#but keeping the hope around… if it goes south later on it’ll kill me

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[joonie-beanie]

The OM! Boys + first kisses (which you initiate!)

Masterlist

I didn’t explicitly mention it being the first kiss in each scenario, but please assume that it is! 🥰

Lucifer:

Your feelings for the Avatar of Pride are undeniable. In fact, recently, they’ve become very hard to keep in check.

He’s already on your mind when you walk past his study, and see him hunched over his desk--working hard, like always (and that worries you a bit). Your heart is so full of love for him, and it aches whenever you think of his long, exhausting days.

Even if it’s cheesy, you want to be a pick-me-up to him during those busy times.

“Shouldn’t you take a break?” you quip, silently making your way inside. Lucifer blinks, and his gaze softens when it falls on you.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he sighs, but doesn’t set his pen down. He frowns at the stack of papers in front of him, not paying you any mind as you slowly scoot your way around the side of the desk--stepping up behind him.

You watch him as he works, eyes trailing from his gloved hands, up his arms, and across his strong jaw line.

Lucifer never fails to enchant you. Even just being here, so close to him, has your heart racing.

...you want to kiss him.

“Y/N--”

And the minute Lucifer turns his head ever so slightly, moving to look at you, you do just that.

Without giving yourself much time to think on it, you reach your hands forward and cradle his face--closing your eyes as you press your lips against his own.

You feel Lucifer still in surprise, and you’re quick to try and pull back--but then a grin is spreading on his lips, and his gloved hand is curling against the back of your neck.

He kisses you for a few more moments, goosebumps rising on your skin. Then, he finally releases you--only allowing you a few inches to breathe as his thumb soothes through your hair. 

“I’m a bit upset you didn’t allow me the chance to kiss you first,” he says with a bit of a frown, but soon laughs. “However, as long as I get to keep kissing you, I certainly won’t complain.”

Mammon:

Despite your affections for the Avatar of Greed, they never seem to be enough.

Tonight, he’s pouting because you’d spent your afternoon with Asmo--having a shopping day together--and not him.

“I mean, ya could’ve invited me,” he says, pointedly ignoring you as he rolls onto his side and occupies himself on his DDD. You sigh.

“Mammon, Asmo wanted it to be just the two of us. I assumed you would be okay for just a few hours without me at your side.”

Somehow, he manages to pout even harder.

“I’m supposed’ta be your first...why are ya spending so much time with those guys?”

Your gaze softens as you regard him. He should know by now that he’s got a special place in your heart, and yet, that’s still not enough for him.

No, he’s the Avatar of Greed. He’ll only continue to crave more, right?

“Mammon.”

He grunts, not turning to face you. “What?”

“Mammon, look at me, please.”

You speak quietly, tenderly--letting any annoyance disappear from your tone. Then, finally, Mammon gives in, and rolls onto his back.

“What? Are you ready to apolo--mmph!”

He literally goes stiff as a board when you lean in and capture his lips. Your cheeks are hot--you’re embarrassed despite your sudden burst of confidence.

“There--,” you say, sitting back after a few seconds. “Is that enough to make it up to you?”

Mammon blinks at you, face getting redder by the second. Then, his gaze is darting away, brain catching up to what has just occurred. However, it’s clear that he’s far from unhappy.

“Uhhh...well, maybe if you give me a few more, I’ll think about forgiving you.”

 Levi:

It’s a spur of the moment type thing.

You’re hanging out with Levi, watching him play a video game, when things start to go wrong. He hops to his feet, cursing up a storm as he attempts to regain his footing in the match he’s suddenly now losing.

You decide to stay calm, to not worry, because surely Levi will calm down in a moment--but when his power starts to seep, an aura growing around him--you know you have to do something.

After all, he can’t summon Lotan again. 

“Levi, hey! Why don’t we calm down!” you try, smiling at him. You shift yourself into his field of vision, hoping to distract him from the game that’s only continuing to go south.

“There’s a special reward for beating this level!” he hisses, his amber eyes ghosting right over you. “I have to win!”

“You can try again once you’ve calmed down!” you argue, taking a step forward, with your hands held in front of you. Your fingers skim the fabric of his jacket, and you look up at him, but he’s too immersed to realize exactly how close you are. (After all, if he did, he would definitely be scrambling backwards right now).

“No, I--”

You sigh at his adamance, fingers curling into his shirt. You had been hoping your first kiss with him would at least be a little more romantic, but here goes nothing!

Gathering all of your courage, you press up and connect your lips with his. It takes him a few seconds to register what’s going on, but you feel the controller in his hands slowly drop. And then, he’s jolting back--arm raising to cover his tomato colored face.

“Y-Y-You!! You kissed me!”

“I’m sorry!” you immediately say, feeling hot as well. “You wouldn’t listen to what I was saying, and I didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself, or your games, or your brothers, so!” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but it doesn’t work well.

“Listen...I’m sorry if you didn’t like it, I just--”

“W-Well...I never said that...,” he mumbles, interrupting you. His gaze darts between your face, and the wall nearby. “But I didn’t really...feel...it the first time, so...m-maybe we should do it again…”

Satan:

Satan is a pretty good cook, so you tend to hang around him when it’s his night to make dinner.

It's not uncommon that you try to steal bites whenever he’s not looking.

Today, however, he warns you just a second too late that he’s making spicy curry (like, really spicy curry), so you should steer clear of any taste-testing.

Of course, a beat later he turns and sees you over the stove with the wooden spoon shoved into your mouth.

Even before you start to sweat, and tears form in your eyes, Satan is at fridge--pulling out the carton of milk and pouring you a big glass. 

As you down the soothing liquid, Satan stays by your side--unable to help it when he chuckles. You send him a glare, letting him know you don’t appreciate him laughing at your pain, and he lifts a hand to pat your hair.

“Oi, Oi~ It’s your fault for not listening to me.”

He breaks into another fit of giggles, moving past you to return to the stove. Your eyes follow after him, heart beating surprisingly fast at the sound of his laughter, and the slightest bit of physical contact with him.

Setting the glass on the counter--your mouth now successfully not about to burst into flames--you steel yourself and make your way towards him.

Without warning, once at his side, you reach forward and grab two handfuls of his sweater vest. Satan’s eyes widen in surprise as you drag him into the impromptu kiss, but it doesn’t take him long to reciprocate.

With little thought, he matches the firmness of your lips--his cheeks dusted pink when he pulls back to smile at you.

“What was that for?”

“Just felt like it,” you mumble, glancing away. Your eyes fall to the bubbling pot of curry. “...will you make a separate batch that won’t kill me?”

He hums. “Maybe for the price of another kiss.”

Asmo:

Although Asmodeus teases you all the time about how much he wants to kiss you, and to shower you in even more intimate forms of affection--he never acts on them.

Sure, he’s  the Avatar of Lust, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t understand boundaries.

He loves you a lot, and doesn’t want to mess your relationship up by moving too quickly, and for that, you really appreciate him.

However...while his consideration is appreciated, you’re starting to go stir crazy at the fact that he won’t make the first move.

So, you decide to take it upon yourself.

You spend hours--days, even--building up your courage. And today, your courage meter is finally full.

Asmo and you already have plans to hang out, so it’s not strange when you knock at his door. It is out of character, however, when he pulls the door open to greet you, and you immediately lurch forward--wrapping your arms around him as your lips connect.

Even if it’s unexpected, Asmo is reciprocating without missing a beat. He hugs you tightly, kissing you back until you’re gently pushing him away--in need of some air.

“Oh, I loved that,” he says dreamily, taking a step back into his room. “You should do that more often!! I love seeing this confident side of you! It’s such a turn on!”

You cup your hot cheeks, stepping inside after him--still in shock that you’d actually kissed him.

“I don’t know, Asmo, it took me a while to work up to that.”

He giggles a little at your statement, and you blink when he reaches forward and grabs a strand of your hair--tugging you forward. His eyes sparkle.

“Well...even if you don’t have the courage to initiate right now, since the ice is broken…,” he gaze falls to your lips. “Is it okay if I kiss you instead? I promise it’ll be enjoyable~ After all, I’m good at this stuff.”

Beel:

Most of the time, you’re alright with giving Beel your food. You love him to the moon and back, and seeing him eating his favorite dishes with that happy look on his face makes your heart soar.

Today, however, you’d purposely stashed your desert to the side--intent on eating it yourself, for once, considering it was a limited time flavor from Madam Screams.

You’d hoped that putting it out of sight, and quite literally stashing in behind all the food in the fridge, would help keep it from the Avatar of Gluttony--but food never gets past him.

You’re in the middle of finishing up your turn on dish duty when you hear the fridge pop open. Immediately you’re whipping your head around--gasping in shock when you see Beel sticking his head into the appliance, sniffing around with a hungry look on his face.

“Beel no!” you abandon the dishes and rush over to him, trying to stop him from devouring your dessert in one bite. However, your efforts are futile, and soon your precious sweets are gone. The only remaining hint of them is the dusting of sugar on Beelzebub’s lips, and in a moment of foolish bravery, you grab him by the collar of his jacket and tug him down.

Your lips connect, and you can taste the dessert on him--sweet, and rich--everything you’d been hoping for. 

After a few seconds, you pull back for air, and find Beel staring at you with surprise written all over him. You feel your face begin to heat up--realization at what you’d just done hitting you--but before you can think to apologize, or run, Beel is dragging you back in.

His palms cup your cheeks--his lips meeting yours once more.

“I’m sorry for eating your dessert,” he mumbles, regret in his tone. “I’ll buy you another one. But.. until then, I want to keep tasting you.”

Belphie:

You’re struggling to fall asleep when Belphie stops by your room, and asks if you want to go for a walk with him. The offer sounds heavenly, so you say yes.

It’s a simple thing--walking side by side with the Avatar of Sloth, through the uncrowded streets of the Devildom--but it still makes you feel...smitten.

Over the last few weeks, your feelings for Belphie have only grown larger, and larger. And now, even simple gestures like this--that don’t have any special meaning--cause your mind to wander.

Seriously, he’s not even talking, but your gaze is zeroed in on his mouth. On his soft lips, which are parted ever so slightly as he sighs--his eyes trailing around the familiar scenery.

“Hey,” he speaks, turning to face you. He smiles, and the expression has your heart jumping into your throat.

Without thinking--acting solely on a split second of courage--you step towards him.

“Do you wanna get some--,” his voice cuts off abruptly as you press your lips to his. He makes a quiet sound of shock, and you can only imagine that he’s staring at you like you’re crazy. (Luckily, you can’t confirm if he is since your eyes are squeezed shut).

After a few seconds, you decide to pull back--feeling a little dejected since Belphie hasn’t made a move of his own. Then, just as you peel your eyelashes back open, Belphegor is grabbing you by your waist--dragging you against him as he captures your lips.

His kisses are much hotter than yours, and you whine at him, gently knocking your fist against his chest when you notice that the two of you are starting to draw looks from some nearby demons.

“What?” he asks cheekily, his grip loosening enough to allow you some room for air. “You’re the one that suddenly kissed me in the middle of the street. First kiss, too. How daring.”

Your face flushes, eyes darting away. “Y-Yeah, well…”

“Well,” he continues, reaching down to grab your hand. He intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging you farther down the street. “I say we get somewhere more private, and then continue.”

Diavolo:

It just...sort of...happens.

Diavolo invites you to have tea in his office during your free period, and things go so well, that for a moment, you have a lapse in sanity and actually forget that the goddamn Prince of Hell isn’t your boyfriend.

You’ve had feelings for him for a while, and sometimes--when he’s in front of you, looking so handsome, and being so charming--it’s easy to lose yourself in those feelings.

So when your tea time wraps up, and Diavolo escorts you to the door of his office, maybe you--without thinking--press to your tiptoes and plant a kiss right against his lips.

“Thank you for tea, I--,” your words die off as a sense of dread washes over you. You raise a hand to your lips, realizing what you’ve done. “Oh my god--”

Your eyes flit to Diavolo’s face, and you can tell that he’s at a loss for word--his golden eyes wide with surprise. 

Oh god, why are you like this??

Freaking out, you hurriedly reach for the door handle. “Lord Diavolo, I am so sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I--”

But before you can run into the hall and away from your current nightmare, Diavolo is grabbing your wrist and tugging you back into the room.

“No, no! No need to be sorry,” he beams, his free hand lifting to brush a few stray hairs from your face. “I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

You flush, looking away and mumbling. “But I kissed you out of the blue like that…”

“True,” he chuckles, gaze tender as he regards you. “I was surprised, that’s for sure.” He leans down and looks you in the eyes--your faces just inches apart. 

“So, next time, maybe don’t jump at me. Simply asking me for a kiss will work just fine.”

Barbatos:

You’re helping Barbatos out in the kitchen of the Demon Lord’s Castle when the urge to kiss him suddenly overwhelms you.

Because honestly--how dare he look so kind, and handsome all the damn time. In everything that he does, he always manages to hold the same poise, and grace, and it drives you mad.

Even now, as he stands over the stove--watching dinner cook, with an apron tied around his waist--the energy he exudes draws you in, and makes you fall all over again.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you slowly make your way around the kitchen island, and step up to his side.

Sensing your presence, he turns to face you with a gentle smile.

“Dinner is almost finished,” he says. “Thank you for your help. If you want, you can head to the dining room where the others are.”

You nod, but your feet don’t move. Barbatos blinks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you gather all of your courage, and then reach forward. Barbatos pauses as your fingers brush against his cheeks--his eyes going wide when he feels your lips press against his--warm, and soft.

“I…,” you stutter when you finally pull back. “I just...I want to do that, so…”

Barbatos chuckles at your darkening face, his gloved hand moving to cup your cheek.

“It’s quite alright. I’m flattered to know that you wanted to kiss me.”

His thumb soothes over your hot skin, and he smiles a bit wider.

“If you ever feel like doing it again, then please, by all means, you have my permission.”

“Same to you,” you mumble, causing him to laugh a little more. Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Duly noted.”

Solomon:

You choose to blame your actions on the atmosphere of the party, and the fact that the sorcerer is looking fine as ever--dressed in a dark button down shirt, with the first few buttons undone.

He’d dragged you to The Fall with him, wanting a companion for the night, and you’d agreed.

Now, it’s been hours since your arrival, and the entire time, Solomon has kept you close to his side--fingers curling around your waist when you accidentally begin to stray too far.

The contact has butterflies fluttering around inside your tummy, but you try your best to ignore the sensation--the way being so close to Solomon is making you feel.

Your feelings boil over, however, when Solomon makes a point of defending you from a pushy demon.

Following the encounter, he drags you to a more private area of the club to create some much needed space.

“Jeez, I know you’re a human, but that was pretty rude,” he mumbles, eyes straying to the dance floor as he adjusts his shirt cuffs. But your gaze is solely locked on him, a frenzy of different emotions running through you in response to him, and his actions. 

In the end, though, you can only think of one thing to do. One thing you really want to do.

Solomon makes a quiet sound of shock when you suddenly press up--pushing your lips against his for a few long beats. And when you inch back for air, you find Solomon grinning at you, looking quite satisfied.

“Oh? Giving a kiss to your prince charming? I like this type of payment.”

You scoff and push against his chest, but he’s already grasping your waist--keeping you near.

“I want that kiss back.”

“No refunds,” he laughs, his forehead knocking against yours, and the look in his eyes makes your melt a little. Then, he’s the one initiating kisses, and you swear your heart is beating in time with the bass of the club music. 

Simeon:

With a school dance right around the corner, the angel had kindly offered to help you learn how to...well...dance. Properly dance. Not club dancing, or anything of the like.

No, from what you had heard, the RAD school dances were much more formal than the dances you had experienced in school back in the human world, so you’d been searching for a dance teacher.

Simeon had been more than happy to offer his services.

“Look at you!” he says with a gentle laugh--your hand on his shoulder, and his fingers curled around your waist. There’s music playing from your DDD, abandoned on his dresser as the two of you waltz around his room.

“You’re really getting the hang of it!”

You smile as you glance at his bright face, heart fluttering against your ribs as you’re once again reminded of how pretty he is, and how close the two of you are at the moment.

Seriously, as much as you appreciate him for offering to teach you, you’re pretty sure you’ve already staved off half a dozen heart attacks during your lessons.

And today, as heart attack number seven looms, you reach your breaking point.

As the song comes to a close, you step forward--breaking your rhythm--and kiss him. You can feel his body still--his brain catching up with reality.

Just as you begin to pull away, Simeon is closing the gap--hugging you tightly as he reciprocates your affections.

“You won’t kiss the others like this when you’re dancing with them, will you?” he whispers with a smile, making you laugh. “Our first kiss should be special, I think.”

“Kisses while dancing will be reserved for you,” you reassure him, giggling more when he pulls back and pouts at you.

“All kisses should be reserved for me.”

[dl4draws]

okay so here is my little bullet point story for the httyd au lol, hope you guys like it

love amongst the dragons

this is a zuko centered au but the story actually begins with how sokka got foof

sokka and hiccup are one no one can change my mind

the swt hunts dragons because dragons hunt them, same thing as httyd

so basically the httyd storyline isn’t zuko’s story but sokka’s

he shoots foof (sprinkle of saber tooth moose lion mixed with night fury, mostly changing the size and teeth – foof would look almost exactly the same as toothless but is taller, has bigger legs, is bigger in general and well the saber tooth of course – also night furies aren’t extinct!)), not because he cant actually participate in the hunting, he’s perfectly allowed, but he creates these machines and people are like just use a spear like the rest of us lol

he shoots the saber tooth night fury down and no one believes him so he’s like “okay fuck it im gonna go find it”

he does indeed find him, foof is too cute, sokka instantly loses the battle, he doesn’t wanna fight dragons anyway

he keeps foof a secret until katara one day sees sokka sneaking away while she’s practicing water bending (the war doesn’t exist, there’s just problems in the fire nation – so the SWT is full of people)

katara is like sokka what the fuck are you doing

sokka cant lie to katara, he can charm anyone else but not katara,, sisters are charm proof

anyways events of httyd proceed to happen

sokka learns how to fly, learns stuff in general about dragons

katara is kinda like the astrid but she’s like confused at the beginning bc sokka’s getting too good at handling dragons and she’s sus

they both get good with dragons after that

until they find another dragon when they were flying around

a Very Large tm dragon

basically a water dragon, inspired by the unagi but from the south pole, it can leave the water but it prefers to live in the deep ocean

katara loves her, she starts “practicing” water bending at a special spot so one can find her, only sokka and her know where it is since they found it while flying

blah blah blah the swt proceeds to have a happy ending and everyone gets a dragon

the swt starts a life with dragons this time and they believe they are the only ones doing this (aside from the air nomads) (there is no war so aang is born 100 years later)

BACK TO ZUZU

Crown prince zuko and soon to be chief of the swt sokka are penpals, they’ve met eachother once or twice, sokka never tells him about the dragons

The fire nation has few dragons left

The fn is the birthplace of all dragons, but they have very little dragons now, they hunt them for fun

It is a ritual for the crown prince to kill a dragon and bring to the palace its heart

ozai is aware that there’s only one dragon left in their territory and the last dragon nest is weeks away

he sends zuko anyway and zuko goes, but he really doesn’t want to kill a dragon

he finds one, he goes through all that same stuff sokka (hiccup) went through with “he looked just as scared as I was” so he lets the dragon free, the dragon isn’t hurt so he can fly away but he doesn’t

he knows zuko won’t do anything to harm him so he stays with him

zuko doesn’t know wtf to do so he does what he knows always sets him in the right direction

he writes sokka a letter and tells him exactly what happens, about the dragon (his name is druk obviously) and how he doesn’t have any idea about what to do, he hopes sokka can reply as soon as possible and if he has time he can come to the fn and help him, he’s an engineer right? He can help him build stuff for druk, right??

He sends the hawk with the letter, knowing it’ll reach sokka in about week, since he’s farther south right now, so he expects sokka’s answer in two weeks

He most definitely is not expecting sokka to get there a week later riding a dragon the color of the night sky, you’d think the dragon was black if it wasn’t standing under the sunlight

Zuko hasn’t seen sokka in a few years, so he’s not exactly the same as he was back when they were still 19 (they’re 21 and 22 now)

Sokka isn’t expecting to see zuko with a supposedly extinct dragon when he gets there tho

He’s fascinated by druk (also zuko looks very pretty)

Sokka teaches zuko everything he knows about dragons, how to fly them, how to treat them, everything (they’re like little dates but they don’t mention that, they’re buddies tm)

Zuko comes back to the fn and he finds out that ozai is planning to wipe out the last nest, so zuko tries to stop him

And ozai lashes out so druk appears to protect him, and ozai is like oh bitch you’ve done it now and his little army is about to attack both zuko and druk when sokka and foof (both were hiding there in the palace) do a sneak attack and get them both out

Azula sees all of this from the shadows (this is important)

Zuko and sokka grab some stuff and leave the fn

They fly to the swt, zuko’s nervous about ozai’s plan but sokka knows that once they get home and set up a plan he’ll be okay

Once zuko lays eyes on the swt he goes holy fucking agni and sokka laughs so hard he almost falls off foof

The swt is built to house dragons and such, it really is a sight to see

They make a plan and basically go all out, the swt and the air nomads are good buddies, so aang is there with his cloud jumper (appa!!!!! Flying bisons exist but they’re like very important to the air nomads and people don’t ride them, they just vibe)

Aang is the avatar, so he has a deep connection with alpha dragons (the bewilderbeast)

They all make a plan, and they start flying to the fn, katara takes her big ass unagi like dragon, but she goes underwater with aang following her from the skies (they’re trying to find an alpha to ask for help)

They get to the nest before the troops, and stand their ground

It seems like they’re about to lose when katara appears with her dragon, the cloud jumper and aang in the avatar state on top of an alpha

The battle ends quickly after that and zuko and sokka are like !!! we did it and they share a sweet little kiss bc I say so (currently listening to coming back around and it’s making me emotional)

Azula appears after all this in sokka’s room (he’s staying at the fn palace for a bit to help the fn get adjusted to the new dragon rules) sokka hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to azula much, but he knows she isn’t opposed to dragons (or that is what it looks like)

His answer comes in the form of azula actually asking him for help, because she’s been hiding two dragon eggs for about two years

Sokka’s like!!!!!!!!!! Yes I can help!!!

She takes him to the eggs and he realizes that he hasn’t seen those types of eggs before but the coloring of the egg indicates that they are fire nation born dragons (they’re bright orange at the top and dark red at the bottom)

He asks if she found them near a volcano and azula’s like, hm yes but are you aware this palace is IN a volcano, and sokka’s like oh yeah right, and he tells her those are most likely dragons that live inside volcanoes and they like extremely hot temperatures so she should keep them near lava or with constant heat

Azula takes note of everything, and she starts going to sokka if she needs advice with her dragon eggs

Azula: how long until they hatch? Sokka: you gotta wait, depending on the dragon they can take from 2 to 5 years to hatch Azula: hm okay

Time passes, zukka dancing and singing to the dancing and the dreaming is all I need in life (will draw tomorrow)

Anyways yes sokka and zuko start living their best life riding their dragons under the moonlight and early in the mornings watching the sunset from between the clouds the end <3

[cyhyr]

Whumpmas In July: Closure

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~3950

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Wakes & Funerals, Angst, fluff, smut, blow jobs, hand jobs, moving in together

A/N: BUT LIKE THIS IS JUST P0RN WITH *~*FEELINGS*~*

Conclusion, Starting from "Sleep"

Read After “Hope”

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

~

Kakashi sits on the edge of the bed and watches Iruka dress. Black on black on black formalwear; he’s dressed similarly. Iruka is fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, watching himself in the mirror that hangs on the closet door. His hair is still loose, slightly damp at the ends from his shower and curling at his shoulders. It’ll straighten as it dries, Kakashi knows.

“Love.”

Iruka drops his hands. He’s been fumbling the same button for a few seconds.

Kakashi stands and crosses the room. He reaches around Iruka, drawing his back to his chest, and finishes the line of the shirt. With gentle coaxing, he turns Iruka around and then pulls him back into a tight hug.

“We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

Iruka rests his forehead on Kakashi’s shoulder, his hands light on his waist. “No one else will,” he says quietly.

“That doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just let his spirit float aimlessly?”

Kakashi doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how. He just holds Iruka tighter.

“I need this,” Iruka murmurs. “I need to do this.”

“Alright,” Kakashi kisses his hairline. “Alright.”

~

He stays at the edge of the cemetery, watching Iruka and the priest speak. He’s too far away to hear. He doesn’t care.

The fuck died a traitor to the village, a rapist and an abuser to the end.

All around this cemetery are the ancestors of civilian families who have lived in Konoha and the Land of Fire for decades, centuries. This… he doesn’t deserve to share the same space as them.

But.

Iruka fought for it. He petitioned Tsunade, and spoke to the priests, and arranged for as many of the funeral rites as he could reasonably be allowed. Mizuki’s name won’t go on the Stone, nor was he allowed to be enshrined in the cemetery with other fallen shinobi. And Iruka was… he accepted the terms.

So this morning they picked up Mizuki’s ashes and bones.

And now they’re here, with incense and candles and one lone white chrysanthemum in Iruka’s fingers. When they’d gotten here, the priest had asked if they wanted to wait for anyone else, but Iruka had sadly murmured to just get it over with. No one else was coming. Iruka had sent out notices to their classmates, old coworkers, the woman that Mizuki had after Iruka; no one had responded.

Kakashi had held Iruka through the disappointment last night. Iruka had hoped that the woman, Tsubaki, would at least show. But yesterday was just like today; nothing and no one else.

So he watches. The incense is lit and prayers are said, the bones and ashes are laid before the gravestone, covered with the wooden marker and one of the few photographs Iruka still has of Mizuki, one taken back when they both had finally completed their first year of teaching.

“This one,” he had said, picking it out of the album. He had put his fingertip lovingly over Mizuki’s face and held back tears, continuing, “We. We were happy, then… I think. Maybe it wasn’t real, but it felt—right.”

Finally the priest finishes the prayers and rites, and the ashes and bones are buried, the marker placed. The priest seems to offer Iruka their condolences one last time, and then leaves. Kakashi holds up a hand to stop them as they approach, and takes out a heavy envelope from his inner jacket pocket. With a slight bow he offers the envelope to the priest, and they accept it silently.

Iruka had told him he could cover the expenses for the service.

Kakashi needs to do this for him, though. It’s all he can do now, really.

Because he’s trying. He’s trying to be objective at least. But this dick abused his lover for years, conditioned him into acting certain ways under stress; and now Iruka takes a small cocktail of medication everyday to keep himself stable. And he can’t forget that, let alone forgive. He won’t.

He’s glad Mizuki’s dead. And also, he’s of the opinion that Mizuki doesn’t deserve the same rites that the dead typically receive. He doesn’t deserve to be treated with the same dignity that everyone else is—Minato-sensei, Obito, Rin.

(Not his father. He. He never did this for Sakumo. He was too young, in too much pain, and the village was all too pleased to see Sakumo gone. He regrets that now, but he can’t… well. The bones and ashes are still in the family shrine. Maybe…)

So instead he pays for the service, and for the cremation, and for the burial, and includes a significant donation to inspire the priests to come by and pray over Mizuki’s grave for the next year or so. Because that’s what Iruka would want. He would want someone to help this poor fuck, even if it couldn’t be himself.

Kakashi wonders if Mizuki knew how lucky he was, to have the devotion of the one person in the entire village—likely the entire world—who knows only how to see the good in people. He wonders if Mizuki knows now how lucky he is, that even though Iruka killed him, even though Mizuki raped him and beat him and brutalized him… Iruka is here, when no one else would step up, praying over his ashes for his soul to find peace.

Because—and it hurts to admit it—Iruka loved him.

Iruka smiles and the sun comes out; Iruka leans on Kakashi and the south winds warm him from the inside out; Iruka kisses him and it’s a revelation. And it’s his capacity to love, and especially to love broken people, that’s given Kakashi the chance to have this. Not his humanity—though that is such a bonus—but this unending fount of love Iruka seems to be made of; that’s his strength.

It’s also his most dire weakness. And Mizuki took advantage of that. He took all the love Iruka gave him and twisted it into something dark and bitter. But instead of running or fighting like any other shinobi should have, Iruka’s response was simply to love Mizuki harder. Maybe they drove each other to the heights of insanity they eventually reached.

Kakashi will never know. And after today he won’t care.

He enters the cemetery to go and stand silently beside Iruka, still praying. Eventually, Iruka picks up his head and leans against Kakashi’s thigh.

“It wasn’t all bad, y’know,” Iruka mutters.

Kakashi doesn’t respond, only carefully places his hand on Iruka’s hair and petting gently.

“After the Kyūbi attack, we roomed together until we graduated from the Academy,” Iruka says. “Sometimes the heat would go out and he would come and huddle with me with all the extra blankets we had.”

He was probably just cold too.

“He stayed up all night with me to practice the clone jutsu before our final test, so we could graduate together.”

He was using your natural ability to teach to learn a last-minute technique.

“He taught Naruto how to roll omelets. That was. That was a nice morning.”

He… hmm.

“He wasn’t always a monster,” Iruka sniffles. “I… He was there, Kakashi.”

“I know, Love.”

“I never wanted this.”

“I know.”

“I thought… For so long, I thought we would be together forever. He was everything. And it was… it was okay. I didn’t know it could be any different.” Iruka looks up at him, tears stuck in his eyes. “He had it easy, didn’t he? I forgave everything he did to me.”

“But he took you for granted.”

“What he did was underestimate my protectiveness,” Iruka sighs. “Both times. It ended our relationship, and then it ended his life.”

They stay in the cemetery for a long time. Kakashi listens to Iruka tell him stories about Mizuki the boyfriend and tries to meld that with his own memories of Mizuki the abuser. When they leave, Iruka drops the chrysanthemum on top of the marker with a finality that screams where the rest of the cemetery is silent.

~

They go home later, and Iruka stops on the sidewalk looking at his house while Kakashi pushes the fence open and starts down the path to the front door. His black jacket is slung over his shoulder, and the sunset warms his skin and casts a reddish-orange glow onto his pale skin. He stops and turns, one foot propped on the second step up to the porch, and smiles back at Iruka.

That Iruka can tell he’s smiling with three-quarters of his face covered and three meters of space between them… Iruka realizes he’s so far gone on this man. He has been for months.

But Kakashi looks so perfect, waiting for him outside the house.

“Coming, Love?”

Iruka flushes, scratches at his scar, and walks up the path. When he’s close enough to Kakashi, he murmurs, “Hopefully later,” and passes on to the door to unlock it and release the wards. He leads the way inside and looks back over his shoulder to see Kakashi looking at his ass hungrily, still standing in the same spot and position he’d been when Iruka had passed him.

He grins. “Coming, Love?”

Kakashi looks up at him and whines, “Don’t tease.”

Iruka laughs. He turns and goes inside, leaving the door open for Kakashi to follow him. He tosses his keys onto the table in the genkan and begins toeing off his shoes.

Kakashi comes and stands behind him, putting his nose right in Iruka’s hair behind his ear. “Love you,” he mutters.

“Love you too,” Iruka responds. He twists and kisses Kakashi on the cheek, still masked.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Iruka says. He finishes getting his shoes off and steps out of the genkan. He holds out his hands for Kakashi to take, and grins when he has Kakashi close again, now in the living room. “Though, if you’re on the menu…”

Kakashi takes down his mask, groaning deep in his chest. “I thought you said no Icha Icha lines.” He slips his arms around Iruka’s neck while Iruka’s hands go to Kakashi’s hips.

Iruka leans in slowly. “Are you really complaining?”

“No. No, gods, no. Please kiss me.”

Iruka deliberately kisses Kakashi on the corner of his mouth. And when Kakashi tries to turn into the kiss, he trails kisses away from Kakashi’s lips, across his jaw and down his neck.

“Iruka—!” Kakashi whines.

He walks them back to the couch, licking at Kakashi’s neck the whole while. He sits down and Kakashi falls after him, straddling his lap and cupping his face.

“It’s okay? Can I—?”

“Kakashi, please keep kissing m—”

He does. He dives in and coaxes Iruka’s lips apart so their tongues can glide together. All the while his hips are slowly rocking against Iruka’s; he grabs Kakashi low on his hips and urges him to grind faster.

“You and your—oh, gods—fucking suit,” Kakashi pants into his mouth. “Gorgeous. Godsdamned gorgeous in this.”

Iruka tips his head back and lets Kakashi kiss and lick down his neck. Fingers grapple at his tie and collar, fumble with his shirt. Iruka’s own hands squeeze Kakashi’s ass, full and warm in his palms.

“Want you,” Kakashi murmurs against his throat. “Want. I want to see you come. Can I do that for you tonight? Please, please let me make you come.”

Iruka pushes Kakashi’s head up with two fingers under his chin and kisses him. Kakashi’s hands stop their pursuit of stripping him out of his shirt and instead cup Iruka’s face, still muttering please, please, please, all the while rocking and grinding in Iruka’s lap and—

And—

Oh, how’s he supposed to say no to that?

“Okay,” Iruka kisses him. “Um. Okay. Just. I don’t…”

And then Kakashi says, "I want you to fuck me."

And something in Iruka stops.

~

“Want to—hmm—feel you move in me,” Kakashi rambles. He continues unbuttoning Iruka’s shirt, exposing more and more bronze skin. Iruka's chest is broad and muscled and perfect, just like the rest of him, and Kakashi slips off of his lap to settle on his knees between Iruka’s thighs; he leans in and laps at Iruka’s clavicle, down his sternum, drifts aside to catch a nipple in his teeth. Iruka’s soft hum and fingers in his hair tell him he’s doing good so he flicks his tongue against the bud between his teeth. His own eye rolls back to hear Iruka’s cry of pleasure.

Down further, he keeps undoing buttons and parting fabric. He lays kisses all over Iruka’s belly, cups his erection through his pants, and glances up at Iruka before he goes for his belt and trousers.

“Please.”

“What—um—what are you…?” Iruka can’t seem to get the words out, but his chest is heaving with his breath and the flush on his cheeks is staining his flesh all the way down his neck. He’s-he’s beautiful.

“I. I really want to suck you off,” Kakashi says. “And then, if you’re up for round two, I want you inside me.”

Iruka takes his cheek in hand and smiles and says, “We can. We can definitely try that.”

“I love you.”

Iruka kisses him again, soft and sweet. “Love you too. But let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Kakashi can agree with that. He stands up and pulls Iruka along by the hands. He’s giddy and excited—almost as much as when Iruka lets him eat him out, but this excitement has the twinge of newness to it. He’s wanted to get Iruka’s cock in his mouth since the first time they had gone to bed together, and now, finally, he’s getting it.

He’s a bit lightheaded by the prospect, if he’s honest.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Iruka begins unbuttoning Kakashi’s shirt, while Kakashi plays with Iruka’s buckle. Iruka moves to the cuff buttons at each wrist, and then returns to Kakashi’s chest to part the fabric and slide his palms over his undershirt and up to his shoulders. He pushes the shirt off and pulls it down his arms, dragging his palms and fingertips along his pale skin and raised scars. The shirt is tossed and Iruka returns to the undershirt, lifting slowly from the bottom and smirking at how Kakashi’s abs jump at his touch.

The undershirt and mask join the shirt on the floor, and Iruka goes for Kakashi’s belt, but is halted by his own belt and trousers being undone. Kakashi let Iruka have his bit of fun; but he’s really got to get that cock in his mouth.

“I love you,” he murmurs again. He leans in and kisses Iruka’s cheek, down to his jaw and back to his lips; traces his ribs with his fingers and groans at the dips of muscle definition on his abdomen. “You’re perfect, and I love you.”

Iruka’s panting lightly, his eyes closed and his lips shiny with spit—his or Kakashi’s, who’s keeping track anymore? Kakashi swallows the whimpering moan he pulls from Iruka’s throat as he finishes stripping both of them, their clothing a pile of fabric on the floor.

He urges Iruka to lay down on the bed, takes hold of his underwear once he’s prone, and asks again, “Is this alright?”

Iruka’s response is to raise his hips and tip his head to the side. He has a wet, red mark on his neck that may bruise by morning if Kakashi’s not careful.

He slips the last bit of fabric off and throws it aside. Iruka’s cock, hard and reddened, bobs onto his belly and smears precome across his skin. He blushes furiously, and it’s perfect.

Kakashi crawls onto the bed, spreading Iruka’s legs and settling himself between thick muscular thighs. First he kisses the soft, darker skin of his inner thighs, then trails his nose up through the thatch of hair around the base of his cock. He darts out his tongue to taste and relishes the whimper he receives. One hand joins his mouth in worship, gently cradling the thick cock while his tongue licks all around the base.

“K’shi. Love.”

The most subtle of shifts has him positioned above the head of Iruka’s cock. He licks up a bead of precome at the tip, closing his eyes to savor it. Continuing to cradle this precious member in one hand, he begins to press open-mouth kisses all along the shaft. His thumb caresses the tip and spreads the precome that keeps leaking.

Then Kakashi licks a wide stripe up the underside, base to tip, and sucks the head into his mouth—

And Iruka sobs.

Kakashi lifts his head, letting Iruka slip from his mouth but still holding him in one hand, and checks in—”Iruka?”

“Don’t stop,” Iruka whimpers. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Relieved, Kakashi kisses his navel, his hips; strokes his cock with a slow, steady palm; and only when he hears Iruka cry out again—

“Gods among us, Kakashi, please!”

—does he slip his lips back over his head and take Iruka as far into his mouth as he can. He’s not long, but he’s thick and Kakashi’s jaw aches to hold him on his tongue; a slow breath out has Kakashi sliding the very tip of Iruka’s cock down his throat and relishing the fresh, louder cry he receives for the motion. He can hold Iruka in his throat for twenty-four seconds before needing to pull back. He’s not like Iruka, with no gag reflex and a penchant for swallowing long cocks and holding them in his throat. He bobs his head, drooling over the thick shaft and moaning at the taste of more precome in the back of his mouth.

Kakashi had been braced on his elbow, holding Iruka’s hip with a careful grip. But now he shifts, settles his weight more on his knees, places his forearms on Iruka’s spread thighs. He continues holding Iruka’s cock with one hand, stroking where his mouth can’t reach and keeping him from jerking up into Kakashi’s throat. With his newly freed hand, though, he cups Iruka’s balls and presses his thumb just barely against Iruka’s hole.

“Love you, love you, oh-oh-ahh, so g-good, K’shi, fuck.”

That’s it. That’s it, Love.

He lets Iruka thrust into his mouth just the barest amount, knowing unfortunately that he’ll choke if he lets Iruka take what he wants but also. Also, gods, Iruka is panting and moaning and it’s driving Kakashi higher and higher.

“Want. Oh. Kakashi, Love, wanna come with you,” Iruka taps at his shoulder, “Please, please come up here and kiss me.”

He lets Iruka go, swallows the last bitter traces of precome on his tongue, and crawls up Iruka’s body. Iruka takes him by the face and pulls him the rest of the way to his mouth, kissing and nipping at his lips and groaning all the while.

“Why,” Iruka mutters into his mouth,”are you still wearing your underwear?”

“Good question.” Kakashi licks into his mouth and continues kissing him, fingers his nipples, rocks their hips together—

“Off. Get them off,” Iruka whines.

“But then I’d have to stop touching you.”

“You can take three seconds to strip.”

Kakashi sits back and shoves his underwear down his thighs. The cool air on his dick is a shock, but not as much as watching Iruka reach for his own cock and begin to touch himself.

Kakashi stops to watch.

His fingertips glide along the underside, up and down and up and—they stop and Iruka takes himself in a light grip, swirling his thumb against the tip while his other hand drifts to his chest to pinch and tweak at his own nipple.

Iruka licks his lips, moans brokenly, and says, “Are you going to make me do this myself, or are we doing this together?”

He fumbles the rest of the way out of his underwear, saying, “I. Well.” He settles back, kneeling between Iruka’s thighs and watching his hand move and his chest heave. “Gods, Iruka, I could come from this.”

“Watching me?”

“You have no idea. How godsdamn sexy you are right now.”

Iruka’s blush is sweet and gorgeous.

“Want us,” he pants. “Want you.”

Kakashi leans back down and kisses him, deep and lovingly, pressing their bodies together, hips to navel to chest. Iruka’s arms encircle his neck and keep him close, keep them kissing. He reaches between them for Iruka’s cock and takes him in hand again, pumping his hand carefully.

Iruka shakes his head. “Together, Kakashi, please.”

He shivers. “I won’t last,” he murmurs.

“Don’t care. Wanna feel you.”

So Kakashi leans up on his elbow, adjusts his hips and pushes his own cock alongside Iruka’s into the circle of his hand and they both sigh and moan and Iruka begs him to move—

“K’shi, please, please, I’m so close, just—little more, please!”

Kakashi ruts, smoothing precome along their cocks with his palm and easing the friction. Iruka’s leaking steadily but Kakashi’s pulsing, damp squirts from his tip with each thrust. His eyes are shut tight and his lips are parted and kiss-bruised.

“You. You’re so beautiful,” Kakashi whispers.

And Iruka comes. Splashes of come slip over his hand, pooling on his stomach and chest. Kakashi stills his hand to feel the pulse of Iruka’s cock against his own and it’s glorious. His jaw drops in an almost silent cry, interrupted only by soft Ah-ah-ahh as he pants. And when he starts to come down, Iruka moans and gasps, “So good K’shi,” and then.

And then he opens his eyes, just the barest amount, and says, “You too. Come for me, Love.”

Like he could resist. Kakashi’s hand doesn’t even move again, still gently holding them both; he comes on command, adding to the mess on Iruka’s belly as his hips rut against Iruka’s.

His mouth is dry and his throat aches when he comes back to himself. Iruka is holding him against his chest, the mess mostly wiped away by a corner of the blanket. Kakashi nuzzles into Iruka’s neck, breathes him in, and relishes the soft touches to his back and arms.

“Move in with me.”

Kakashi opens his eye and picks up his head. Iruka is staring at the ceiling, like he’s not sure how Kakashi's going to respond.

As if there’s any other response he could give.

“Alright.”

“I just thought, y’know, you’re here all the time anyway, and I miss you when—” Iruka looks down at Kakashi and furrows his brow, saying, “Wait. Alright?”

Kakashi smiles. “Alright.”

“You. You’ll live here. With me.”

“I would love to.”

Iruka frowns, turning his gaze away from him and instead to the wall. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I’m realizing that,” Kakashi chuckles.

“I expected to have to convince you.”

“Convince me? To live with the love of my life? To live with the man who makes me bad omelettes but perfect pancakes? To live with you, who makes sure my weapons are sharp and designs seals and tags specifically for my use?”

“Kakashi…”

“I’d get to live with the same man who opened up his heart and his home to my sensei’s son, who the rest of the village had turned their back on, and showed him what love is with no desire for reciprocation or payment. You just. Did.”

“Gods, love, stop.”

Kakashi does. Because that word is important and he won’t tarnish it by disrespecting it. But he could go on. And on. And on.

But Iruka smiles and kisses him again and says, “Okay. We’ll get you moved in tomorrow?”

Because it’s getting late.

And he’s home.

[rwdestuffs]

RvB0: What went well, what didn’t, and all the in-between.

Since RT is making this a bit easier by releasing the complete seasons in long videos, this is arguably something that probably should be done to wrap up the whole thing, and maybe see how far the series has come.

Red vs. Blue: ZERO is arguably the most divisive season of the entire series of the show.

Now obviously, people are very resistant to change, but whereas the prior seasons had change that was received to varying degrees of positivity, it was overall, positive.

So let’s go over some history to better understand what happened.

The main aspect of the original Reds and Blues, intentionally or not, were based off of gaming stereotypes.

It’s WAY too long to describe here, so here’s a link to how it works: [here]

Seasons 1-5 is basically a showcase of these gamer stereotypes. Displaying them as their base personalities and grows them as these new characters.

The whole entirety of Project Freelancer is pretty much a deconstruction of gaming tropes. The AI are Lootboxes that give an edge to a player, they have leaderboards, and they go into lobbies with lower level players to basically flex all over them.

The Chorus Trilogy has an arc deconstructing the concept of these types of team battles, pointing out how it never really amounts to anything except profits for the one side that’s basically the third party (Think Mann Co from TF2).

Season 14 is basically a celebration, so we’ll skip that, but keep in mind Meta vs. Carolina, it’ll be important later.

Season 15 is basically an attempt to revive the series. Maybe a documentary on prior pro players, and how people might try to exploit them, or how people may have lost their streaming careers to some of the players humiliating them, but that’s a stretch. There is no real tie to gaming here, or during this arc. This is where the whole thing starts declining. A lack of actually tying it to a gaming trope arguably makes it much more different than the previous seasons.

So, where does RvB0 stand in all this? Well, it is a bit of a return to form by being a previous pro player wanting to get a new squad, but having to now adapt to a new team.

But the way we’re introduced to them is jarring. This isn’t some episode of DEATH BATTLE. We should get to know who these characters are by their interactions with one another, their dialogue, and their actions. But let’s take a look at what gaming stereotypes we’re working with here. we already covered Florida, and the Director is basically these guys’ sponsor who basically caused all of what happened. Carolina is the streamer who gets mad at losing her top rank, York is the nice guy who probably helped set up other peoples’ streaming equipment and is just a friendly guy to be around in general, South and North are what happens when someone gets a rare item from a lootbox and the other doesn’t, etc.

Shatter Squad, is unfortunately, a lot of repeat gamer stereotypes.

West is basically the dad who is an ex-pro trying to make sure his team succeeds, like Florida.

One is the competitive pro who doesn’t like having her top spot challenged, like Carolina.

Axel is the resident Cool Guy™ whose exploits are told by anecdote or flashback. Similar to Tucker, except minus the sex jokes. Or maybe he’s like Wash, in the sense that he’s an ex-pro who got out of the game but keeps being dragged back into it by other circumstances (maybe financial).

East is the new player, much like Caboose. She thankfully is different enough by way of being the stream mole who helps out the other team by sabotaging the team she’s a part of.

And Raymond is the guy who thinks that all his tech and equipment will give him an edge over his opponents, much like most of the Freelancers who had an A.I.

The action is actually good, except for one scene. The scene where East (temporarily) kills Tucker.

Like… Torrian. Torrian. Meta vs. Carolina is my favorite episode of season 3 aside from Hulk vs. Doomsday, and you have him go down to a dagger? You pretty much animated an epic fight scene with all the Reds and Blues in the RvB0 advertisement that really should have been Tucker vs. Jaune as a means of joint advertising- I’m getting off topic here.

The new characters are also a point of some good and some bad. Obviously, you can only do so much with the OG characters until it becomes stale. This is why Dragon Ball is starting to get boring. It’s also why Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure is still going strong. But trying to diversify the cast isn’t going to go well with a lot of the original audience. The most progressive thing the Blood Gulch Chronicles did was have Church challenge Simmons’ stereotypical comments regarding Donut. Change won’t go over so well with the audience.

In addition, the passing of Tucker’s sword to another character wasn’t going to go over so well without a big fight scene over the sword. Again, Torrian: YOU MADE Balrog vs. TJ Combo, All Might vs. Might Guy, and Blake vs. Mikasa. Out of everyone on that team, you of all people would have been more than qualified to animate a cool fight sequence that would showcase Tucker stopping East from just stabbing him. I know that the research is left to other people, but one of the big things about the characters is that they tanked a bomb worth a few dozen megatons of TNT… And Tucker goes down… To a dagger.

The fight sequences of RvB0 are great. I’ll say that much. But after every fight, I fully expected Wiz and Boomstick to come in and explain why the fight went down the way it did. Though, that may be due to me actually being interested in RT because of DEATH BATTLE… For better or for worse…

The dialogue wasn’t that great though. A lot of the humor falls flat, and the only joke I legitimately laughed at was when a member of Shatter Squad (One IIRC) responded to Carolina’s bold and serious declaration of “We have to save Lavernious Tucker” with “Who’s Tucker?” This is a series where the comedy comes from dialogue. So slapstick and physical humor don’t land as much, and the whole thing of them making reference to their situation doesn’t let a joke land as well as it could.

People are used to the head bobs of prior seasons, so the expressive gestures is super jarring and actually makes dialogue harder because you have to accompany it with the gestures. The limitation of what they had in season 1-5 is what led to innovation. Limits are how you make something extraordinary. So the freedom of actual gestures makes the overall product feel less like RvB and more like Torrian‘s equivalent of RWBY. He wanted to make a bunch of cool fight scenes. Which like… He had the perfect place to do that: DBX. Want a character who can generate a clone and uses a bladed weapon to fight? Uh, Noob Saibot is right there. You could have him fight… I don’t know, maybe Shadow Jago? They both utilize darkness, it would be fun.

Regardless, I honestly hope that wherever Torrian takes his talents, that he’s going in a place that he likes and that can keep him and his family comfortable.

RvB0: It’s a mess, it hardly really connects back to the OG Reds and Blues, and while the new characters breathe a new life into the series that was sorely needed, it probably wasn’t what people expected. This changing of the guard type of story doesn’t really work when the previous guard doesn’t pass down the mantle.

Also, Carolina constantly calling Wash by his real name just feels like some random pandering. It used to be special that you didn’t know what the real names of the Freelancers was, but the constant use of it just feels like something to just be there to constantly use.

But hey, if you liked it, more power to you.

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 15: Trickster Treats (Loki X OFC Pairing)

"You know, not that I'm complaining here, but you don't have to bribe me with chocolate chip pumpkin pancakes and pumpkin spice latte, as much as I missed those breakfast foods this time of year," I assured my best friend in the whole fucking multiverse.

"You have no idea how fucking bored I've been since you went MIA, I tried making new friends honest, but you of all people know how hard that is."

"Even in Salem where the weird are welcomed?" I asked.

Zari just nodded while shoveling crispy strips of freshly made bacon onto my already full plate. "I also think you need this, I know you don't extensively need to eat being dead and all but how the hell else do you recharge after kicking terrorist ass?"

"Mischievous magical sex certainly helps," I chirped.

"Is that why he hasn't come down for food like you did?" she asked, jerking her head toward the guest room we stayed in.

"Not as much as usual actually, we were both just tired and needed company over intimacy. Asgardians are fucking addicting, pun intended."

"Let's hope he doesn't wish he knew how to quit you," she teased.

I scoffed and shoveled more food into my mouth. "He aint never had it this good, the best thing about necrophilia is the dead can't say no."

"Jesus, woman, still with the dead jokes after all this time?"

"Always," I replied smoothly.

"So what should we do today while I got you?" she asked excitedly.

"Like you said, I gotta recharge and then I gotta celebrate properly since I missed out so many times, too many really, it's a good thing I got out before I missed it this year or I'd be seriously depressed."

"You're only really alive during this time of the year despite the veil between worlds being so thin and your death powers being strongest then, irony that is. So what was it like being in the Avengers company?"

"Kinda boring when I wasn't actively shagging the only other person on house arrest there, I'm not terribly into new state of the art tech Tony's all about. I mean yeah it looks cool and shit but like I've no idea how to use the majority of it."

"It did take forever for you to get a smartphone when the rest of the first world had been through like 5 at least."

"That was partially because I was under the impression I couldn't afford one or didn't need that much stuff just to contact people."

She rolled her eyes at me and scoffed. "Whatever, Ms. Slide to Text Not Smart Phone."

"Call me what you want but whenever I dropped that phone, the worst that happened was the battery popping out, let's see you drop a smartphone any height without a protective cover and see if it even works after that."

"Get with the times, woman!"

"Don't wanna!" I retorted and crossed my arms in a pretend pout.

"How the hell does Loki put up with you really?"

"I already told you, copious amounts of kinky and experimental sex, keep up."

"What about sex?" a familiar smooth accented voice interrupted.

We both turned to see a groggy looking Loki that shifted into his mortal form Tom seamlessly, a hand combing through his short sandy curls and a lazy smile tugging at his lips upon setting his eyes on me. "Zari wants to know why you put up with me."

"Put up with? Why would it be a chore to be with you?"

"My thoughts exactly. See, Zari, it's not me, it's you," I taunted.

"Shut up and eat your damn pancakes," she demanded.

"So orange is for the pumpkins everyone picks and carves into what you then call Jacko Lanterns, black is for the night of the holiday and the darkness and death that comes after the season more or less, white is for the spirits free to roam about, what about purple, I know I've seen some of that mixed in as well as green," Loki commented while we raided some more tourist stores full of holiday goodies.

"Purple seems to come out more in kid friendly type decor or even dare I say glitsy stuff I'd rather not. Green's also a bit kiddish but it also goes with the monsters and other characters people tend to dress as for the occasion," I explained, sifting through the sweatshirts that all had Salem something or other on it.

"And what's the most common costumes?"

"Well I mean every year there's always a select group of costumes that's all the rage of that year, like maybe Tony did something wicked awesome the world knows about so everyone's gotta be Iron Man that year, but then there's also something for the girls that's excessively popular but at a certain age or older it's gotta be either slutty or some other form of sexy because that's society in a nutshell. Dudes can be anything but chicks are just breathing sex dolls."

"That's disgusting, why didn't you people let me destroy New York when I had the chance?"

"What do you mean 'you people'?" I asked suspiciously. "You know how I feel about that city."

Loki picked up a rather cute looking scarf that of course was green and wrapped it around his neck then turned to me. "What do you think?"

"Lay off the green or go back to your real form, you can't have it both ways, even I know that and I never go undercover."

He scowled at my logic as he had made a habit of by now but put it back all the same and chose an orange one with black skulls instead. "As a child then, to your knowledge and not society's, what were the most popular costumes of choice?"

"I think even before I came into existence, the classic ones were: witch, ghost, devil, clown, cat, skeleton...those ones at least. They were the easiest to make as well if you didn't have the money or time to buy one and the economy has always been shit. Oh and there was the Grim Reaper of course, how could I forget that?"

"That was your first costume, wasn't it?"

"Nah." I smiled. "I don't remember much before I died, no faces or names or anyone really but I do know I was a witch...glad I can remember that much of my childhood. Ghost was the absolute easiest fucking costume to make but witch was the bees knees for me."

"What made a ghost costume?"

"Oh just find any old white or offwhite bedsheet that didn't drag too much on the ground or you'd probably trip over it half the time you're trick or treating, cut two holes for your eyes, boom done, you're a ghost, I sheet you not."

"Zari warned me you were fond of bad jokes and puns, I found them amusing but now I'm sort of wary."

It was my turn to scowl at this, he seemed to enjoy my wordplay till she had to ruin it. "She and I are gonna have words later about that, ruining my fun when I just got here." I snagged a comfy looking black and orange hoodie with a cute witch pun on it to purchase and snagged Loki's scarf as well to pay myself despite his protests. "Shush, Zari gave us spending cash since we want to stay under the radar and cards will fuck us over that way."

"I know but I wanted to pay for it myself," he insisted.

"Listen, this city is all about my favorite holiday and said holiday only has one law, trick or treat and since you are the master of tricks here, if you want anything in this city, it'll be my treat."

He opened his mouth to argue a few times before deciding he wasn't going to win what I thought was a smooth as fuck reply that should also be bulletproof too. "Fine. Well played."

"Jolly good, and thanks, been known to happen. How long do you think we'll have before we're found by either party?"

"Stark will hopefully find us first, I'd rather not be locked up again, I'm sure you agree there. As to how long...a few days give or take with his resources. Worried, love?"

"Something occurred to me just now. While this is my turf and I'm nigh unstoppable here, I don't want the other agents coming here and sullying my slice of heaven or Valhalla in your case and that's what they'll do, they're a plague, spreading and destroying everything they come in contact with."

"I can understand that, that's what I felt with Asgard before it went down in flames. What would you have us do then?"

"I don't want them here, but I still need to sort out the traitors, there's gotta be more than the two I saw there at the base. I'm also tired of being targetted, that's the reason I left the country in the first place and literally the second I come back before I can even touch native soil, I'm back to being wanted by the wrong people. This country sucks."

"The Avengers have already tried many times to nip it in the bud as you Midgardians would say. I'm willing to bet there's several more hidden bases off the radar we won't be able to find ourselves unless they want us too."

"What are you saying?"

"We won't be able to rid them of the world unfortunately, they've been around since 1940s at least and don't plan on retiring despite their old age. Although...what did you say about getting rid of certain household arachnids earlier on?"

I blinked and wracked my memory, wondering where he was going with his musings before it dawned on me and a wide wicked grin spread across my face. "If you can't kill em, make em wish they never came in. What do you know, you can teach an old god new tricks."

His smirk from pulling a page out of my own book went back into an unamused though half hearted glare at my last bit. "You're lucky I don't know how to quit you."

And once more I was the one scowling again. "You wouldn't survive the withdrawals, I'm a fever you can't sweat out. Also, it's rude to spy on other people's conversations. That's classified information you don't have clearance for."

"I'm a god, I have clearance for everything, silly woman."

"Eventually that card will expire that you keep pulling," I muttered, tugging him out of the shop and onto another while pulling on my new hoodie.

Outside in the heart of Salem, the cobblestone streets were damn near packed like Mardi Gras  in the South, street vendors everywhere, tourists and people that just bloody love the upcoming holiday getting it while it was there. The park across the street from all the chaos was busy with fair rides and games for the kiddos, fried dough, candy apples and fresh apple cider as fair food. This was my home, my heaven, if I died for good then and there, I'd regret nothing because I'd already be in heaven and there was no telling what kind of afterlife I was in for. The air was crisp and smelled of hay rides and apples and I couldn't remember a time I was more in love than I was then. I pulled Loki out of the crowded street and into a side alley between shops, grabbed him by his cute new scarf and snogged him passionately. Even in human form I couldn't get enough of him, would you blame me? He cupped the side of my face once we pulled away and studied me almost tenderly.

"This will be our place," he murmured. "Not Stark's, not the Avengers, not Hydra's. I've already watched one place I love go down in flames and I've already lost one woman I love fall before that even happened, I won't let either of which happen again, not while I'm still breathing. I swear it on my life. We can't let them near this but we can't run from them either, so we'll take the fight to them or die trying."

"Well, you might die, I'm already there but yes, I concur. First we enjoy our mini vacation, then we raise some hell and all the damned that comes with it. To mischief, to merriment, to manslaughter!"

[siribear]

scribe faris’s holotape points to the edge of her satellite map and almost a week’s journey northward. an old bunker, barely visible in the green and grey of the map. to brandis, the last member of the squad. whisper hopes they find him alive. not for herself and her power armor, but for danse.

she doesn’t want brandis to be another cutler.

before they leave the satellite array, they recover faris’s unused ammo, another bag of med-x, and the distress pulser. danse pockets faris’s holotags, where they rattle against the others. whisper spots a power armor frame inside one of the other satellites, but danse informs her the limbs are so bent and warped that the frame is useless. dejected, she leaves it behind.

they set up camp hours later, though they haven’t made it far. with the damage done to his own power armor, danse is practically dragging it along. and whisper fares no better, herself. everything aches. her muscles, her bones, her soul. she only has danse in his power armor to steady her steps, but she’s afraid if she tugs too hard on one of the plates, it might just fall off.

so it’s a relief for both of them to find a cluster of dead trees to nestle into. whisper rests with her back against a tree and watches danse start their small campfire. she eats even slower than usual, every swallow an effort with her abused throat.

‘will she make it?’ whisper asks around a piece of jerky. danse, long since finished with his rations, tightens a plate in one of the legs.

he looks the armor up and down; even in the dark, she can tell the silhouette is off with pieces bent far out of shape. danse rises to his feet with a grunt. ‘the way to the bunker will be slower than i’d like, it’ll hold until we get back to the prydwen.’

‘can’t just dump the thing so we can hobble along by foot?’ she laughs softly at his incredulous stare. ‘i’m only kidding.’

‘this armor is my responsibility,’ he says, working on an arm. ‘the same goes for any of my weapons.’

‘and it would be irresponsible to leave them behind.’

‘or let them fall into the wrong hands,’ he finishes.

whisper looks to her own, stained with dirt and blood. ‘and your superiors had no problem with you handing over one of your weapons to me?’

‘i was questioned.’ slowly, he bends a plate almost back into shape. ‘but, ultimately, they trusted my judgement. and you’ve since proven yourself.’

whisper huffs. ‘thanks. hey,’ she coughs, talking finally catching up to her, and it hurts. ‘if i do get my own power armor, i have to know how to properly take care of it.’ she walks closer, picks up one of his tools, and says, ‘show me, please?’

shadows flicker across his face, making his expression unreadable. firelight burns in his eyes, and between them there is nothing but the crackling of their campfire until he gently takes the tool from her hand. ‘this one isn’t going to help us. here,’ he passes her a wrench. ‘when you get your armor, you’ll have to know which bolts keep what together - ’

according to her pip boy, it’s well after midnight when danse is satisfied with their work. his armor looks... not entirely fixed, but it’s better. the missiles hit closer than she thought, absorbing any damage that would have turned both of them to a pair of charred stains on the ground. though, with danse teaching her how to repair, whisper didn’t strip any screws or break anything else, so she counts it as a victory.

even danse seems impressed with her work. ‘you did well,’ he says, inspecting the suit.

‘don’t sound so surprised. you’re a good teacher.’

danse packs up his tools in silence before ordering her to get some rest, like she’s a member of his squad. tired as she is, she doesn’t argue, just lies down next to the fire across from danse and falls asleep. she doesn’t realize they didn’t work out a watch schedule until she wakes too many hours later.

-

‘over there.’ danse motions to a bunker to their left, its concrete entrance built into the hill. whisper checks her pipboy; surely they can’t be there already. danse only stops for a moment before continuing along the road.

‘that’s not - ?’

‘no. that’s listening post bravo,’ he explains. ‘my squad’s fallback point, if we were ever to lose the police station.’

whisper looks to him, but he keeps his eyes forward. ‘thank you.’

-

whisper scouts ahead at the sound of voices, leading them away from another encampment of super mutants along the bank of the river. danse could likely handle another fight against them, but whisper’s limbs still feel heavy and sore. south of the encampment they find a husband and wife tending crops in a greenhouse. though the class is cracked and stained, the crops are faring well. whisper makes a deal with the pair: for a handful of caps, she and danse stay the night while offering their protection; in addition, they leave seeds and produce with the next caravan to give to the family at county crossing in exchange for the minutemen clearing what they call breakheart banks where the super mutants reside.

thankfully, they agree to both, and whisper contacts the castle using the couple’s old radio. preston answers, but by the volume of the voices behind him, he’s not alone.

she gives him directions to the settlement, as well as to the super mutant encampment. ‘i’ll send out a squad right away, general.’ with a laugh, he adds, ‘i think penny is getting restless here.’

there’s the sound of something getting knocked over, then: ‘is that the general? hey. how’s your field trip goin’?’

whisper can’t help but smile. ‘spectacularly, thanks for asking.’

‘really,’ penny deadpans. ‘sound like you picked up smokin’ from me, hun.’

whisper leans back, addresses danse over her shoulder. ‘do i really sound that bad?’

he shrugs. ‘your throat hasn’t healed yet.’

penny cuts back in. ‘is that your partner, general?’ her voice pitches low, and whisper can hear the grin. ‘did he do that to you?’

‘penelope,’ she hisses, but penny’s laughing. ‘put preston back on, please.’

‘uh,’ preston coughs awkwardly. ‘sorry about that, general.’

whisper glances at danse, who’s conveniently looking everywhere but her. ‘it’s fine. i guess sometimes she needs to go for a walk or she gets antsy.’ behind preston, penny yells hey! ‘send her and a few others up through the city, check on the other settlements, then up here, okay? i’ll be back soon.’

‘yes, ma’am. it was good to hear from you.’

she signs off quickly after that and apologizes to danse. ‘i understand,’ he says, still barely looking at her, but with a hint of a smile.

‘okay, then.’ a voice calls them out to the living room. ‘let’s eat.’

-

two days later, their otherwise uneventful journey is interrupted by the sound of shouting and a single gunshot. whisper waits for danse to catch up before they continue forward. more yelling, another shot, then more sounds of struggle.

‘we’re close,’ whisper says quietly. ‘what if it’s brandis?’

danse nods and readies his weapon to advance, whisper right behind him.

‘hey, you, help me! he’s got a gun!’ a man shouts when they come into view. he’s dressed in a thick jacket, his blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck. his hands are raised above his head, legs shaking as he kneels on the ground, staring down the barrel of a gun.

on the other end? a man that could be the other’s twin. right down to the frayed edges of their similar jackets.

whisper jogs forward, deliverer tucked back into its holster. danse follows, his rifle at the ready. ‘what’s going on? what is this?’

‘he’s a synth!’ claims the one on his knees. ‘the institute sent him here to replace me. listen, i have kids, a wife. you have to help me.’

‘he’s the synth! he tried to kill me!’ says the other.

danse looks ready to fire on both of them, so whisper stops him, stepping between him and the armed man. ‘okay, let’s... you and me talk. danse, watch the other one.’ it takes a minute of coaxing, but she gets her man to lower his weapon and follow her a few feet away. danse doesn’t take his eyes off her, but his gun remains pointed at the kneeling man. ‘so, honestly, what’s happening here?’ when her copy doesn’t respond, she asks, ‘what’s your name?’

‘art,’ he says, finally. his eyes narrow. ‘you look familiar.’ then, as if he’s hit with the realization, his eyes widen and he looks back to the others. he grabs her by her shoulders, ignoring danse’s shouted warning. whisper does her best to wave him off. ‘i can trust you. i don’t know why, but i know i can trust you.’

‘you can trust me,’ she says slowly.

‘you work for the institute, right? that’s why.’ whisper’s breath catches. she nods, hoping it’s the right answer. ‘great.’ art releases her with a sigh of relief. ‘look, i’m sorry he caught me. guy was gone so long i thought he got eaten by a deathclaw, you know? please don’t report me to the coursers. i’ll take care of this - ‘

whisper grabs his arm when he reaches for his gun. ‘it’s fine. we’ll handle it. besides,’ she smiles at him. ‘we’ve both made a mistake.’

art raises an eyebrow. ‘what’s that?’

‘my teleporter broke. i need a way back into the institute without anyone knowing i ruined the tech.’

art frowns. ‘you have to go through a courser for that. they’re the ones that go in and out of the institute, right? now come on, help me waste this guy - ’

he barely has a chance to raise his gun again before danse blows a laser sized hole in the middle of his chest. whisper takes a step back as the body falls to the ground. find a courser. as easy as finding a scientist in the glowing sea.

the real art slumps over, forehead pressed to the dirt, repeating, ‘thank you, thank you, thank you.’ whisper helps him to his feet, hands him part of her rations, and tells him to go home.

danse takes one step forward, but whisper stops him with a hand against his breastplate. ‘what if he was the synth?’

she sighs. ‘he wasn’t. the other one was. you killed him.’

‘how do you know?’

‘he told me.’ danse stares. whisper toes the body. it looks so real. the only synths she’s used to are the robotic ones - because she hardly believes deacon is a synth, and she was told h2-22 was one - but there’s really no way to tell. the two men looked identical, sounded identical.

he pulls her away from the scene. ‘we were all told this story in the brotherhood,’ danse begins, forcing her to keep up to listen. ‘sixty years ago in diamond city, a man showed up at the bar. he was new to town but drank with the residents as he told tales from out west. later in the evening, he would murder those same residents without hesitation. without blinking.

‘the people of diamond city began to call it the broken mask incident. when they realized what, exactly, the institute was capable of. this is the organization you’re dealing with. one that creates these inhuman things that could snap at any moment.’

whisper doesn’t like it. not the implications, not when she saw h2 near in tears when she protected him. can’t imagine him pulling a gun on her for no reason, even after the railroad made him into someone else. ‘i suppose i can understand the commonwealth’s paranoia now. but at the end of the day, they’re still... people. they still have personalities.’

‘programmed personalities. they aren’t real.’

‘what if i were a synth?’ she asks, suddenly. ‘or what if it was haylen? rhys? would you say they aren’t real, and all the time you’ve spent with them wasn’t real either?’

‘they aren’t. you aren’t.’

‘how do you know?’

he shakes his head. ‘we aren’t talking about this. it’s irrelevant.’

whisper fights the urge to sigh. two hundred years into the future, with all the strange things she’s seen in just her short time here - she figured people would be more open minded. instead, the prejudices just... shifted. easier, when the differences go further than the color of someone’s skin. but she moves on, but not before she tells him, ‘i’d still trust you if you were a synth. it makes no difference to me.’

-

brandis is almost inconsolable when they find him. his laser rifle rattles in his hands as he points it at them, demanding to know who they are.

‘how did you get in here? who sent you?’

whisper looks to danse and nods. brandis’s rifle swings his way. ‘it’s me, paladin danse. don’t you recognize me?’

brandis shoulders slowly relax, pull back instead of hunched forward and ready to fire. he blinks. denial, then recognition. ‘why are you here?’

‘i was sent to the commonwealth on a recon mission, just like you.’

and almost lost his squad in the process, just like him. ‘how did you find me? i’ve... i’ve been alone.’ brandis’s voice breaks, ‘all alone. for so long.’ grey hair wild in places and matted in others, beard long and unkempt. even his flight suit is patchy, fraying at the seams. there’s a growl at the end that speaks of bitterness, abandonment. anger at himself.

‘your team left distress beacons behind. we followed them here, to you,’ whisper explains, calmly, like she’s soothing a cornered animal.

‘what happened... to them?’ his speech is stilted, like he still isn’t used to it.

danse passes her the holotags, and she holds them out for brandis. ‘i’m so sorry. we recovered their tags.’

brandis finally lowers his weapon, eyes set on the tags in the palm of her hand. ‘thank you.’ he leans the rifle against the pile of sandbags in between them. one by one, he takes each tag and holds it up to the light. ‘this means a lot to me.’ varham, astlin, faris. ‘i tried to go back for them, you know? but there was nothing i could do, alone. but i had hoped... maybe - ‘ he grips the tags in his fist with a sigh. ‘you’ve been through a lot to find me. i should-i should give you something - ‘

brandis turns and lays the holotags on a nearby table. whisper follows further into the bunker. crates are stacked on shelves; an open lid reveals odds and ends, scrap metal and plastic. another crate holds more old world tech, though mundane: a coffee maker, a hot plate, half of a microwave. tucked in the corner is his bed and a nightstand with a barely touched plate of food.

‘i’ve collected a lot over the years. if you see anything you want, take it,’ he says, digging out the hot plate. he tries to place it in her hands, but she pushes it back into his arms. ‘take it, please.’

‘come back with us. you’re still a member of the brotherhood, paladin,’ danse says, interrupting the one sided tug of war.

‘what?’ brandis tosses the hot plate back into the crate and it crashes against his other scraps. ‘no. no, i couldn’t, not after everything that’s happened.’ whisper carefully takes brandis’s hands into her own. brandis looks down at her, brow furrowed, eyes watery. ‘would they still take me?’

whisper doesn’t think he should go back to the brotherhood, but he can’t stay here. ‘they need you. and they’ll honor the memory of your team, but you should be the one to tell their story.’ she releases his hands to step back. ‘it’s your decision, paladin.’

he hangs his head. ‘everything we went through... it’ll be forgotten. i can’t let that happen.’ he squares his shoulders. ‘i’ll do it. for them. i’ll start getting my things together.’

‘we’ll leave when you’re ready, paladin.’ danse gestures for her to follow him. ‘uh, we’ll be right outside.’

‘thank you. truly, thank you.’

outside, danse waits for her far enough away to be out of brandis’s earshot. ‘i’m surprised.’

it surprises a laugh out of her. ‘why?’

‘i didn’t expect you to convince him to return to the brotherhood.’

she shrugs. ‘he couldn’t stay here by himself any longer, but he has nowhere else to go. will the brotherhood really take him back?’

‘he’ll be under observation until he’s fit for duty again. the experience he has with the commonwealth makes him an asset. we can’t turn him away.’

‘as long as he gets the help he needs.’

danse nods. ‘of course. we don’t abandon our own.’

[lukatheselkie]

HMC - “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

@hetaliamondaychallenge

Here’s number two! Gah I’m so late. I still have one to write as well. I figured I should probably post these two close together since they use Albert and Alrik (OCs).

Alrik is the personification of Fika. It’s a wonderful Swedish tradition, I recommend looking into it. He’s loud, expressive, energetic, brash, and a sweetheart (in his own way). However, he’s got sensory overload, which has a big part in this. It’s also important to note Norway gave him a ring after the last coffee ban in Sweden ended, and he wears it on a ribbon around his neck. There’s a significance behind this ring, but it’s not important to this story. Possibly the MOST important thing about this is his main pairing is Italy. He’s absolutely in love with him. BUT I’m also a big fan of alternate pairings, and that’s what this is. If you can’t handle reading bad qualities about him, maybe don’t read this. I had to use those to convince Alrik to choose Lovino (who I’m REALLY starting to love pairing with him, help.)  He also doesn’t like that Germany is so close to Italy, so he picks fights. This results in Prussia stepping in like the good big brother he is, and it almost always gets physical.

Pairings: OC x South Italy/Romano

Warnings: Cussing, beginning of a fight, mentions of wanting to strangle but never doing it, very slight sexual innuendos

    Alrik smiles sweetly at Feliciano, waving after him as he leaves. The moment he’s out of sight, his expression falls to one of sorrow. Lovino nudges him, trying to get his attention. “I know you came to visit him, but we can still have fun together, can’t we?” The corners of Alrik’s mouth quirk up slightly, but not enough for it to be a smile. He looks up at the Italian, nodding solemnly. Lovino ruffles his hair, successfully pulling a laugh from him.

    “Hey! Stop that! It takes a lot to get my hair to look presentable!” He sticks his tongue out at Lovino, smoothing down his hair in a desperate attempt to fix it.

    “I can’t help it. It’s just so tempting. You’re so small!” Alrik huffs loudly through his nose, and crosses his arms over his chest.

    “I’m only about ten centimeters shorter than you!” Lovino raises a brow at him, mouth pulled up into a smirk. “...And five centimeters shorter than Kiku.”

    “There it is. You’re short. But it’s cute. Don’t ever tell anyone I said that.” His cheeks tint pink, and he looks away. Alrik presses a hand to his mouth.

    “Nej one shall ever know. Not even through torture. I’ll take it to my grave!” He falters at the word, but only for a moment.

    “I’m not sure anyone would be brave enough to torture you after hearing your growl,” he comments, opening the door to the house. “Let’s play some games or something. It’ll help to take your mind off Vene leaving so soon. I told him you were coming over! I don’t know why he left like that.” Lovino’s curl bobs in annoyance. Alrik catches it between his hands, making sure not to tug on it.

    “It’s fine. He’s probably got more important things to do.” He sighs sadly, then shakes his head. “I’m not too upset! I get to play games with my friend! Race you to the couch.” He releases his curl, and takes off.

    “That’s not fair! You’re faster than I am!” He runs after him, rolling his eyes when he sees him sprawled on the couch, shoes kicked off and controller in hand. The console is already booting up. “Make yourself at home,” he mumbles, grabbing a controller for himself. He sits next to Alrik, leaning against him slightly. It’s his way of offering comfort without having to say anything embarrassing. Judging by the way Alrik visibly relaxes, it’s working.

~

    Lovino groans loudly when his cell phone rings, and pauses their game of Mario Kart. He answers it begrudgingly when he sees who’s calling. “What do you want, Antonio? I’m sort of in the middle of something.”

    “Ah, mi amigo! Can you open your door? Francis, Gilbert, and I are coming to visit! Gil says Ludwig went out with your brother, so you’re all alone right now!” Lovino glances at Alrik. Sure. Alone. “We’re less than a minute away, so hurry!” His curl starts to sway with agitation.

    “You’ll get the door open when I’m finished jacking off!” He screams into the phone, then hangs up. Alrik snaps his head around to him, eyes wide. “I’m not actually going to, don’t worry. I just wanted to make that asshole uncomfortable. Let’s finish our level.” The shorter man nods, and turns his attention back to the television. He sticks his tongue out slightly in concentration, and Lovino unpauses the game. They both wreck immediately, but get back on course after that. Lovino wins, with Alrik a close second place.

    “I’m always so close! Teach me how to winnnnnnnnnn,” he whines out. The Italian chuckles, and stands.

    “I wouldn’t be able to win if I taught you how though. I’ll be right back. I have to get the door for Antonio.” He rolls his eyes, and goes toward the door. Alrik puffs his cheeks and sticks his tongue out toward it jokingly. When the door opens, his heart sinks to his feet, and his expression falls into a carefully neutral one. Gilbert sees him before anyone can say a word.

    “Vhat ist he doing here!?” He points an accusing finger at Alrik.

    “Playing Mario Kart. If you don’t like it, then leave.” He flops onto the couch, feet toward the ceiling and head touching the ground. The air in the room grows tense, and he closes his eyes tightly. He *can’t* face Gilbert without his brother nearby. He knows he won’t stop, unless he’s pulled away from him and restrained. No one needs that today.

    “Gil. Non. Take a deep breath.” There’s heavy steps, and Alrik is yanked into a standing position. He sighs, readying himself for a fight. “Gilbert! Listen to me! Your brother isn’t here. Don’t start anything. Don’t let your need to protect him overshadow the fact he’s not even here.” Alrik gives him a pleading look.

    “I really don’t want to fight today. Please. I just want to have fun with Lovino.” He lifts the shorter man off the ground, sneering at him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

    “Oh yeah? Vhat are jou going to do?” Alrik growls in the back of his throat. It’s quiet at first, but it quickly gains volume. It sounds just like Berwald’s growl. Gilbert goes pale—well, paler than usual—and throws him to the ground. “Vhat ze hell! Jou’re not a personification! Jou’re a-”

    “That’s enough. If you’re going to start a fight because he’s here, then you can fucking leave! You’re the one that showed up unannounced! Alrik is supposed to be here! And, if you want to go into even more detail, your brother showed up out of nowhere and whisked my brother away! Alrik came to hang out with both of us! Not just me! So this is your family’s fault!” He shoves a finger in GIlbert’s face. “Got it?”

    “G-got it,” he stutters out as he stumbles backwards. Lovino nods in satisfaction, and turns to Alrik. He furrows his brows when he sees he’s still on the ground, face hidden.

    “Hey. Are you alright?” He kneels next to him, placing a hand on his back reassuringly. “It’s under control now. No one will hurt you. I promise. If they even try, they’ll have to answer to me.” He sends a glare in Gilbert’s direction. Alrik wiggles his hand off, and curls in tighter on himself. Oh. Shit. “This is your fucking fault, you stupid potato bastard! I hope you know that! No one touch him. I’ll be right back.” He runs to his room, looking around frantically for a comfort object. He grabs one of his pillows, and his blanket. He returns to Alrik’s side, and wraps the blanket around him carefully. “You’re okay. Take deep breaths. Count to ten and back. Focus on things that make you happy.” He keeps his voice a whisper, so as not to overwhelm him anymore.

    “What happened?” Lovino decides he’s going to kill Antonio. He places the pillow down, and stalks over to Antonio, yanking him into the kitchen by his ear.

    “Your stupid idea of bringing Gilbert here set off his sensory overload, you idiota!”

    “He has sensory overload?” Lovino forces himself to take a deep breath instead of strangling him then and there.

    “Sì. Do you even know who he is?” Antonio stares at him for a moment, then nods. “Good. At least you’re not completely incompetent. He has sensory overload because of his past. Don’t bring it up.” He turns, and walks out of the room. He’s glad to see Alrik sitting on the couch now, blanket wrapped around him and pillow in his arms. He buries his face in the pillow when he sees Lovino, and takes a deep breath. “Shit,” Lovino whispers under his breath. Francis takes his wrist and pulls him into the kitchen.

    “You have feelings for him, don’t you?” He tenses, and shakes his head frantically. “You’re denying your feelings even though it’s safe to tell me. Why?”

    “He has feelings for Vene. I won’t get in the way of that.” Francis stares him down uncomfortably. When he’s sure that’s the reason, he speaks.

    “But how does your brother feel about him?”

    “I don’t see how that-”

    “Lovino.”

    “He sees them as close friends. Nothing more. He wouldn’t treat him right anyway! Alrik needs too much reassurance. I love Vene, but he enjoys being the center of attention too much to be able to care for him properly.” He unclenches the fist he hadn’t realized he made.

    “And what about you?”

    “I think you already know.” He glances toward the couch, even though it’s through a wall.

    “I do. You de-escalated the situation, and the moment you knew he was overwhelmed, you got him some comfort items. He’s definitely in love with the wrong Vargas.” Lovino looks away from his intense gaze.

    “There’s nothing I can do about it. He’s loved Vene for too long.”

    “That’s where you’re wrong. He’s bound to realize you’re better for him sooner or later. Maybe sooner, now that you’ve stood up for him against Gilbert. Those two have had a quarrel going for quite a while. Do you think it could have anything to do with your brother?” Lovino grimaces.

    “Probably. They only fight because Alrik upsets Ludwig, and Gilbert’s a protective older brother. He might be picking a fight with Ludwig over…” He can’t finish the sentence. It hurts too much. Francis nods. Instead of continuing the conversation, he pulls him back into the room with the other three.

    “I think you should tell him how you feel. You might be surprised with how he responds. Remember, I’m dating his brother. He talks a lot about him.” That only helps to reassure Lovino slightly. But it’s a start, he supposes.

    “You four can play. I’ll watch.” He sits next to Alrik, smiling at him when he peeks out. He giggles, and hides his face again.

    “We can share a controller. Let’s alternate turns! Then you can show me how to win!” He lifts his head up, and smiles brightly at him. “Unless you want those three to beat us?” He hugs the pillow close. Lovino realizes he’s sitting with his legs crossed, feet tucked under him. He wants to squeeze his thigh, but he doesn’t. That doesn’t stop him from imaging it though. Especially considering Alrik is wearing shorts. They’re not too short, but they’re not too long either. And they’re tight enough his thighs are struggling with being contained by them. This is most noticeable where the shorts end, and there’s a bit of pudge poking out. Tauntingly. He forces himself to look away.

    “I’ll teach you how to win against them, but not me. How does that sound?” He nods, humming happily.

    “I can deal with that!” He giggles, and leans against Lovino. He hands him the controller, and stares at his hands.

    “You need to watch the screen too. I’ll explain it to you.” He ignores the smug expression on Francis’ face. This doesn’t prove you know anything.

~

    “I think you’ve actually gotten worse.” Alrik sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.

    “Teach me hands on, then! It’s easier to learn when I’m being controlled.” That statement shoots straight down Lovino’s spine, into his dick. He steadfastly ignores it. Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio all whistle.

    “Jou heard him. Control him, Lovi.”

    “Oui. He did tell you to, after all.”

    “I have to agree with them, mi amigo! There’s only so many ways to interpret that.” He’s going to strangle all three of them. Preferably in their sleep. He glances over at Alrik, whose face is as red as an overripe tomato.

    “I-I didn’t mean-”

    “I know, I know.” He pulls the Swedish man into a gentle hug. “My acquaintances just like making sex jokes.”

    “Ouch. Zat hurts. Jou don’t even consider us friends?” Lovino glares at Gilbert.

    “Not if you keep making him uncomfortable.”

    “Oh gut. Ve’re still friends, zen!” He blows a playful kiss at him. “Love jou!”

    “I’m ignoring you until this next round is over.” He looks at Alrik again. “I’ll help you navigate. Can you press the speed?” He nods happily.

    “Mmhmm! I think so! Just tell me if I need to let off!” He crawls into Lovino’s lap, snuggling back into his chest. “So you can move my hands better,” he explains as the Italian’s brain short circuits. He looks at Francis for help, but he’s too busy whispering to Antonio and Gilbert. Probably catching them up on his feelings. Great. He’s very glad he didn’t decide on shorts today. He wouldn’t be able to coax himself into focusing if that were the case. As it is, he’s having trouble navigating them through the selection menu. Alrik smells like coffee, cinnamon, chocolate, and marzipan. It’s overwhelming, but in a good way. Well, maybe not entirely. He wants to taste him now, which is *not* a thought he should be having with Alrik sitting on his lap. “I wanna do Moonview Highway!”

    “That one’s got-” He sighs. Alrik’s already picked it. “Traffic in it.” The man on his lap shrugs, and tilts his head back to look at him.

    “You can still help me win, can’t you?”

    “Of course I can.” He smiles reassuringly at him. “But look back at the screen please.”

    “Okej!” He wiggles a bit, obviously excited. Lovino mouths ‘help me’ at the others in the room, but they pretend not to see him. His joking consideration of choking them quickly becomes more serious. The moment the course starts, Alrik has his tongue stuck out in concentration. Thankfully it’s not very distracting. He wiggles because he’s not very good at aiming at the arrows though. “You stupid arrows! I’m supposed to run over you! Lovi!”

    “I’m trying. You have to stop tilting the remote so much. A little goes a long way.” After that, he lets up on turning so much. But his wiggling doesn’t stop. It’s going to be the death of him. He huffs angrily when he comes in fourth, and hands the controller to Lovino, but doesn’t get out of his lap. He leans back against him, flush with his chest. “Are you just going to stay there until you get good enough to beat them?”

    “Ja! Of course. I don’t see the point in leaving your lap and coming back a few minutes later. Why not just stay? I promise I won’t get in your way!” That’s not what I’m worried about. When the round starts, he quickly figures out his half-erection isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. Stop moving so much! Thankfully, Francis sees his distress, and asks Alrik if he can speak with him alone. Once they’re in the kitchen, he raises a brow at him.

    “Are you aware of what you’re doing to Lovino?” He gives him an innocent smile and shakes his head. “I’m not buying that. There’s mischief behind your eyes.”

    “Of course I know what I’m doing. I’ve suspected he’s had romantic feelings for me for awhile, but I couldn’t be sure. But then I saw you looking smug that we were so close. I thought for a bit after that. Lovino’s always here for me when Feli hurts me. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. And Lovi’s helped me through more than one Sensory Overload episode. He’s so patient with me. I could never thank him enough for that.” He brings his hand up and tugs lightly on the ring tied around his neck. He bites his bottom lip as well. Both are nervous habits of his. “I dunno. I guess… I guess I thought I should start trying for him instead. But he’s so damn oblivious! That’s something those two have in common.” He grimaces. “I can’t believe I spent all those years loving Feli, when I had someone better for me right there. I must be oblivious, too.”

    “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Also, you’re telling Lovino how you feel right now. Lovino! Come here, please!” Alrik’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically.

    “I-I c-can’t. Please! P-please d-don’t-” Lovino walks into the room. He runs over to Alrik when he sees him, and hugs him tightly.

    “Hey. Shh. It’s okay. I’m right here. Use me to ground yourself.” He glares daggers at Francis. “What did you do?”

    “I apparently set off his sensory overload? I’m not sure how.”

    “Were you distressing him?” Francis bows his head guiltily. “Idiota! That reminds him of the outrage at the coffee bans. He was stressed when it was happening, so it’s an indirect link to his hearing sensory overload. Rik, I’m right here. I won’t let you go. Feel free to squeeze me as tight as you want. Anything to help you calm down.” Alrik takes a few deep breaths, calming down a bit more with each one. “That’s right. A few more. Then look at me.” He takes three more, then focuses on Lovino. “Better?” He nods, giving a tiny smile. “Good.” He pulls away from him, and glares harder at Francis. “Why were you stressing him out?”

    “I think you should tell him that thing we spoke about earlier. The situation has changed.” Lovino looks down at Alrik, and frowns. He wipes away his tears carefully.

    “There. All better. It never happened. And I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Francis.”

    “Oh for the love of-fine! Have it your way!” He shoves a hand into his pocket, and pulls out some mistletoe. He places it over their heads, staring both of them down. “Kiss. You’ll both enjoy it.”

    “Francis, don’t be ridi-” Lovino is cut short by a solid tug on his collar, and lips pressed against his own. It quickly turns to a French kiss. Alrik pulls away much too early, wiping at his mouth.

    “Why didn’t you do that to begin with? I swear, I don’t know what my brother sees in you!” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you’re my boyfriend now, Lovi. If you want to be. Will you be? I would like that very much.”

    “If you would like it, then I would be honoured. Why the change of heart?”

    “Feli has never looked at me the way you do. And I like having someone that’s able to ground me if I get overwhelmed. I think he would freak out.” Lovino kisses his forehead.

    “Perhaps. Thank you for choosing me.” Alrik looks away, cheeks flushed.

    “Those aren’t the only reasons I chose you! I’ll tell you the rest when we’re not in the company of a well-meaning idiot.”

    “I deserve that. But it got you together, didn’t it?”

    “Ja. Now never do it again.” He snarls slightly. “As for us, I think we have a game to play together. Can I stay on your lap? I promise not to move around so much this time.”

    “Move around as much as you want. Just don’t complain if you feel something.”

    “I won’t.” Alrik takes his hand, and drags him back to the couch. Francis follows after, shaking his head.

[iron--spider]

“oh calm down, we have ten seconds left”

this goes out to @irondadz, who was my randomly selected blog from the 3000 follower post I made!

~

The Iron Man suit is open about fifteen feet away from them, arms extended like a prolonged invitation to hug. Tony sits, hands gripping the chair he’s been placed in, and he keeps having the inclination to tap his foot. Not for any want of dancing. He’s not fucking drunk, and there’s no music. It’s nerves setting in, racing from the base of his skull down to the tips of his toes, fraying off into his close surroundings and gathering around Peter Parker’s working hands.

 Tony’s nerves aren’t for himself. Death is like his shadow, the possibility of it tapping him on the shoulder like little jokes in a high school hallway. He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want to meet it, but he knows, for him, it could be looming around any corner. No, Tony’s nerves are for the kid. The kid trying to deactivate a bomb.

 And then the kid says shit and Tony’s nerves rocket sky high.

“What?” Tony asks, trying to peer around and look at the top of Peter’s head. He’s all bright blues and reds in here—here, which is sewer and dripping and black mold concrete. They’re in what looks like a World War II bunker if it was built into the subway line, except there’s what looks like an exit just behind the suit, standing there like that. If he could only fucking get to it.

 “Nothing,” Peter says. “Totally cool, we’re good.”

 “We’re not good,” Tony says, that inclination to start tapping his foot in a panic returning tenfold. But his limbs are asleep, legs worse than arms, and it’s pins and needles everywhere. He’s been sitting here for too long, and shit’s about to get real. “We’re fifty leagues from good. I’m strapped to a chair—”

 “—you are not strapped to a chair, you’re just sitting in a chair—”

 “—I am metaphorically strapped to a chair because I cannot get out of said chair without the goddamn bomb going—okay, I’m sitting in a chair with a bomb strapped to it, triggered to go off if I get up. Good? Better syntax for Spider Spell Check?”

 “Way better and like, way more accurate,” Peter says. Tony looks down at him again just in time to see Peter grin up at him. The grin, somehow, sets off a few tripwires in Tony’s head, and he must have a wild, horrified expression on his face or something, because Peter balks. “What? Calm down. We still have ten seconds.”

 A heart attack. All the blood drained from his body. Ripped limb from limb. “We—we have—”

 “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Peter says, and looks away from him before Tony can breathe fire. “It’s still...it's still counting down. Three minutes and forty-eight seconds. I actually don’t think it’s triggered to go off immediately if you get up, I think—I think it might do a quick five second countdown before it blows up. Looks like it, from the way the numbers twitch when you move too much. So we’re good.”

 “You’re the worst,” Tony says. “Is this how you always do it? Is this how you embody Spider-Man from day to day? Pretending life-threatening situations are no big deal?”

 “Yeah,” Peter says. “Oh yeah. Like that time I almost got shot? I was just pretending I was playing this arcade game, Twist and Block—”

 “Oh my God,” Tony breathes.

 “I brought you there!” Peter exclaims, probably too loud for someone who is trying to disable a bomb. “Remember? You didn’t like all the neon lights. I think you played that game.”

 Tony sighs, closing his eyes tight. Peter could pull the wrong damn wire and kill himself. Tony knows the kid is smart, knows the kid deals with shit like this a lot, has probably seen a bomb before, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever had to disable one. They don’t know shit about the asshole that set this whole cat and mouse game up, and Tony opens his eyes again, looks at the suit. He knows it could withstand the blast.

 This is a damn game. Purposeful, chess pieces arranged just so.

 “You said they were all black, right? The wires?” Tony asks.

 Peter hums to himself. “Maybe a grayish color? Definitely more grayish.”

 “Semantics, Parker.”

 “I’ve seen a few devices like this before,” Peter says. “That lizard guy—”

 “Lizard Guy could not make something like this and knock both of us the hell out while setting his plan in motion,” Tony says.

 “He had a lot of passion,” Peter says. “You know, for his, uh, craft.”

 “Don’t describe the villains as passionate,” Tony says, shaking his head. He squeezes the arms of the chair and feels like such a goddamn idiot. He’s the reason why the kid is here. He’s only been working with Spider-Man publicly for a little while now, and people are already pegging the connection. Realizing that Peter will do anything to make sure Tony doesn’t die, consequences for himself be damned.

 Why are they both like that? Doesn’t it cancel out, in some way? Shouldn’t one override the other? Tony should be able to demand the kid go home, let him deal with it on his own. He’s older, he’s more experienced. He should be able to make those calls. But he knows it’s useless—Peter would just look at him, raise his eyebrows, and continue on with his own plans. Because that’s how Peter is. No Iron Asshole left behind.

 “I don’t think it’s possible to defuse it,” Tony says. “I think he made it that way on purpose. He knows us both, he knows we can do this kinda shit, and from what I’m hearing and what you’re seeing, this isn’t a normal bomb.”

 “What’s a normal bomb?”

 “Peter.”

 Peter sighs. “Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word. “Yeah, I...I think you’re right. Because I unplugged what should have been the power source and it’s still counting down.”

 Tony’s heart constricts. “Yeah? The thick wire?”

 “Yeah,” Peter says, and Tony can see him shift a little out of the corner of his eye. “The one in the middle should come next, should be like the proverbial red wire, but it—when I start to take it out, the numbers shift, kind of—looks like it might set it off right away. Like full tilt zero, boom.”

 Tony tries to think fast, tries to sift through viable options. “You said...if I get up, you think it’ll do a five second countdown?”

 “I think so,” Peter says. “When you moved too much earlier it did that quick twitch but reverted back as soon as you were back in place. Looked like five seconds on the clock.”

 The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches and he looks around, traces over all the details in the room. If this could be called a room. There’s no goddamn exit save for the one behind the suit, and five seconds—if Peter’s right about that, if they actually get five seconds and not instant, explody death, they still probably wouldn’t be able to make it to safety behind that wall.

 But the suit. Standing there, arms wide open.

 It feels ridiculously set up, down to the shitty ass bomb that clearly can’t be diffused, the suit ready for him to get in it.

 Or...someone. Ready for someone to get in it.

 “Okay, I’m gonna figure this out,” Peter says, and he moves, the first signs of nervousness rising up in his voice. The same nerves that have been plaguing Tony since all this bullshit started. Jumping from him to Peter like a virus. “Just, gimme a couple—well, okay, you’re not in charge of the timeframe here—”

 “I have an idea,” Tony says, trying to plan for their upcoming moments in crackling freeze frames in his head. Only the good scenarios. Only the ones where things turn up right in the end. He tries to swat the nerves away.

 “Awesome, we need one of those.”

 “I want you to go over to the suit and get inside of it,” Tony says. “You’re already coded to it—”

 “Wait, really?”

 “Yes,” Tony says, drawing out the word. “I need you to—”

 “No, I’m coded to the suit?” Peter asks. He’s looking up at Tony again, incredulously, brows furrowed like he doesn’t actually believe him.

 Tony doesn’t have time for embarrassment. “Yes, I—plan ahead, for when shit goes south, especially when shit goes south and you’re involved. Grill me later, yeah?”

 Peter nods at him, seemingly biting back a smile, and he doesn’t say anything else. He turns, sits on the ground, one hand resting on the arm of the chair close to Tony’s elbow.

 “Now, I’m banking on the fact that we’re gonna have five seconds,” Tony says. He locks eyes with Peter, tries to ignore the slow but still too fast clicking on the bomb. “How sure are you?”

 “Pretty sure,” Peter says. “From what I saw, yeah.”

 Tony swallows hard, listening to the waver of the kid’s voice. He’s not sure, and Tony can’t really expect him to be sure, and he prays, God, he prays that some low level lunatic isn’t the one to send him to his grave. But nothing’s gonna happen to Peter. That he’s gonna make sure of.

 “Okay,” he says, building a monument to five seconds in his head and hoping that’s enough to make it true. “Okay, you’re gonna get in the suit. You’re gonna come over here, we’re gonna do our own little countdown, then you’re gonna grab me, and fly us both to safety right over there behind that wall. Hopefully it’s a way out.”

 Tony motions to it with his head, then meets Peter’s eyes again. “Boot repulsors have a real kick—pardon the pun, focus up, Parker—and Friday’s definitely still active with the suit like that, she’s probably already mapped out our trajectory from the chair to our spot behind the wall over there. I think—these walls can withstand a blast. Suit definitely can.”

 “So I just need to cover you,” Peter says, his throat bobbing. “And...move really fast.”

 Tony tries to read his mind. “I don’t want to put too much on you—”

 “Mr. Stark, I do more dangerous things in gym class—”

 “God, I need to call that school—”

 “No, I mean. I can do it. I can.”

 Tony looks at him for what feels like a long moment. “Suit is primarily for your safety, because I know you won’t leave and let me try to get into it on my own.”

 Peter’s eyes flash angry, and he stands up, looking down at Tony. “You’d never make it.”

 “Never say never.”

 “No,” Peter says. “Me in the suit is better. Me in the suit makes more sense.” He walks over towards it, and looks back at Tony. “Of course I wouldn’t leave. You’re crazy.”

 “You’re stubborn.”

 “You’re crazy and stubborn.”

 Tony sighs. “Okay, let’s do it before I lose all feeling in my legs.”

 Peter points over to him. “Another reason why you can’t do it on your own. Pins and needles, remember that time you collapsed moving from the couch to the—”

 “Okay, spiderling, memory lane’s too long when a bomb’s involved,” Tony says, clearing his throat.

 He tries not to think about their plan too hard. Peter will be safe. He’ll be safe. That’s what really matters here.

 Peter backs up towards the suit, a mix of excitement and trepidation on his face. “What do I do?” he asks. “Just put my arms out?”

 “And step up,” Tony says, watching him.

 “Okay,” Peter says, tentatively. He looks down at his feet, holds his arms out, overextending his fingers like some warped version of jazz hands. Tony doesn’t laugh at him, because he promises himself he’ll be able to laugh about it later.

 Peter watches as he steps up with his right foot, then his left, and once he’s clear, the suit closes around him. The last thing Tony sees is Peter’s surprised eyes, and then the faceplate closes. And the suit stands stagnant.

 Tony waits. He narrows his eyes. Waits some more.

 “Uh, Peter?” Tony asks. “You in there? Did the suit consume you?”

 Another brief silence, and then a loud gasp. The suit stumbles forward a little bit, arms falling down to a more normal position. “Oh my God, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice says. He turns his hands over, looks at them. “Wow. Okay.”

 “You good?” Tony asks.

 “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Peter says. The suit stands on uneasy feet. “Okay.”

 “Friday know what to do?” Tony asks. He tries to ignore the way his heart speeds up, worry pumping in his blood. Nerves like electric shocks.

 “Yeah, she’s got it,” Peter says.

 His voice sounds weird coming from the suit, but Tony doesn’t comment on it, because he knows they need to get this done. He nods, and Peter walks over, stops right in front of him. Iron Man stares down at Tony Stark and yeah, it’s one hundred percent weird whenever someone else is in the suit, absolutely. Peter Parker is now a member of an exclusive club. Something else to tell him later.

 “Tony,” Peter says.

 Tony isn’t really used to Peter using his first name. It definitely amps up the nerves, even though he’s sure Peter intended for it to have the opposite effect.

 The kid keeps talking. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna—it’s gonna be fine.”

 Tony nods at him, manages a smile. “Definitely,” he says. “No doubts, not here, not me.”

 “Okay,” Peter says. He leans over, and hooks his arms under Tony’s, and Tony braces his hands on the suit’s shoulders. “Okay, uh—you count,” Peter says.

 “Okay,” Tony says, hoping to God this isn’t it. Isn’t that moment where his heart stops, where he’s ripped to shreds, languishing in death throes that’ll traumatize the kid for life.

 He makes himself squash those thoughts, and puts his trust in Peter Parker. The kid is gonna get him home.

 “Okay, ready?” Tony asks.

 “Yeah, yeah.”

 “Okay,” Tony says, not thinking of the bomb, of the danger, of that shadow hanging around his throat. He only thinks of the future. “Okay, one. Two. Three.”

 He feels Peter lift him up out of the chair, the pins and needles racing up and down his legs. He grimaces, holding onto the suit for dear life, and hears the bomb let out a high pitched sound. Peter activates the repulsors as the beeping speeds up, gets louder, and they shoot forward, crashing down behind the wall just as the blast goes off.

 It’s a wave of gargantuan sound and energy, and pieces of the chair fly every which way.

 Tony feels the reverberations as they hit the wall, and he hears a new leak spring somewhere, a spray of water. Rocks tumbling, falling, and for a second he worries the whole damn place is gonna cave in. Peter is completely covering him, cold metal everywhere, and Tony pops one eye open once all the noise and movement stops.

 His hearing is muted, but he can hear Peter’s voice calling to him.

 “Tony! Are you okay?” Peter asks. “Are you okay?”

 “Uh, seems that way,” Tony says. He can still barely feel his legs, but he can’t discern any major injuries. No bleeding. He’s just a little dizzy.

 “Friday,” Peter says. “Uh—stats on the—surroundings, can we—can we get out? Are we good to move?”

 He’s quiet, listening to Friday’s response. “Okay,” Peter says, finally. He moves back, and the faceplate flips open. “Can you walk? You were sitting for like, a really long time. And we just evaded an explosion, so...there’s that.”

 They did it. They did it. Tony’s elation covers up his nerves, softens their edges.

 “Sure I can, Iron Man,” Tony says, grinning at him.

 “Um, please.”

 Peter helps him to his feet, and the walls are still crackling, dust and debris falling.

 “Okay,” Tony says, flexing his toes in his shoes. “Stay in the suit for now, just in case. Let’s get the hell out of here and find this asshole. Though, how we’re gonna do that, I’ve got no goddamn clue.”

 Peter keeps one metal arm around Tony’s waist, the faceplate snapping back down. “Oh, I totally snapped a tracker on that guy before he knocked us out, I just gotta give Friday the codes.”

 Tony’s heart does a little leap, and he beams at Peter. Well, Iron Man Peter. “Yeah, you’re—you make a pretty good partner, kid. Gonna give Rhodey a run for his money.”

 “Ah, I’m definitely telling him that,” Peter says, as they turn a corner.

 “I’ll deny it.”

 “I’m totally recording everything right now.”

 Tony snorts. “Typical,” he says. “Okay, let’s go get the dickhead who trapped me in a goddamn bomb chair.”

 “Yes,” Peter says. “And on the way you can tell me what other tech I’m coded to. Jets? Oh! Do I have a special lab somewhere I can get into?”

 “You’re just gonna have to see,” Tony says. “Process of elimination.”

 The kid groans, and they follow the trickling water out of wherever the hell they are.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Going Through Motions{1}

Title: Going Through Motions {1}

Steve Rogers X Reader OFC Korral “Korri” Evans

Warning: Plot

Word Count: 1.9K

  Summary: You and Steve had a hot, passionate, and wild romance seven years ago when you worked with the Avengers. It was the best year of your life; you’d never felt the things you’d felt in all your life. Then out of nowhere, Steve just ended things—in a letter. A heartbreaking letter, then the world deemed him a criminal, and he disappeared. Now, you’ve moved on and have gotten engaged to rich man Marc Spector. Tony brings you back to work with the newly rebuilt Avengers that is still led by Captain America who is definitely done asking for permission and not looking for forgiveness. Or is he?

  Note: So, for this fic, we are going to alter the MCU timeline a bit. This takes place after Civil War, but Infinity War has not happened yet. Steve is off the grid for seven years before he comes back. {I know that’s a long time, but let me rock please} Also, I’m going to be introing/adding in Moon Knight (Marc Spector) in just because I feel like it and I want to start exploring other Marvel characters and of course I will twist him to serve my purposes.

**Loosley Proofread/edited**

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean?”

  “What’s not to understand? The Avengers are being put back together,” Tony exclaimed with a clap of his hands. Korral stood there gaping at him convinced he’d lost his mind. The Avengers had been broken up for the last near seven years. They were all sprawled out across the world doing god knows what. The CIA, FBI, SHIELD and every government entity had an order that if any of them were seen they were to be immediately apprehended if safe to do so and if they put up a fight they were to shoot to kill. That was the order for all except Steve; he was shoot to kill on sight.

   “Tony, I don’t understand.” He continued to walk, not caring that you’d stopped in the hall trying to make sense of his words. You scurried to catch up and made it just in time before the elevator doors closed. You pressed your back to the glass wall and took a deep breath.

   “Explain it to me, please.” Tony took a deep breath and paused his tapping into the tablet he held.

  “Right now, we are going down to the conference room that I hate the most to sit with the powers that be who think they’re in charge of the world’s defenses--,” he said normally before his voice dropped to a less than discreet whisper. “They’re really not,” he finished before pointing a self-gratifying finger to himself. Shaking your head, you stifled a scoff; this was nothing new, this was Tony. You didn’t mind, after working with him for the last ten years you’d gotten to know him pretty well.

   “What are we meeting with them for? I thought we hated them after the fallout.” Tony nodded and continued tapping into the tablet.

 “Oh, we do still hate them, but keep your enemies closer, remember.” You nodded because it was rule number two around here. “So. we’re going to meet them so they can officially gloss over their shortcomings in the last year to generously drop the charges against our friends,” he explained. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. The elevator stopped at the bottom floor, and Tony walked off, you remained still trying to catch up. You felt like you were in an alternate universe. “When did all this happen?” Again, you looked beside you and Tony wasn’t there, he was halfway across the lobby. You ran to him.

   “Last night,” he said before he stopped and looked at you. “Are you okay?” He had to be kidding. You currently had whiplash. You had no idea any of this was in the works. “Korral!” Tony shouted your name and snapped his fingers before your face. You focused on him. “Yes, I’m fine.” He studied you, and you wondered if he was using his high-tech glasses to scan you. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute to catch up. What do you need from me?” Tony started walking again, and it was then you saw the obscene amount of security agents standing around.

   “I’ve sent it to your tablet. I also want you to tally how many times one or more of them says this phrase sequence “our decision.” I’m placing my bet now that it’ll be more than twenty. What’s yours?” As you looked around you and accessed those around you, you tried to get control over your nervousness. If this order actually went through it meant a lot. It meant a hell of a lot. Shaking your head, you straightened your back and pasted a calm, detached expression to your face. “Twenty is lowballing it, go big or go home, I call every other sentence.” Tony smiled and nodded. “I like the way you think Evans.”

   The two of you walked toward the conference room, three secret agents stopped you and scanned your bodies with a wand no doubt checking for weapons. They were right to check. The wand beeped ferociously at Tony’s chest, and he gave them a “are you serious” look before they allowed him through the conference doors. When it was your turn, they looked over you but didn’t scan. They just nodded their head to let you through. They clearly didn’t think you were a threat. When you walked into the room there were seven powerful-looking men and dozens of others standing around. You quickly surveyed the room and made a note of everyone. Most were familiar faces, but there were a few that were all new to you.

   As you and Tony took your seats you scanned the file Tony sent you and smiled at the top disclaimer. “Don’t trust any of them, especially the one with the brown suit and purple tie, who wears purple and brown?” Pinching your lips, you tried to keep a professional exterior. The Secretary of State began his spiel; he looked less than happy to be saying the words. No doubt he hated to admit that the world needed the Avengers. Since their disbandment and the kill orders, chaos was everywhere, and threats came from left and right. They were stretched thin and quickly came to regret their decisions, but like the government, they also hated to admit their wrongdoings and make a change. That meant they would have to be right here in front of Tony and Tony was a less than gracious winner.

   Just as expected, every sentence showcased that they had come to this decision with no outside influence. Every time he said it Tony sent a message to you keeping tally of it. By the time the Secretary of State finished, it had easily been thirty minutes.  “So, let me get this right; you’re here with your tail between your legs admitting that you made a mistake, a very horrible mistake and now it’s your decision to rectify it? is that right?” You smirked and pinched your lips again. Of course Secretary of State Ross didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded his head to one of the many heads in the room. From the back, a young woman gathered a few folders and placed them in front of all who sat at the conference table. You opened the folder and saw images of the people you’d worked with for years and who you hadn’t physically seen in too long.

   “Glad to see you’re still the same Stark.” Tony looked in the folder. “I don’t know who you want me to turn into Ross; I can only be me.” You slowly flipped through the images, Clint, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Natasha and him. You stopped at his picture and almost audibly gasped, you didn’t expect he would be part of this deal. You thought it would be just the others. Your heart began pounding rapidly, and you slowly went over every detail of his face, every minuscule wrinkle, each bushy eyebrow, his defined nose, and equally defined jaw and his lips. Lips you’d surprisingly fell in love with. He was gorgeous. It had been seven years since you’d seen him, there was no indicating he looked this way anymore. He could have aged, wrinkled, something.

   “Do you want this to happen or not?” You brought your attention back to him those in the room and glanced at Tony who took a deep breath. “Continue.” Secretary Ross went over the details of the deal which primarily spoke of each of them having to remain on the straight and narrow and follow the rules that had been in place before everything went to shit. You knew they wouldn’t support the accords, that was never going to happen. A message came in from Tony, and he knew it too, but with Tony, he knew how to keep his hand hidden to make it seem he was playing ball. “You’re responsible Stark. This will blow back on you if this goes south—again,” Secretary Ross finished.

   Tony held up two of his fingers; “On my honor as a boy scout Ross. Cross my heart and hope to die.” He did the actual action for emphasis. “We’ll see. Let’s get this over with.” Tony took out his pen and signed his name then slid the folder to the center of the table. Across the table, Secretary Ross did the same, but unlike Tony, he didn’t look so confident, it was as if he expected this to go bad. Honestly, you didn’t know what to expect. Another ten minutes passed, and the meeting finished. You excused yourself to the ladies’ room and stared at yourself in the mirror for far too long trying to get a grasp on everything that had just happened.

   When you walked into Tony’s office thirty minutes later, he stood and waved you over. You hurried to his desk and listened to the tail end of his conversation. “It’s only a matter of time now. I expect the announcement tonight or tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted.” He turned to you and smiled. “Ready for things to get a lot louder around here?” You scoffed. He couldn’t be serious. You nodded and did your best to smile. “Tony, does this include—him?” As if for the first time realizing your struggle Tony’s expression softened. “Steve. Uh, yeah. His terms are slightly different though; because of his role in breaking the others out and aiding and abetting Bucky they think his morals are compromised.” You nodded. You weren’t surprised by his actions once you’d learned of them. You and Steve had several long conversations where he told you all about his friendship with Bucky and his regrets over the years. Steve was as loyal as they came. That was one of the traits that solidified the decision to make him Captain America back in the day. He was goodness.

   “So, what are his terms?” Tony took a bottle of water out the mini-fridge and drank from it. “Well, they definitely want him to sign the accords and sort of agree to be surveilled,” he rushed out. You snorted. “That’s not happening Tony.” He nodded. “Oh, I know, but they don’t know that.”

   You were used to the ride the slope of right and wrong with Tony. “Why would you go out on a limb knowing he wouldn’t agree, especially after everything that happened between you?” Tony sighed and looked out over the setting sun of the New York skyline. “Seven years is a long time Korral. I’ve had a lot of time to think and see things differently and from other perspectives. You can thank Pepper for that.” You smiled; Pepper did make him more human. It was sweet. “I understand. Plus, he’s Captain America, he’s Earth’s best defender.” You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Tony nodded his head and walked away. “Laugh it up. I know you’re laughing to hide the fact that you’re freaking out about this especially given the nature of your relationship back then and the state of your relationship with Marc currently.”

  Yeah, he called you out—extra loud. “Wow.” Tony smiled again and sat behind his desk. “If those are the terms, he won’t come back Tony. There is no way in hell he would come back on the grid to be controlled. You know Steve.” He sat there studying you. “Is it that you truly believe he won’t come back or you’re afraid he will?” You shook your head, rolled your eyes and looked out the window. “He won’t come back,” you finalized before you turned and walked to the door. “Good night.” There would be nothing in the world that would drag him back into the light especially to give up his freedom.

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

I Believe the Children Are Our Future: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,809

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

As soon as you reached Jesse’s house, you banged down the door and rushed in. Jesse was in the corner with fear in his eyes as he stared at you and the brothers. Castiel was nowhere to be found, so maybe he didn’t come yet.

“Was there a guy here? In a trench coat?” you asked.

Jesse points to the floor where there is an action figure wearing Castiel’s suit and trench coat. He was holding a silver knife, and you gasped as you picked him up.

“What did you do to him?” you looked at the young boy.

The boy didn’t answer as you walked to the fireplace and placed Castiel on the mantlepiece so that nothing could touch him.

“Was he your friend?” Jesse asked when he took a seat on the couch.

“Him? No,” Dean answered for you.

“I did that. But how did I do that?”

“You're a superhero.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. I mean, who else could turn someone into a toy? You're Superman—minus the cape and the go-go boots. See, my partners and I, we work for a secret government agency. It's our job to find kids with special powers. In fact, we're here to take you to a hidden base in South Dakota, where you'll be trained to fight evil,” Dean grinned as he tried to make the child go with you three.

“Like the X-Men?”

“Exactly like the X-Men,” Dean chuckled. “In fact, the, uh, guy we're taking you to—he's even in a wheelchair. You'll be a hero. You'll save lives. You'll get the girl. Sounds like fun, right?” Before the child could do or say anything, you three were flung to the wall just as Julia came in with black eyes. Guess the demons found her which in turn found Jesse.

“They’re lying to you,” the demon growled.

Your eyes flashed a bright blue before you resisted the demonic powers. Stalking over to the demon, your hands started to glow a bright blue when he forced you to your knees. Jesse stood up at the same time as the demon began choking you.

“Stay right there, dreamboat. Can't hurt you. Orders. You, on the other hand? Hurting you is encouraged,” the demon grinned at you.

“No!” you gasped as you looked at Jesse for help.

“Leave her alone!” Jesse yelled. The demon walked over to the child before leaning down and speaking sweetly.

“Jesse. You're beautiful. You have your father's eyes,” she grinned.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your mother.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Mm-hm. You're half human... half one of us.”

“She means demons, Jesse!” you gasped.

Julia straightened up and held out a fist which closed off your airway. Gasping, you tried to get whatever air you could before you couldn’t.

“Those people you call your parents—they lied to you, too. You're not theirs—not really.”

“My mom and dad love me.”

“Do they? Is that why they leave you alone all day? Because they love you so much? These people—these imposters—they told you that the tooth fairy was real and that your toys could hurt you and a hundred other things that aren't true. They love you so much, they made your whole life a lie. Look into your heart, Jesse. You've always known you weren't theirs. You've always known you were different. Everyone has lied to you. They're not FBI agents, and you're not a superhero.”

“When what am I?”

“You're powerful. You can have anything you want. You can do anything you want.”

“Don’t listen to her, Jesse,” Dean groaned.

The demon held up a hand and did the same thing to Dean as she did to you.

“They treated you like a child. Nobody trusted you. Everybody's lied to you. Doesn't that make you angry?” she asked. Jesse created a fist with his hand and the room started to rattle. The fire from the fireplace flares up and the light started to flicker. “See? It does make you angry. But I'm telling you the truth, Jesse. Wouldn't it be better if there were no lies? Come with me and you can wash it all clean. Start over. Imagine that—a world without lies.”

“She's right. We lied to you,” Sam said as the demon snapped her head to his. “But I’ll tell you the truth.” The demon held up a hand, and something started to break in Sam’s body as he tried to gasp out his words.

“Stop it,” Jesse said to the demon. Sam drops to the floor with a gasp, and the demon looked at Jesse with a smirk. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

“You're stronger than I thought.”

“We lied to you, and I'm sorry. So, here's the truth. I'm Sam Winchester. That's my brother, Dean and his girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N. W-we hunt monsters.”

“Except when you are the monster. Right, Sammy?” the demon aggravated.

“That woman right there, her name is Julia. She's your mother. But the thing inside of her, the thing that you're talking to—it's a demon.”

“A demon?”

“He's done nothing but lie to you since the moment you met him. Don't listen to him. Punish him,” the demon sneered.

“Sit down and shut up,” Jesse glared. A chair scoots up behind Julia who is forced to sit into it, silence. She struggled to speak, and you looked at her with rage before looking at Jesse.

“There's, uh, kind of a war between angels and demons, and... you're a part of it.”

“I'm just a kid.”

“You can go with her if you want. I can't stop you. No one can. But if you do... millions of people will die.”

“She said I was half demon. Is that true?”

“Yes, but you're half human, too. You can do the right thing. You've got choices, Jesse. But if you make the wrong ones, it'll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Why are you telling me this?!” he exclaimed as his voice broke in the end.

“Because I have to believe someone can make the right choice, even if I couldn't,” Sam sighed. Jesse thought about Sam’s words before looking at the demon.

“Get out of her,” he stated.

The chair flies back into the wall as black smoke began pouring out of Julia’s mouth and vanished into the chimney. As soon as the demon was gone, Dean fell to the ground, and the pressure was taken off your throat. Gasp-coughing, you hunched over as you breathed heavily and quickly.

“How did you do that?” Dean asked as you shakily stood up.

“I just did.”

“Kid... you're awesome,” Dean groaned. Jesse looked at his mother before turning to you and the brothers.

“Is she going to be alright?”

“Eventually,” you sighed. Looking down, you noticed Castiel lying on the floor, and you picked him up and turned to face the young boy. “Listen, the truth is, he’s a good friend of mine—ours. Is there any way you could turn him back?”

“He tried to kill me.”

“Right. But he's a—he's a good guy. He was just confused,” you tried again. Jesse didn’t say anything, and you just placed Castiel back on the mantle with a sigh. “It's been a long night. We'll talk about it later.”

“What now?” the child asked.

“Now we take you someplace safe, get you trained up. You'd be handy in a fight, kid,” Dean said.

“What if I don't want to fight?” he asked with wide eyes. Sighing, you walked to Jesse before kneeling in front of him to be closer to his level.

“You’re powerful, kid. More powerful than pretty much anything we’ve ever seen. That makes you—”

“A freak.”

“Maybe to some people, yeah, but not to us. See, we’re kind of freaks ourselves,” you said as your eyes turned a bright blue. Holding up your hand, a blue wisp of magic began dancing around your fingers and palm before disappearing as did the color in your eyes. “I guess I’m a freak too, but that’s what makes you extraordinary.”

“I can't stay here, can I?”

“No. The demons know where you are, and more will be coming,” Dean informed.

“I won't go without my mom and dad.”

“There's nothing more important than family,” Sam said. “We get that, and if you really want to take them with you, we'll back your play. But you got to understand—it's gonna be dangerous for them, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our dad... he would take us with him wherever he went.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead. A demon killed him and my mom. Right in front of me,” you answered with a sigh.

“Look, Jesse,” Deans aid as he knelt down next to you, “once you're in this fight, you're in it till the end, win or lose.”

“What should I do?”

“We can't tell you. It's your choice. It's not fair. I know,” Sam sighed.

“Can I go see my parents? I need to say goodbye.”

“Sure,” you whispered as Jesse left for his parent’s room. Standing up, you walked over to Castiel and stared at him.

“I wonder if he can see us,” you commented.

One minute turned to three which turned to five and then ten. Still, Jesse didn’t come down the stairs.

“He's been up there a long time,” you noted. After changing glances with the brothers, you raced upstairs to see Jesse had left. Vanished.

“He's gone,” Castiel said from behind. Turning to look at the angel, you wondered where he came from.

“Where?”

“I don't know. Jesse put everyone in town back to normal—the ones still alive. Then he vanished.”

“Hey,” Sam said as he picked up a note that was on Jesse’s bed.

“What does it say?” you asked.

“That he had to leave to keep his parents safe, that he loves them, and he's sorry.”

“How do we find him?” Dean asked.

“With the boy's powers, we can't. Not unless he wants to be found.”

You think Jesse is going to be okay?” you asked with one hand on the wheel. Dean was next to you in the front while Sam was resting in the back.

“I hope so,” Sam sighed.

“You know, we destroyed that kid's life by telling him the truth.”

“We didn't have a choice, Dean.”

“Yeah. You know, I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it,” he paused. “The more I think about it... the more I wish Dad had lied to us.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam sighed as he closed your eyes.

“Me three.”

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[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 6: Ch 2

Ch 1

Summary: With the fate of the universe resting in her hands, an unnamed Space Explorer and Saamuki first must find Syco to get back their friends.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

A swig of alcohol later and Saamuki throws the curtains open and storms out of there with me trying to catch up. Somehow with being both tipsy and shorter than me she’s able to make quite a distance. As I try to catch my breath in front of the pacing Saamuki, I curiously pressed, “What’s up north?”

It takes her a moment to answer, either because she faded me out or that she’s no longer sober, “Big festival. Definitely not for me. Explains why this planet has become a ghost planet.”

“But Sakhra is there. Isn’t he? We have to go.”

“I know. I know we do, but why did this have to happen today? Ugh. Okay. Let me just compose myself. Give me a moment.” A few, long breaths and her talking to herself, a long awkward moment of me looking at the sand around us, and she’s leading me to where the festival is. It was several lengthy, empty roads and alleyways, and me having to hold my breath because three of them were a tight squeeze. At least the trip wasn’t as long as the labyrinth underneath Cabelo’s hotel and I had actual scenery rather than dusty, muddy bricks with some sort of greenish substance. They were structures. They were buildings. They were homes. It was interesting to see how these people lived because as I said before they are just like anyone else. They lived like how any other person would live in these conditions. Some homes were five-stories. Most were either one- or two-stories. Each held a different shape. There were ones with a round roof, others had the classic triangular roof and some were super creative by going the extra mile of concave roofs. Each held a different personality that probably represented their owners. All were made out of a mixture of rock and mud. By the time we reached the outskirts of the town, we were greeted by the mouth of a small cave that sloped downward at about a forty-five-degree angle. Swinging the staff across the gaping darkness, I see another hole shooting straight down. “It’s up north then down south,” I commented. 

She turns to me, revealing a blush, and laughs. Saamuki laughs like it’s actually funny. Like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard before. I’m not a comedian as I have a poor sense of humor, so I know it wasn’t funny at all. She wipes away her tears of joy before nudging me to head in with her. 

The ladder wasn’t cold. It didn’t feel like it was never going to end, but I still struggled to keep my grip because of all the dirt and mud sticking onto it. By the time we hop off, I note the lanterns hanging along the walls of the cave and the stream, which has a golden glow because of the lights above, between us as I shake off the mess on my hands. That feeling I always get when something bad is about to happen hits me. I don’t hesitate to point the staff in front of me, but Saamuki doesn’t hesitate to go on ahead. I follow her with my grip tightened with a bit of hesitation in my footsteps. 

When Saamuki said big she really meant big. It was packed. It was as if twice as many people who were usually at the flea market were all in here, stuffed in the cave. Although, calling it a festival is an understatement. You’d assume it would be a celebration filled with merriment like laughter and smiles, but nope. Everyone in here is unusually, eerily quiet with their heads down underneath a thick, black robe. We were the outliers, but no one paid any mind to us. They remained pointed forward. Pointed forward at what I had no idea. The tallest seemed to be standing in the back, unintentionally making an unwavering wall. Saamuki grumbles and looks around. She then takes my hand and leads me to one of the only open spots in this place. “This will take a bit,” she explained to me. 

Because of all the crampedness, it felt like a sauna. I tugged my collar, hoping some cold air would shimmy down underneath and cool my sweating chest. It did, but not as much as I hoped. 

A figure stepped onto a makeshift podium. “It’s been six months since we placed that torch. It’s been six months since her murder. She was killed by a Space Pirate. She was one of our own. No, she was one of the greatest among us, yet they’ve forgotten about her.” Getting who he was talking about, I take a glance at the lip-biting Saamuki. “Brothers and Sisters, they have let us live, or so they would like us to believe. They claim it’s for balance. Well, that balance is shifting. It’s becoming clear that they’re no longer needed. It is only a matter of time before the Lords come looking for our children, our lovers, and ourselves. They’re killing us off one by one, yet it is only now we take notice. For centuries we have been their lackeys, their slaves. We’ve always done their dirty work. We never questioned once because we were blinded by the gifts, the freedom. No longer shall we live this way. No longer shall we let them control us. True freedom is not one built on fear. Brothers and sisters, it is time we rise. The time is now. There is no better time than now. Their most precious pets are at war with each other as we speak.”

“Brother, they will listen to us for some things, but not for this. They will massacre all of us within a blink of an eye,” a voice from the crowd replied. 

“Sister, what are rulers without followers? A hundred of us they will slaughter without a thought, but thousands of us is a different story. One voice is a whisper. Ten voices is a mutter. A hundred is heard, but not listened to. A thousand is a call to action.”

Another voice from the crowd countered, “Even if we wanted to, brother, we don’t have the supplies to stage such a theatrical war and we especially don’t have the manpower. Most of us are well over the age of action. This includes you, brother. Besides, we can’t just leave our children unattended if all goes south.”

“That is true, brother, but that’s why I ask for all of you to bury down your pride and seek the help of the public. Billions of voices can not be unheard. Brothers and sisters, it is time we act before it’s too late. They are feared because we let them be feared. We feed into the power they have, but power is a belief. It cannot be touched, but it can be broken. You and many others in this room know that is true.” 

A wave of whispers and hushes filled the room. A voice broke through the sound with a shout. Anger then erupted. Arguments had awakened. Then, as quickly as it came it all quieted. Silence filled the room. A single, familiar-looking hand is then raised. Everyone around eyed him. The owner of the hand had spoken, “I will join the cause that affects all of us, brother. I stand by your offer without any hesitation.”

“Classic Sakhra,” Saamuki mumbled with a smirk and a still blushing face. 

Of course, when one person confidently makes their voice heard then others are bound to join in. One by one everyone in the room is recruited. The last one to raise their hand, with what I think is an eye roll and an exaggerated swinging of his arm, is the man that tried deterring the announcer. 

The announcer started again, “With that settled, let us drink.” Everyone cheered and Saamuki turned around and covered her ears. Right when I’m about to question what had gotten her so disgusted with what’s just a town hall meeting, two cloaked figures threw a tied up, whimpering body in front of the announcer. The body couldn’t be any younger than the other prisoner on the Trauvox ship. Whoever this new character is clearly has seen war. They’re wearing a ripped, navy blue uniform and a tad of white with bloodstains. Purple spots have grown over where blood has been splattered. What was once pure white has now turned into a pinkish handkerchief. Their puffy pants, which are mostly tucked into their knee-high, dark brown boots, have battle scars of their own. Tears and scratches have made their name on them as well. The announcer bends down. “Speak, child. Let your voice be heard,” he continued.

The soldier doesn’t even take a glance at the man above him. Instead, they try to struggle free. Clearly, they’re outnumbered. If they were to loosen the rope tying them down just enough for at least one of their arms to be free they’d be welcomed to an onslaught of getting their ass beat by hundreds. They’re weaponless, I need to add. I don’t know what sort of training they’ve gone through, but it didn’t train their common sense. Maybe the type of training they went through suppressed it to outweigh honor. Maybe they’d rather die fighting than be at the announcer's mercy. Maybe it’s just the youth talking. 

Because they failed to answer, the announcer gets up and slams his foot into the soldier’s chest. I hear the sounds of ribs cracking as the soldier cries and spits out blood. My knuckles turned white because of how tight my grip on the staff has become. I try fighting myself. I want to go and help him. It sickened me seeing this type of excessive treatment, but at the same time, I know that doing so would probably get me to wind up like him. Saamuki tells me, “I know, but it’ll be all over soon. Just wait.”

He’s beaten—bloody nose and teeth, a split lip, and twitching hands. He stammers out as his collar is about to give in from underneath the clutch of the announcer’s hand, “B-Battalion five. I’m from battalion five of Quadrant Forty. I’m just a private. P-Please, have mercy.”

With that, the collar gives in. The private falls with a hard thud. Again, the announcer lowers. This time the private flinches when he speaks. “Ah, now was that so hard?” The beaten, young soldier shakes his head. “Good, but, unfortunately, it took you this long for you to crack. Most last far longer. One lasted a whole week. His lips remained shut even as we ripped each of his nails. Although, and of course, I didn’t beat him for every second that week. Even we get tired of torturing, but you’re just a private. Still, you’ve given your life to the Lords and that means you represent fascism.”

“If you want intel I don’t have any. They don’t tell us anything.”

“Yes, I already know, but that’s not why you’re here before us. Also, I didn’t ask you to speak.” The announcer slaps the soldier right across his face. A tooth is shot out and rolls off the podium and into the crowd. “You’re here to honor a friend’s six month death anniversary.”

His torturer moves his hand into his cloak and pierces a dagger into the soldier's stomach. Forcing the blade to go right through the soldier, the soldier gags and starts shaking. Then, he returns to screaming when the weapon is slid upwards. When my eyes meet with his guts and especially a beating heart, that’s when I gag. As blood is sprayed out and his organs topple to the floor, the announcer kicks him into the crowd. They pile on top of him and in the most horrific way to die they feast on the barely living, young man. Saamuki throws up with her back still turned to what now appears to be a cult. The announcer licks the soldier’s blood off of his hands and then his weapon as his followers rip right through and consume the private. It’s as if they haven’t eaten in days. It’s as if they’re wild animals rather than people. My insides are empty, yet I feel like I still have something to puke up. At least it didn’t last for long, but I, unfortunately, learned why Saamuki was so hesitant to come here. 

[philosophiums]

{god okay finally i’ve finished!!!!! i’ve got drafts of all five parts done and am starting to go through and revise, which i will post as i complete. i could revise three or four more times but like...... don’t have time for THAT. so here’s the neil-in-a-dress au that @microolli​ has been drawing. hopefully this ends up being even *close* to what you were hoping for}

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part One: Targeted

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

North Carolina’s humidity is reaching critical mass, and every breath of Andrew’s feels a little too much like warm water, like he shouldn’t be letting it into his lungs. Sundown didn’t help cool things off, and the breeze that had been blowing through the cracks in the windows has since choked off and left the three of them treading water. If he’d wanted to drown, he would have picked a better location; even he deserves something classier than a shitty black van parked on the side of some shitty two-lane road, lights off to hide better in the dark.

It’ll storm soon. Later tonight or tomorrow, but this slow buildup of airborne swamp water has to produce something destructive – there’s no other option. He just wants to be happily settled in some air conditioning before the sky splits.

Andrew sweeps his eyes up to check on Aaron beside him, noise-cancelling headphones settled over his head and eyes trained on the screens in front of him, and then he pivots to look at Nicky in the driver’s seat, whose hand is caught in his hair as he tries impossibly hard to stay alert.

Three hours have gone by. Something awful twists in the pit of his gut, instinct letting him know that whatever peace they’ve managed to hold is about to be disrupted. “Check in,” he says, returning to his original position, head down and eyes closed, his hands loose between his knees. He focuses on breathing and listening; those are his only concerns right now.

“One,” Dan’s voice scratches through his headphones, and then, “two,” as Matt follows suit. They’re in the building, the closest to the client, and no matter how much Wymack likes to go on about teamwork and making an effort to participate, this mission is on Dan and Matt’s shoulders. If something goes wrong and the client gets injured, it’s their fault. Allison and Renee count off three and four respectively, and their feedback is clearer because they’re closer – outside the building on the perimeter, sweeping circles back and forth to make sure nothing’s been planted. Andrew thinks it’s a pointless maneuver for only two people, that the gap in their patrol leaves a massive opportunity for anyone, but he doesn’t bring it up. Nicky’s five, which at least confirms that he’s still awake, and finally, from a full state away, Kevin and Wymack check in as six and seven. Aaron doesn’t get a number, both because Andrew’s eyes are on him and because he’s tasked with staying entirely focused on the cameras that they have running – so much so that Andrew’s in charge of the audio from everyone’s microphones and comms.

It’s absolutely pathetic that it takes nine people to keep one man alive when it should require only two, and take maybe four for padding on the wealthier clients. But before last year, Fox Den, Inc. couldn’t even manage with eleven people on-sight. Circumstances changed. People died. Kevin bled his way across several state borders and proclaimed he was staying, and then Andrew was convinced to stay, too. Sometimes, when Wymack bribes Andrew with just the right incentive, the whole plan runs smoothly. But usually they only barely manage to keep their clients alive, let alone unharmed. It’s as if their presence alone causes mayhem to kick up from the dust, and Andrew thinks that they would have better luck killing people for money – especially since right now they tend to get people killed and lose money – but the only time he voiced this, he got glared at and overruled. Maybe they’d manage better if they could work as a team, but Andrew’s more interested in keeping his family alive than the client, so shit tends to fall apart when anything gets serious.

Why Wymack hasn’t fired Andrew yet is really anyone’s guess. Probably because Kevin’s favorite mantra is that Andrew’s full of potential but lacking initiative.

Kevin thinks too much.

The venue they’re casing is a small but high-end party in a public building, the room reserved and vetted for by the property owners. The chatter coming through Matt’s microphone is mundane, if more muffled than normal given the dress restrictions of the event. There’s some money talk – in the way that wealthy people talk about money, which is to say there’s conversation about new business ventures and investments and how “overpriced but worthwhile” education is for their children. The conversation makes that dark lake in Andrew’s chest ripple with his anger, but none of the topics raise anything close to concern. There haven’t been any red flags all evening.

And Aaron hasn’t made any motion yet tonight to signal anything amiss on the screens, and there hasn’t been a perimeter breech that Allison and Renee have found, and there’s been no interruption of new information from Wymack or Kevin.

So, why does Andrew still feel like something’s about to go wrong?

He trusts his gut. “One, circle closer to the client,” Andrew instructs, head still down and eyes still closed. The van dips quickly towards the driver’s side and Andrew’s heart drops with it, but he doesn’t move at all. He assumes that it’s only Nicky turning around to look at him – Andrew hasn’t bothered to give orders pertinent to the mission in four… no, five jobs now.

“Something come up?” Dan asks, tone down as the chatter around her sways in and out of Andrew’s hearing, coming in from her headpiece and her suit mic as a unit of sound that only barely lines up and makes sense together.

Of course, Andrew could tell her the whole truth, which is that nothing solid has come to his attention. There’s no evidence that the job is about to go south. Matt is already close to the client. But the strangling snag of his gut has never lied to him before – so much trauma has tuned him to know exactly when it’s coming. “Yes,” he says, which is enough of the truth to assuage her, and doesn’t elaborate.

“Andrew?” God, Kevin needs to not be talking right now. Andrew’s fists clench between his knees. “Did you notice something? What did you hear?”

“I can’t hear anything with you filling up the radio waves.” And really, what a poor fucking design for this part of the plan, but Andrew stops thinking about how Nicky should be solely in charge of communication when he catches sight of Aaron moving, and that jerky motion drags all of Andrew’s attention to his twin.

His head snaps up, and he watches Aaron’s mouth move in a slow, incredulous way, though he can’t hear him at all given the chaos that suddenly erupts through Andrew’s headphones. He rips them off and drops them, welcoming the bang of silence through his head. With the way Aaron slumps in his chair, there’s no way the client is still alive.

“What the fuck just happened?” Nicky asks, and Andrew would bet it’s into the comm system as well, but he’ll just bog down the channel, since that’s what everyone else is asking, too. “Shit.” He moves like he’s about to bail from the front seat, and Andrew’s not sure if Nicky’s thinking about running inside or coming around the van to join them in the back, but he’s not taking chances.

“Stay put, Nicky. He’s dead.” Andrew says it with a sigh.

Nicky swears again, but he stops acting like he’s leaving.

Andrew’s slow to stand up, left leg braced out so that he doesn’t have to rush to find his balance. It’s been a long night, and it was all for nothing; now all that’s left is figuring out what the fuck happened. Aaron pulls off his noise-cancelling headphones and tosses them to the lip of a desk in front of him, and Andrew takes a step and a half to come up behind him.

“Rewind it,” he says. “Show me.”

Aaron doesn’t move right away, and their synced sluggish responses make Andrew wonder if the damp air has become something thicker without them noticing, or if they’re both starting to wonder what the point of them doing this is. It feels rote, so Andrew doesn’t rush Aaron into moving. Eventually, Aaron leans forward and rewinds the tape.

When the recording starts to play, all Andrew sees is boring rich white people milling about in clean-cut fashion. He finds their client in the upper corner of the main screen, and the middle of the right screen; Matt is half-visible in the main screen and gone in the left, and Dan is invisible in all three. He watches the main screen, sees Dan come in from the bottom, casually slipping through the crowd with a mellow urgency that no one picks up on. And then the client just drops.

No obvious killer.

Well. Shit.

“Again,” he says, eyes staying on the screen even when Nicky decides to scramble between the front seats and join them.

Once more, Aaron rewinds the tape. Andrew delegates them each a screen. “Watch the top left corner only,” he says, because now they need to find whoever killed their client and lost them more money and reputation. They go through until Aaron stops the tape and rewinds again, and again until Andrew stops him. “There.” He points at the figure, the one he noticed last time but this time is sure of.

“How can you tell it’s her?” Nicky asks, leaning closer to the screen as if proximity will make the pixels any more clear, as if it will make the cutting silhouette in the black dress and close-cut curly auburn hair turn around and show her face. “She’s so far away from him.”

As if that hadn’t been Andrew’s first hesitation in picking her out. “Watch her hand,” he says, and moves aside as Aaron rewinds the tape one last time to watch. A second before their client crumples, the woman raises her arm, fingers shaped like a pistol aimed at their client, and pulls it back like it’s been fired. There’s no weapon in sight, but their client dies anyway.

When they get back to Columbia, they’ll have to comb through all of the video footage to look for any other occurrence of the woman throughout the night, but for now they have authorities to deal with, and then Andrew is going to start drinking.

[rpgsandbox]

One moment sets the course of destiny.

But what if that one moment was changed in the smallest of ways?

What if one madman's plan actually were to succeed beyond our known history?

Darker Hue Studios presents its second project:

Haunted West, A Historical-Fiction, Weird-Western, Spaghetti-Action Game.

This is a game about hope through struggle. It is a game that pieces together the stories of the largely forgotten people of the Old West, the people who have been whitewashed by history. Discover the American experience in the Weird West.

Grab your rifle, jet pack, and spurs to battle traitorous rebels in the defense of freedom, join the fight against temporally displaced dinosaurs, rustle cattle to make ends meet, and hijack a train full of illicit Confederate gold!

I hope you’ve got the grit and gumption to see this through.

Head 'em up. Move 'em out.

                                               The Train Heist

The Old West—The Wild West, The American Frontier—is one of the world’s most familiar modern myths. The time was draped in ruggedness; there was an idealized dream of freedom, and a notion that just one person could shape the world. That myth belongs to all of us. Yet so many stories of truth, justice, and the American Way have been stolen, erased, and never recorded. Haunted West aims to tell many of those stories, to shine a light on the proud people who shaped America and fought for her just as much as those people whose stories are central to widely-known American folklore.

Haunted West honors the many forgotten voices of the American Frontier, tips its hat to the Weird West genre, rides the trails with the Spaghetti and Hollywood Westerns, and drinks at the saloon with historical truths. It’s a game about our real-world history that does not whitewash it, but instead amplifies the voices that shaped the West, and thereby America, helping define the world. We’ve taken an entirely new approach to the Weird West genre in gaming, with a system built from the ground up to enable you to tell the kind of stories you want, and accurately represent the history of the Old West while running games as gritty or as pulpy as you want.

Haunted West approaches the Weird West in a unique way, riding the rails toward something new. This is fertile ground for all. Haunted West explores the true history of the American Frontier with a focus on the tales of the forgotten, unknown, and overlooked, and all through Weird-West-goggles.

When I was young, growing up in the deep South of Alabama, I would watch Westerns with my grandmother on our one television in the house. Though we weren't always close, we huddled around that TV and explored the great Old West together, and that's how my love for the genre began. The only problem? No one looked like me unless they were cast as the villain or, sometimes, the butt of the joke. Haunted West aims to change that.

In Haunted West you'll battle the Weird, take side jobs to get by, and help shape a nation one step at a time. Experience adventures in the vein of Deadwood, High Noon, Gallowwalkers, Hell on Wheels, The Magnificent Seven, The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., and more.

This is a role-playing game inspired by real-life icons such as Bass Reeves, Belle Star, Cathay Williams, Tom Threepersons, Ah Toy, Nat Love, Kate Warne, Jerome Crow Dog, Joaquín Murieta, John Henry Holliday, Lucy Eldine Gonzalez Parsons, Jackson Sundown, Mary Fields, and Fee Lee Wong.

Haunted West hears the voices of the past and amplifies them for all to hear.

"We need to haunt the house of history and listen anew to the ancestors' wisdom." - Maya Angelou

The world of Haunted West: Reconstruction begins close to our known history, but branches off a few years into the Reconstruction era following the Civil War, dropping you in the middle of an evolving historical timeline. The War’s aftermath burns bright in people's minds, no matter if they or their kin fought with the victorious North or the traitorous South.

In our known history, John Wilkes Booth assassinates Abraham Lincoln, which accidentally elevates Andrew Johnson, a Southern former slave owner, into the presidency. He goes on to fight against every change the people, their country, and fallen soldiers had earned.

Haunted West: Reconstruction creates a timeline in which, in addition to killing Lincoln, Booth's assassination plot also kills Johnson as he had originally intended. Lafayette Foster becomes President, and without presidential opposition, the Southern confederates are not allowed back in congress. The land is divided and given to the enslaved people as was actually planned in our known history, changing the power dynamic of America, with black landowners battling against traitors who are terrorizing them and trying to steal their legally-owned land.

We've worked with historians to help us imagine how that new dynamic plays out in our alternate timeline.

We think you'll love exploring the alternate timeline. As a gamer, I love world meta plots but I also like having the ability to run my own game. So in Haunted West we give you options. The game is layered, empowering you to run a purely historical game including many of the forgotten voices of the Old West, where you're more likely to die of dysentery than a bullet; or you may choose to take a turn toward the Spaghetti and Pulp Western; or, my hope is you'll want to take the ride into the alternate timeline which can be played in either gritty or pulp style—your choice.

That’s right, this is an entirely new system specifically designed with the Narrator's and players' enjoyment in mind. The system’s core mechanic is a 1d100 based system with some new twists. It’ll feel familiar and easy while having a level of complexity to appeal to old school gamers.

The rules themselves layer on top of each other for ease of use and can be applied in many ways.

Why a New System?: We created a new system to provide exciting versatility of play styles, a system that is tailored to create iconic stories of the West, and a consistent way for you to tell your stories. For me, it was important to have something fresh to empower the player and Narrator alike. The system is easy to pick up for new gamers and has levels of complexity for old school gamers looking for that. But at the heart of it, it’s built to aid in telling stories.

The Essential Mechanics: The ‘Ouroboros System’ is unique in its approach to modular play and has a number of easy-to-apply rules. The core mechanic is a 1D100 roll under system with degrees of success and failure that have different impacts. Skilled Paragons are able to invest a portion of their successes into ‘The River’ and use that portion for a later challenge when the chips are down. Each skill is associated with 1 of 7 different attributes that confer a starting percentage in the skill.

Paragons:  Paragons are our system's player characters. We chose the term 'Paragon' because they are iconic, modeling an aspect of the Old West and larger than life.

                                     Mock Up of Character Sheet

Skinwalkers, vampires, werewolves, aliens, clockworks, monstrosities, magic, and more await you here!

The Weird populates Haunted West on the fringes. People may know about it but rarely discuss it; it's not proper, and if you name it, you give it power. The Weird is rarely in plain sight and anyone that has a touched it is forever changed by it. These folks have seen beyond the horizon and understand the world is more, more dangerous, and more wonderous than anyone imagined. But unlike a Mythos protagonists, the people of the West are made of stern stuff. They don't faint or break easily.

Haunted West builds its Weird from myths, stories passed down from generations, real-world sightings, and from the recesses of our minds. We've got supernatural horrors, science fiction aliens with technology to astound, and more. Stepping out of your door into the world isn't for the faint of heart.  

                                         Artwork: Battling the Weird

Haunted West is a core book containing everything a Narrator needs to run scenarios in the Weird and Wild West. The book itself is an exquisitely designed hardcover 8.5” x 11” book clocking in at well over 130,000 words. Haunted West will be printed in two editions. The first will be available via offset printing for our US customers and the second will be available through DrivethruRPG for our overseas fans which will help to minimize the cost of shipping. Both versions of the book will be FULL COLOR! Our goal is to deliver the book to you Summer 2020.

                            Mock-up cover. Final design is pending.

This hefty tome would give any cowpoke pause from its hidden secret and arcane lore of the past. If you’ve got the resolve, I’ll tell you a bit about it and hold back a few prizes for a surprise when you open the book. Rest assured it’s not a snake in your boot.

A brief, “Howdy, partner!” We’ll chat around the campfire about history, how to apply the Weird, the horrors and wonders of the West, and the new system.

Then we sit a spell at the trading post to make some characters, what we're calling Paragons, and you'll have your choice of 10 distinctive archetypes that cover a lot of ground, enabling players to make any character they can think of. The creative posse has built a detailed Life Path system to guide character creation from your lineage, to your crew, to a few antagonists that don’t fancy your face.

Each Paragon has a couple of aptitudes making them more than a run-of-the-mill town person. Maybe they can shoot a little straighter, train horses a little faster, or rumor has it that some sawbones can bring the dead back to life.

Skills are the salt-of-the-Earth of what a Paragon can do. Qualities are those small traits that make you stand out. It could be something like striking looks, a 500-dollar bounty, or an intimidating gaze that forces any law officer to keep walking.

You can’t have the weird without a little magick. We start the ball rolling with four historically-based Western theme magicks of the time. They've been researched and gamified for those looking to meet at the crossroads to barter with a demon.

                                                     Book excerpt

We'll delve into an engaging narrative about the true West from before time until the early 1900s. Our story is sprawling with unknown visages and we touch on a lot of them, like an old friend buying the first round at the saloon. We’re storytellers crafting a tale that has never been told.

Haunted West takes the reigns and gives you all of the West, above and below to explore. Paragons may be dueling clockwork gunslingers in Deadwood, trading for supplies with the Lakota, holding the line with Texas Rangers against an unknown army, debating Southern politicians in halls of power on the East Coast, or stealing aboard steam-powered cities in the heavens. We are boundless.

The book comes primed with over 50 historical folks for the Paragons to meet, call out, run from, or with whom to posse up. These are real-life icons pulled from history, and their voices are waiting for your breath to make them live again.

See 'Methods of Play' for all the gunslinger goodness.

What kind of no-good scallywag would I be without offering a Narrator a helping hand for running games, discussing the careful economic and racial divides you’ll need to navigate? I am not alone; I've got a crew of diverse voices to help tell the tales.

Haunted West: Reconstruction is the world setting. The entire book up until now has been a historical game plus how to apply the Weird, and this section gives you over 10,000 words dedicated to the alternate timeline. In this timeline, in addition to killing Abraham Lincoln, John Wilkes Booth's assassination plot also kills Johnson as he had originally intended. The alternate timeline imagines how this new reality plays out.

The world of Haunted West is a grim place of untold horror, the supernatural, sights that shatter even the toughest gunslinger, with wonders beyond description. It is the Old West—the frontier of America—with her people arriving from every corner of the globe, seeking fortune, fame, and a moment in the sun.

The Paragons encounter rumors of some flying machine beyond description that's leaving mutilated cattle in its wake. They need the thing stopped before they go bust. But a deeper horror awaits those who follow the Aerostat.

We present over 40 creatures pulled from folklore and myths, both supernatural as well as alien, to baffle and combat your players' Paragons.

We’ll have a foldout train map of the United States, a reusable town map, and an old west hex map for miniature combat.  

                                            Artwork: Ghost Town

Kickstarter campaign ends: Fri, November 1 2019 3:00 PM UTC +00:00

Website: [Darker Hue Studios] [facebook] [twitter]

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 16

Work continues to drive me crazy, so of course I make my life more complicated by getting online classes set up for the fall. That, and I kinda don’t want to see our babies learn about Hughes. Blissful ignorance, am I right? *sigh* Onwards with Brotherhood.

Do we have captions this time? We do! Awesome, it was so irritating last time not knowing if I was mangling names or not. We’ve got the second intro featuring the Xing contingent, curious how influential it’ll be having a foreign prince bopping along with the Elrics. (Also, I continue to be juvenile and giggle at one of the lyrics in the new song being “shite”. Hee.) We open up with a bird's-eye view of Central, then with Ed yawning at the train station. Al mentions that being spied on for hours is pretty tiring. Right, Ling’s ninja squad don’t trust the Elrics. But where’s the Prince? The Ninjas proceed to freak the heck out, Fu runs around the traintops calling out for the young lord as Lan Fan worries about him collapsing. Is Ling fainting a common thing, then? Ed just shrugs his shoulders at the absence of the freeloader and heads off with Al and Winry. Huh, music’s getting ominous. Oh, there he is, doing a Brooding Anime Rooftop Stare on the station’s clock tower, looking towards the center of the city. [Ling]: “Something about this country doesn’t feel right.” Well, the current speculation (backed by the freaking Fuhrer being a Goth!) is that they’re sacrificing people to make Philosopher’s Stones, so… don’t know much about Xing so can’t say if they’re any better, but it’d be pretty hard for them to be worse. Episode 16 - “Footsteps of a Comrade-in-Arms” In a run-down area of the city, a car stops and the blond-haired smoking guy (Havoc?) of Roy’s crew is checking in with the grey-haired member (I’ll get their names some day, I swear), dropping off food from the colonel. Oh, guess Grey’s been guarding Barry, who cheerfully recognizes “the smokin’ guy”. Not tied up and playing chess? Are they keeping him prisoner to try and get more info or more protecting their only source? Well, I suppose for a serial killer like Barry being kept inside at night and denied any chances to chop someone up would be uncomfortable. Still, Grey’s bored with the assignment, asks how much longer it’ll be. Havoc just says that Roy apologizes for the dangerous assignment, that Grey’s absence it being treated as sick leave… and if he’s seen in public by anyone he’ll get court-martialed. Yikes, ok then. No breaks for poor Grey. Any good news? [Havoc]: “Falman, I found myself a girlfriend!” ...well that’s nice and all for you, buddy, but I think Falman (thank you!) was looking for good news for him. Poor, poor Falman. Hey, it’s Ling! Taking another impromptu nap? A couple of cops are asking if he’s ok, he whispers about food… ah, trying for another free meal? Unfortunately for Ling, the cops less interested in feeding him and more interested in seeing his entry visa. Cue irritated cops dragging a crying Prince away. [Cop 1]: “Outta the way, everyone!” [Cop 2]: “Illegal alien coming through!” The Ninjas continue to freak over the absent master, while Ed says that they should stop by the military offices. Winry… decides to go straight to the Hughes’ house. Oh boy. [Winry]: “I can’t wait to see Miss Gracia and cute little Elicia!” Uuuuuugh. Make it stooooop. The Brothers are off to meet up with Hughes himself, while they think Hughes might have been stymied by Bradley’s orders to stand down they have info on the Homunculi now (and still don’t know the Fuhrer himself is one, gah!). Off to the court-martial office! Quiet somber music as the brothers run through the park. And right by the phone booth that Hughes was murdered in. Bleh this episode is not going easy. In the office, Sheska’s carrying around some books when another lady officer asks for a key to Room #3. Which freaks Sheska out, and she babbles about cleaning up the mess first? What, have you made that your private reading lair or something? Nope, not your lair it seems, but Colonel Mustang’s private napping chamber. Yikes, hope you had an alarm set, and it only wasn’t Sheska waking you that kept you from being late to a freaking Council Meeting. Wait, Council? I don’t think I’ve heard of that group before, I’m just assuming by the tendency for Anime Councils to be Big Deals that it’s the same in the FMA universe. The highest-ranking officers of the military? Sheska worries that Roy’s not getting enough sleep, he just waves her off and goes to the meeting. Staying up late doing research on the conspiracy, I gue- GAH new voice! Sheska freaks and identifies them as Captain Focker, who asks about the open storeroom and what Roy was doing. Uh oh, a watcher sent by Bradley? Double uh oh, in her concern for Roy’s state Sheska is telling Focker about how he seems to be researching the Fifth Laboratory. And the Hughes case. Bleeeeeh, more Hughes feels as Sheska gets sad about her getting her job through Hughes. Captain Focker walks away deep in thought, glasses obscuring his eyes. Uh oh. But then the looks up in surpr- That’s Captain Focker! Oh my Leto, that’s the real Captain Focker! Real Focker’s too busy looking at some piece of paper to notice a shapechange and red electricity as Envy takes on a new disguise. Shapeshifters: A security nightmare.

But it looks like Envy might have made a mistake, as Real!Focker’s now saying good morning to Sheska, who is rightly confused. A simple “Laugh at this clueless character” moment, or a break for the good guys? Roy’s washing up in a bathroom for this Council Meeting, takes a moment to stare mournfully into the mirror- until with a flush of a toilet his angsting is interrupted by The Mighty Armstrong, glinting manfully in his bandages while towering over the stall door. Hah! Armstrong remarks that Roy looks a bit peakish, who asks why Armstrong is bandaged. Oh right, Armstrong was involved in killing all of Greed’s human-chimera crew down South. He mentions that he ran into the Elrics down there, on their visit to their old teacher. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell them about Hughes. Armstrong makes his way out- [Roy]: “The Fifth Laboratory and the Philosopher’s Stone; the Stone’s key ingredients are live humans.” Armstrong comes to a halt. Roy continues about how Hughes died following up on the Elric brothers’ investigation, and how if/when they find out they’ll blame themselves. He says Armstrong not telling them was kind, and Armstrong compliments him on figuring out so much. But warns him that he never knows who might be listening. Riza’s waiting out in the hallway when Ed walks up and says hi, although he’s not as happy when Roy joins them. Oh yeah, Elric didn’t know about Roy’s promotion. Now if he’s hanging out in Central it’ll be the same place as good old Colonel Mustang. The sarcasm in Ed’s “Great” is astounding. As for the Elrics, they’re just doing some information gathering. And might pay Hughes a visit later in the day. Where is he, anyway? Roy… says that Hughes retired. Went out to the country with his family to run the family business. Really, dude? I get that it’s a sore subject, but the “he went out to the farm” excuse only works for so long. They deserve to know what happened. Well, with the false story the boys think that they should tell Winry, they spin around only to run into Lieutenant Ross. She asks about the rush, Ed mentions that they heard about Hughes… and Ross isn’t in on the “tell them the farm story” excuse. Oh boy. Uuuugh, the two conversations sliding right past each other here is painful! And here’s the kicker: [Al]: “He retired to the country and they promoted him?” Ross realises she did a no-no, covers her mouth to keep from saying anything else. And Ed realizes the truth. Mid-episode cards: Captain Focker with an Envy silhouette behind him, and a downcast Gracia Hughes on the second. Notable for both Narrator “Full-Metal Alchemists” being the sad, somber one. Out in the city, Winry’s shopping for apples, presumably to give to the Hughes’ family. And Ed races out of the building after hearing the new. [Lt. Ross]: “Brigadier General Hughes is dead… He was murdered shortly after you were discharged from the hospital, Edward. I’m afraid we still haven’t found the person responsible.” As he runs and cries, Ed blames himself for pulling Hughes into the investigation. Flashes of Happy Hughes and his family, a memory of Hughes seeing them off at the train station and inviting them to drop by again, hosting dinner, first meeting them and inviting them to his home… Al catches up with the suitcase and then stands there silently as Ed slumps against the wall. And now we’re with Winry, who’s arriving at the apartment. The door swings open- [Elicia]: “Daddy?!” Oh no, that’s fine. I didn’t need that heart anyway, go ahead and use it as a footrest show. The Elrics have arrived at the apartment building, when Al asks what they should do Ed tells him to go back, that he’s “the only one who has to take the blame for what happened.” Oh my Leto kid you have enough self-imposed guilt from Mama Elric and Nina, stop taking the weight of the world on your shoulders! Al argues that it’s on both of them, and double all my protests that Ed does not deserve this for his little brother as well. Ed tries to dissuade Al again- [Al]: “We made up our minds; We said we were getting our bodies back, no matter what. But if people are going to die because of that… then I don’t want mine back.”

Freaking A, Al. I cannot overstate how much damn respect I feel for you right now. You are a poor boy, trapped in a cold metal body from a horrible accident. Getting your body back has been your driving purpose, along with healing your brother. But when you discovered that the cost of making a Philosopher’s Stone was human sacrifice, you discarded the method. And when you discover that a friend has died in the process of helping your investigation, you are fully prepared to renounce your goal in order to protect others. I salute your selflessness. Gracia opens the door, and gives the Elrics the same sad smile that she gave Winry, telling the brothers that Winry’s already arrived. The mechanic’s sitting quietly in a chair with Elicia curled in her lap, she looks up with Ed quietly enters. Ed then asks to talk to Gracia and Winry about Maes. The quiet sad theme starts playing as Gracia recaps the Elrics’ message; that Hughes looked into the Philosopher’s Stone, and was killed as a warning against the brothers. Gracia looks down at sleeping Elicia, as Ed bows his head in grief and gasps out “sorry” again and again. [Gracia]: “That would be just like him, dying while trying to help someone else.” The Trio look up in surprise. [Gracia]: “My husband. He always was a busybody and a meddler, and it got him into trouble. A lot. But you know… I don’t think he ever had regrets. Not any… not even in his dying moments, Edward.” So many people to respect in this episode, seriously. Al being prepared to give up on getting his body back, and Gracia insisting that they can’t give up, or else Hughes died in vain. With a little smile, even. Forget about the dead end of the Stone, there still might be another way. [Gracia]: “You boys have to keep moving forward… any way you can.” The door closes as the Trio exit the apartment, Ed turns to look at the others- [Elicia]: “Mommy?... Mommy, please don’t cry.” ...damn you, show. Later in the day now, the sun is setting as the Trio walk through the streets to a sweeping cello melody. The Elrics see Winry to a hotel room, and then go to their own. Right, because they… used to stay at the Hughes’ residence. Winry’s quietly resting on her bed, Al’s sitting in the living room, and Ed’s downstairs in the restaurant too upset to eat. Now he’s knocking on Winry’s door, asking if she’s eaten yet, and she should hurry because the dining room is closing soon. The parallels are strong here: when they were children the Rockbell’s fed the Elrics, and now Ed’s trying to make sure Winry keeps up her strength now. When Winry doesn’t make a move Ed excuses himself to his room, but Winry grabs his automail hand. Aw, aw no. She still has the basket of apples she was planning to take to the Hughes’ family. Seems she was planning to make apple pie. And had hoped that Mr. Hughes would get to try some too. Winry cries as the screen fades to black. WOW OK talk about rough transitions, we’ve got Chimeras in cages. And eff you it’s the Goths, Lust leaning on Gluttony as she talks with still-disguised Envy. Now they know that Roy’s been looking into the matter, and may have found some things out. Lust gripes that they orchestrated Roy’s move to Central to keep a closer eye on him, and it’d be a waste to lose an important sacrifice candidate. Wait… [Envy]: “Haven’t been able to learn anything from your new boyfriend?” Aw hell no, I’d thought that Havoc gushing about having a girlfriend was just a little joke at the beginning of the episode, like a running gag about his relationships or something. You’re telling me Lust is playing Havoc? Run dude, run! Lust goes off to gather more info, calls for Gluttony like a loyal little attack dog. Envy chides Gluttony for leaving some bones scattered around… but then gets an idea. Uh oh, we’ve got string music as Envy suggests making another “play”, giving Roy a bone to chew. What are you up to? We’re at what appears to be a cafeteria now, when someone comes up and taps Lieutenant Ross on the shoulder, introducing himself as Henry Douglas from the Provost Marshal’s office. Flanked by goons, he says that Ross has to come along with them, and demands her gun? Wait, is Ross being arrested? Brosh, where the heck are you, come defend your partner! Whoa whoa what?! They’re accusing Ross for Hughes’ murder?! What the heck, how can you make that claim? What evidence do you have for that absurd claim? Besides… well, besides the shapeshifter accosting Hughes in the phone booth while looking like you… uh oh. Riza is updating Roy on the situation, saying that Ross (man, there are a lot of R-characters involved in this case, huh?) is pleading not-guilty on all charges. The Flame Alchemist just tells Riza to gather all the info on the suspect that she can, secretly. Dramatic string music continues as we see Havoc buying some flowers and then running along to his “hot date”, stubbing out his cigarette as yup, “Solaris” is Lust. Who demurely asks Havoc to sit down and tell her about his day. AAAAAAARGH! Ok then! Was putting off this episode because I knew there would be Feels about Hughes, and damn if it didn’t deliver. But like Gracia said, they can’t let Hughes’ death be in vain, and they can hardly just give up and let the killer go free. Speaking of, framing Ross? As if I didn’t have enough reasons to hate you jerks, Goths! Ugh, this is gonna get complicated, isn’t it?

[namjuicyy]

A Father’s Love - Chapter Four

Masterlist | Requests are open.

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut.

Genre of this part: Fluff, smut.

Word Count: 3.5k.

Summary: Single father, Namjoon, struggles to keep his idol life and his private life separate. When he meets you, everything changes.

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, studio sex, fluffy sex on his sofa.

Namjoon's life, as you'd come to figure out, was dictated by a small digital screen that would send alerts to him telling him what his plans were for the day. His calendar app, along with his favourite music app, were the only two squares on his phone that hadn't been put into a folder for the neat aesthetic. And the chance for him to put a selca of himself and his son as a wallpaper and be able to see it whenever he unlocked his phone, of course. But, Tuesdays and Fridays were your nights. Nights where, regardless of distance or business, time was set aside for the both of you to hang out. Three of the four days dedicated solely to you, you also shared Namjoon with Haneul. Not that you minded, given that, even when he threw tantrums, he was the sweetest boy alive. A trait he must have inherited from his father.

This Friday, however, it seemed to just be you and Namjoon, favouring a date at the cinema for... a date in his studio.

"___, I'm so sorry." He said frantically over the phone. "I didn't want to cancel on you, I really didn't. It's just we're planning a comeback in the spring and a comeback requires an album and an album needs writing and I'm already so behind as it is."

"Lack of inspiration or lack of time?" You'd asked trying to cheer him up.

"It's certainly not lack of inspiration," he told you, "I seem to have found myself a new muse."

"Oh smooth, Joonie. Smooth." You giggled.

"Yeah, next door's cat is really soft and squishy. I think I'm in love, ___. That calico... man. It really gets me, you know?"

"Sure it does. Just... out of curiosity... what kind of takeout do you prefer? Italian, Indian or Chinese?"

Namjoon chuckled. "Curiosity killed the cat you know."

"If that thing dies, you can't hold me responsible for it! I won't be blamed for the fall of Bangtan Sonyeon-whatever it is you youngsters call yourselves these days."

You'd come to learn, in the past week or so, that Namjoon's band was a lot more successful than you thought it was. Turns out you had seen Namjoon's face around before, and you did know who he was. But for some reason your brain didn't twig that your Namjoon was international pop/rap sensation... Rap Monster... of BTS. You'd even listened to some of his music before, and enjoyed it a lot. Not that you'd be able to call yourself part of Army or anything. When you learnt about this, you simply shrugged your shoulders and just let it skate over your head, something that surprised Namjoon. No one had ever been this indifferent to his career before, yet there you were, snuggling up to him on the couch, playing with his son's hair absent-mindedly as the Korean dubbed version of Disney Pixar's Cars played on the television. Namjoon really tried not to get attached to you. He honestly tried his hardest. He'd seen all the problems his dongsaengs had gone through whenever they'd even breathed in the same direction as a woman, and knew that if the press ever got wind of you, things would change for the worse. Thankfully, his previous relationship and his son were able to remain in the dark. For five years he'd managed to separate his family and his work, and he was proud of himself for that. But times were changing. He wasn't as in the spotlight then as he was now. But despite knowing all of this, he still found his heart swelling every time he looked at you and Haneul playing, or laughing, or just getting along perfectly. It seemed almost too good to be true.

"As long as there's lots and lots of meat, jagi, I'm fine with anything."

Jagi. The Korean term for sweetheart. A term you never thought you'd hear in regards to you, but there it was. The first time he'd called you that and you loved it instantly. You smiled to yourself brightly, thankful that your pathetic appearance wasn't caught by God's best creation so he could tease you about it later on.

You followed his sister's directions to the Big Hit building, where Namjoon's studio was, holding the bags of takeout in your hands. South Korea, Seoul especially, was known for its amazing takeout delivery service, and how, even if you were sat on the banks of the Han River, their drivers would find you and deliver your favourite meal. But there was something about carrying your food back to wherever it was you were eating that reminded you of your childhood, and you'd always prefer suffering the cold noodles, or fries, for the feeling of charging in from the harsh weather and declaring that your bollocks had frozen off from the storm. Which is what you did as soon as you burst through the door of MonStudio and shook the cold off your body, plopping the copious amounts of food down on the tiny, black sofa at the back of the room. Or was it the front? You couldn't tell really.

Namjoon turned around and his expression changed from downright annoyance to shock. Clearly you were the last person he expected to see, despite the fact that you'd flat out asked him what his favourite takeout was. For someone who's IQ was so high, he was so slow in social situations. A trait you found more endearing than annoying. At least for the time being.

"You didn't tell me what you preferred, so I just brought everything." You announced proudly, removing your outerwear and staring at the bags of food. "The light pink bag is Indian, the paper bag is pizza and a bit of pasta, the white bag is our favourites from that BBQ we went to a couple of weeks ago and this," you held up an even larger paper bag with an instantly recognisable, bright yellow logo in the shape of a curvy M, "is filled with nothing but saturated fats and heart disease in a bag but if I'm gonna go, it'll be at the hands of a Big Mac and fries larger than my head."

Namjoon laughed, stood and walked behind you so he could wrap his long arms around your waist. "You are too good to be true." He rested his chin on your shoulder and swayed the both of you gently.

"Wait until you get to know me." You joked. He kissed your shoulder. "Now," you tapped his hands that were linked and resting on your tummy, "are you going to eat this food? Or are you just going to let it sit there and grease your sofa as it gets colder and colder?"

He grabbed hold of some bags. "Come with me, we'll eat in the kitchen."

You watched Namjoon walk out of his studio and down the little corridor. "There's a kitchen?" You asked, following him.

There was, in fact, a kitchen. A big one. Overwhelmingly grey and a mixture of homey and canteen-y. The kitchen units weren't too dissimilar to yours, save for the fact that they were newer and didn't have a weird brown stain on them that was there when you moved in and was stubborn enough to not move. Three of the four walls were basically glass, looking out onto the hustle and bustle of Gangnam's nightlife, and in front of each table was a row of grey, smooth tables that resembled modern picnic benches.

You heard the familiar buzz of a microwave whirring to life and your heart sang. You set the bagged food on one of the counters and stared at Namjoon with a soft look in your eyes. "You have a microwave. You're so domestic."

Namjoon laughed. "Please, using a microwave and a kettle is about the only thing I can do in the kitchen."

"Oh. Well, there goes all my hopes and dreams of marrying you then."

"We've found your deal breaker."

"We have indeed. Enjoy your food, I'm off to marry a chef."

"Who's going to break this news to Haneul?"

You came storming back into the kitchen after your dramatic exit. "No! We're only two weeks into this. You can't start emotionally manipulating me using your child!"

When the food had all been warmed, you chose one of the tables in the middle of the largest window and set up camp there, laying all the food out neatly with the proper utensils so you could grab and munch. The conversation never died. It always seemed to flow so easily with Namjoon. When you weren't joking, you were having serious conversations with each other and just generally enjoying each other's company.

While Namjoon threw away the now, completely empty, takeout packets, you took it upon yourself to wash up the plates and the cutlery you all use. You didn't hear Namjoon return, all you felt was his arms snake and lock around your waist again, this time a little tighter than before. His lips immediately went to your shoulder, peppering light kisses on it before leading up to your ear. You could feel the atmosphere had changed from before. There was something heavy hanging over you, and it wasn't Namjoon.

"Someone's affectionate." You commented.

He just hummed in response to you, continuing to kiss your hair and hold you from behind. As you turned to look at him over your shoulder, his lips caught yours in a gentle kiss that soon turned into more. His tongue was in your mouth, his hands turning you so you were facing him and your arse pressed up against the counter, pinned there by his body. You could feel his cock growing the more heated the kiss got, the tighter his grip on you became. You couldn't catch your breath. You felt like you'd been running a marathon in the hottest of weathers. Every touch of his skin on yours burned into you and melted straight into your soul. Every lick of his tongue sent electricity into your veins, resurrecting anything dead within you and bringing it to the youth of life.

He pushed you further into the counter, forcing you to sit yourself up onto it and spread your legs, allowing him to slot in between them like a puzzle piece. Your clothed centre was now level with his, and it rubbed deliciously against yours until.

BANG.

"Fuck!"

Namjoon doubled over in pain.

"What happened!?"

"Ah shit, I came in too quickly and whacked my knee on the cupboard."

You laughed. "Namjoon!"

"Don't laugh at me. I'm in pain." He came back in closer to you, much slower this time, and started kissing you again. His lips were attached to your neck this time, though.

"Shame you didn't hit your dick. I would have kissed it better for you."

Namjoon stopped kissing you, and lifted his head so he could look into your eyes. His brown ones, hooded and full of lust, were hiding the cogs turning in his brain. He put his hand over his crotch. "Ow! I hit my dick too! Ow it hurts!"

"Well, I'm certainly not doing it now that you're faking it."

Namjoon smirked. "Fine. I had other plans for you, anyway."

You wanted to ask him what those plans were, but his lips stopped you from speaking. His hands travelled up your jeans and made quick work at pulling them halfway down your thighs. He kissed your neck, tongue licking at your skin. You almost forgot where his hands were until you felt them dip into your panties and start rubbing your clit with his thumb, causing you to moan out loud. Much louder than you anticipated, actually, shocking the both of you as your noise bounced off the walls. He added pressure, rubbing a little faster and watching your face as he did, a shit-eating grin on his lips and his pupils blown out. This was the first time you were seeing him like this, this whole other side of him that you didn't even imagine was there. He'd always seemed so soft before. And you certainly didn't expect –

"Fuck! Namjoon." You couldn't control the noises coming out of your mouth as he slipped two of his longest fingers into you're your incredibly wet hole. He tapped up straight away, and began a relentless pace making you squelch beneath him, his palm grazing your clit in a repeated manner, adding that extra layer of euphoria. You watched his face as he continued to pleasure you, you saw how he was almost mimicking your expressions, but in a taunting way. As if he was telling you that it was him making you feel this good. This sudden cockiness was so alluring, and despite how awkward you would have felt with any other man, you couldn't tear your eyes away.

He could feel you getting tighter around his fingers, he could hear how laboured your breathing had become. He knew you were close. "You gonna cum for me, angel?" He asked. You nodded, completely helpless beneath him.

"Namjoon-ah?"

Your head immediately snapped to the wall a few feet away, where, behind it, was the door to the kitchen that you'd forgotten to close when you entered. That voice that shouted Namjoon's name was deep, and certainly wasn't yours. You thought you were alone in the building but apparently not.

"Suga-hyung?" Namjoon replied, completely unphased and unrelenting. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stop your whimpers, but all it did was soften them. You were too close to remain completely quiet, and Namjoon was determined to get you there.

"Where are you?" The voice asked.

"In the kitchen." You could hear the footsteps coming towards you. Your eyes widened. "Cum, angel." Namjoon ordered. You felt his fingers move faster. It was only a matter of time. 'Suga' was only a few meters away at this point and your orgasm was on the brink of tearing you in two.

Coming.

Coming....

Your hands gripped into Namjoon's shoulders as you came, holding your breath and shutting your eyes tightly. You could feel him everywhere, inside you, around you. All you could smell was him, hear was his breathing. Your brain was complete mush, not processing what needed to be done as you were coming back to reality. With his one, dry hand, he was tugging your jeans back up your leg, begging you silently to come to your senses, which you did when you heard Suga's whistling. While Namjoon washed his hands frantically in the sink, you hopped off the counter and pulled your jeans back up, only finishing zipping them as the man walked in the room.

He was short, and stopped moving as soon as he saw you. He was confused. "Hyung, this is ___. ___, this is Min Yoongi, a housemate and member of my band."

"Oh." You replied. "It's nice to meet you!"

"You too." Yoongi answered. "So you're the infamous ___. It's bad enough that Haneul bangs on about you but Namjoon literally doesn't stop talking about you. You seem to have infiltrated the hearts of the Ilsan Kim's." He started to pour himself a coffee.

"I hope he hasn't been getting on your nerves too much." You joked.

"He always does. You'll get used to it." He smiled, flashing you both an adorable gummy smile. His eyes never left Namjoon though, and sparkled with a glint of mischief. "Oh, and uh, next time you two want to fuck, please make sure you don't do it where we all eat. It stinks of sex in here. Have a nice night."

As he left, you could hear him chuckling to himself. Namjoon's face had turned bright red, and when you both locked eyes with one another you burst out into laughter. You were so embarrassed but at the same time you still felt this pull to Namjoon, despite the interruptions. So, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulled him towards you, and whispered, "maybe we should finish this in the studio?"

"You read my mind."

You could barely keep your hands off one another on your way back to Namjoon's studio, your lips meeting every so often and your back pressed up against the wall as his tongue slipped down your throat. By the time you were in his studio, both your shirts were off, and were thrown to one side the minute you stepped inside, and your jeans had been unbuttoned and unzipped and were being tugged off your legs by you as Namjoon shut the door. You both fell on his sofa, his crotch rubbing against your soaked underwear as he kissed you again for the millionth time that night. His hands roamed the entire length of your body, only to pull your panties off you. He stopped and rolled his eyes. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I don't have any condoms in my studio."

"Are you clean?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me too."

"Are you suggesting...?"

"Just get inside me, Joon." You demanded. Your ankles were pushing into his clothed ass, pulling him closer to you. You needed him inside you just as much as he needed to be inside you. He undone his jeans and pulled his cock out. He was too wound up to pull the rest of his clothes off properly, he just wanted to feel you.

"Tell me if you ever feel uncomfortable."

You nodded and waited for that sweet burn. You knew he would stretch you out so good, and you were right. Eye contact remained as he started to push into you, stretching your walls as he intruded, not fast enough to really hurt you, but fast enough for his impatience to be kept at bay. Within seconds, he'd bottomed out, his eyes had rolled back into his head and he'd groaned so loudly, you were grateful for the soundproof room. His voice wasn't the only one filling the room, as you whimpered at the feel of his length really hitting all the best places, despite the fact he'd not even begun to fuck you yet.

He'd wanted this since he met you. Maybe not quite as rushed as this, and way more romantic. In his bed, candles everywhere, R&B in the background as he literally made love to you. But on his sofa in his studio was good enough at the time. His head fell to your chest, still caged in your bra.

"You can move, Joon."

"I can't. I'll cum if I move."

You giggled, scratching at his scalp. He pulled out, then pushed back in gently making you both groan. "Fuck." He cursed. He did it again, his head still buried in his chest. This time, his thrust back inside you was harder, and they kept getting harder until you were practically tearing the couch with your nails trying to grip hold of something, anything, to tether you to reality.

His speed picked up, his moans got louder. He was, somehow, much louder than you, a feat you never thought anyone could achieve but there he was, pounding into you at a merciless rate and letting the whole world know what he was doing. Even when he kissed you, he was still groaning.

"You feel too damn good, f-fuck."

Your nails dug into his back as he made the sofa rock against the carpet. He sat back onto his knees so he could move into you faster. He gripped your waist and watched your hand snake down to your clit. He bit his lip at the sight in front of him, you, sprawled out in his studio, your hand on your pussy and his cock slamming into you. It was almost too much to bear. "That's it, angel." He praised. "Touch yourself for me. Fuck. You look so good right now."

A thin sheen of sweat coated his entire body. His brows furrowed. He looked like a living piece of art. Overwhelmed, you began to shake, tightening around him accidentally, making him lose his mind.

"You... have to cum... first." He said.

It didn't take you long to do as he said, your second orgasm hitting you like a double decker bus. You screamed as your fingers moved faster against your clit in an attempt to keep up with both Namjoon's cock and your own orgasm. And, as you were finishing, Namjoon pulled out, shooting his release all over your tummy with his lip in between his teeth and an animalistic growl erupting from his throat.

Breathing. That was all you could hear in the studio as the two of you recovered. Namjoon collapsed at the opposite end of the sofa, his hands running through his hair and his lips bitten red raw. You felt cold, empty, but so incredibly satisfied.

When his legs had regained at least half of their strength, he walked over to the tissue box on his desk and wiped his cum off your skin. You didn't realise just how much there was of it until you actually sat up to watch him move. "I think you're even further behind with your work now." You commented.

Namjoon chuckled. "Worth every second."

He was so cheesy, even after almost destroying you. You could tell that this was going to be one hell of a relationship.