imperfect.

Tldr dni haters dni /j

[fuckitsdarkinhere]

Sooo you're just here {to troll}. Disappointing. Thought being a good person meant giving a shit and doing actual good in the world but fuck me for having standards, am I right?! 😂

Still though, despite you taking a thorough piss with this, I actually want to treat this situation seriously and so, I'll be making another post about you. 👋 If you unblock me again and respond, I will respond again then block you if you don't bring anything meaningful to the discussion. These posts will still be visible in your tag despite the block so good luck hiding them from other people.

As for not being able to come up with answers: I already did. If you had reading comprehension or actually gave a shit about this topic, you'd see that the answers are within the questions themselves. The problem with these answers is that they're currently ineffectual.

Even with crowd funding, we (as everyday people) can't afford lobbyists to make laws. We can vote things in at the state level, but you need to have the majority on your side and those laws can be overruled federally, if not outright removed by the Supreme Court, which has been rigged to be as anti-citizen as possible. Even if we were to luck out with all or even most of that, our current process just takes way too effing long. People shouldn't have to die for 10+ years before change can be enacted.

In 2010, the Canadian government made it illegal for any groups, larger than five, to congregate in public places wearing masks, after a bunch of masked teens destroyed some shops downtown in protest of the G10 summit. This law was immediate and rushed into law within 48hrs of the event taking place so don't tell me it's going to take ten fucking years to make these laws happen.

We need the American government to do the same but with insurance companies. I know that's a hell of a pipe dream given the dictator the royal you elected, dumbass, but maybe if they fear swinging in the breeze from a high tree, they'll do the smart thing and give into people's demands. (I doubt it, but you can't deny they're at least motivated to listen now.)

Always remember, we women had to kill to get the vote.

Oh I don't think it's because of your political stances, dear. Your behavior led me to that assumption.

What in the red-headed feminist???? Bitch, I'm leftist. I'm assuming this is your attempt to derail the conversation because I did not mention him or anything other than the current hot button topic that's got you all frazzled for some reason. (Afraid of ending up in the crosshairs someday? I'm queer, I live under its gaze. Did you just notice it?)

This might surprise you, but I think Zimmerman should be taken out back for what he did to Trevor. He shouldn't have gotten away with it and he totally abused his white-passing privilege to get away with it. (Annoying & disheartening how the internet's forgotten about him; man should be dogged for the rest of his days, but I digress.)

Despite what you think of me, I'm not a violent sociopath. I actually look for the peaceful solution 99% of the time. The 1% where I don't is reserved for evil, disgusting people who actively hurt others, like the CEO.

No, I don't want all CEO's dead and him just being a CEO isn't the problem; it's what he did and didn't do as CEO that got him in the literal crosshairs. Again, he was no wee-babe, but a cowardly bastard, arbitrarily killing people so he could pad his own pockets as well as the shareholders. He made $10,000,000 a year and did dick all with it so it's not even like he tried to atone.

You know what sensible people call those? Murderers. Why does this need to be explained to you? Everyone considers insurance companies and the people who run them as evil thieves, parasites and legalized killers, but it was accepted as a "necessary evil." It never should've become that normalized; you should not be on his side in this (and despite your other posts, you most definitely are.) You've also failed to realize...

HE THOUGHT MURDER WAS OKAY

And what's frightening is that you seem to think it's fine for him to think/do so.

No, as an insurer, he has a duty to pay out to people who pay in; not leave it up to a broken AI he didn't feel the need to take any accountability for. He actively pushed a faulty, defective product and did nothing to correct all of it's wrongful rejections. He failed as a CEO, as the head/face of the company and actively murdered people. To kill for your own needs/profit is inherently selfish and unjustifiable, but he's allowed to get away with it because…?

Are you some rich white girl or did you really hit the curb when your mother dropped you?

If it isn't, then where the hell are you getting this from? The only one who sounds hateful/frothing right now is you and you're clearly allowing previous biases to cloud your judgement.

For the record, I am NOT:

Pro-guns

Pro-gun violence

Pro-murdering of anyone/everyone

Right leaning (like, at all)

Straight

I am 100% in favor of:

Abortion & abortion rights

Proper sex education & preventatives

Gun control & sanity checks for gun ownership

Protecting yourself/your home from an attacker

Physically defending yourself if touched without consent (in any context)

Attacking an abuser or assailant that's blocking you from leaving a bad situation

Pro defense & murder when it comes to the "your body, my choice" crowd and for men who've killed in the dozens to thousands...

...which this CEO has.

Understand, my position isn't ill-thought out nor haphazard like you're wanting it to be. The right to kill should only be reserved for the most extreme/dire of circumstances, (like killing thousands.) Zimmerman was a coward who started shit and, unjustly, got to end it. What he did wasn't self-defense and IDK how his testimony to starting the conflict didn't void that entirely.

No one's life is worth a fucking chocolate bar.

But he was a small man with small goals. A problem, yes, but we're talking about a murderous CEO who sat in a chair and reaped profit from the dead. He's a mass murderer that's tricked society into thinking it's legal/just because of his title. It isn't. It's murder, 100% and we need to do something about it. Also, just because something's legal, doesn't mean it's just. A lot of laws need to change sooner rather than later but it's looking like the system you're so very dependent on is collapsing. Have fun with that. 😃

Yeah because you totally haven't been unblocking and re-blocking me to try and "win" this thing. I doubt the follow was accidental since you were still following by the time of my latest response.

What block circumvention? You're in my notifs:

Maybe stop unblocking me and it'll stick? Also, making posts about you in my own blog isn't considered block evasion if I can see and click on the notifications. Again, if you want this to stop, either have an actual discussion or keep me blocked. Any response from you will be seen and responded to.

Promise? Also, stop projecting. You're the one who actually needs to prove they're doing more than just trolling.

[notafunkiller]

im going to uni next week and im gonna miss the drama.

man i cant believe that people drag u into this, that person clearly couldnt differentiate ‘opinion’, also u were talking abt the sexualisation (ffs someone else did it too b4 subtract the aw part BCS SOME OF U R DESPERATE?!! ITS THERE! I GET IT BUT TONE DOWN UR HORNINESS) and then they goes and ss abt smth different that isnt related to prove a point that what? that u r actually the one who is delulu? a hater? problematic? pish-posh

but saying aw should kill some of ‘them’ is not? is that an act of courageous?u don spout shits like that. idfc joke or not, killing is NOT a topic for ‘joke’ and also idfc if that person ‘deserves’ to be killed bcs peoples life is not in our hands. its not ours to take. u r encouraging killing. simply dont like/ hate, solution >> kill. absolutely nope . immoral. i get the urge to defend ur celebrity but there r other ways to handle it. also do not justify ur mistake

and brother this is no cult, its called a group bcs isnt that what happens now with seb stan fandom? couple group, pr group, hate group, delulu group, only seb group. its a broken fandom.

also wanna know something shocking? YOU are the one whos getting worked up over this. plot twist right? u know theres a button called report or block right? u can do that, or u can just idk simply comment but then u have to come here to this page, missing the ACTUAL point of the message, take unrelated stuffs and making a scene out of it. OFC SHE IS DISSAPPOINTED, SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT A BUT THEN U GO AND TALK ABT B AND C

you dismissed her opinion, twisting it around and when she express her feelings, u make it sound like she is the one who is problematic whilst u r problematic as well. u all r pussies for opinion apparently. sorry.

everyone has opinion AND ITS FINE (as long as u respect others as well) - u dont have to make an argument abt it (but be aware to use ur words carefully bcs as much as u don agree w it some people are really sensitive bcs they WANT U TO FOLLOW THEIR FUCKING OPINION) , read the fucking post before u take action, think before u type/post, do not doxx people posts (i swear to god do not fucking spread misinformation), ur feelings/opinion are valid its just the matter of how u express them.

notafunkillah, dragostea mea, i hope u r ok (u see that romanian i tried, idk if its even correct but i tried)

Firstly, good luck at UNI! You'll need patience, rest and full attention. You can do thissss!

Secondly, it's so weird that people do not read in context and think quoting someone indirectly and misunderstanding maybe on purpose = showing maturity and support.

Everyone here is free to share their opinions as long as they are respectful. That's the beauty... being different but being able to have a normal conversation.

Sexualizing someoen, talking about such personal topics (as kids or marriage) in a sexual way is not fun (especially bc most of the tines it's not a joke). I won't even talk about how you can talk about death like thay and then call it slang.

Thridly, thank you! It was right, you made me smile 🤎

dragostea mea or iubirea mea means my love

Hugs to you and I hope you'll have the greatest day/evening/night💙💙💙

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.��

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

[fixfoxnox]

I saw a dead Roach the other day and it rattled me so bad. I'm still not okay. So I thought you were the best person for this question: wanna make a list of fics where Roach dies or is already dead? Not calling anyone out, you all write what boats your float. I just wanna avoid the dead Roach fics, personally (not any of your usual anons, just too nervous to send this ask) (also ignore if it brings too much anguish, I know bringing up dead Roach to you is not the best decision ever lmao)

I love that when you guys are like "hmm, who do I know who hates dead Roach" I'm always the one you think of akndjcjdjjf it means that all of my yelling has reached you all

I'm very sorry to hear that you ran into dead Roach, I've been very sad to see that, despite the Fandom dying out a bit, the trope has still managed to hang on tight. Its so fucking frustrating and I'm so tired of seeing these people in the fucking wrong tags because they refuse to tag their shit correctly. Like I don't think it would be a big deal if they would fucking not tag it with a relationship or character who isn't in the fucking fic. AGGGGSGGD I'M ANGRY AGAIN

Okay, as for you ask about making a list like that. There are a few things I think should be noted. The first is that a list like that would be incredibly long. Unfortunately the trope is a rather popular one and we'd have to put like half of the ghostroach tag on it.

Another thing, I know that the intention with the list wouldn't be to shame or hate on anyone, however I do think that whether that's the intention or not, it would end up happening. It would be unfair to the fic authors to put their fic on this via list of "fics to avoid" and make it public for people to see. While I do think a lot of the authors tag their stuff poorly and as such end up making it almost impossible to fully filter their work on Ao3, I don't think that putting all of the fics on a list would be the solution and I do, unfortunately, think that it would come across as rather hateful, rather than the a tool for a peaceful interaction with the Fandom that a lot of people on our side of things would see it as.

So that all being said, I'm not particularly comfortable making a list like that and posting it. However, if someone does want to make a list like that and send it in my discord or something similar for people to have privately, I would be more than willing to allow that and I would even pin it so that it could easily be found by everyone.

Hopefully we can stop seeing dead Roach content. I'm going to be real with you guys when I say I have blocked so many people just for creating dead Roach content. I do not care, I do not want to see it so I simply will hit the block button. Its better for everyone.

THAT BEING SAID FUCK THAT TROPE I HOPE IT DIES IN A HOLE AND I HOPE ROACH COMES BACK AND KISSES BOTH GHOST AND SOAP WITH TONGUE AND KILLS SHEPHERD SO I CAN THEN GATEKEEP HIM AND FULLY SLANDER THE DEAD ROACH TROPE

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Hi! How are you doing? ^^ ☆

Just wanted to know if you could make a headcanon about how would it be like after an argument with Armin? Please

Tysm for reading me, I love your work ♡♡♡

You're so sweet and nice ♡ of course I'd love to do one and tbh we must be on the same wavelength because i was just thinking about that yesterday!!!

I really liked your idea so imma do both a scenario and a headcanon! Hope you don't mind?

After an argument with Armin

{ Armin x reader | tw: hurt/comfort, self-image issues | angst with happy ending | modern }

{ "Moonlit View" byOscar Kleineh 1846 - 1919 }

Being with Armin had its many, many perks, one being that he's really empathetic and understanding, he doesn't assume things without evidence and knows misunderstandings happen.

When facing problems or disagreements, he thinks of a solution, not argue. He rather you work together against the problem than against each other.

Whenever you were in a bad mood he'd assume the best and think of what might have caused it instead of taking it personally, he knows you still love him, he knows you're just stressed. Maybe comfort could help? Maybe a lovely cuddly evening? Or maybe you need some space?

He's just really good at reading people's emotions and handling these situations, thanks to his efforts you both successfully managed to avoid any kind of arguments or fights most couples go through.

Which is why it was a shocking surprise to everyone when Eren got a call from Armin late at night, asking if he can stay over because you two just had, what he described as, the biggest fight.

Eren almost didn't believe him at first, he thought Armin was playing a prank on him. But then he heard the quivering in his voice and the hiccup that followed. Armin was crying, things were serious.

The last thing he said to you while putting his coat on was "I'm sorry, I'm weak, you and I know that."

Him saying that, in that tone, with those tearful eyes, made you want to get up and yell at him that no he isn't. He shouldn't just say that about himself like it's a fact and not just the results of years of self-doubt.

You wanted to hug him, to pull him closer till all those awful thoughts leave his head, till he sees at himself like how you see him, incredibly brave and determined.

But you didn't, you stayed there on the couch as he put his shoes on. His eyes pleading for you to say something, anything. To tell him to stay, to come sit near you. He even looked at you one last time before opening the door.

As you stared at him in silence, the realisation that you don't even remember what you were fighting about hit you, you can't, how could you? The minute the door closed behind him is when you realised how real the situation is.

How quiet the house is.

Has it always been this cold?

And just how much worried you are about him.

It hasn't been a full minute and you're missing him already.

—

It's 4am

It's hours since he left, how much exactly? You can't even remember.

Still haven't moved from the couch, you're not sure what you're feeling, you've been going through different emotions each hour.

Guilt, sadness, regret, anger, denial, pessimism, you name it.

It doesn't matter, none of that really matters to you right now. It's Armin who you've been worried about for a while that matter.

You know for a fact Eren and Mikasa aren't the most emotionally open people, you know Armin is already struggling with letting out his emotions without feeling needless guilt or shame.

You know he needs someone right now, he needs a shoulder to cry on and a reassuring voice. You've been both these things for him since even before you got together.

Just like he has been these things for you too. You need that someone just as much now. You didn't even know it's possible to feel this lonely.

Is he also thinking about you? Is he sleeping soundly on Eren’s couch? Or is that one stain from last week's party bothering him?

...is he just as miserable as you are right now? Probably not, you think. He's far stronger than he gives himself credit for, you know that better than everyone else.

Your thought process gets interrupted by a buzz from your phone, a text. Your eyes light up, you pull the blanket you dragged from the bed tighter around you, it's Armin.

[ hey ] it said, [is it okay if i call you?]

You reply back, he starts typing again, you stare at those three dots like your life depends on them.

[Okay, give me a minute please ]

You pull the phone closer to you, it's brightness contratsing against the dark living room. Some minutes pass...nothing, you feel your heartbeat rising. Phone still clutched in your hands.

It rings, it doesn't get past the second ring before you've pressed the accept button. You can hear the wind on the other side, alongside the distant sound of passing cars. Your heart only slows down after hearing the fimilar and oh so lovely sound of soft breathing

Suddenly the world doesnt seem so dim anymore.

"Sorry, it took more time than i thought, Eren keeps his keys in really weird places...I hope i didn't make you worry"

Oh If only he knew..

Dozens of possible replies run through your mind.

I missed you, did you miss me too?

Please come back, I hate feeling this lonely.

How does it feel to take my heart and run away?

Was your voice always this captivating or am i just high on sleep-deprevation?

I miss your kisses, i wish i could feel your lips against mine. Could you kiss me through the phone?

...in the end, you settle for "It's okay" you say, "It's alright."

"That's good...hey listen." You listen, "I'm not going to skirt around the subject, i called because" he takes a deep breath, "i want to apologise for how i acted, for what i said, both to you and myself."

Hearing him admit to his faults and own up to his mistakes, fills you with courage to do the same. You apologise, you mention how you've been thinking about him, you leave out the embarrassing parts.

You tell him you love him, and miss him.

You're met with silence. So you call out his name.

"Wait..you're not mad at me?" He says.

What? Mad? You?

"No." You say. "Why would you think that?"

You hear a chuckle that evolves into a laugh, it's contagious.

"Fuck...oh god I'm...im so stupid, i left because I thought you were mad and didn't bother you more by making you look at me." Even he seems to realise just how ridiculous that concept is.

It's 5am now, you're both laughing over the phone. The world is good again.

You ask if he's mad at you.

He instantly replies with a no.

"I could never be mad at you..." he says, "I love you so much it hurts. I love you like I've never loved anyone else before that it terrfies me, I'm scared one day I'll wake up and you won't be beside me anymore, you've made me love myself in ways i never though i would, you made me believe in myself because you believed in me."

{ Headcanons }

After an argument, Armin tries giving both of you space to calm down.

It doesn't last long because he will approach you after and talk about his emotions and explains why he did the things he did. He will also apologise for the things he did wrong like yelling or saying something hurtful.

If you give him the okay, he will instantly hug you. Physical touch is a great comfort for him so don't expect him letting you go anytime soon.

He will hold your face gently, tell you how much he missed you despite it being only hours.

Doesn't even care about the argument anymore or attempt to bring it up, he just wants to make up asap.

You're both gonna have a heartfelt conversation and actually process your emotions together. As a result you two come out stronger and closer after each argument.

He doesn't hold grudges, so he won't ever act passive aggressive after an argument. if he's got a problem he will tell you.

Just 100% honestly and transparency with this golden boy.

Will want to spend more time together post argument, he will really love it if you watch something together or you let him read you something.

Give him love and affaction, he loves you deeply it's actually rare these days.

When you go to sleep on those nights, he will hold you tighter and stroke your back.

He doesn't hold grudges yet he still remembers each fight you had and instead of it being a sour memory, he thinks of it as a learning block. Just a step towards understanding each other more.

Pamper him more after an argument and he will feel so loved, hearts in his eyes as you brush his morning hair.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?  

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities.  And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,”  He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.” 

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon​ @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione​ @mariaenchanted​ @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part seven Word count: 3100± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father,   Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The  brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington  State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her  demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final  hunt. Part seven summary: Zoë and Dean try to form a plan of action, now that they are stuck in a cabin with hellhounds surrounding them. One wrong move can mean their end. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!   Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture  and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     “Can I ask you somethin’?”

     Zoë looks up, but can’t see the hunter who prolonged her life from where she’s sitting. She hasn’t moved much, still facing the fire that is raging now, filling the cabin with a comfortable heat. The tremors have stopped, her respiration much calmer now. Her body seems to have recovered from the initial shock of the traumatic attack. With the adrenaline gone, her leg hurts badly, though, the pain having her grit her teeth. She tries her best to block out the loud noises of pots and plates being moved in the cupboards of the small kitchen, increasing both her headache and frustration.      “Shoot,” she replies, her voice much weaker than she would like it to come out of her mouth.      “If you were so dead set on dying,” Dean says while pulling out a drawer, “then why did you stock up enough food and water to survive a fucking apocalypse?”      The huntress scoffs. “Hoping for a miracle, I guess.”      “Does this mean I’m your miracle?”       Dean moves into her peripheral vision with a can of tomato soup, a pot, some cutlery, and a can-opener in hand, setting the items down on the ground next to her for later. He has a boyish smirk on his face, apparently amused with his own remark.      Zoë rolls her eyes. She’s been stuck in this little house on a hillside for a little over an hour now, and this manchild is already getting on her nerves.

     “Let’s see if I can work miracles and get some help, because I have a feeling we’re gonna need it,” Dean slides his hand into the pocket of his leather coat, taking out his phone.      Zoë watches him, noticing a hint of hesitation. “Who you gonna call?” she wonders.      “The nerd.”      “He’s downhill?” she presumes.

     Dean drags his teeth over his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at his Motorola as he looks up Sam’s number. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he doesn’t press it. Judging from the pause, Zoë is able to connect the dots; she knows something happened between the brothers.

     “You two got into a fight, didn’t you?” she assumes, not beating around the bush.      He glances over his phone to meet her gaze, then confirms with a nod. She can distinguish the concern and guilt in his stance; it’s bothering him.      “That bad, huh?” Zoë huffs. “Where is he then?”      “He was heading to Nashville,” Dean tells her.      “Tennessee?” she checks, stunned. “That’s a long way from Waco. Why the hell is he there?”      “It was the weirdest thing,” the older Winchester recalls, still unable to wrap his head around the strange lead that ultimately led them to have the biggest fight since Sam went to Stanford. “Someone called him, didn’t identify herself, and claimed that she knew where Dad was.”

     Zoë frowns, her interest peaked. For one, she is very curious about how this Mystery Lady would have gotten her hands on that kind of information, since John has basically been as invisible as a ghost. She knows, because she has been trying to track him down as well, but of course, that is a detail the huntress is going to keep to herself.

     “How did she get Sam’s number?” she questions, instead.      Dean shrugs. “Beats me, but when it comes to finding Dad, Sam can be quite--”      “- obsessive? Yeah, I've noticed,” Zoë chuckles, remembering the long conversations she had with Sam and the arguments the boys had in her presence.

     The guy who usually is so quick to respond to such a comment, seems distracted now, staring down at his Motorola. “Fuck.”      “No signal?” she presumes.      “Nada,” Dean sighs, thinking of another solution. “We need to reach him, especially if David sends out an S.O.S. signal. Sam needs to realize what he’s dealing with before he charges up here.”

     Realizing the Winchester in her company is right, she ponders. If the younger brother goes into this case without knowing that the hellhounds are off their leash and will attack anyone they come across, he is going to get torn to pieces. Dean and David are lucky, if there even is such a thing. The hunter is as stuck as she is, and the hellhounds might have caught up with the only Cleveland survivor; the kid could be dead for all she knows. 

     She adjusts her leg a little, carefully testing its mobility. The swelling is starting to pull at her skin, so she props her foot up again on the plastic first aid briefcase, watching Dean in the meantime. He has crouched down by the backpack he was carrying and mutters a few curse words under his breath while rummaging through it.

     “What are you looking for?” Zoë wonders.      “The kid packed a satellite phone,” he says, giving up his search, recalling that the zipper of the backpack wasn’t entirely closed when he took it off earlier. “Shit, I must have dropped it outside.”

     Annoyed with the rookie mistake, Dean gets up and walks over to one of the windows. There he listens carefully, but he can’t detect any sign of the hounds. No growl, no nothing; it’s almost too quiet. Ready to pick up any sign of movement, the hunter scans the area outside, but there’s nothing living nor dead to be seen. Then he spots the black device in the snow, just a yard away from the cabin.      “I see it.”

     “So what? It’s not like you can go out there.” Zoë pushes herself up on the edge of the table, careful not to put any pressure on her injured leg. Leaning against the pillar, she follows Dean’s fixed gaze. Without hesitation, the either fearless or oblivious  hunter intends to go out, his hand already reaching for the iron latch.      “Dean! Are you fucking nuts?!” Zoë calls out, dazed. “And you call me suicidal?”      “We need that phone, Zo,” he reminds her, his hand still on the handle.      “Do you have altitude sickness or something?!” The wounded huntress steps forward, her leg almost buckling, but Dean’s fast reflexes prevent her from hitting the floor.      “What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be standing up,” he scolds, steadying her.      “What am I doing?! If you go out there, those motherfuckers will rip you to shreds!” she argues, smacking his hand away.      “Yeah, and if we don’t contact Sam, he will!” he reminds her as he hands the shotgun to his current hunting partner, his green eyes intense. “I haven’t seen them yet. If they are still focused on you, they might not attack me.”      She meets him with the same fire in her eyes, keeping a tight grip on his biceps before he does something stupid. “And what if they do?”      “You’ll back me up,” he says, trusting her. “Okay?”

     Zoë stares at him for a couple of seconds, but then sighs, realizing that he makes a good point. If they are not able to reach his brother before he gets here, he will sign his death warrant the second he sets foot on the mountain. Reluctantly, she lets go of his arm and takes the gun, holding the action release button before she pumps the slide to force the shells into the chambers. “Okay.”

     He nods and turns away from her, glancing at the black and white world outside. Nervously, he takes a breath, collecting himself before he steps into the wolves den; here goes nothing. 

     The latch unlocks and the door opens. Careful not to break the line of goofer dust, Dean steps onto the porch and looks back for a second, sharing one last look with the huntress, then descends down the stairs. 

     It’s eerie how quiet the forest is. At midnight, the trees stopped whispering in the wind and even now he could still hear a penny drop. Even through his boots, the snow feels cold as he walks on it, highly aware of the crunching sound with every footprint the hunter leaves. Dean isn’t anxious often. But right now, being as exposed as he is, it ambushes him. Alert, he bridges the few yards between himself and the phone, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He ducks to pick it up, when he hears it; a deep, low growl.

     “Oh, fuck,” Zoë whimpers, staring past the hunter wide-eyes. 

     Slowly, Dean looks up into a pair of red eyes which light up in the darkness of the woods. It approaches him like a predator sneaking up on his prey, its head hanging low between its shoulders, every motion calculated. While Dean stares straight into the hypnotizing fiery orbs that seem to be portals to the afterworld downstairs, the wind picks up and begins to circle around the cabin. Zoë is shocked when she notices that the goofer dust at her feet is blown off the threshold; there goes their last line of defense. A shiver of both fear and the cold has her trembling as she holds up the shotgun, peering over the double barrel. The beast in the shadow inches closer to Dean, until the moonlight falls on the creature, revealing its true form.

     “Hey - uh, Zo?” Dean asks without moving a muscle. “These hellhounds, do they look like bear-sized monster mutts with hellfire burning in their eyes?”      Zoë inhales sharply, lifting her cheek from the stock of her weapon. Shit. He can see it. He can see the fucking hellhound. Realizing that Dean is a split second away from being torn apart, she swallows apprehensively, steadying her rifle in order to fire. 

     The hunter’s hand hovers over the essential device in the snow as he tries to form a plan of action, but he’s captivated by the bone-chilling creature before him. He has never seen anything animal-like so evil as what is standing before the hunter. It’s an absolute monster, about the size of an Irish wolfhound. It looks like one too, but its dark fur is anything but soft and cuddly. The hair on the back of the creature stands straight up, like splinters of obsidian. The beast growls, fixed on its target, showing its razor-sharp teeth, blood dripping from its mouth. 

     Dean stares back, contemplating his next move. Frozen to the ground, he holds his breath, aware that any sudden movement will trigger Hell’s watchdog to charge him. The hunter sets his jaw, never breaking away from the definition of Death before him, until movement in the black shades surrounding him draws his attention. A second pair of eyes appears, then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds he can count a total of six hounds.

He exhales with a shudder. I am so fucked.

     Who is going to make the first move? Dean knows it has to be him, because if he gives the evil creatures only a fraction of a head’s start, he’s going to end up with a lot of stitches, and that’s only if he’s lucky. Bracing himself and gathering his courage, Dean  takes a breath and counts down. 3… 2… 1… 

     Lightning fast, he snatches the phone from the snow and dashes back for the cabin. As fast as his legs can take him, he sprints to safety, but he can hear the beast that was closest to him lunge itself at its victim.

     “Get down!!!”      It’s Zoë’s high-pitched voice that cuts through the night air. He takes her cue and dives for the ground, rolling on his side. A mistake, because the vision of the hellhound coming towards him with tremendous speed is one that will surely leave him with a nightmare or two if he survives this. 

     Right before the supernatural being is about to release its fury, the creature is shot out of the air and squeals like a pup. Knowing he can’t afford to lose a second, Dean gets on his feet and rushes towards the porch. He registers the comforting sound of a shotgun reloading before another loud bang echoes through the valley. Almost there, Dean.

     But instead of just one hellhound, a whole bunch of them arise from the shadows now. Zoë’s eyes widen; there’s no way she can handle them all. She lowers her rifle and backs out. She doesn’t have a choice, there is no other way. What she’s about to do isn’t like anything she tried before, but it’s their only shot of staying alive. 

     As Dean stumbles in, the shotgun clatters against the floor. He turns around to close the only barrier between them, horrified when he witnesses the first two creatures already within inches of the threshold; they’re not going to keep them out of the cabin. But before the hunter can blink, the door slams closed with unmeasurable speed and power without anyone touching it, cutting off the creatures outside. Barking like mad, they march against the wood like a battering ram, clawing to get inside. 

     Unable to process the unexpected scene that plays out in front of him, Dean snaps his head towards his hunting partner, watching in shock how the woman has her right hand heaved up in front of her, fingers spread out and shaking. Her eyes are firmly closed, respiration fast and frantic. Holy fucking shit, this is her doing, Dean realizes. Whatever energy she’s sending towards the door, works because the dogs can’t get through. 

     “Dean, the goofer dust!” she exclaims over the sound of barking and growling, needing every ounce of her power to keep the barrier closed.      Zoë’s order brings him back, time speeding up again. He grabs the bag and quickly lays out a line on the doorstep. As soon as he has connected one side of the doorframe with the other, the pressure on the door drops as if someone flipped a switch. Out of breath, Zoë lowers her hand and opens her eyes as an almost unbearable headache comes to the huntress. Trying to cast it out, she pinches the bridge of her nose while fresh blood drips down from her nostrils. For a moment, she feels like she is going to pass out, but then the pain begins to fade to a level she can cope with. Whoa, that was intense. 

     She didn’t think she could do it, but she did. Making a whiskey bottle fall off a shelf in Beetle’s Bar is one thing, talking to Sam only using her mind is another, but this was a whole new experience. Of course, she has practiced her telekinesis, but never before has she used it on a supernatural creature. She’s getting better, or worse - depending on how she looks at it. 

     Dean, who can’t believe what he just saw, stares at her, his jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. When Zoë glances aside, he knows she can see the indignation in his glare, detest even. He always assumed there was more to the huntress they crossed paths with only recently, but never once did he expect this. Who - or what - is standing before him, is anything but human.

     “Christo!” he shouts.      “I’m not a demon,” she assures.      “Then what the hell are you?” he asks, his upper lip twitching with a hint of hatred.       What. He asked her what she is. Not who, but what. Zoë swallows with difficulty as she collects the courage to speak again, hurt by his choice of words.      “I’m human,” she tries to assure him, her voice breaking. “Dean, it’s me.”

     She steps closer, but Dean quickly draws his Colt M1911 from behind his waistband. Alarmed and cautious, she moves both her hands up as a gesture of surrender. “Easy, tiger.”      “Leave her the fuck alone,” Dean sneers, convinced a demon is possessing his hunting partner.      “Would you drop it already?! You just yelled ‘Christo’ at me. Here, I can say it myself! Now if I was a demon, that would be a fucking awesome trick, wouldn’t it?” she fires back.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, starting to doubt himself, yet unable to take his finger off the trigger.

     “It’s all mighty fine that I’m staring down the barrel, but a bullet won’t kill a demon. It will kill me, though,” she brings to mind, pointing at her chest.      “A human is not supposed to be able to do that kind of freaky shit!” Dean exclaims firmly, still aiming the .45 caliber at her.      “Neither is Sam, but I don’t see you pointing a gun at him!” she returns.

     He swallows apprehensively, brought out of balance by her rapid reply. He hates to admit it, but it’s a valid comparison, one that scares him. Because if he’s able to keep Zoë at gunpoint, what does that say about how abnormal his brother’s abilities are?      “Do you want to soak me in holy water if that makes you feel better? Fine, be my guest,” Zoë offers, waving her hands to the side.

     But Dean already lowers his Colt M1911 and flips the safety on, the engravings in the metal catching the light from the fire as he tucks it behind his waistband again. The hunter looks away, aghast, the mixture of doubt and distress that he’s experiencing throwing him off. Unsettled, he peers outside, but the hellhounds have disappeared. He thought he understood Zoë’s fear for these things, but now that he actually can see them, he’s experiencing that same anxiety. His heart is racing so severely he can feel it beating in his chest, and his breathing does not seem to slow down either. Almost dying is something he has gotten used to over the years, but almost going to Hell is a new one.

     “You okay?” Zoë checks, noticing his weariness.      “Yeah, I’m okay,” he claims, annoyed by the fact that he isn’t.      He starts pacing through the cabin slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the door. But it’s not just the creatures he keeps an eye on, he can’t help but monitor Zoë too. He huffs almost unnoticeable. You fucking idiot, you thought you had her figured. There’s a whole lot more to Zoë Sullivan than she shows, that’s for sure.

     “It’s a good thing we’ll be stuck up here for a while, because it’s about damn time you start talking,” he makes clear, done playing catch-up.      The woman across from him wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand before she suggests otherwise. “We better make that call first.”

     Dean knows she’s avoiding the subject, but she has a point; he needs to reach out to his brother. He picks up the satellite phone and inserts the country code and Sam’s cell number, but before he presses the green button, he hesitates. He knows Sam. He knows his stubborn pain in the ass little brother; there is no way he is gonna talk to him after their fight. As soon as he will hear Dean’s voice, he will hang up, yet the one person he has been wanting to talk for days, is sitting right across from him.      He hands Zoë the phone. “You call him.”

Thank  you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if  you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work  or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part eight here

[whumpbby]

whumpbby 😭 commiserate with meeee. Idk if you've seen this post that's kind of blowing up about how fandoms are racist in general because they always focus on white characters and ships over the POC ones and to be real, it's not that I disagree. I do agree, very much so, though I think the issue is way more nuanced. But I figure hey it's still a relevant post and I go to reblog and then I realise it's written by a goddamn anti 😭😭😭 now I have hIVES gdi the op is in the notes screeching at people for being kylo ren fans and telling them to die and I'm just So Over This, we can't have anything nice

The worst part is that this post got onto my dash from the blog writingwithcolour who gives really good and multi-cultural advice on writing POC and while I see why they'd reblog it, my automatic EWW UGH reaction to finding an anti's post unfiltered on my dash is now putting serious sus on that blog :((( I'm just here to whine at you dats all but yeah antis are ruining so many good things about Fandom I can't even feel good about a relevant post anymore

*commiserating*

I feel ya, the fandom that is supposed to be the place of fun and unwinding being overridden with self-congratulory bullshit is a pet peeve of mine too. 

It is hard to find a balance between ‘ yeah, these issues exist’ and a ‘no, I am not here for that’ and not end up on this or that pitchfork, because we seem to be living in the time and social sphere where daring not to be concerned about the current issue of the week for even one second of the day marks one as a degenerate/racist/sexist/take your pick. It’s the wart marking the witch. And you are expected to prove your creed constantly, to preform to someone’s satisfaction until they deem to absolve you. 

If she floats, she’s a witch. If she drowns, she’s not, but well, the point is moot.  

It’s tiring, god, it’s exhausting - when already so many things are exhausting in the real life we have outside of these fandom spaces. And it gets doubly exhausting once you realise that - it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. No graph showing how many poc characters are NOT being shipped, no list of authors who ship ‘problematic’ ships, not one anon message trying to shame someone into not doing something - NONE OF IT MATTERS. 

NONE. Not one grain of good has come out of it. 

People see a problem and get invested and sometimes the problem is real and needs solution - and very often we are so small and have no resources and we can’t help in any realistic way. So, brain comes up with ways of helping us feel less shitty about out own helplessness and we invest ourselves so deeply into them, because what else can we do? That post, that blog, that call to arms, that callout, that anon message - we are doping something! We are helping! 

We are doing something, right? Right??? 

It’s so hard to admit that not one child was saved by the witch hunt on Ao3, not one minor was saved form grooming by attacking fanfic writers on whatever platform, not one person was saved form abuse by attacking trans people, not one person was helped by the war on the “Q-word”, not one goddamn soul was helped by the anti-bullshit. All it results in is misery and pain and harassment, but hey, at least someone is reacting! - and, hey, these are ‘effects’, right? And we’re after ‘effects’ because at least we are doing something if it has effects, right??  

These movements, these tactics, these people - they are nothing else than kids stomping their feet in their respective kiddy pools and thinking the waves they create change the currents of the real ocean. They imagine they are stopping a tsunami hitting some foreign land when all they do is splash on the people who just want to wet their feet in the same pool. 

Listen. A story. 

In my town there's this guy who will randomly appear in the market square and shout about God and Salvation and how everyone sucks. This recent Christmas he positioned himself right opposite of the charity orchestra and was a nuisance to anyone who wanted to stop for a moment and listen to them playing Christmas carols - to have in this depressing and cold, and busy end of a crap year we have all survived, a moment of respite, of Christmas cheer, a crumb of relief. Usually the orchestra is surrounded by people and kids throwing coins into their box, by folk recording on their phones, etc. No, this this year no one could enjoy a moment of peace, because a nutcase behind tried to overshout the orchestra, so people kept walking, intimidated and annoyed. 

Out of frustration and, I admit, curiosity, I walked up to him and asked why won’t he move over to let the orchestra play - what I got was more shouting. Because listening to Christmas carols was hypocritical without the sprinkling of despair over the state of humanity and Our Sins. 

He wouldn’t engage, he wouldn't speak to me like a person - I was standing two feet form the guy and he was yelling at the top of his lungs so everyone heard him. I was raised Catholic in one of the most Catholic damn countries in Europe, I know what God is about. But, you see, it didn’t matter to the guy, what mattered was that he needed to be heard yelling. This was his attempt at converting people - by yelling in their faces. He was doing something and feeling better for it! 

This  guy was the anti-movement in a real, compact, one-dude pill. Any anti-movement you can think of that picks a flag and then starts to screech in its shadow, because it makes them feel better about themselves. 

As for Kylo...

The hilarious hate towards Kylo fucking Ren of all people? Towards people who ship him? All that misplaced anger at the crappy treatment of the poc actors by Disney and predominantly male ‘fans’ of Star Wars?? Let that sink in - white dudes with money made decisions, white dudes on the internet ganged up on an actress - but nah, dude, the women who write fanfic are the culprit!  We can’t gang up on Disney and we are too afraid of the dudes on Reddit and 4chan, but these girls writing Reylo porn are there and accessible and not scary and not male! We can take them on!  

How is it not hilarious? How?? This level of misdirection and confusion, being so intimidated by the insurmountable task of being angry at a corporation that makes their merch (that they are still buying, because hey, a fan is a fan, who doesn’t want a baby Yoda t-shirt?) that all they can do is to spin around and bite the ankles of the person standing behind them? How is this not hilariously morally bankrupt and so pitifully, tragically human? 

Let the block button become your shield, another good blog will come, don't regret blocking ones you are not sure about. You’re here to relax, you don’t deserve this kind of stress. They will keep screeching, but you keep walking, friend, the orchestra is still there playing your tune, enjoy it. 

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

My Way

Chapter Four

Warnings: kidnapping, substance abuse, psychological abuse, stockholm syndrome, physical abuse, violence

A/N: this chapter is pretty dark. Fair warning

Clara was propped on her elbows, head in hands, feet locked together, as she watched Harry lay out his ‘tools’ on the opposite bed. He had lifted a floorboard in the van, to reveal a box, filled with tons of weapons, some she didn’t even recognize. The tv played commercials in the background, neither of them were paying attention. Harry touched the tools gently, almost affectionately. It was strange to her. He began putting them, one by one into a duffel bag.

He had explained to her that sorting his tools was like pregame for him. Looking at them and thinking about what he'd use them for amped him up. It made her shudder.

“Keep the door locked. Don't answer it for anyone. I'll be back in a few hours,” Clara rolled over onto her back, sighing.She counts the tiles in the ceiling, she hasn’t had her meds in days and she can feel the tide coming in, the anxieties slowly creeping up, ready to drag her down again.  “Clara?” Harry came to her, he leaned over her face “Princess,” he said gently, “what's wrong?” She wrinkled her nose.

“I'm not a princess,” she insisted. Harry chuckled.

“What's on your mind?”

“Its my meds,” she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat, “I've been off my medication for too long…..”

“For anxiety?” She nodded.

“And other things.”

“Are they over the counter or?”

“Doctor scripts.”

“What happens when you go off them?” Clarafurrowed her brow, she doesn't know how to describe it.

“It's not good,” she can see the wheels turning, as Harry tried to find a solution to Clara's current problem.

“I have a suggestion….but before I give it, I want to know what you want me to do.” Clara was taken aback by Harry's sudden thoughtfulness.

“I want you to stay,” she said honestly.

“Clara-” Harry warns.

“Please.”

“You know I can't.”

“Why not.”

“Because.” He was getting irritated. She continued.

“Because why?”

“You know why .” He growled.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I have a job to do.”

“Killing innocent people isn't a job, it's murder.”

“If I killed innocent people I would have killed you in that gas station a week ago.” he hissed standing up. He walked away from her, dragging a hand down his face, the room was silent, his words hanging in the air. “I don't kill good people. My family , doesn't kill good people.” He clarified, “We kill the scum of the earth. The evil fuckers that walk around free. Pedophiles, murderers, rapists, people like that. And you can say I'm a hypocrite, or whatever you want. But this is who I am. It's who I've always been. And I like it.” He glared at her, daring her to say something.

“So you’re like Batman.” she said after a while. He gave her a confused look, she sat up, turning to face him fully. “Like Batman. A Vigilante. You know, someone who takes the law into their own hands, cuz they think the law officials can’t or won’t do it.” Harry chewed on his tongue thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding.

“Batman….I like that. Yeah. We’re like Batman…...So since your idea isn't possible, would you wanna try mine?” she shrugged. “You ever smoke weed before?” he asked her. Clara shook her head. “figured,” he went into the bathroom, Clara heard him rummage around and when he came back out he had a little ceramic bowl in his hand and a lighter. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “If you're okay with this and you want to try it we will. It might help you relax, it works different for everyone. But it’s been known to treat anxiety and depression…..We can’t just go out and get your medicine so, this would be the next best thing."

“I want to.” Clara said in a small voice.

“We’re gonna do something called ‘shotgunning’. That's where I inhale the smoke and then blow it in your mouth, you inhale and hold, then release. Since it's your first time I don't want you to get too fucked up.” he raised the bowl in his hands, she didn’t like the way it smelled. It stunk. “If we do it my way I’ll be able to atleast kind of control the amount you take in. And since you’ve never done it before you won’t need much. Just a little hit to take the edge off and see how you like it. If I just let you straight up hit it you might go too hard and end up sitting in a corner too high to move.” she looked at him in horror. “It’s cool. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to you, like it did to me my first time.” she nodded in understanding. “I’m only offering because I can’t have you running around here having a panic attack and drawing attention. You’re almost home free. Don’t want to ruin that now do we?”

“I guess not.”

“Good. Give me your hand.” Clara held out her hand and Harry took her thumb and first finger making an ‘o’ shape. He intertwined her three other fingers with his own and made the ‘o’ shape with his fingers. “When I start to lean in, you do it too, and I’ll blow the smoke through my hands into your mouth. Inhale as much as you can. Hold it for like, thirty seconds I guess, and then exhale. I’ll go slow.” Clara adjusted herself, sitting up on her knees. Harry brought the lit bowl to his lips and took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Clara. She watched him, fascinated as he made a squeaking, sneezing sort of sound and closed his lips, holding his breath.

He leaned in and she pressed her fingers to her lips.

His breath was cool as it hit her parted lips, she inhaled, eyes beginning to water, and almost choking, it sort of burned. Harry breathed slow and she expanded her stomach until she couldn’t take anymore. She pulled away, releasing their hands and held her breath. Harry stood, going to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water just as she began coughing and sputtering. She felt like her throat was bleeding, it really hurt. Her ears felt like they needed to pop. But as she coughed, she felt the pain beginning to fade, like she was stepping outside of her body, she knew it was happening, but the pain was becoming distant. The waves of anxiety were pulling further and further back. Harry walked back over, handing her the bottle of water. She took it gratefully.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her. Her eyes felt heavier, almost as though she were squinting at him.

“Good. The waves are gone.” Harry looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again before turning to grab his duffel bag.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. You’ll probably be sleeping. I’ll try not to wake you.” Clara waved her hand at him as she fell back against the bed. She felt light, like she was floating. Her legs tangled and her body felt pain free. It was a nice feeling.

Harry shut and locked the door behind him.

And it led him here. To this shitty motel in the middle of Bumfuck,Egypt.. He had watched them for the last day, his damsel and her captor. He looked like a dick. He was the tall, athletic, frat boy type. Definitely a fuck boy. But he was bigger, and Alex was smart, if he couldn’t take him he would wait until he left. And when he saw him climb into that shitty van and drive away, he knew it was his chance.

Alex had been searching for Clara since the news broke she was missing. He was angry. Someone else had gotten her first. And at a fucking gas station! Really?! But that wasn’t going to stop him. He would rescue his damsel and she would be grateful, loving even. Happy to share her life with him. He scoured every news report he could find, made a special website dedicated to finding her and sorted through tip after tip, focusing on only the most logical ones.

He stepped out of the bushes, knife in hand and duplicate keycard in the other. He smirked, thinking of how gullible the front desk clerk had been. She hadn’t even asked for his I.D. Too busy on her phone. You can’t get good service anywhere these days. He stalked up to the door and pressed his ear to it. He couldn’t hear her, but he knew she was in there. The smell of marijuana wafted through the door. He inhaled deeply. God was smiling on him today. That was sure. This would be way too easy.

He looked so different. He was pale, gaunt and had dark circles under his eyes, light stubble on his cheeks. His hair was even more shaggy and unkempt, a wild look in his eye as he held up the knife in his hand. He looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes in days. Alex. Collins. Had found her. She sucked in a sharp breath.

Clara was flushing the toilet when she heard the door open. She rolled her eyes, hiking her pants up and buttoning them, before swinging the door open. “Did you forget…..some….thing….”The words died on her tongue when she saw him.

“It’s all right.” he said, holding up his hands, talking to her in a calm voice, like she was a scared animal. “Everyone’s been looking for you. We’ve all been worried.”

“How did you-”

“Come on Clara, you know me,” he rolled his eyes, stepping closer to her, she took a step back in reflex. “You know I’ll never let you go. You can run, you can hide. You can move three or four fucking states-leave the country even! And I will always find you. I’ll always be here.” he smiled at her, “And you know why?” he tapped the knife against his temple, “cuz I’m in here. I’ll always be in here.”Clara felt a hard surface behind her. Shit. Alex grinned, stepping closer still and placing the knife against the base of her throat. “You’ll never be rid of me.” Something sharp poked Clara in the side, she reached up, trying to hit him, but he blocked her hand with his arm. Her eyes widened as she saw the tip of the needle he’d had hidden in his sleeve. She grabbed at him, her legs suddenly felt like jello, he backed up and she fell forward, onto her knees. “Nighty Night.” the floor came rushing towards her, but darkness met her first.  

Clara was standing at the beginning of a long pier. Ahead of her she someone. A woman, in a black dress, long brown hair flowing behind her. Leah. She began to run. Calling out to her lost lover. The more she ran the further Leah seemed to get-

One. She wasn’t in the motel room anymore.

“Wake up.” Clara groaned, someone was shaking her shoulder, making her brain bounce around inside of her head. It hurt to open her eyes, but when she finally did, and they adjusted she realized two things.

Two. She was chained to a mattress, Her arms hanging from the headboard.

She looked over to see the face of her nightmares. Alex stood over her, he had been the one shaking her, Clara tried to scream, only to feel a gag covering her mouth. Panic began to snake up her body, lighting her on fire with adrenaline. Alex walked around to the front of the bed. Towering over her like the boogeyman.

“Now, I understand if you still don’t trust me….I’ve done some things that….You might not agree with.” Clara snarled, her eyes narrowing. Alex ignored her. “But you’ll see soon enough, that it all came from a place of love. I mean look at you!” he shouted, pointing at her, “I saved you! That man! He would have killed you! Or left you to die! I would never! I found you! I saved you!” He came back around toward her, and sat next to her on the bed. He looked at her with a tenderness that made her want to puke, she was repulsed, disgusted and her heart ached. She couldn’t look at him without thinking about Leah. What he had done to her.

“Now I love you. And I hope you see….I hope you see what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. That you love me too.” he pulled the gag down off of her mouth. Clara sighed in relief, her jaw ached. “Tell me. Tell me you love me.” she hawked a big loogie, and spit it at him.

Rage flickered over his face, it passed quickly, before he stood, scratching the back of his head. “I hate you. Fuck you.” she spat again. He tsked, shaking his head.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this. But I can’t have you trying to run away.” He pulled a thick board from beneath the bed, and something else, that dangled from his arm, just out of Clara’s sight. She glared at him, resilience conquering her fear. “You ever see the movie Misery?” Clara had. She hated it. But she didn’t answer him. “This kind woman saves her favorite author from a snowstorm and he’s ungrateful. So she punishes him. So he’ll see that she loves him. She just wants him to be happy with her and make things right.” They must have seen two very different versions of that movie. “You know what she does when she finds out he snuck out? She hobbled him.” And it was that moment, that Clara realized just what he was intending to do. She squirmed, trying to get away, only then did she realize her feet were chained too. He sets the board between her ankles. “Don’t squirm or I’ll miss and it’ll be worse." Tears streamed down Clara's face, loud, broken sobs escaping her throat. Alex lifted the sledgehammer over his shoulder with both hands.

“Alex! Please!” Clara cried out for mercy. He shook his head, face unchanging.

“You’ll learn to like it here. Or at the very least, you’ll learn to see things my way.”

He brought the hammer down.

Harry felt good. Blood splattered his shirt and his chin, his hands were covered in the dried substance. But he felt relief, a good kill was kinda like sex. It released the tension. He could focus all of his anger. All of his hate. All of his rage. That’s why he was so good at it. He could focus and then disassociate quickly when it was over.

But this time was different. He worried about Clara. He’d called the hotel room a couple times, she didn’t answer, so he figured she fell asleep. But that didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t as late as he’d expected, surely she’d still be up. He shook his head. He didn’t even know why he was worried, what did it matter, tomorrow he’d be leaving her at a bus station with a ticket and going to his own home.

He did feel kind of bad for lying to her. But he didn’t know what else to do. If she knew that the real reason he took her was to use her, in case the cops caught him, she could freak. So he shouldn’t feel bad for wanting self preservation. But he did.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her life. About her anxiety, and how she, like him, had lost someone who meant the world to her. He shook his head, trying to get her out of his mind. She was nineteen and he was twenty five. Not to mention he kidnapped her! There was no way anything could ever come from that. Nothing good anyway. He was the bad guy. The bad guys never get the girl.

He pulled up to the motel room and parked the van, slamming the door as he stepped out of it. But when he saw their room, he dropped his keys and ran inside.

The door was standing open, and when he went in Clara was gone. All of his things were there, everything was in order. She was just….. gone. He cursed and ran a hand through his hair, jogging outside to pick up his keys and come back in. Maybe she took off on her own. He thought. Saves me a trip to the bus station. He tried to feel some sort of relief, but it didn’t come. There was a feeling of dread in the room, and when he almost stepped on the syringe on the floor, he knew. He knew Clara hadn’t gone of her own free will. What the fuck happened? He fell back onto the edge of his bed, holding the syringe in his hands. There was a bit of liquid still inside. He watched it move as he tilted it back and forth in his hand.

Clara learned fast early on. Just submit and she wouldn't be punished.

Six Months Later:

The hobbling wasn’t even the worst of the things Alex had done to her. He completely stripped her of her identity. Bit by bit. To the point that she no longer even spoke. Just limped around with her head down and her mouth shut. The abuse she faced was almost always psychological, only getting physical when she really infuriated him.

If she screamed or fought he drugged her. If she cried out he would hit her harder, if she didn’t do what she was told he’d cuss her up and down until he was blue in the face. Only to turn around and tell her how much he loved her, and how he just wanted her to be happy with him. She tried to be strong, to be brave at first, but he learned of her phobia and her anxieties, and he would often play on those to keep her in a submissive, and docile state of being.

Alex had forced her to watch as slowly, little by little, news coverage and search parties dwindled. He told her her parents thought she was dead, that no one was looking for her, and eventually all the hope left her. She shut off, and became even more of a shell of herself.

The more docile she became, the more freedom she had. She was never allowed outside, but she could peak out the window. She was no longer chained to her bed at night, but he did lock her door. If he needed to leave she could wander about the house, but was locked up if he had guests. This was her life now, and her week as Harry's hostage, faded into obscurity.

Clara. Leah. Harry. Alez. None of that was real anymore. She had completely dissociated from who she had been. She was beyond numb. She had become hollow.

[embersoot]

Beyond the Thunderdrome pt. 1

With the subtlety of a Dwarvish cannon shooting air horns for cannonballs, Cesta kicked in the door, motioning with full arms to the entire tattoo parlor. It was a bonafide shop, furnished with all the things it should: an office, waiting area, a couple extendable chairs, and a wall filled with a gratuitous amount of varying guitars. Although the shop was relatively small compared to the more extravagant buildings owned by the Tradebarons, it was home. And home in Gadgetzan, where fat wallets are aplenty and the streets are filled with almost every known race in Azeroth, felt damn good.

“Can’t you see this is FRICKIN’ AWESOME, Qor-bear?”

The blind demon hunter deadpanned at her sister, folding her arms.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Cesta scratched behind her neck, managing an apologetic smile.

Qorenys’s lips pressed together, unable to hide the fond smile brightening her face. Gadgetzan was a hazardous location, cartels everywhere, and bruisers all too ready to pound anything to a pulp if they caused trouble. But, perhaps, that may be why Cesta chose this location. Calling her younger sister streetwise was an understatement.

“It seems like an interesting location. Though, Cesta, I am concerned about how far away from any other main city will go.”

“Two steps ahead ‘a ya, sis!” She hurried into her new office. Red button under the desk. Red button under the--SELF-DESTRUCT IN FIVE MINUTES--Yellow Button! Definitely the yellow button! Wait... THAT’S THE PARTY BUTTON! Cesta scrambled to pull the override lever as if revving up a chainsaw. Qorenys looked to her sides, her ears ringing as the warbling alarms blared through the shop accompanied by confetti and strobe lights. Finally, after several yanks, the alarm went quiet. SELF DESTRUCT CANCELED. Several awkward moments later, a party horn blared out before the shop went silent.

“Why in all that is green on Azeroth do you have a self-destruct function in what is essentially your new house?”

Cesta held a finger up, looking from side to side and over her shoulder as if checking to see if the coast was clear. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Qory. Gonna tell ya a secret.”

Secret, her ass. After living with Cesta for decades, ‘Secret’ is a code word for ‘dumb shit’ or ‘sarcasm.’ Still, Qorenys leaned forward. Would it be the whoopie cushion, the airhorn, or the old ear-flick?

The younger twin dropped her voice to a whisper, cupping her hand around her mouth. “I have a self-destruct function here in case… I need to blow this shit the fuck up if, I don’t know, someone tries ta extort me or rob the shop."

Yep. That was about as asinine as the older twin expected. She dragged a palm down her face. “What’s wrong with just… a gun? Or better yet, you don’t even need a gun. What’s wrong with just burning them alive with felfire?”

“...It’s not as badass.”

“Watching someone who tried to extort you burn alive writhing on the floor isn’t badass?”

“No, Qory, what the fuck? That’s fucked up--But nah. Seriously. It’s because news spreads in this town quickly, and I’d rather not, you know, people know I’m a frickin’ warlock?”

“So you invite your demon hunter sister to break in your new place, proudly showing your green hair, and eyes that burn with felfire just like mine?” Qorenys chuckled, flicking her sister’s forehead. “If you don’t want people to know your power, you’re not doing it very effectively.

Cesta yelped, rubbing at the flicked spot with a puffed cheek. “I’m shit at disguises.”

“And lying, apparently. Tell me the real reason.”

“Hrumph.” The younger twin folded her arms, averting her eyes. She didn’t want to admit anything, but once Qory caught onto something, she rarely gave up the scent. “I thought it was cool.”

The twins fell silent, staring each other down. Cesta raised her eyelids--Wait. It was probably stupid to challenge an illidari to a staring contest. Instead, Cesta leaned in, or rather, she leaned up. She always hated that Qory was a few inches taller.

“To be fair, it is cool,” Qory conceded.

“SeeEeEE?” Cesta’s voice shot up several octaves, palms outstretched to prove her point.

“I just think the execution could have been better,” Qory remarked, knowing exactly how to playfully jab at her younger sister.

“ Fuck ya too, sis.”

“Love you, Cesta.”

“Love yer stupid face too, Qor-bear. BUT! Gettin’ back on track!” Cesta skipped over to the front windows, pulling the blinds up. At two in the morning, all that was left awake in this bustling city were the bruisers patrolling for any trouble and the city nightlife, blaring out muffled electronic music several blocks down in the aptly-named 'Swanky Town.'

“This place is perfect!” Cesta grinned wide. “We’re nestled right in the heart of the city! Cross streets are even badass too!: Gallywix-Sucks-Ass Boulevard and Noggenfogger Avenue. This building? Suite number sixty-nine.”

If the demon hunter still had eyes, she’d roll them. “What does having a coitus position for an address have to do with what you wanted to show me? The solution I assume you made to counter the fact that you are in, how do you say it, ‘Ass-End-of-Kalimdor-ia?’”

Cesta held a finger up, grinning wide as she slinked back behind her office desk. She just needed to make a note later to cover the self-destruct button with glass or something. But this time, Cesta double-checked that this button was actually green. Pushing it, a strange mechanical apparatus whirred in the corner. Its platform spun like a glowing disc.

“Meet my teleporter. Figured out how ta actually make one that didn’t conjure random loaves of bread or somethin’ whenever someone used it.”

As if on cue, the teleporter whirred. A banana flung out of it and splattered against the far wall. Thankfully, nothing valuable was on that wall.

“It appears rather than a bread problem, you now have a fruit problem.”

“Hey. I said, ‘bread-proofed,’ not ‘fixed.’ Look, all I gotta do is put a safety net or some shit on that wall. It’ll be great!”

"Cesta."

"Yeah?

"You're an imbecile."

[kastle09]

4 Reasons Players Stagnate (Part 2 of 2)

So last time we looked over the first two reasons people stagnate, players who try to get better by looking for tricks, and players who skip over fundamentals to get to the “good stuff”. 

Time to finish and were bouncing very much into mentality and strategy side of the game. These two points I find are much more prevalent especially with players who are on the cusp, maybe top 8 finishes but wins offline are inconsistent.                                                   

“I don't know, I just do it because it works”

One of the best players in the Oceanic region is 'ZG' and one of the things that happens when you get to play sets with him is afterwards he will constantly question what it is you are doing, why did you go for the things you go for, what is your end goal. Did you have a reason structured behind your actions. If not he will s*** on you for it (but its helpful s***ing)

If I had to boil this down to one word : Autopilot.

If you are purely on autopilot when playing a fighting game, you might as well be playing a single player game. Because it means no matter what they are doing, you would be doing the same thing regardless.  

Very often these types of players are executionally, very competent. They could very easily teach you how to play their main character for example, but there is a difference between knowing the information, and being able to use it intelligently. They have read the guides, they have watched the tutorials, they have practiced the combos and the setups.  But what they aren't doing is thinking with their brain

Lets say for example we have two Cammy players playing the mirror match together.

Now player 1 goes in and thinks:

“Standing medium kick is a good button, I am standing in range where s.mk is good, I am going to press my s.mk”.

What’s the problem here? I watched NL, he used s.mk in this spot, why is it bad?Lets look at the other player. 

“Okay he seems to want to press s.mk as I approach this spacing, let me walk around this distance and look for a whiff punish.” “Okay he is afraid to press maybe I can now poke with s.mk and see what his response is.” “Okay he is looking to pre-empt the poke by jumping, this range is now a spot where I look for the anti air”

There is of course, many different situations that can arise from this example and you probably aren’t thinking out loud if full sentences like that. But the most important thing I want you to see here is player 2's ability to critically think about what is happening. And because of that he is able to create a decision and a plan that goes “I saw __________ therefore I will do __________”.

Its important that you can follow through your train of thought to the logical end. What you will find is you will be able to understand situations and decisions in hindsight and be able to ask yourself “Did that make sense? Was there a better option? What is my adjustment?”.

Adaptation comes from being able to ask and answer these kind of questions. You will make poor decisions, sometimes you may even win games by those decisions, but you still need to be able to look objectively and be able to understand why what is happening happens. Why does it work, and when does it fall apart.

If you don’t you will play obliviously and try and bulldoze your way though opponents with technical knowledge.

“This guy is playing so dumb, does all this random s***, he's not playing the game”

For those who have came into SFV as their first game and weren't around for the famous Gandhi vs FSP match go give it a watch. Its a great laugh, everyone has a great time (except FSP) and I'm certain at one point or another you will be both Gandhi and then FSP.

While this was probably on the more extreme end of possible examples. I have often heard people say things like: “I do so much better against the good players. You can't read these guys! They do things that makes no sense”.

In Poker there is a term called playing “tight” and to be a tight player (I have a lot of poker analogies, if you are interested you can vote for it as my next article). 

In very simple terms playing tight means you only play the hands with very high win percentage. In this way you are minimising and avoiding the situations where randomness can affect outcomes resulting in higher win percentage against very “loose” players. You aren't getting suckered into playing situations that are unfavourable, you aren't leaving it up to chance.

The FGC equivalent of this is a term which gets thrown around a lot is “Let them hang themselves”. 

Think about what options like tick throws, frametraps, mixups, plus on block normal pressure etc. What are the goals of these options? They are options to open an opponent up.

But if an opponent is jumping in randomly, If they are dragon punching at every opportunity, trying to take large amounts of space by dashing. Then what are you trying to open up? They have already opened themselves up, so you don't need any of that stuff. The risk in trying to play a scramble with them in this spot leaves more opportunities for it to work, Why leave it up to chance if you don't have to.

Sometimes it isn't even the fact they play this way that makes it difficult, sometimes its just the fact you have to play in the most boring way possible in order to win, which is an ordeal in itself. But learning that patience learning to step back, talk to yourself and say “I'm not going to play their game, I'm going to sit tight, block and punish, keep it simple”.

As my hero Day[9] once said “If the opponent is doing something weird, the best strategy, Is just to go fucking kill him”

Both of the things I've talked about today are very different ways of thinking about the game because these are both examples of things that aren't easily measured in training mode. 

This isn't a question of “How do I beat x character” its a question of “How do I beat x player”, and that solution is often not a technical solution, its a strategic/theory based one. 

Often I feel even at the very highest levels of play the people that you may go to for tech videos and the people who are actually winning tournaments has a relatively small overlap.

                                                                                          I hope you enjoyed this first article (even though it was divided in 2), If you would like to vote on the next topic I'm running a poll on twitter. The options will be”

              - Why the health bar is a lie.

              - What Poker can teach about decision making

              - The art of Storytelling as a commentator

[the-everlasting-dream]

Own Personal Superman (Rafael x MC)

Summary: Jaya discovers that getting locked out of her friend’s apartment may not be the worst thing in the world..

A/N:  This is my submission for the Choices Fandom Game: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words. I was given my picture by my friend and writer extraordinaire @likethetailofacomet The photo doesn’t reeeeally fit but ehh 

Word Count: Elle’s brain cannot be captured in 1000 words ok 3070

Warnings: Swearing

Writer Tags: @speedyoperarascalparty @ao719  @leelee10898 @riseandshinelittleblossom @zaffrenotes @drakewalkerwhipped @stopforamoment @annekebbphotography @lizeboredom @boneandfur @mind-reader1 @jovialyouthmusic @ooo-barff-ooo @bobasheebaby @ownworldresident @hopefulmoonobject @sleepwalkingelite @likethetailofacomet @silviasutton1989 @blackcatkita @blackcoffee85 @kennaxval @andy-loves-corgis @callmetippytumbles @iplaydrake @the-everlasting-dream @brightpinkpeppercorn @agent-bossypants @tornbetween2loves @dcbbw @rainbowsinthestorm @choicesbyjade @breaumonts @thehonorarybeaumont @pixelsandkink @innerpostmentality @katedrakeohd @darley1101 @carabeth @sirbeepsalot @strangerofbraidwood Readers: @cocomaxley @mfackenthal @moneyfordiamonds @romanticatheart-posts  @choicesarehard @gibbles82 @wannabemc2

-

‘Mikey, come on!’ Jaya yelled, pounding on the door of her supposed best friend’s balcony door. ‘I said I was sorry okay? Now let me in!’ 

There was no answer from the other side of the door as there hadn’t been for the last twenty minutes. Jaya shivered against the cold Boston air, wrapping the thin white bathrobe she was wearing tighter against her shoulders in an attempt to protect herself against the wind that whipped across the side of the apartment building. 

When the subject of Michaela’s kink came up, Jaya could never resist a good jab, especially at her equally sassy best friend, driving her up the wall with her teasings about one Dr Zaid Mirani. Usually Michaela would have been up for a good ribbing, giving as good as she got but so soon after the — Jaya shuddered again now at the memory of it — Mirani incident, she should have known better than to believe her friend’s attempt at covering up her feelings. In her heart, Jaya realised belatedly, she shouldn’t have gone too far and now she was paying for it dearly. Locked out on the balcony of her friend’s townhouse dressed in little more than her underwear and a flimsy bathrobe — she’d just come out of the shower — was enough to teach her a lesson and now that it was learnt, she was ready to come back in. 

 ‘Mikey come on dude,’ Jaya cajoled, jiggling the door handle. 'This stopped being funny a long time ago.’ 

 ‘You sure the joke’s over?’ Her friend’s acerbic tone sounded through the door. ‘I wouldn’t trust your judgement with that.’ 

Jaya winced. 'Okay I deserved that. Now can you please let me in?’ 

Something slipped through the mail slot landed at her bare feet. ‘Get yourself out of this one Da Silva. I don’t have time for your bullshit.’

‘Fuck you Michaela Quinn,’ she snapped viciously, raising her fists to rain more blows on the door.

If I end up breaking it, its on her.

Somewhere to Jaya's left, a window was opened and a string of what she guessed were Chinese curses were aimed at her, making her drop her raised arms. As annoyed as she was with Mikey, she wasn’t going risk getting yelled at by her cranky neighbour. 

 It was then that Jaya finally looked down to the object that had fallen through the mail slot at her feet. 

An old school flip phone. 

Why does Mikey even have one of these?  She sighed in annoyance as she glanced through the window at her actual phone lying on the coffee table on the other side of the glass. So close but so far… 

Flipping open the phone, she immediately dialled in Mikey’s number which immediately went to voicemail and she snapped the phone shut, aggravated but unsurprised that her friend had taken the care to block the number before giving it to her. Jaya dialled in another number, Sienna’s, but that got redirected to an automated voice message reminded her that Sienna had changed her number the week past. 

 If only I wasn’t so crap at remembering phone numbers. 

 The only ones she remembered were Mikey’s and her own mother’s —she shuddered at the thought of placing a call to the ever unimpressed Rani Da Silva, not needing yet another lecture about how irresponsible she was, she’d had plenty of those her entire life. Deciding against it, she pushed at the tiny buttons until she reached the phone’s phonebook, hoping that Mikey would have at least been kind enough to put the number of one of her housemates in or at least the building’s superintendent to let her back in. 

 Jaya groaned out loud as she saw the two lone contacts entered into the phone book. Jesus Mikey how long have you been planning this?

Hawaiian Justin Bieber

Wholesome Superman

She cursed her friend silently again for delivering this special torment.  She was in little but her bathrobe, stuck on the balcony of a Boston townhouse and she had two choices: Dr Bryce Lahela or EMT Rafael Aveiro. 

She regretted telling Michaela about her crush on both very attractive, very available men who both seemed to show interest in her. She was drawn to them both in different ways after hanging out one-on-one on separate occasions and she just couldn’t choose. She was hoping that by waiting it out a solution would present itself and she would get to avoid making the decision.

Right now, if she wanted to get off this goddamn balcony, a decision had to be made. Mentally scanning over their schedules in her head — Mikey would have never let her hear the end of it, if she knew Jaya actually committed both men’s timings to her memory — she groaned again and made her choice. 

The phone rang and rang as Jaya paced to small balcony, anxiety welling up in her. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he couldn’t come? What if he didn’t want to? She was so wrapped up in her doubts that she hadn’t realised he’d picked up at first. 

‘Hello?’ 

‘Rafael, hi, its Jaya, Jaya Da Silva from Edenbrook,’ she began, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. ‘Uh… how are you?’ 

His chuckle echoed through the speaker. ‘I’m good, little surprised. How are you?’ 

‘I’m uh good…’ Jaya blurted out reflexively, her voice going up higher at the end as a gust of wind blew a chill up the flaps of the robe. ‘Uhh..’ 

Rafael’s voice sounded concerned now. ‘Um Jaya… is everything okay?’ 

She squeezed her eyes shut, running a hand over her face as she cursed her supposed best friend for the hundredth time. ‘Umm Raf… are you busy now?’ 

‘No not really, what’s up? Do you need help?’ 

She didn’t deserve him, she’d gotten herself into a ridiculous situation and she had her own stupidity to thank for that. That and one Dr Michaela Quinn. She took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet. 

‘See its actually a real funny story…’ 

Rafael listened patiently while she blabbered on in the most roundabout way of describing her current predicament, hoping he would not think it was a prank call and hang up the phone.

 ‘…so yeah. That’s what… That’s me right now,’ she trailed off awkwardly, stomach in knots. 

 ‘Well I can’t say this is one of the strangest call outs I’ve had in my career,’ he replied good-naturedly. ‘Why don’t you text me your address and I’ll drop by your place, pick up some clothes and come rescue you.’ 

‘That would be amazing,’ Jaya answered, relief immediately diffusing from her body. She thanked him profusely and hung up to text him the address. Sliding down into a sitting position seemed to be better defence against the cold and Jaya leaned back against the brick wall.

Rafael Aveiro was one of the sweetest, kindest people she’d ever met, his inclination to help people was boundless and that was one of the things she’d admired most about him. Unlike most guys he was also honest and open, not afraid to get real about his family life like he had on the helicopter ride they’d taken together. His childhood stories had seemed so sweet, she didn’t want to ruin the vibe by telling the truth about hers. Everything about him was just so wholesome — hence Mikey’s nickname for him — Jaya didn’t want to complicate things by bringing him into her own problems. But she’d done just that and now he was going to see her in little more than her bathrobe. 

Jaya sighed, dropping her head in her hands. Why do I always seem to get into situations like this? She hadn’t realised she’d dozed off until the phone in her lap started to buzz and she almost dropped it in her eagerness to answer the call. 

 ‘Hey are you here?’

‘Yep just walking around the back,’ Rafael’s deep voice sounded out. ‘Your roommate Sienna gave me a bunch of clothes while Jackie stared me down the entire time. I don’t think she likes me.’ 

Jaya couldn’t help but laugh. ‘She doesn’t like anyone.’ 

‘Where are yo- Ah I can see you.’ 

 A glance downwards brought Rafael’s dark head into view and as he climbed up the metal staircase, Jaya wrapped the bathrobe tighter around her, trying not to focus on the way his arms flexed. 

 ‘Hi.’ HIs eyes scanned over her outfit. ‘Do I wanna know?' 

'Just call me Trouble,’ Jaya replied, as he passed her the small duffle bag with her clothes in it. ‘You stand guard, Turn around. I’m going to change.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ he chuckled, dutifully turning away to give her some privacy.

Shivering slightly against the cold, Jaya hastily threw on the jeans and top her roommate had picked for her, thanking her lucky stars that Sienna had picked out her outfit rather than Jackie or Elijah. ‘All done,’ she announced preemptively as she stood hopping on one foot as she tried to slip her sneakers on, eager to get out of this embarrassing situation. Rafael has only just turned when her toe caught on the metal railing and she tipped off balance. Jaya shot her arms out to brace herself for impact but it never came. Instead she found herself in the strong arms of her latest savior, bodies pressed together closer than ever before. 

 ‘You okay?’ Rafael asked, looking down at her with a paramedic’s concern as he helped her regain her balance. 

 ‘Y-yeah,’ she mumbled, driven to speechlessness with him just inches away, unable to stop her eyes from sliding down to his lips and the prospect of kissing him seemed much more appealing. ‘You’re like my own personal Superman.’

 His lips curved up into smile. ‘Does that make you Lois Lane?' 

She shrugged, not trusting her voice and together they climbed down the staircase to where his car was waiting. As soon as she shut the door, Jaya’s sense seemed to flow back to her.

‘Thank you for that,’ she blurted out after giving him the address to her apartment. ‘You didn’t have to help me out you know. I know its your day off and you’ve probably got better things to do than to go around saving-’ 

Rafael gave her an easy smile, holding up a dismissive hand to pause her ramblings as he began to drive away from Mikey’s townhouse. ‘Jaya its fine. I didn’t mind at all really.’ 

 ‘You’re way too nice for your own good,’ she told him after a pause. ‘Paramedic, part time Superman, nicest guy alive. Are you sure you don’t have some super dark secret you’re hiding under that nice front?’ 

He laughed at her words. ‘If I do, I’m yet to find it.’ 

Jaya stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘I mean what gives? No one is ever just that nice.’ 

‘I’m not just anyone Jaya,’ he smiled again, eyes twinkling as he stopped at the lights. 

 ‘So who are you Rafael Aveiro?’ She propped up an arm on the centre arm rest, leaned in closer and narrowed her eyes at him. 

He mimicked her expression, arm next to hers. ‘Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.' 

‘Is that how its going to be?’ 

‘That’s how its going to be,’ he shared her grin. 

Still chuckling, Jaya settled back in her seat and they shared a comfortable silence for a few moments. ‘So what were you going to do on your day off? Y’know, if you weren’t saving a damsel in distress.’ 

‘I was going to go hiking with some friends, I like to get out on my days off. I drive around this city all week but I never get to see it properly.’ 

She felt a rush of guilt flood through her. ‘I’m sorry. I must have completely ruined your plans.’  

‘No, no its fine,’ he started to say but she held a hand up. 

‘No its not. Please go on your hike. I’ll feel terrible if you don’t get to go.' 

‘Only one one condition.’ He raised his chin at her. 

‘Name it.’ 

‘You join me.’ 

 Jaya’s eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t be serious. ‘You want me to come?’ 

He gave her another smile. ‘You doing anything for the next few hours?’ 

‘Noo...,’ she admitted, hesitating for a moment before looking at Rafael’s boyish grin. Spontaneity was the last thing she usually did but this time she couldn’t help but grin back at him. ‘Alright lets do it.’

-

‘So do you always take girls you’ve just saved on long hikes in the woods?’ Jaya asked, trying to hide the fact that she was panting a little. 

 Rafael grinned back at her from where he was a few paces ahead, pausing so she could catch up. ‘You’d be the first.’ 

She raised an eyebrow amusedly. ‘In that case, I should feel special. By the way do you know where we are going? Because I have no idea.’ She paused for a moment. ’This is the dark secret you’re keeping, you brought me all the way out here to kill me and dump my body in the woods.’ 

‘Is your sense of humour always this morbid?’ He shot her an amused look. 

‘Why do you think I became a doctor? Death jokes for days sonnnn,’ she winked. 

Rafael studied at her thoughtfully for a long moment as they walked. ‘Did little Jaya always know she wanted to be a doctor?’ 

Jaya felt her cheerful demeanour drop as the lump in her throat began to build and suddenly it was much too hard to swallow. ‘I uh...’ 

She felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She was not going to cry about this. Not here. Not in front of him. He didn’t need to be drawn into any more of her problems. 

‘I guess its just something I…always knew I’d do.’ She looked up to see him eyeing her carefully and she silently hoped he wouldn’t push her. 

 ‘I see,’ he replied, nodding in understanding and they continued on for a few moments up the incline. Anxiety rippled through her as Jaya tried to find the right words, hoping Rafael wouldn’t think she was brushing her off or that she was rude or — 

‘I-Its just… My childhood was a bit… turbulent. I’d rather not talk about it if that’s okay with you?’ 

 ‘Jaya,’ Rafael caught her hand, making her look back at him. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to okay?’ 

She nodded, squeezing his hand a little and they continued their walk. Jaya glanced down at their clasped hands and couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight. She took a deep breath of the clean air, doubting that the EMT had any idea how calming his presence was. She was already starting to like him a lot more. Eventually, guided by Rafael, they made it to the top of the hill overlooking the entire Boston area. 

 ‘Wow,’ Jaya breathed, sinking to the ground and taking in the view. ‘Its breathtaking.’ 

‘Its one of my favourite views,’ Rafael put in, sitting down next to her. ‘Whenever it gets too much, I like to come up here and it reminds me how small my problems are in comparison.’ 

She nodded. 

Right now, all the things weighing on her mind, the competition for the place on the diagnostics team, the feeling of never being good enough, her struggles with her mother and her childhood, the duty she felt to herself to always be the best and do the best all didn’t seem so bad. 

‘Perspective.' 

He nodded and they sat together for a while in a comfortable silence. At some point Jaya looked over at him, the setting sun caught perfectly on his dark eyes and she felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Rafael let her take him in, smiling a little. 

Then almost magnetically, Jaya felt herself drawing closer to him and slowly tantalisingly the space between them decreased and his lips were on hers in a soft slow kiss. His hand came up to caress her cheek slightly and she placed an arm on his bicep as they parted. 

 ‘Wow,’ she breathed after a moment, eyes flickering open to see him looking at her tenderly. 

‘Yeah.’ He ran a thumb over her cheek and Jaya leaned in again, wanting more of him but he gently stopped her. ‘If its okay, I’d like to leave it there for today.’ 

‘Ookay…’ Her mind clouded over with doubts. Was she a bad kisser? Did he not like her? 

Rafael seemed to read her mind immediately. ‘I like you a lot Jaya but I don’t wanna rush this. I made that mistake before and I don’t want to make it again with an amazing woman like you. Is that okay?’ 

Jaya breathed a sigh of relief. ’That’s completely fine. Go as slow as you need.’ 

He smiled softly at her before getting to his feet and pulling her up. ‘I should get you home before your roommates start to worry.’ 

 She didn’t want their evening to end but she wanted to respect his request to take it slow so she allowed him to lead her back down the trail, keeping his hand firmly in hers until he chivalrously held the car door open for her to get in. 

A short drive later, they were standing outside her apartment building and he came to stand in front of her. 

‘Thank you for the save Rafael Aveiro.’ She look up at him, smiling. 

 ‘Thank you for the hike Jaya Da Silva.’ 

Again Jaya felt the urge to kiss him again but squashed the request down. ‘Is a goodnight kiss out of the question?’ She whispered, silently hoping he’d indulge her again. 

 ‘I think I can handle that,’ he grinned back dipped his head down to capture her lips again. 

Jaya rest her hands on his strong chest as their kiss was soft and sweet just like the last time. Just like him. 

 As they parted for the night, Jaya couldn’t help the smile on her face. She was looking forward to seeing a lot more of her own personal Superman in the near future.

[inyournightmares97]

A Whole New World

Park Jinyoung takes you on an unforgettable ride. 

Warning: Hogwarts!au, lots of strong language. Mostly fluff. 

Word Count: 4.4k+

--

“I found it! I found the solution to all of your problems.”

Park Jinyoung was extremely smug as he sat down across from you in the library. You looked up from your book and sighed at the Ravenclaw boy. You opened your mouth to ask what brilliant achievement he expected you to applaud him for this time, when you looked at him properly. Jinyoung’s glasses were slightly askew on his face. His Ravenclaw scarf was torn and there was something in his dark hair that looked suspiciously like twigs and dead leaves.

“Where the hell have you been?” you demanded, reaching out to pluck a rather conspicuous twig poking out from his hair. He blinked at you while you tossed it aside and made a face. “Wow, you look like you went rolling around in the Forbidden Forest.”

Jinyoung cleared his throat and ruffled his hair to rid it of a few more leaves. “Uh, never mind that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. You had been friends with Park Jinyoung ever since your first day at Hogwarts. He had been much smaller and less confident back then. The two of you had found yourselves in the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express and Jinyoung had shyly admitted to you that he was a Muggle-born just like you. It had been a rogue chocolate frog that went on a rampage in your compartment that had cemented your friendship; by the time you both managed to catch the bloody thing, you were the best of friends. Even when Jinyoung was sorted into Ravenclaw and you into Gryffindor, he had looked at you across the Great Hall and given you a small smile that made you feel warm inside.

Six years later, Park Jinyoung had become an enormous pain in your ass.

He was naturally talented at everything. He got onto the Ravenclaw Quidditch team in his second year and developed a talent for any subject that he set his eyes on. You had to admit that Jinyoung was always willing to share his knowledge and spend endless nights tutoring you in the library before exams, but his smug little smile and his condescending tone made it difficult to be grateful.

Not to mention that he’d become extremely handsome once he hit puberty and suddenly gained a little fan club of younger girls who constantly came up to him in the library and asked him to tutor them. Jinyoung always helped them and sent them on their way without responding to their advances but you could tell from his pleased expression that he enjoyed the attention.

Little shit.

“Look, forget all that. What are you doing? That Charms essay? That’s not due until Monday,” Jinyoung said dismissively as he tried to grab at your parchment. You frowned and batted his arms away.

“Excuse me. It takes some of us more than an hour to write a NEWT-level essay, all right? Leave me alone,” you grumbled as you tried to focus on your work. Jinyoung had probably already finished his anyway. It seemed a little unfair to you that a fellow Muggle-born should have such a natural talent for magic while you struggled your way through everything.

“I’ll let you copy off mine later if you come with me,” Jinyoung promised.

You pointed your quill at him accusingly. “Ha! So you have finished yours! Nice try. I won’t let you sabotage my Charms grade this time. I’ll get an O too, and you’ll see that you’re not that special.”

Jinyoung glanced down at your essay with a sigh. He turned the parchment towards him and scanned a few lines with his sharp, dark eyes. “You’re not getting an O with that. Forget it.”

You blinked up at him helplessly. “Is it that bad?”

“Yes, it’s hopeless. You’re not even writing on the correct topic. I’m telling you, I’ll let you copy off mine later tonight if you just come with me for a while. I promise it won’t take long. You’re going to like this. It’s what I’ve been working on all week.”

You were suddenly alert. Jinyoung had been acting a little suspicious since the last week. You assumed it was only stress since your NEWTs and graduation were fast-approaching but he had been disappearing for entire hours at a time and refusing to explain where he was. You also did want to know why the usually impeccably dressed, not-a-hair-out-of-place Jinyoung looked like he had been rolling in piles of leaves. Jinyoung grinned as soon as he saw the twinkle in your eyes. He had your attention.

“Come on. You know you’re curious.”

Damn it. You reluctantly rolled up your parchment without waiting for the ink to dry. (In your experience, if Jinyoung said your essay was shit, then it really was shit.) Jinyoung watched you with his dark, excited gaze as you packed up your belongings and then turned to look at him with a sigh.

“Fine. Let’s go see what you’ve done this time.”

--

The direction Park Jinyoung was taking was slightly disturbing.

You followed him until the line of trees that led to the Forbidden Forest, but once Jinyoung started to actually enter the trees, you decided that it was time to stop this madness. It seemed rather anticlimactic to get expelled or eaten by some weird creatures when you were just months away from graduating so you grabbed Jinyoung’s robes and yanked him back firmly.

“Excuse me! What stupid games are you playing? I am not going in there!” you insisted. You pointed at the trees. “Do I need to remind you what lies beyond those trees? The Forbidden Forest. Do you know why it’s called that? Because it’s forbidden to enter.”

Jinyoung turned to you and raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. Does the word forbidden really exist in a Gryffindor’s dictionary? What’s the use of being brave and courageous if you can’t even bend a couple of rules?” he egged you on. You tried not to let yourself be affected. You knew that Jinyoung was just trying to get you to snap but you weren’t going to fall for it.

“No. You never said anything about the Forbidden Forest. I’m not going in.”

Jinyoung took a deep breath and looked you straight in the eyes. “I dare you to come in with me.”

Damn it. Park Jinyoung knew you too well. You had never been able to say no to a dare. Turning down a dare was admitting a loss and you hated losing. You glared at Jinyoung and his pretty little smirk before finally exhaling. “Fine. Fuck you. If I die, then my death is on your hands and I will come back as a ghost to make your life miserable.”

“Lovely,” Jinyoung replied as he reached out and took your hand. You were surprised at the unexpectedly affectionate gesture coming from him but he barely looked at you as his warm fingers closed over yours. “Come on. We don’t have to go very far inside. I promise you’ll be fine.”

You followed Jinyoung into the line of trees and squeezed his hands tightly. You knew that there probably wasn’t too much to be afraid of in the fringes of the forest but you still hated how the trees blocked out the sunlight and made it seem dark despite being afternoon. Jinyoung pulled you along confidently as he hurried into the forest. The two of you walked through the thick greenery for a few moments before you finally reached a clearing.

Sitting right in the middle of the clearing was an old, light blue Ford Anglia car.

“What the hell? Where did that come from?” you demanded, eyes wide. The last thing you had expected to see in the Forbidden Forest was a car and certainly not such an old one. Had somebody just abandoned it here? Jinyoung grinned at you as he walked towards the car and patted its hood fondly. You stepped closed to it warily. “Oh my God. It looks so ancient. What is this from, the eighties?”

The moment you had finished speaking, the car jerked a little bit and let out a rumbling noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. You squealed and stepped away from it. You weren’t sure why but you suddenly had this terrible feeling that the car had heard what you said and was offended.

“It’s fine,” Jinyoung told you as he patted the car gently. “She has a bit of a temper but she’s harmless.”

“She? The car has a personality?” you cried.

“It’s not just a car. It’s a magic car.” Jinyoung’s eyes were shining as he excitedly opened the driver’s side door and showed it to you. True, it had the traditional gears of an older car but there were also a number of other unusual buttons that didn’t really look like they belonged there. Jinyoung pointed them out to you with all the fondness of showing you his firstborn child. “It has a lot of interesting features! It can fit almost any number of people inside, there’s an invisibility booster that was a bit faulty but I fixed that and I managed to give it a little makeover and fix the broken parts. See? I even gave it a little paint job.”

You stared at him. “Are you telling me that you spent the last week coming into the forest and fixing up a car that you found? God, Park Jinyoung, you are such a ­­boy-“

“That’s not all, though. It does one more thing.”

You blinked at Jinyoung. “What?”

“It flies.”

You stared at him for a long moment as you felt your heart sink. You suddenly understood what this was all about. Back in first year, when you had all taken Flying Classes, you were the only idiot in the group who had lost control over your broom and driven yourself straight into the Whomping Willow. The encounter had resulted in you spending your entire second week at Hogwarts in the Hospital Wing. It was possibly one of the worst experiences in your life and you had sworn to never fly again.

For some reason, this had never sat well with Jinyoung. He had surprisingly excellent motor skills and had made it onto the Ravenclaw Quidditch team in his second year. Jinyoung had tried multiple times throughout the years to get you to attempt flying again but you had always refused. The memories of being thrown about like a rag by the Whomping Willow were too fresh in your mind.

“Look, this is easier than a broom!” Jinyoung began, but you cut him off.

“No, absolutely not. I cannot believe that you thought I would seriously get into some random car that you found in the Forbidden Forest and let you fly into the air with it. Do you have any idea of how dangerous that is? You don’t even know where this car came from. What if it stalls mid-air? What if it decides to drive us into a tree?”

“It won’t! I’ve tested it, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, yes, that makes it all better.”

“I promise that nothing will happen to you. I’ll drive it myself and I swear, I’m fully prepared for any unfortunate events, okay? You can’t even imagine the number of protective charms I’ve cast on the car. That’s why it took me an entire week!” Jinyoung insisted. His eyes were pleading with you and the soft gaze was making you feel weak. “I know you don’t trust the car but can’t you trust me? When have I ever let anything bad happen to you?”

You stared at the car for a long moment. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Jinyoung’s shoulders slumped. You could see the sudden disappointment in his eyes. Jinyoung rarely let his emotions show but you could see that something inside of him had cracked. The smile disappeared from his face and he shut the car door with a sigh. “Fine,” he mumbled bitterly. “Okay, then. Let’s just go back to the castle, shall we? I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Your stomach twisted. “Jinyoung…”

He blinked at you simply. “What? It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

“Don’t be that way, please,” you insisted. You knew Park Jinyoung like the back of your hand and you knew that when he was upset he became quiet and withdrawn. He simply ran his fingers through his hair as he started to walk back through the forest. You followed him, feeling guilty. “Jinyoung, wait. Come on, don’t walk away from me like that, it’s not fair! You know that I’m not doing this on purpose, I’m just really scared!”

Jinyoung frowned at you. “That’s a pathetic excuse coming from a Gryffindor.”

“Well, we all have our weaknesses, all right?” you mumbled.

“Can’t you just trust me this once?”

You felt something inside of you melt. Jinyoung’s eyes were pleading with you and he was biting his soft lips nervously. Some part of you had started to feel guilty. Jinyoung had spent an entire week fixing up this stupid car and making it work again. He had gone to all this effort for you and now you were just throwing it all into the dirt. You didn’t want to see Jinyoung disappointed with you, you didn’t want to let down someone who clearly cared about you enough to do all this for you. You took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay, let’s do it. Not too high, just… just a little bit.”

Jinyoung beamed and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He walked back to the car quickly and opened the passenger side door for you. Despite your entire body screaming at you, you sat down in the car. The seats were old but surprisingly comfortable. Jinyoung had probably charmed them as well. He hurried around the car to get into the driver’s seat while you shakily put on the seatbelt.

“Ready to go?” he asked you.

“Shut up, let’s just do this.”

Jinyoung chuckled and nodded as he buckled himself in. “Okay. Look, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve thought about everything. There are charms to protect us in case the car stalls mid-air or something. This is literally the safest thing you could be in right now. And it’s not as scary as a broom because you’re closed in on all sides so at least you won’t look down and see nothing under your feet.”

You glared at him. “Can you stop explaining my own fears to me?”

“I’m going to start now…”

You nodded and leaned back as Jinyoung started the car. He drove it forward on land for a few moments and once it had picked up a little bit of speed, he flicked a switch. You squeezed your eyes shut and your stomach churned as you felt the car lurch into the air. Oh sweet Merlin, I’m going to die. You opened one eye shakily once the car felt stable and you looked down to see the trees underneath you.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Don’t go any higher. We’re above the trees. Jinyoung, we’re already above the trees, please stop!”

Jinyoung chuckled and stopped the car so that it was hanging mid-air just above the greenery. You could see a huge portion of the Forbidden Forest here and also most of the castle. Jinyoung took his hand off the gears and squeezed your hand comfortingly. You turned and looked into his warm, caring eyes.

“See?” he asked you gently. “We’re not dead yet.”

Jinyoung’s hand squeezing yours made you feel a little better. You were scared, but you also knew that Jinyoung would never have made you do this unless it was completely safe. He wasn’t the sort of person to do things on an impulse or without thinking it through. You relaxed a little bit and managed to open your eyes fully. It was a little exciting. You had never seen the forest or the castle from this angle and everything seemed smaller.

“Is this how birds see things?” you joked weakly.

Jinyoung smiled and nodded. “Probably. They usually have their eyes completely open and they’re not trembling so much, though,” he teased you. He only chuckled when you glared at him. “Hey, I’m kidding. You’re doing great. Let’s go a little bit higher.”

“No!”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

You bit your lip as Jinyoung gently propelled the car forward a little more. The motion made you nervous and you clutched onto the sides of your seat tightly as the car slowly cruised over the trees. Your heartbeat was thudding but you convinced yourself to look out of the window. Most of the forest was behind you now and Jinyoung was approaching the lake. The car tilted upwards as you kept going higher and your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh fuck, Jinyoung, this is too high. This is too high! What if we fall in the lake? What if….Shit, shit shit!” you cried as Jinyoung swerved the car and laughed. Your heart had sunk down into your stomach at the sudden turn and you knew that he had done it on purpose. Jinyoung was laughing his beautiful laugh beside you as he casually handled the steering and you reached out to slap his shoulder hard. “Stop it! Is this funny to you? I’m terrified!”

Jinyoung turned to you and chuckled. “I know. It’s adorable.”

“Fuck you.”

“Would you please relax? Your nails are digging into my skin,” he gestured to how hard you were clutching his arm. You ignored him and grabbed his arm harder. Jinyoung rolled his eyes and suddenly changed a gear. “Fine. If you’re going to be like that then let me show you what real flying is like.”

He suddenly lurched the car directly upwards.

You let out an audible scream as the car shot upwards vertically. There was so much distance below you that you were terrified to look now. You squeezed your eyes shut and turned to bury your face into Jinyoung’s shoulder. He laughed and let you grab onto him as he casually handled the controls. Jinyoung’s chest was rumbling from his cheerful laughter but you only grabbed onto his robes and kept your face pressed against his shoulder.

After a few moments, the car stopped moving and there was complete silence.

“Hey,” Jinyoung whispered to you softly. “Open your eyes for me.”

You slowly let go of his arm and straightened up. Trusting Jinyoung, and feeling a little safer since the car had stopped moving, you slowly opened your eyes again.

It was beautiful.

For a moment, you felt all your fears disappear as you looked at the beautiful explosion of colors around you. The sky was a deep, blood orange color as the sun gradually set and you were surrounded by white clouds that were stained with the rays of the sun. Small stars twinkled high above you and the clouds drifted around you softly and slowly. You had never seen anything so beautiful. How could nature be so stunning?

“Wow,” you whispered.

Jinyoung turned and looked at you. “This was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You nodded slowly. You were suddenly faced with how enormous the world was, with this amazing creation and the endless possibilities it held. Your life seemed so insignificant and small in comparison to this vast beauty. You turned and looked at Jinyoung. He had a soft smile on his face as he looked at you with an unreadable expression. Even Jinyoung looked different up here. You had often thought about how handsome he was, but surrounded by the milky clouds and in the beautiful orange light, Jinyoung looked absolutely ethereal.

“I can’t believe this,” you mumbled. “It’s like a whole new world up here.”

Jinyoung nodded. “I think it’s important to look at things from a different perspective sometimes. We always look up at these clouds but we’ve never seen them from above. It makes you re-evaluate your life and think about how small your existence is. It makes you think… it makes you think about the things that are really important to you and how lucky you are to be here.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Yes. Thank you for showing off your poetic prowess. Did you prepare that?”

Jinyoung smiled. “I promise I didn’t.”

“I think… I think I’m okay if we move a little bit,” you admitted shyly. You felt a little embarrassed about how afraid you’d been just a few moments ago. Jinyoung’s eyes twinkled at you knowingly but he said nothing. He just restarted the car and cruised forward slowly through the clouds as you both looked at the beauty that surrounded you and the sudden calmness of nature. You felt yourself relax completely. Your eyes took in the beauty of the sky, of the clouds and the stars and of the man sitting next to you.

“Do you want to stop there for a bit?” Jinyoung suggested. The car had swooped a little bit below the cloud line and there was a small mountain that had a large ledge where the car could be parked. “I don’t want to push you too far on your first trip. You might end up feeling nauseous.”

You nodded and allowed Jinyoung to stop the car on top of an enormous rock on the mountain. You unbuckled your seatbelt and slowly got out of the car. Clouds were still rolling past you and from this point, you could see the enormous lake, the forest and the castle. They looked so distant and small from this perspective.

Jinyoung sat down on the rock with his legs crossed and you sat beside him. There was complete silence here and it was strange, yet comforting. You took a deep breath and enjoyed the view in complete silence for a while. Then you turned and looked at Jinyoung. He was staring out at the view with a peaceful smile in his face as the wind gently blew his hair. You had never seen him look so happy, and it made you feel warm inside.

“Jinyoung,” you whispered.

He turned to you with a small smile. “Hmm?”

“Is this why you always tried to pressure me to fly?” you wondered quietly. “I always thought you were just picking on me because you knew it was one of my fears.”

Jinyoung looked at you for a long moment. “Picking on you is fun, I won’t lie,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But no. I wanted to bring you here because… I don’t know. I guess it just bothered me that there was a whole new world up here, something so beautiful that you would never get to experience because you couldn’t overcome that one fear. I hated knowing that you were missing out on something so amazing. I wanted to be the one to show this to you.”

You felt your heartbeat thud. “Why?” you whispered.

Jinyoung gave you a small, wistful smile. “I guess because… whenever I come up here alone, I end up thinking about you. And how much better it would be if you were beside me.”

“...And is it?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it better because I’m beside you?”

“Yes,” Jinyoung answered confidently, without skipping a single beat. His dark eyes pierced into yours with a calm adoration that rarely allowed you to see. Jinyoung often hid his feelings behind humor and sarcasm and teasing but right now, so far away from the world and worldly consequences, he suddenly felt the urge to be completely honest. “Yes. It’s infinitely better because you’re beside me.”

You kissed him. You didn’t know what made you do it, but you were filled with a sudden passion, a sudden gratitude that you had Park Jinyoung in your life. No matter how much he had irritated you or teased you or pushed you beyond your limits, you knew that he had done it all because he loved you. He had showed you the most beautiful, intimate thing that two people could share and he had gone to all that effort to show you what he loved.

Jinyoung kissed you back softly. His lips against yours felt like heaven and his hands gingerly slid into your hair as he pulled you closer to him. There could not have been a more beautiful place for you to share your first kiss or admit your feelings for Jinyoung. You had an inkling that you would feel extremely embarrassed about your bold actions tomorrow but now, you could only think about how his soft lips felt against yours, his familiar scent and the warmth of his breath as it tickled your skin.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him quietly. “Thank you for bringing me here even though I didn’t want to come.”

Jinyoung gently pushed your hair out of your face and smiled. “Do you finally trust me? I would never do anything to hurt you. I’ll always keep you safe.

You nodded. “I know.”

“Good.”

He kissed you again, more firmly this time. You melted into his arms and sighed happily against Jinyoung’s lips as you both embraced. It was new and exciting and part of you wanted to stay up here forever. You never wanted to go back down. You would spend a lifetime in this beautiful place with Jinyoung if you could. Just as Jinyoung’s arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed against yours insistently, you heard a sound.

The sound of the car starting up.

Both of you flinched and turned around in shock. The engine of the car suddenly roared to life and before either of you could react, it began to move forward to the edge of the cliff. Jinyoung jumped to his feet and tried to run towards it but the car had already thrown itself off the edge and soared into the air. You both watched with a terrible sinking feeling as the light blue car soared upwards and disappeared into the night sky.

“What is happening?” you demanded, confused. “Jinyoung. Make it come back.”

Jinyoung rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t… I don’t know how…”

You stared at him in disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t know how? I thought you considered everything?  I thought you put all sorts of charms and safeguards on the car in case something happened!” you cried, eyes wide.

Jinyoung glared at you. “That was if the car failed or something, I didn’t think it would drive off without us, now did I?”

“Park Jinyoung, I am going to kill you.”

He chuckled nervously. “Did I mention that I love you?”

“Fuck you.”

--

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Messed With The Wrong Heart - fic

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul, Lincoln March, Alfred Pennyworth, bits of Clark and Diana Summary: He had a feeling this would happen one day. It was a simple solution to a mutual problem, an almost mutual goal. An easy team-up. It was shocking it took them so long to think of it. A/N: I probably didn’t do it justice but I have just been so obsessed with two major baddies teaming up against Bruce to get at 1+ of his kids. I had such a blast writing this, even though I’m bad at fight scenes. Bruce probably ran into Talia or Lincoln prior or found out about their plans somehow in a case etc etc. Dick and Damian (and the other kids) had no idea about anything beyond there being a threat Batman had to take care of. Bruce sedated/headphone’d Dick and Damian so there would be no chance of them interfering in the fight or attempts to sacrifice themselves to keep him safe. Bruce is very guilty/not guilty about doing it though. He also sent the others away to protect them as well. 

~~

It wasn’t complicated.

He sent Tim away to his Titans, Jason to his Outlaws. Cassandra to the protection of Kate, Barbara and Stephanie.

Didn’t tell them anything. The less they knew, the safer they were. They knew something, though. All of his children did. Knew there was a threat coming, knew they wanted to help their father and should stay at his side.

No, he wouldn’t hear of it. Shooed them all away. He could handle this himself.

Would, even if he had to die to do so.

He stood at the top of the stairs, watching, waiting. His only light was the moon shining through the giant windows of the manor. He had some weapons nearby, but not on him. Had no tools on him, in fact. Was just in sweatpants and a tshirt. Socks.

But ready. Oh, he was so ready.

He had a feeling this would happen one day. It was a simple solution to a mutual problem, an almost mutual goal. An easy team-up.

It was shocking it took them so long to think of it.

He heard the sudden call of disturbed birds in the trees outside, checked his watch. Barely the middle of the night.

He tapped a button. Heard the locks click shut on the door down the hall. Cracked his knuckles, stretched his neck. Smirked.

Bring it on.

The glass of those giant windows shattered, attackers crashing through in waves of two, three, four, six.

Some wore maroon, covered their mouths. Others wore black, gold, facemasks with large black eyes.

The League of Shadows. The Court of Owls.

They all jumped. All had various blades already drawn. Bruce didn’t care. Grabbed one assassin before he landed and swung him like a bat, taking out the line of fighters behind him easily.

A Talon tried to use that to her advantage, and duck around Bruce’s arms. He merely kicked backwards, hitting her spine. Flipped over her, and out of the way of others. Flung her body towards another mob of them, and barely held back his laugh as they tumbled comically down the stairs.

The numbers didn’t matter. Their means didn’t matter. He was prepared for this. Had prepared for this since day one. Since he started being Batman. Since he started being a father.

Not to mention: fighting was in his blood. For him, fighting was fun.

Especially when he knew how to win. Especially when he knew he was going to win.

Especially when it was for love.

Besides, these were just the lackeys. He could let every single one of them go past if he felt like it. They’d be taken down when they got to their destination. When they got to that door he locked with a deadbolt, combination lock, and defense system even he couldn’t get through. And even if they got through that, there was Hell and the Devil himself waiting for them inside.

But these fighters weren’t the main players. Oh, no. And even as he fought them, and beat them, he kept his eye out. Looked past them, for the two who were no doubt already present, somewhere in this house.

Them, he would not let by. Not ever. Not even if they killed him. Over his dead body and all that, but even if he was cold and bloodless, he wouldn’t let those two win. He wouldn’t let those two get near that door.

So he fought and he waited. Enjoyed the fight and enjoyed the waiting. Mostly because he didn’t have to hold back, not really, not here. He wouldn’t kill, of course not, still wouldn’t cross that line – unless he absolutely had to.

But he didn’t have to have mercy.

Because under the smile and the enjoyment, was pure, raging fury. How dare they. How dare every single one of these human beings, living or modified.

How dare the two he was waiting for.

They should have known better. Their leaders, the special two, did. So were they insane, trying the same thing over and over again? Or were they just stupid?

In the long run, he supposed, as he punched a Talon into an assassin and knocked them both unconscious against the wall, it didn’t really matter.

He figured it was time, when he noticed that there were no more enemies coming through the windows. When he was thrown against the banister next to the stairs, and saw that his front door had been opened.

So he dodged the next punch. Ducked the next stab, took the weapon and slashed at the back of both his attackers’ knees, then rolled to the wall, where his weapons still sat waiting. He grabbed a few smoke pellets, launching them straight into the faces of the mob running after him.

There were a few small clicks, a few louder hisses, then the landing was engulfed in gray.

He took down the remaining thugs with ease.

When he knocked the last assassin down for the count, tossing his unconscious body into a few Talons in a similar state, he just slowly backed out of the fog. Kept himself between the stairs and the door, his fists at the ready.

And when the smoke cleared, there they were. At the top of the stairs, one with a sword, the other a dagger.

“I want my son.” Talia said simply.

“I want my warrior.” Lincoln March added.

“Too.” Bruce looked to Talia. “Fucking.” He looked to Lincoln. “Bad.”

Lincoln clicked his tongue and shook his head like he was disappointed. Talia just blinked slowly, and sighed.

Then, they came at him.

He blocked Talia’s blade while he kicked at Lincoln. The Owl got the blade into his calf before he went flying backwards, crashing into portrait of the grandparents they supposedly shared. Lincoln got right back up, plucked another dagger from the belt across his chest and came running back.

Talia just kept hacking at him. Pulling her sword and slashing it back down with even more force than before. Over and over and over. She was hitting his arm, his blood was spraying across her face, but she didn’t care. He knew that look in her eye. She was desperate. Crazed. Murderous.

She would get what she wanted, whether she killed her Beloved or not.

And even after all this time, it broke Bruce’s heart to fight her. To have to punch her in the throat and send her tumbling away as he turned to deal with Lincoln.

But he just couldn’t let her hurt their son again.

Lincoln was screaming as he came at him. Bruce merely ducked, let his ‘brother’ tumble over his shoulders. Lincoln gave another shout as he flopped to the floor, floundering to get himself righted.

“You were never supposed to have him!” Lincoln roared as he got to his feet. “He was promised to us!”

Bruce stood and looked at him with an emotionless gaze.

“Dick Grayson is not a thing to be owned.” Bruce countered. And it was hypocritical, he knew, and maybe showed just how similar he and this potential sibling of his were. “But I will never let you take him from me.”

If Lincoln was going to respond, Bruce didn’t care. Not when he heard Talia leaping at his back.

He dodged her swing, yanking the sword from her grasp and snapping it against his knee, throwing the remnants over the banister. Caught her fists as she tried to slam them into his face and chest, pushed her kicks away like they were nothing.

“You didn’t want him.” She hissed. “You never wanted him. He’s in this world because I said he could be. Now give him back.”

“Never.” Bruce swore. “I’ll never let you or your rotten father near him again so long as I live.” A pause, to correct. “So long as you’re like this.”

“He needs his mother.”

“He needs love.” Bruce pushed, trying to keep the begging out of his voice as her hits forced him back, as the railing began to dig into his spine. “And even I can’t give him the love he deserves, I’ll admit that – but this family can.”

Talia didn’t respond to that. Just let out a battle cry as she kicked out the railing behind him, and the wood shattered.

And he didn’t want to do it – he didn’t. But he had to. He had to win here, he had to beat her and Lincoln. He had to protect that door.

As he started to fall backwards, at the last possible second, he grabbed her instead. Used his momentum to pull himself up while simultaneously throwing her from the top floor of the manor.

She was so light compared to him that she flew instead of dropped. Hit her head on the nearby chandelier. Was unconscious before she hit the bodies of her army on the ground.

He grabbed the broken railing to balance himself, feeling blood blossom on his palm. He couldn’t lament his actions right now, or even take a moment to rest. Because Lincoln was still there. Lincoln March – maybe Thomas Wayne Jr. – he was still an annoyance that had to be dealt with.

So he tightened his grip on that broken banister and ripped it from its frame. Shifted his hold on it to be more comfortable, and turned towards Owlman.

The other was still on his knees, new knives in hand, deciding his next move. Bruce didn’t care. He’d bested this man before, and he’d gleefully do it again. So when Lincoln inhaled, when he shifted to move and use those blades, Bruce leapt and swung. As quick as he could. As hard as he could

Over and over and over and over.

Even when Lincoln collapsed, Bruce didn’t stop. Just kept swinging. Kept hitting this man who threatened his family. Threatened one of his children.

Hitting and hitting and hitting and hitting and hitting.

The spray of blood didn’t stop him, nor the ache building in his arms. It was a groan from nearby. One of the assassins or Talons, already starting to wake up.

And he could fight them again, maybe. But he couldn’t guarantee a victory, not with the injuries already sustained, the energy he already used. Could still win, probably would. But not guarantee.

He needed to be able to guarantee, here.

So he gave one last hit, then dropped the stick and backed away. Huffed and puffed for a few moments, then carefully dropped his shoulders, closed his eyes and leaned his face up towards the ceiling.

“It’s done.”

A second later, he heard the whipping of a cape in one of the windows. Glanced over his shoulder to find Clark and Diana.

“And everyone’s okay?” Clark asked, eyes darting around the bodies. He didn’t mean the criminals, of course.

Bruce turned to glance back at the door down the hall. “Everyone’s fine.”

“Then we’ll start loading out. I’ll call the others to help, so we can get out of here faster.” Clark sniffed. “You guys have somewhere to go tonight? The manor is…”

“Only the foyer is damaged. The rest of the house is fine.” Bruce grunted, stepping forward, not-so-accidentally kicking Lincoln March in the head as he did.

“…Bruce.” It was Diana, gently landing behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re injured. There’s blood everywhere. Let us fix you up first.”

He immediately shrugged her off. “The first thing you two should do is get Talia and Owlman the fuck out of my house.” Then quieter: “And I’m fine, Diana. Nothing serious. But thank you.”

Diana hesitated at the answer, but sighed anyway. Bruce watched her stoop and sling Lincoln March over her shoulder, listened as Clark gathered up Talia, before stepping off towards the door.

He waited until he was standing in front of it before hitting that button on his watch once more. Listened as the locks clicked again and the traps disarmed before opening the door as quietly as he could.

His eyes barely scanned the dim room, instead going straight to the bed in the corner. Dick’s bed, since this was Dick’s room.

Dick was asleep in said bed, just like Bruce had left him. His arm was wrapped around an equally slumbering Damian, who was curled into his side like a cat, using his shoulder as a pillow. Both tucked in, both in comfortable pajama-esque clothing, both with noise-cancelling headphones tight to their ears.

And one Alfred Pennyworth sitting in a chair next to them, shotgun across his knees at the ready.

“Did I hear Clark and Diana out there already?” Alfred asked, leaning back a little in relief. Bruce nodded silently as he entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. “The battle is already won?”

“Piece of cake.” Bruce mumbled walking forward. “How are they? Has the sedative worn off at all?”

“No, sir. Neither of them have moved an inch, and have remained entirely unaware of the battle just waged for their honor.” Alfred sniffed. Bruce cracked a smile as he passed him and stared down at that mattress. “…Might I say, Master Bruce, as I have so many times already…they’d have been happy to fight at your side this evening.”

“No.” Bruce answered simply. Carefully, he reached out, brushing Dick’s hair off his forehead. “I won’t let Talia or the Owls even look at them. I refuse.”

Alfred hummed thoughtfully. “Despite their defeat…do you believe they will attempt this again? Together or separately?”

“With even more numbers next time, I bet.” Bruce gently pulled the blanket up to Damian’s chin, brushed at the fingers the boy had curled up by his mouth. “But I’ll be ready.”

“And let the family assist you in protecting their brothers as well.” Alfred tried. “Let the boys protect themselves.”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. Just sat down on the bed, and stared at its occupants. At their peaceful, relaxed, young faces. At the ones he would gladly die for. Two of the ones who owned his heart, wholly and unconditionally. His eldest and his youngest.

He softly ran his knuckles over the hand Dick had across Damian’s shoulder, carefully stroked Damian’s arm. Glanced out the window to watch his friends drag his enemies away.

“I’ll be ready.”

[rk800downloading]

“Save me” Chapter 8 - Connor x reader

Disclaimer: Thank you for being so patient with me!! It’s thanks to all of you that I did good on my tests!!! <3 All of your messages and comments mean so much to me, please tell what you think of this chapter too! Please enjoy!

Previous Chapters: CHAPTER 1 / CHAPTER 2 / CHAPTER 3 / CHAPTER 4 / CHAPTER 5 / CHAPTER 6 / CHAPTER 7

It had been awhile since you last visited a hospital.

It was no different than anywhere else in Detroit; the blue glow of Cyberlife armbands cast itself over each and every inch of the facility. You watched nurses walk past, human-like in every aspect other than the blinking light on their temples.

Could GOR have been one of these emotionless faces that had passed you at some point?

What could have happened to make GOR into what he is now?

You wished you knew the answer.

"Come back in a week and we'll take these stitches out for you." One of the nurses tended to your hand. From the illuminated font on her uniform you could see that her name was Mary.

Anxiety had dug itself into your chest ever since you left the ambulance. That was the last time you saw Hank - and he was still unconscious. You remembered how Connor's brow furrowed when you made him follow the Lieutenant.

"Which room could I find Hank Anderson in?"

One, two and then three laps of light spun on her LED.

"Mr. Anderson is in room 782."

"Thanks-" You sprung up from the examination bed to feel Mary's taut grip sit you down again.

"You have a minor concussion," The nurse’s voice was sweet but firm "I will call your companion to take you by wheelchair."

"Companion?"

Even though you asked the question, there was only one person it could be.

Connor walked into the room. He was dishevelled - missing tie, shirt slightly unbuttoned and slightly untucked. His jeans still wore traces of mud from when he held you and Hank.

His fingers ran through his already tousled hair "How are you feeling?"

You felt goosebumps rise at the unfamiliar tone in his voice - it was different, raw, uninhibited.

"I'm okay." You smiled, ignoring the dizzying pain radiating from your jaw.

"Are you ready to go see Hank?" Connor hugged his arm around your waist, while wrapping his other under the crooks of your knees. You felt the bed leave you as he stood upright.

"Connor?" Your surprise was clear.

Mary rolled out a wheelchair from the corner of the room, letting Connor deposit you in it.

"I could carry you the whole way," He raised an eyebrow "but I believe a wheelchair is much more appropriate."

“Right,” You sighed, feeling disoriented by the comforting touch.

The feeling of steel against your head, the way GOR whispered to you, the mangled android, Connor's broken voice as he hugged Hank - was it all just a nightmare?

You found the answer in the aching of your hand.

Connor pushed you out of the room, rolling you to the elevator. He lit up the '7' button with a quick press.

"Are you okay?" Your voice broke the insensate hum of the hospital music.

His LED slowly turned yellow "Am I okay? I didn't get hurt, you and Hank did."

"You were upset."

"I'm still trying to diagnose that."

"I mean," you gulped, turning to look back at him "did you become-"

Connor placed a finger over your mouth, silencing you "Lets have this talk with Hank."

You resumed sitting forward, his touch lingering on your lips.

"To answer your question though, Hank is okay, you are okay -  that means I am okay."

“Unit Seven, day recovery.” An automated voice notified you of your arrival.  

“Shall we go?” Connor’s head peeked over your shoulder, strands of hair dangling “I think you’ll be happy to see Hank’s condition.”

You offered a humble nod, still affected by the contact.

“Good.” He gave you a light squeeze on your arm, before pushing the wheelchair out.

The walk was long; the clicking of Connor's dress shoes echoed throughout the hushed halls, just faintly escorted by the artificial ticking of holographic clocks.

Your concern grew larger with each passing room. Too many what ifs and buts plagued you, reminding you of how you felt that night in Hank's kitchen - that you felt as if you could no longer bear to be without him or Connor.

A gentle hand found its way to your shoulder - you nestled your head against it.

Connor must have sensed how you were feeling.

You reached the room, a dim screen reading '782' beside it. A cool breeze of air swept across your face as the door opened.

Hank sat upright, tucked in sheets of white linen. The sun leaked through the window glowing against his profile, notes of jazz filling the room.

He really was okay.

You felt tears fall from your eyes.

"Jeez, you cry at everything don't you?" Hank grinned, heeding your emotional entrance.

Connor reached into his jacket pocket "I said you’d be happy."

"I was just scared!" you grabbed the handkerchief offered over your shoulder, rubbing it hard against your eyes "What even happened? I thought you were seriously hurt!"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Hank sighed as Connor stifled a small laugh.

You spun around to face the source of the laughter.

"Is something funny?" your voice was incredulous.

"It would be better to hear it from Hank."

You turned your gaze to the man in question, eyes big, wet, confused.

Hank's expression refused to falter.

Connor picked you up again, placing you on the foot of the hospital bed "Please tell her Hank, comedic relief would be rather effective at this time."

Hank's eyes narrowed to slits "Fuck you."

You placed a hand on the Lieutenant's arm “GOR didn't hurt you?"

He pulled away muttering something barely audible.

“Hank, a little louder please.” Connor provoked.

He muttered again, this time only slightly above a murmur.

“Hank.” Connor's smile grew larger.

The old man shrugged, avoiding eye contact with you.

“...I tripped.”

Your mouth gaped.

Did you just hear correctly?

"He tripped." Connor confirmed, his grin now full blown.

Your eyes went wide, remembering how Hank looked as blood ran down his face "You tripped?"

The room stilled as you waited for his response…

"Yes, I fucking tripped! Holy shit!" Hank finally admitted throwing his hands into the air "It was dark, I couldn't fucking see!"

You spluttered, all the worry you felt erupting as laughter. Connor quietly joined you.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up assholes." Hank shook his head, but you could see him chuckling too.

"You mean," You could barely get the words out "Connor held you in his arms worried to death that he couldn't wake you and you only tripped?"

"He did what?" The embarrassment on Hank's face morphed into shock.

Connor stopped laughing "I did no such thing."

"Hank, he held you like this," you mimicked the motion of a mother cradling a baby before Connor could restain your hands.  

Hank watched as you lightly pushed Connor's arm and how he repaid the gesture, continuing to fake innocence.

"Connor," Hank's voice ended your playful moment "what happened to you?"

The android's shoulders tensed  "What do you mean?"

“Don't play dumb.” Hank raised his chin at the question “It's like you finally took the stick out of your ass."

Connor's eyes steeled. You grabbed his shaking hand giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He took a deep breath "You know my mission is to hunt deviants. When I saw GOR, I ran after him, I-" his voice cracked "I didn't look at anything else. I didn't see what happened until it was too late. I saw you on the ground, Hank," his gaze shifted to you "and I saw you with a gun to your head. I missed the shot I took at him - I could have chased after him."

"But you didn't." Hank urged Connor to continue.

"No, I let him get away. I saw you both laying there, I wanted to help, but I felt stuck as if a wall was blocking me - as if my only path was the one ending in GOR's apprehension."

Connor’s eyes scanned across the room, uncertainty flush across his features and the yellow of his LED.

"But then I realized there didn't need to be a wall - there was no wall. The moment I made that realization I was-”

"A deviant?" Hank's voice reverberated throughout the room.

"Yes," Connor cleared his throat, temple alarmed in red "I became deviant."

The smooth saxophone of the jazz danced around the room, letting Connor's words settle.

Hank bobbed along, admiring the skillful play of the woodwind instrument. You poked his arm bringing his attention to the perplexed look that had blossomed across the android's face.

"Oh- you, a deviant?" Hank feigned a shocked expression, slapping the wall exasperatedly "You’re shittin’ me!"

"You knew all along that I would." Connor tilted his head.

Hank gave a few quick nods, bashfully looking to the floor before returning his partner's gaze "Let’s just say that my detective’s intuition hasn't died completely."

Connor smirked, his voice tender “I never once thought it had.”

"What I don't get is why didn't you just use your vital scanner thing on me." Hank swung his legs off the bed, resting his elbows on his knees "You would have seen that I was fine - Just tripped, sprained my damn ankle, bumped my damn head."

"I was panicked." Connor's voice was unsure "At Ieast the definition of ‘panicked’ is the closest to describing how I was behaving. I haven’t been able to fully comprehend the changes I’ve experienced yet.”

"It’ll take time." The grey haired man offered a meek grin “In the meanwhile, we need to make sure that Cyberlife doesn't find out about these, uh, changes.”

“I've set previous diagnostics to camouflage my current statistics, however, this is a temporary solution - I don't know how long that will fool them.” Connor tried to return the smile before faltering, a frustrated sigh escaping.

“How very ‘Connor’ of you - always got a plan, huh?”

“I don’t want to be replaced,” the android admitted for the second time, his voice just as strained as the first. He looked uncomfortable, trying to mask his distress with simple gestures - like shifting his weight from one foot to the next. Without his LED no one would be able to tell he wasn't human.

“Kid,” Hank reached into his jacket pocket producing a quarter. He flicked it hard, letting Connor catch it with one hand “I won’t let them replace you.”

“Me either!” You spoke up while pulling Hank and Connor in close - completely disregarding the Lieutenant’s vehement protests as your hair muffled his voice.

Connor’s temple flashed yellow as you gave a small squeeze, fading to a calm blue as he melted into the hug. 

His voice came out as a whisper.

“Thank you.”

Hank pulled away first, sheepish of Connor’s heartfelt response "So all that happened last night is we learned that GOR is even worse than we thought, you got stitches and I got a sprained ankle. Fuck.”

"No, I was able to remember-" your interruption caught their attention, two sets of hopeful eyes boring into you.

You had been thinking about it since the memory first hit you, trying to collect every fragment, every word, piecing together exactly what happened. Now you could finally help.

"We missed something important at the first crime scene - there was a hidden door, where I fled from."

Connor knelt in front of where you sat, gently holding your wounded hand "Please, tell us everything."

Piano cascaded throughout the room. Keys slammed down, each string screaming the pianists’ will.

You breathed in every molecule of oxygen you could, ready to bring yourself back in time.

You began the story of how you ended up in an abandoned apartment, drenched in thirium.

You began the story of how you escaped from GOR.

Next Chapter: CHAPTER 9