#Also- would love to know where you found these scans (if you're willing to share of course)!!

[absolutely-zero-regrets]

I've recently been looking at scans from the newest "Find Kirby!" book and I just wanted to show you these utter goofballs that I adore very much

!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH MY GOD??? ???????? IM SCREAMING thank you for sharing this with me I owe you my life. This is incredible. LOOK at those guys. Having a lovely time.

At first, I thought that the topping on that cupcake was actually a bomb of some kind and that they were going to be pulling off some great prank, but upon looking more closely I realized the similarly-shaped topping in the upper left has the same rope-looking thing sticking out of it! Which means... they're just sharing a tasty treat over a good chat! Which is just as sweet as that cupcake must be!

(Or perhaps Magolor snatched it, which is why that Kirby is looking so angry... Adorable either way!)

[princesajellyfish]

Taste me

Rating: Mature (18+ No Minors allowed)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Characters: Laios Touden Content: Smut, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Semi-Public Sex Word count: 3805 Reader has a pussy and and wears a skirt. Everything else is up to interpretation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Laios, you're so special to me.”

Currently you lay on the hard and rocky floor of the dungeon. Pebbles and sharp edges poked your soft flesh and the back of your head started to ache from being pushed against its hard surface. But how could you possibly pay attention to that when you have the world's most handsome explorer in between your thighs. If you would've known that this is how confessing would've turned out you would've done so much much sooner. 

Laios and you had shared mutual attraction for each other for sometime now. You, of course, noticed it much earlier than Laios ever could've. He was such a cutie, even though he was doing his best to hide his affections towards you it was impossible for you not to notice his longing gazes at night by the fire, or the extra portions of food that he would put aside for you. You would have been a fool not to notice any sooner. 

Knowing Laios for as long as you have you knew that approaching the subject subtly was not going to work out with Laios. When it came to romance, it was not going to cut it. The love of your life was caring, sweet, and knowledgeable on all things monsters and dungeons, but he was not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to social cues. You didn't mind of course, that was one of the things you found the most endearing about him. No matter how wary he was of other people and their intentions he always did his best to stay as genuine and sincere to himself as he could. The way he was so brave and willing to be unapologetically himself made you look up to him and admire his strong will. But gosh was he dense. 

Swallowing your own nerves you knew that if you wanted this relationship to advance anywhere you were going to have to to set things in motion. Not wasting any time one evening after eating a dish that consisted of harpy eggs and vegetables from senshis garden you volunteered to accompany Laios on a quest to find some extra fire material. 

Walking alone in the dungeon halls was not the most romantic ambiance or the place where you imagined you would have your love confession in - but this was Laios you had fallen for, confessing here was probably his equivalent of a grandiose cherry blossom confession. 

He had been rambling about his dream monster, something he had only spoken to you about, apart from his sister Falin, before you interrupted him. “I'm so sorry Laios, you know I love your monster talk…but there is something important I have to talk to you about.” you wrung your hands into the fabric of your long skirt, twisting and pulling to find confidence in between its threads. 

Sensing your nerves Laiois placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and nudged you to turn your body slightly towards him. His gorgeous puppy dog amber eyes peered into yours and scanned your face over, you guessed he was checking you out to see if you had any injuries bothering you. In return you averted his own gaze and stared down at your fidgeting hands. Finally he spoke up to break the silence, “Hey? Everything alright? Did the food not settle well with you?”

Oh silly Laios, always thinking about food, If you weren't so nervous right now you would've laughed at his question. Shaking your head you found the courage to lift your eyes back to his. 

You knew that Laios at least held some sort of affection towards you. You were still unsure if it ran as deep and as passionate as your feelings for him but you knew there was something there. You also knew that even if Laios wanted nothing to do with you in that way he would never belittle you for it. He was gentle and kind, a little too much sometimes, but he always treated others with respect. He had never done anything to hurt you purposefully. So you weren't quite sure why you felt so shaken by your attempt to confess. You supposed, that is just what love feels like. 

You really hoped it would get a little less scary in the future. 

“Laios, I think I love you.”

There, you said it. As blunt and straight to the point as you could, You made sure to leave nothing up to interpretation for Laios. You wanted him to fully understand the gravity of your feelings for him. Feeling anxiety crawl up your throat you quickly added  “And it's okay if you don't feel the same way. Or if that's too much too soon. I just wanted you to know.” 

The more you spoke the more you felt your voice die in your throat, each word sounding quieter than the last. Laios had still not said a word, but he stared at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw. In this moment you felt like you could puke from your nerves and yet you still thought the man in front you couldn't possibly look any cuter, 

Suddenly you heard him take in the biggest breath of air he could muster, alerting you that this man had stopped breathing since you confessed to him, and then exhaled with the most hearty laugh you've ever heard come from him. His cheeks bloomed in hues of reds and pinks, unstoppable rivers of blood that reached the tip of his fingers and pooled to his neck. His eyes blinked rapidly as if he was trying to make sure he wasn't in a dream. “Please,” he hiccuped, “Do you mean it?” 

You stared at his face before lowering your gaze to his lips. They were slightly parted and you could get a glimpse of his cute pink tongue. He must've noticed your stares because he let his tongue quickly swipe over his lips to wet them. Gazing back up to his eyes your hand finally let go of its death grip on your skirt and instead gently nestled into the side of his face. “I wouldn't even dream about joking about this Laois.” His eyes suddenly felt too intense for you so you closed your eyes and took another deep breath, “I love you and I can't contain it anymore. From the moment I met you I fell so deeply for you. You're so perfect. So kind.” You rubbed gentle circles on his cheeks, “‘You drive me crazy.”

Every word you spoke felt like a punch to the chest for Laios. In the best way possible. He never knew that hearing you sing such praises about him would affect him so viscerally. To his embarrassment he began to feel his pants become uncomfortably tight. “Not right now,” he thought. He didn't want to ruin your confession with his pervy thoughts. 

He brought his hand up to your wrist and held it in his grasp. You observed how his eyebrows crinkled in frustration as he shut his eyes tightly. His breathing seems labored and small beads of sweat began to form on his hairline. If it wasn't for his grasp on your wrist you would have fallen backward from the overwhelming amount of desire you felt for him. Gods…you wanted him so bad. 

Taking advantage of his closed eyes you let your own travel. You started off by staring at his lips still moist from his tongue, but your sinful desires seemed to take full control of your actions as you let your eyes wander further down his body. His armor in the way of you admiring his chest annoyed you for a second before you got a glimpse of something better. So this is why he was in deep concentration. 

Laios was suddenly shook from his stupor when the sound of your airy laugh reached his ears. Slowly peeking his eyes open he was welcomed by the sight of your beautiful face. Eyes clouded with something he couldn't describe stared directly at his current source of frustration. Gasping he pushed himself back and dropped your wrist as if it had burned him. 

He opened his mouth once, twice, three times to attempt and get some words out but for the life of him he couldn't form a single coherent sentence. A thousand things ran through his head and now it was turn to fidget with his hands. Pulling and picking his fingers he turned his body to face the wall behind him. He knew his silence could be taken wrongly and the last thing he wanted was to mess up his chances with the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. 

Thankfully, you knew the man you had fallen for better than you knew yourself. So you allowed him to have his moment alone. After all, you were more than pleased with his reaction to your confession. 

Finally he turned his head to the side, body still facing the wall, and began to speak up. “I'm sorry, I promise I'm not a perv. I don't know why I'm reacting like this,” He took in another deep breath, “You deserve a more romantic response.”

Giggling you made your way towards him and wrapped your arms around his armored torso, resting your head against his back you let out a content sigh. At this sudden feeling of warmth Laois tensed up before he quickly relaxed in your arms. “You're perfect Laios.”

Fuck. 

He was so fucking hard. Did you even know how much power you had over him? How all you had to do was ask him to give you the world and he would do it. You could ask for the moon and the stars and he would spend his entire life figuring out how to do it. He loved you. Oh he loved you so much. Gods, the minute he laid eyes on you for the first time, you introduced him to a thousand new emotions he had no idea what to do with for the first time in his life. He knew what attraction was, and he understood what it meant. But love? This type of love? He wanted to learn everything about it solely with you. 

Gaining confidence he flipped his body to face you, careful with your arms as he held them against himself. You could've melted in his arms right then and there, he looked at you with such adoration and love you almost felt bad about how much it excited you…almost. Testing the waters you pushed your body against his, feeling his boner poking your body. 

“Hmph- wait (y/n),” his face becoming impossibly more red than before. He laid his head on top of yours and breathed in your scent. There was no way he was going to be able to control himself for much longer if you kept testing him like this. 

Feeling bold, and a little impatient, you positioned your arms to wrap around his neck and brought your lips to his ear to whisper “It’s okay baby, I feel the same way too.” 

You gently grabbed his, very sweaty, hand and placed it on the hem of your skirt. “I want you Laios,”  his fingers curled around the hem, “If you want me too then I'm all yours.” 

That was all he needed to hear. Almost too fast your skirt was pooled around your ankles and the cold dungeon air kissed your bare legs. Still pressed against him you not only heard but felt the vibrations of his almost animalistic growl he released.

Gently separating from him you reached for the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off, discarding it on the floor. You wished there was a way to permanently tattoo the sight of Laios staring at you as if you were an angel sent from above into your eyelids. He made you feel so loved, so beautiful. One of the many reasons why you fell in love with him.

He quickly reached out for you once more and attacked your lips with his tongue, he wanted, no he needed, to taste you. Hot breaths melted into each other and moans danced together in the air. Your fingers wrapped around his ash blonde locks and slightly pulled whenever he would bite down on your lower lip with his teeth. As dreamy as this felt, there was still something bothering you. Tilting your head away from Laios you watched as he instinctively tried to follow your lips before you rested your palm against his. “I dont think it's really fair that I'm the only one half naked here.”

Gasping at your confession Laios began to fumble with his armor. Amused you watched as he clumsily pulled it off with a sense of urgency. Now Laios was not the type of person to hyperfixate on his body. He never really put in the time to debate whether he was handsome or not. His mind was always preoccupied with monsters, food, dungeons, and only recently you. But now that you were in front of him, waiting and watching, he felt the ugly sensation of insecurity make its way into his mind. Maybe you would take one look at his body and wish you were with someone more toned and ripped. He wasn't the skinniest guy, and for the first time ever he didn't like that. 

You noticed he was hesitating with removing his shirt and it honestly broke your heart. So you approached him and placed your hands on either side of his cheeks, squishing the fat causing his face to contort into an adorable little pout. “We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with love,” you gave him a little peck on his pouty lips, ”But trust me when I say I love you. ALL of you. Including your body.” 

Oh…you were not real. That's all Laios could think. How on earth was there such a perfect person? An actual Goddess walking amongst mere mortals like him. How did someone as perfect as you fall for someone as strange as him? He didn't notice it but his eyes started to sparkle with unshed tears. For so long he's been alienated from this type of affection. Something he didn't know was bothering him deep down inside until he finally got it from you. 

He swore right then and there he would do anything to make you feel good. If you were a goddess then he was your most loyal worshiper. He finally removed his undershirt and stood before you bare chested. Before you had time to admire him he kneeled at your feet. “Laios? What are you doing?” 

“(y/n)...” He lifted your right foot and placed gentle kisses on it, “I'm going to show you just how much I love you.” 

Your words died in your throat as you watched him begin to trail his kisses from your foot to your ankle, and from your ankle to your leg. Every time his lips made contact with your skin your core pulsed with desire. His eyes never breaking contact with yours. Mentally imprinting your cute expressions and sounds into his mind forever. Finally he arrived at your inner thigh, its plushness making his dick twitch with excitement. If he wasn't so far gone he would've been a little embarrassed. But just a little.

He tried, he really did try, to control his impulses and not bite that delicious plush skin. But alas he was still a man, and you were so cute, so so cute. You jolted and gripped his hair when you felt his blunt teeth push down on your thigh, it hurt, but it felt so right. This continued on for a while before you started to lose your patience. You needed to be touched and he was taking too long, ignoring the most sensitive part of you. Bucking your hips you anchored his face to your core and held him there with your grip on his hair, not missing the moan he let out at your sudden dominance. “Then stop teasing and show me just how much you love me.”

His hands gripped your hips and he pressed his nose in between your folds, fuck you smelled so good. He was inexperienced with pussy but he was a professional eater, so he let his instincts take over. Pushing your underwear down he wasted no time connecting his tongue to your sensitive folds. He began by lapping up your delicious juices, immediately trying to guess what the flavor resembled. It was a bit tangy but somehow had a little bit of sweetness to it. He wondered if the food you had eaten today affected its taste, specifically the candy they had made with the dungeon spirits. This only made his cock impossibly more hard, already planning on tasting your delicious pussy every night after a good meal just to see how much it affected the way you tasted. Fuck was he in deep. 

Wanting to get a better taste he searched for your hole and once he located it he wasted no time pushing his tongue inside, fucking you with it. You began to roll your hips on his face, trying to meet the pace of his tongue. Your freed one of your hands from its deathly grip on his hair and moved it towards your clit. As good as Laios was making you feel, you needed a little more stimulation. This of course was not missed by him. 

Separating from your core with an obscene pop, he looked up at you, his mouth, chin, and even his nose glistening with your juices. “Please (y/n), teach me where to touch you.” 

Oh you were much deeper than him. But how could you not be?

Pushing yourself off the wall you were previously leaning on for stability you decided to lay down. Spreading your legs you used your hands to spread your pussy for Laios to observe. “This right here is called the clit, this is the most sensitive area.” He nodded along with extreme enthusiasm. Typical Laios you thought.

“You can rub it, lick, or suck on it.” You then inserted two fingers into your wet hole. “You already know what this is, but if you finger me here while licking my pussy-” a small whine managed to escape your lips, “You'll make me cum in no time baby.”

This brings us to where this originally started. With you writhing and moaning against the harsh dungeon floor as Laios abused your swollen pussy in every which way. So lost into your pleasure you couldn't even tell what was his tongue and what was his fingers anymore. Meanwhile Laios was having the time of his life in between your legs. While he was pleasuring your cunt, savoring, sucking, lapping, and overall devouring you, his hips bucked into the floor, chasing his own release. He could cum just by eating you out. 

You felt your legs begin to shake involuntarily, and you knew what this meant. “Laois! Im- Im-!” 

He knew exactly what you were trying to say by the way your legs began to grip his head “Mmph, cum for me baby.” 

He flattened his tongue on your clit and began bobbing his head side to side as fast as he could, occasionally stopping to suck on it with fervor. Meanwhile his fingers were pistoning your hole, curling inside to find your sweet spot. A sudden hot flash of pleasure completely took over your body and you couldn't contain yourself from gushing your orgasm all over his face. You swore you saw white as you let out your release. 

Laios felt so good he could cry. Your taste, your moans, your pussy, your everything was too overwhelming. He wanted more and at the same time couldn't handle it. With one last buck to the floor he felt his own searing release take over his body. Cumming in his underwear the vibrations of his own moan electrifying your cunt. 

After a few moments of you both catching your breaths and riding out your orgasms in bliss the reality of where you were hit you both like a ton of bricks.

Oops. 

You prayed the rest of your party members were too distracted with their own chores to have heard the sinful indulgences you and Laios participated in. In the middle of the dungeon no less. Oh well, you were too content with the man who was currently laying on top of you to really care. Unfortunately you knew that they would eventually come looking for the two of you if you took too long to return. Patting his back you pushed your body off the ground with your forearm and placed a gentle kiss on his head. 

Moving his head to look into your eyes he let out a gentle sigh. Clearly not ready to let go and head back just yet. He pressed a few kisses into your neck and hugged you tightly. He finally had you. Giggling you proceeded to sit up all the way and grabbed his face to attack him with kisses. Once you landed on his lips you noticed how you could taste yourself against him. 

“GUYS! WHERE ARE YOU?!” That was definitely Marcille. 

FUCK!

You both quickly scrambled to your feet and frantically searched for your discarded clothing, almost painfully pulling it on your bodies. Neither one of you had time to wipe down which caused you both to cringe a little. But that was better than being caught in such an intimate position by someone you both respected and cared about. Plus the embarrassment you would feel later would surely keep you up for nights on end. 

You quickly turned to Laios and without thinking ran your hands through his hair in an attempt to make it look presentable. If you weren't so focused you wouldn't have missed the pure look of awe and admiration he held for you at that moment. 

“There you are! We were beginning to get worried.” turning the corner, Marcille stood with a hand against her chest, letting out a deep sigh. 

“Huh what happened to you guys! You look like you just ran a marathon or something! Did you encounter any monsters?!” 

At the mention of monsters Laios quickly spoke up and formulated a very abstract lie about you and him getting chased by some creature. You honestly couldn't focus much on what he was saying, just being grateful that your man had all the knowledge in the world about monsters to create a believable story. Grabbing his hand you squeezed it. A wordless gesture that meant the world to the both of you. 

Now you wondered, when you were going to be able to return the favor to him.

.............................................................................................................................

AN: Hello!!! Thanks for reading this very self indulgent fic I wrote at my very adult job LOL. In case you couldn't tell this man has me in a chokehold. This is my very first time posting my writing and my first time writing a "x reader" fic. So I apologize if it feels a lil ooc at times.

I think I'd like to continue writing for Dungeon Meshi and possibly for other fandoms, so if you guys have any requests my inbox is always open. :3

[xiaowhore]

them as sappy lovers

includes: thoma, childe, xiao & albedo !

thoma

word spread fast when thoma gained a lover. but really, it wasn't circulating rumors nor gossipmongers at fault — it was thoma himself, who could never seem to shut up about his significant other. the lovesick chatter seemlessly leaves his lips without shame, and you swore the entire nation of inazuma knew he was dating you at this point.

it's incredibly obvious when something good happens concerning you, whether it be him receiving a kiss on the cheek or a simple “i love you” before parting ways to attend to your respective work; thoma would grin foolishly the whole day and skip along the grassy fields akin to a lovestruck maiden experiencing her first love, randomly picking out flowers to gift you later. conversely, it's also evident whenever an argument tears you apart; thoma bears a hilarious kicked puppy look, similar to a dejected golden retriever being reprimanded by its owner.

(this is also when thoma shares too much information about his private life as he drinks away his sorrows, mourning over the distance you've placed between you until you forgave him. “they'll never forgive me. what do i do if they want to break up,” he hiccups, shit-faced and slumped over the table. everyone knows he actually has nothing to worry about, especially when you arrive at the bar to take him home, catering to his every whim and putting up with his clingy nature.)

childe

the ruthless and coldblooded tartaglia is nearly unrecognizable when accompanied by his lover. frighteningly so, in fact; the subordinates under his care are often stupefied when they happen to witness their boss making kissy faces unfit for a harbinger to have.

it's never easy to keep a straight face on when tolerating the sight of their leader coddling you in the middle of an important meeting, fearless even in the midst of la signora's supervision. (he's not seriously thinking they don't notice him playing footsie with you under the table, does he?)

moments where his hand is vacant are few and far between, always found tangling with your fingers or holding your waist. yes, you're that annoying couple who flirts everywhere, but you're not at fault. he finds every opportunity to throw in some cheesy pick-up line that he's sure wouldn't make you swoon, but he says it regardless just to see you snort and poke fun at him.

“marry me?” he'd say jokingly while sliding a ring on your finger, yet another one of the presents he frequently showers you with. you stare at him in contemplation.

“sure.”

he chokes, makes an odd strangling noise, and loudly demands no take-backs.

xiao

he's like a wary stray cat that has finally been tamed.

he doesn't recoil from your touch anymore, even nuzzling to it on occasion. he remains as quiet as ever, but he's an attentive listener who's more than willing to hear you out. he's awkward with romance, clumsy when it comes to skinship, but he's so endearing that you find it adorable. (not that you'd tell him that.)

he eagerly waits for your visits at the top of wangshu inn, sharp eyes scanning the vicinity in search for your silhouette. he can hear the telltale sound of your footsteps from behind, but grants you a shocked expression when you give him a “surprise” hug nonetheless, if only to see your face lighten up to a triumphant grin. “did i scare you?”

if there's anything that scares him, it would be how fast his heart is racing right now.

thump, thump, thump. the setting sun graces your skin with a soft glow, golden rays illuminating your pretty eyes. your grin reduces to a gentle smile as you patiently wait for him to speak, fixing him with an affectionate gaze he feels undeserving of. the corners of his lips pull upwards, and he shyly takes your hand into his.

“you did.”

albedo

it's become a habit for sucrose to ignore the little sketches on albedo's notes without actively pushing herself to disregard them.

it was eye-catching at first, a series of rough drafts vaguely hinting at a figure she was familiar with. the shape of their smile, the brightness of their eyes, the hands holding their favorite flowers; sucrose could immediately tell who the pictures were trying to portray, and she could feel her face grow warm.

it's no secret that albedo is hopelessly in love with you. he gifts you trinkets he personally tinkered with, gives you the pretty flowers from his experiments, and shows you “magic tricks” with the help of alchemy. all to see your radiant smile, glowing in delight. it's a small happiness, one that he reminisces in fond when his thoughts are in disarray and he needs a moment of peace.

you're the burst of color in the dull passage of time, the vibrant reds and yellows that remind him of warmth, the calming blues that soothe his worries. the pinks that flush his cheeks and set his heart ablaze, the green that makes him think of pasture and new life.

he picks up his brush and turns to the blank canvas, humming to himself. he wonders if he'd ever be able to paint how beautiful you truly are.

[anyoneseenadam]

Hiii. if you're still taking requests can you do a azriel one? (Can't get enough of him🤭🥰) can you witte one where azriel gets really badly hurt on a mission and barely makes it back and the reader freaking out and being really worried.?

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: angst, graphic descriptions of blood and violence, sad shiz but happy ending

a/n: this isn’t as angsty as I planned but it’s a lil, pls comment if you like it and tell me ur thoughts <33

——————————————————————————-

Azriel had promised you the mission would be quick. In and out were his exact words.

You should’ve known better than to trust him when he spoke so casually about breaking into a palace in the human courts, you should’ve known that something would go horribly, inconceivably wrong. But when he smiled at you and held you against him, swaying from side to side you were too lost in his easy lies to care.

You had started going on more missions with him recently. While you weren’t a spy, you had an incredible knack for lying. Cassian joked that you were just a brat but even he couldn’t deny that you were talented when it came to batting your eyes and pressing a hand gently enough on a soldier’s arm that they would bend to your every will.

You and Azriel had also discovered that the most effective torture method was to trick whoever you had taken into a false sense of security, you would use a gentle tone and motherlike care to make them feel safe. And then they were always willing to speak, believing that once Azriel stopped his ministrations they could fall into the safety of your arms.

It was a good tactic and even Azriel was impressed when you first tried it. But that never quelled his protectiveness, the way an arm would find its way secured around your waist as soon as you had secured the information you needed, or the way he kissed you fiercely in his shadows when he was tired of watching men flirt with you.

The truth was you and Azriel were so completely in love, no amount of flirting could ever take you from the gentle but possessive grip of your mate. In some ways that’s what kept you going, knowing that at the end of the day you didn’t have to plaster on a fake smile and sweet voice.

At the end of the day, in the warmth and comfort of your share home you were yourself. You could wear the same jumper for weeks straight and laugh at crude jokes. You could do your makeup at 3am and then turn to your half-asleep mate with a pout, whining until he caved and let you do his makeup too.

But in the end, your complete devotion would come back to bite you in the ass.

It was your fault, or so you believed. If you had just kept your eyes on the general with bad breath and a crooked nose you wouldn’t be in this mess. But when he got to close your eyes flickered to were your mate stood, concealed in shadows, and through all the generals personal hygiene faults, he had been trained to notice subtle looks that gave you away.

He had grabbed you so tightly that you couldn’t help but yelp, drawing Azriel’s attention to you. And while you had disabled the general quickly you now had hoards of guards chasing you out of an area that was guarded against winnowing.

Azriel hadn’t wasted a second. You were his top priority and so he had abandoned the plan and grabbed you as quickly as he could, gathering you into his arms as he flew to the exit. You had spluttered apologies to him as he flew, your eyes trained on the guards chasing you, the guards who were now drawing bows.

Azriel was quick but the arrows were quicker. You threw your hands out, trying to bat off as many of them as you could with the limited power you held. But as concentrated as you were on the ones directed to his wings, you didn’t see the one aiming for his lower torso until you felt it graze you from where it left his body.

He grunted as you swore, finally out of the barriers as he winnowed to as close to home as he could. But while injured that wasn’t easy and you found yourselves standing in a wooded area, Azriel dropping you down much more roughly than usual, swearing as he leaned against a tree.

“Okay, okay I can fix this, you’re going to be fine.” You spoke, mainly to yourself as the panic inside you grew. You scanned the area, spotting a cave not too far off, not wanting to leave Azriel in the open when you had no idea what could be in these woods.

“C’mon baby, let’s go this way.” You slung an arm around him, just above the wound and began making your slow trek to the small cave. As soon as you had him sat down, you knelt in front of him, tears in your eyes as you cut open his top, so you had access to the wound beneath.

“Why are you crying sweetheart?” you heard him ask and you rolled your eyes, wiping away the stray tears.

“Why do you think dumbass,” you said, forcing a smile when he huffed a laugh.

“You can’t be mean to me right now,” he complained as you set about cutting off both ends of the arrow so you could remove it safely, wincing when he hissed, gritting his teeth.

You finally had both ends cut off and went to pull it out, removing your shawl and preparing to press it against the wound that was spouting far too much blood. You looked up at him with your hands pressed shakily against his wound and saw his skin was pale and sweaty, his eyes drooping as they tried to close. He fell forward slightly but you held him upright with your shoulder, panic rushing through you, white hot.

“Azriel c’mon no, none of that. You’ve got to stay awake baby, you’re too heavy for me.” You begged; your hands pressed tightly against his wound as you let the tears fall freely. You eventually had to pull away, moving him so he was leaning against the cave wall, taking extra precaution to ensure his head didn’t get hurt.

His eyes cracked open when he felt your blood-soaked palm press gently against his face, glassy and barely present.

“Hey, hey I need you to stay with me, okay?” you tried to smile, wanting to offer him any semblance of comfort.

“Always baby,” he whispered, and you smiled, pulling your hands away slightly and smiling when you saw the wound healing externally already.

“What are you getting me for solstice?” you asked, wanting to keep him awake and speaking.

“Not telling.” He muttered and you laughed.

“You have to, we have to talk about something.” You joked, pulling a hand away just long enough to wipe your eyes as you focused on his face.

“I had a few ideas; nothing seems good enough.” He muttered and you laughed.

“Tell me.”

“Well first I thought a necklace, books, maybe art supplies or something but that’s all boring,” he whispered, and you smiled, nodding.

“If it’s from you it won’t be boring,” you smiled, hands still pressed tightly against his wound.

“Well I also thought I could get you your own truthteller, maybe one with a pink handle.” He joked.

“Well you know full well I would love that, maybe baby pink with little white hearts on it,” he smiled at you, his head lulling slightly forward. You reached up to him again holding his head gently in your hands, before you lay him down, covering him in the rest of your shawl.

“You plan that then, I’m going to go get wood and we’ll start a fire okay, keep you warm.” You stroked his face gently, pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“Be safe,” he grabbed your hand as you stood to leave,

“You first.”

--

Your luck apparently ran out as soon as you looked at Azriel, given as soon as you walked out the cave the heavens opened, and you were soaked to the skin in the seconds. You grabbed as much wood as you could straight away, throwing it into the dry cave.

You then ventured further out, finding a rabbit, and killing and cleaning it out as quickly as you could, practically running back to the cave. You knelt down, starting a small fire, and removing your now dirty and completely soaked dress, ringing out your hair.

You then moved back to Azriel, brining him closer to the fire as you cooked speared the rabbit over it, cooking all the meat you could salvage of its small body.

“You’re so cold,” he muttered, pressing his nose into your bare skin as you shivered, moving even closer to the fire.

“Ah you know what they say, cold hands, cold heart.”

“I don’t think that’s the-“

“Shh,” you muttered, curling into him as you pressed together trying to steal some warmth from each other.

“If I get ill I’m going to kill you.” You whispered into his neck, and he chuckled, clenching his teeth when he moved to soon and your head shot up to him.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?” he shook his head, tightening his arms around you.

“No you’re alright,” he whispered. You lay there for a while longer, Azriel’s body limp, all his energy going into healing the deep wound in his side. Yours on the other hand was tense, ears perking up at any sound, half expecting a pack of rabid wolves to come eat you the second you allowed yourself to relax. When the rabbit was finished, you picked it apart, feeding it to Azriel gently, determined to get his energy back.

He was still so pale and no matter how hard you tried, nothing could quell the nausea in your stomach. Every time you looked at him when he closed his eyes your heart dropped, your anxiety telling you that this might just be the last time you ever see him.

You didn’t sleep all night, instead staying pressed against him, shivering in your undergarments as your dress dried by the fire. You regularly checked his pulse, temperature, breathing and whatever else you could, too afraid to take your eyes off of him for even a second.

By the time the sun finally rose, Azriel’s complexion had evened out and the wound in his side was puckering into a pink scar. You were beyond relieved, fussing over him when he woke up like the mother you often pretended to be.

You pulled your dress back on and stumbled to a near-by river to collect him some water, picking a species of berries you recognised along the way, and actively ignoring the cough you had developed over night.

You got back to the cave and almost cried in relief when you saw him sitting up, smothering the burning embers that used to be your fire. He looked over to you as you padded in and swore, standing to come to you.

“You look like shit what happened?” he asked, worry coating his features.

“Hey! I spent all night looking after you asshole,” you shoved him gently but he held tight, holding your chin in his slender fingers as he forced you to look at him.

“Shit it was raining last night,”

“Yeah?” you asked as he shook his head.

“That’s why you were so cold, c’mon let’s get you home you’re ill.” He muttered as you wildly protested.

“I’m fine, you need to rest,” you pointed at him, but he brushed you off, gathering you in his arms to winnow home.

“We can rest together, at home, in bed.” He stated, not leaving any room for argument so you relaxed in his arms, your head pressed against his shoulder.

“Okay,” you conceded, your voice small as he smiled down at you.

“Thank you for looking after me darling,” his voice was filled with sincerity, and you snuggled closer into him.

“Anytime.” You whispered as he winnowed you away, only vaguely aware of the feeling of him placing you down on your bed and curling around your back, arms tight and secure.

[rinstars]

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 — 𝐬.𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 (𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞)

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

genre/trope: angst, unrequited love, forbidden love

warnings: nsfw, profanity, infidelity, mentions of weed/drugs, intoxication

description: you knew you never meant to him as much as he meant to you.. yet deep down, you still hoped his heart also breaks with every single goodbye and the regrets of the past clings to him a lot more than he let you believe.

note: this is a repost of 'the call' where i changed and added a few things to make it fit as a prologue better, so make sure u still read it. i'll do this series at my own pace so please just be patient! i'll open the taglist so just send me an ask if you want to be tagged hehe.

The smell of leather and weed floating in the space surrounding you constricts your breathing, making you gasp for air – even more as he suctions the air out of you through your heated shared kiss, your lungs burning with the need for oxygen. But you ignore it. Running your fingers through his hair and meeting his hunger with kisses equally as rough, you ignore the building pain on your chest.

You rock your hips towards him, feeling his hard crotch rub you through the lace of the panties you bought just a few days ago. Pulling away for a moment only to gasp on his reddening plump lips while he lazily guides your movements on his lap, triggering a flood of pleasure wash over you.

Slender, pale, and long fingers reached over to snatch another blunt, taking a long drag before the very same fingers of the opposite hand takes the back of your neck so he can pull you closer to his lips. He breathes the smoke out of his mouth into yours, connecting your lips once again.

Despite the distinct scent of the drug, you taste a tinge of sweetness on your tongue as his own massages yours. Rocking your hips harder to his forces a moan out of you, making your fingers curl around his lengthy hair. You pull away, muttering a small give me a minute to him. Leaning back on the steering wheel, you watch him while you try to control your ragged breathing.

His hair is long. Long enough that it falls softly all the way to his eyes and cheeks, the ends brushing his really pale skin. With your earlier statement, he just shrugged with the same unchanging look of nonchalance in his eyes—proceeding to take drags out of his blunt. His beautifully shaped eyes now bloodshot and shiny with moisture.

He's almost like a vampire, now that you think about it. So beautiful. Such pale skin but such dark hair. Sharp gaze but soft lips. Intoxicating scent but still so sweet.

The most similar thing between him and vampires, you thought, is the way he sucks all the life out of you. Drying you out and taking all your light.

This man has corrupted you more than you're willing to admit.

You opened your mouth to say something when the blaring ring of his phone makes you jump. His eyes glanced over the source before grabbing it with a sigh and scanning the monitor. You didn't even need to ask who it is. You're very well aware who it is, and why he never hesitated to answer.

When it comes to you, it always takes a lot of rings and missed calls before he picks up, though. You understand. You tell him you do, you always will.

He doesn't pick a call up on the first ring unless it's his girl. Astumu whispered as if he heard you ponder about the caller in your head one night when you were drinking with him in a bar. Loves her a lot. Probably too much.

The alarms rang in your head that night, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. So annoying but at the same time so painful. You didn't know how to turn it off and you wish every single time you could.

"Darling," He whispered with such a loving voice, one you never heard from him when he answers your calls. Your heart ached but you knew better than to confront him about it. Instead you cry in the arms of the twinss—more on Atsumu's, since Osamu takes you through an hour long lecture of why you should have known better.

You know that much, you think.

You shouldn't have let yourself get dragged in this stupid situation, craving a taken man and his touches. Letting him in on your secrets even when he barely lets you get a peak in his.

"I miss you too, my love.. Oh?.. I'll be home soon." He speaks in pauses as he lets her finish speaking first. You close your eyes to prevent the liquid threatening to spill out, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting yourself from his lap to the passenger seat. His eyes widened a millimeter—almost as if he cares what you do, when he noticed you getting off him without having to tell you. You noticed he ended his call with her and you refuse to look back at him. If you do, you are sure of another sleepless night.

Another sleepless night of asking yourself what went wrong and if he ever regretted his decisions— maybe he, too, spend the night wide awake asking himself why he brushed off every single detail of the past like it never existed, why he acts like you're a stranger he met for the very first time when both of you coincidentally takes the seat next to each other on a bar, why he never gave you an explanation of what happened that day.

Cold fingers hook under your chin, slowly turning your head to the left. He leans over the center console, connecting his lips with the soft skin of your neck, making you exhale out at the feeling of him sucking all the reason in you again. He runs his tongue wet on your collarbones, creating a glistening trail.

"I'll see you soon?" He whispered on the crook of your neck, nibbling it a little with his teeth. The bruises he leave on your skin another reminder that everything is real.

You just hum with a nod, cupping his jaw and slowly pulling him away from you with a small smile. One of his bangs fell in the middle of his face—you reached up to brush it away.

So many unspoken words from you. Too many. You wonder if he has anything he's holding back to say too as his eyes linger on you a second longer than usual. Or maybe you're just desperately reading into the lines again, like what Osamu said way too many times.

"Rin, what.. what are we?" Every parting is like this, like a new way of saying goodbye that you both developed. You just needed to be reminded, to wake up from whatever delusions you're starting to have.

"Nothing." He replies as flatly as all the other times before. Not a hint of emotion – no amusement or remorse.

You swallow, letting your hands fall to your sides. On the verge of turning around and reaching the door, his voice echoes once again. "How many times are you gonna ask me this?"

Until you start feeling something.

You thought to yourself. Anger, disgust, love, hatred, adoration, anything. You just want him to feel something. Prove to yourself and everyone else that you're not just a tool to him.

"Sorry. Slipped out of habit." You settle for that response now. No point having a conversation with him about this.

"You don't have to leave right away, I can still drive you home."

Losing all the strength to refuse, you found yourself just agreeing with him. Why the fuck are you even so upset to begin with? You knew what you signed up for. You knew about the girl. You saw him with her in the very same bar a few nights ago. Watched how much attention he gives her, how tightly he holds her.

Of course, you knew about the girl. Your past with her woven in a way no one will be able to deny, and she knows it too, as much as Suna and the twins do. How could you forget? Everything to you was clear as day, from the very first day to the last. Rintarou knows it hurts you more this way, but he never bothers to hide it from you—how he chose her over you.

"I'll break your heart by the end of this, baby." He warns you as you feel his length slip inside you, making you moan out in ecstasy.

"I don't care." You pant, grabbing him by the hips as a way of telling him to go faster.

Looking back, maybe you shouldn't have been so foolish and say that. Now, you're paying the price. Now, your exit has been sealed.

The moment you met him, you forgot everything – your reason, pride, dignity, loyalty, sense, self-love. You hate how intoxicates you like the drugs on his backseat and yet you can't stop. You wonder if he knows how you feel about him—how you still feel about him. If he notices the way your eyes would light up when you see him or the way you would wrap your arms so tightly like you're afraid of letting him go.

The car stopped soon after and you looked out the window to find yourself in front of your house. You collected your things and fastened the clasp on your sandals then opened the door, stepping a foot outside when he once again stops you by the wrist.

"I'll call you soon. I promise."

"I'll be waiting." You wriggle out of his grip without looking back, stepping your remaining foot out to join with the other as you stand up to leave. "Take care, Rintarou."

"You too, baby." The sound of his tires grow fainter by the second as he speeds off to his and his girlfriend's shared apartment and it was so loud, you couldn't tell if there was a strain on his voice when he said that or if you just imagined it again in your head.

You didn't notice the sobs wrecking your body. Not until you feel warm droplets fall to your open palms in front of you. You clutched your phone tightly, holding it to your chest.

You can only hope the next call comes soon, interrupting the continuous flow of the songs on your phone—the very records that remind you of what you never had—or perhaps, if things went a different turn; what you could've had with him.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[itsclydebitches]

Here's a quandary I've suddenly found myself in: where do you stand on writers deleting their own works, fanfiction or otherwise? I've had this happen to me on more than one occasion - I go to look for an old favorite and find it's since been deleted from whatever site I read it on.

On the one hand, I'm inclined to think that, "Sure. The author wrote it, it's their call. I don't own the work - I certainly didn't pay for it. It's their decision, even if it's disappointing."

But at the same time I can't help but consider the alternative - if I believe in death of the author (and I do), that an author's work fundamentally isn't solely theirs once it's been published, posted, etc., then it also seems wrong to have a work deleted. Stories aren't the sole property of their creator, after all.

But then I circle back. D'you think there are different obligations between authors and readers and the works being made in fandom space? I know if I had bought a book and the author decided they wanted it back, I would feel pretty comfortable telling them no, given I'd paid for it and whatnot. But that's a different world from fanfic and fandom space generally.

So. You're insightful Clyde, I'm curious as to what you'll have to say here (and to all y'all thinking about it, don't flame me. I haven't decided where I stand here yet - haven't heard a good nail-in-the-coffin argument for or against yet).

Val are you a mind reader now? I’ve been thinking about this exact conundrum the last few days!

(And yeah, as a general disclaimer: no flaming. Not allowed. Any asks of the sort will be deleted on sight and with great satisfaction.)

Honestly, I’m not sure there is a “nail-in-the-coffin argument” for this, just because—as you lay out—there are really good points for keeping works around and really good points for allowing authors to have control over their work, especially when fanworks have no payment/legal obligations attached. In mainstream entertainment, your stories reflect a collaborative effort (publisher, editor, cover artists, etc.) so even if it were possible to delete the physical books out of everyone’s home and library (and we're ignoring the censorship angle for the moment), that’s no longer solely the author’s call, even if they have done the lion’s share of the creative work. Though fanworks can also, obviously, be collaborative, they’re usually not collaborative in the same way (more “This fic idea came about from discord conversations, a couple tumblr posts, and that one headcanon on reddit”) and they certainly don’t have the same monetary, legal, and professional strings attached. I wrote this fic as a hobby in my free time. Don’t I have the right to delete it like I also have the right to tear apart the blankets I knit?

Well yes… but also no? I personally view fanworks as akin to gifts—the academic term for our communities is literally “gift economy”—so if we view it like that, suddenly that discomfort with getting rid of works is more pronounced. If I not only knit a blanket, but then gift it to a friend, it would indeed feel outside of my rights to randomly knock on their door one day and go, “I actually decided I hate that? Please give it back so I can tear it to shreds, thanks :)” That’s so rude! And any real friend would try to talk me out of it, explaining both why they love the blanket and, even if it’s not technically the best in terms of craftsmanship, it holds significant emotional value to them. Save it for that reason alone, at least. Fanworks carry that same meaning—“I don’t care if it’s full of typos, super cliché, and using some outdated, uncomfortable tropes. This story meant so much to me as a teenager and I’ll always love it”—but the difference in medium and relationships means it’s easier to ignore all that. I’m not going up to someone’s house and asking face-to-face to destroy something I gave them (which is awkward as hell. That alone deters us), I’m just pressing a button on my computer. I’m not asking this of a personal friend that is involved in my IRL experiences, I’m (mostly) doing this to online peers I know little, if anything, about. It’s easy to distance ourselves from both the impact of our creative work and the act of getting rid of it while online. On the flip-side though, it’s also easier to demean that work and forget that the author is a real person who put a lot of effort into this creation. If someone didn’t like my knitted blanket I gave them as a gift, they’re unlikely to tell me that. They recognize that it’s impolite and that the act of creating something for them is more important than the construction’s craftsmanship. For fanworks though, with everyone spread around the world and using made up identities, people have fewer filters, happily tearing authors to shreds in the comments, sending anon hate, and the like. The fact that we’re both prefacing this conversation with, “Please don’t flame” emphasizes that. So if I wrote a fic with some iffy tropes, “cringy” dialogue, numerous typos, whatever and enough people decided to drag me for it… I don’t know whether I’d resist the urge to just delete the fic, hopefully ending those interactions. There’s a reason why we’re constantly reminding others to express when they enjoy someone else’s work: the ratio of praise to criticism in fandom (or simply praise to seeming indifference because there was no public reaction at all), is horribly skewed.

So I personally can’t blame anyone for deleting. I’d like to hope that more people realize the importance of keeping fanworks around, that everything you put out there is loved by someone… but I’m well aware that the reality is far more complicated. It’s hard to keep that in mind. It’s hard to keep something around that you personally no longer like. Harder still to keep up a work you might be harassed over, that someone IRL discovered, that you’re disgusted with because you didn’t know better back then… there are lots of reasons why people delete and I ultimately can’t fault them for that. I think the reasons why people delete stem more from problems in fandom culture at large—trolling, legal issues, lack of positive feedback, cancel culture, etc.—than anything the author has or has not personally done, and since such work is meant to be a part of an enjoyable hobby… I can’t rightly tell anyone to shoulder those problems, problems they can’t solve themselves, just for the sake of mine or others’ enjoyment. The reason I’ve been thinking about this lately is because I was discussing Attack on Titan and how much I dislike the source material now, resulting in a very uncomfortable relationship with the fics I wrote a few years back. I’ve personally decided to keep them up and that’s largely because some have received fantastic feedback and I’m aware of how it will hurt those still in the fandom if I take them down. So if a positive experience is the cornerstone of me keeping fics up, I can only assume that negative experiences would likewise been the cornerstone of taking them down. And if getting rid of that fic helps your mental health, or solves a bullying problem, or just makes you happier… that, to me, is always more important than the fic itself.

But, of course, it’s still devastating for everyone who loses the work, which is why my compromise-y answer is to embrace options like AO3’s phenomenal orphaning policy. That’s a fantastic middle ground between saving fanworks and allowing authors to distances themselves from them. I’ve also gotten a lot more proactive about saving the works I want to have around in the future. Regardless of whether we agree with deleting works or not, the reality is we do live in a world where it happens, so best to take action on our own to save what we want to keep around. Though I respect an author’s right to delete, I also respect the reader’s right to maintain access to the work, once published, in whatever way they can. That's probably my real answer here: authors have their rights, but readers have their rights too, so if you decide to publish in the first place, be aware that these rights might, at some point, clash. I download all my favorite fics to Calibre and, when I’m earning more money (lol) I hope to print and bind many for my personal library. I’m also willing to re-share fic if others are looking for them, in order to celebrate the author’s work even if they no longer want anything to do with it. Not fanfiction in this case, but one of my fondest memories was being really into Phantom of the Opera as a kid and wanting, oh so desperately, to read Susan Kay’s Phantom. Problem was, it was out of print at the time, not available at my library, and this was before the age of popping online and finding a used copy. For all intents and purposes, based on my personal situation, this was a case of a book just disappearing from the world. So when an old fandom mom on the message boards I frequented offered to type her copy up chapter by chapter and share it with me, you can only imagine how overjoyed I was. Idk what her own situation was that something like scanning wouldn’t work, but the point is she spent months helping a fandom kid she barely knew simply because a story had resonated with her and she wanted to share it. That shit is powerful!

So if someone wants to delete—if that’s something they need right now—I believe that is, ultimately, their decision… but please try your hardest to remember that the art you put out into the world is having an impact and people will absolutely miss it when it’s gone. Often to the point of doing everything they can to put it back out into the world even if you decide to take it out. Hold onto that feeling. The love you have for your favorite fic, fanart, meta, whatever it is? Someone else has that for your work too. I guarantee it.

So take things down as needed, but for the love of everything keep copies for yourself. You may very well want to give it back to the world someday.

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.7)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] previous chapters

[CH.8.] next chapter (unavailable, check back or follow for updates!)

You fell into a distrustful panic that night now that knew the screams of the woods were also where Jungwon and his friends lived. You weren't sure if you should be scared for those group of boys or be scared of them. You'd be lying to yourself if you tried to believe it was only a coincidence the boys had a place in the forest of violent cries.

You questioned your sanity, were they murderers? Was that their dirty secret?

Your conclusions were endlessly dark, repeating themselves countlessly. You had never wanted to sleep away your thoughts more than ever. Eventually, you got exhausted from your thoughts. It was mentally draining to try and tear apart the possibilities of the situation, you didn't have enough evidence to be so sure. You lay in a cold sweat as you drifted off into a deep but horrible sleep.

You dreamt in full awareness. The boys with blood spilling down their hands and onto their swan white clothes. A red mess everywhere on the cream walls of an orphanage that overflowed with rays of a full moon. Although you were scared of what you were witnessing, you could not wake up even if your life depended on it. It seemed as if the dream had sped up your sleep as you woke in what felt like a few seconds. Calmly, you awoke in the misty autumn morning in a crushed up pile of blankets. You sit up to peel your wispy curtains away from the window to get a good look at the dark forest that steamed with a muddy blue fog. All of the memories of Jungwon yelling at you for just being near the woods flooded your brain as you stared. This time you were determined to search deep into that forest and get to the bottom of its mysteries as it called out to you.

"Y/N I think you're going to be late for your first class." Nana knocked before bursting into your room in full uniform, not a wrinkle on her shirt.

"Y-you're already ready? What time is it?!" You glanced back and forth between your pyjamas and uniform that draped over a random stool as you were too lazy to fold nicely the night before.

"We didn't want to wake you... So we went ahead thinking you'd come down eventually." She yanked you out of bed, gripping your forearms tightly before backing out the door, "Don't be late! We promised we'd keep out of detention this year!"

Within a blink of an eye, you slip into your uniform, slinking your arms through the holes of your blouse and adjusting your legs to be cover by your ashy plaid skirt. With your bag and binder in hand, you sprinted across your campus to the gymnasium where you found yourself arriving, everyone already in the proper athletic attire.

"You're late."  Your health teacher grit her teeth in visible disappointment. Your teacher knew how unlike you it was to be late as your classmate's eyes followed your every movement.

"P-pardon me." You clawed your fingers through your bedhead, speeding to the change room, nervous she'd assign you detention.

You let out the deep breath you were holding in as you got into the empty locker room, frustrated at yourself for waking up so late. You can't help but feel upset that you let your thoughts get the best of you and ruin your perfect attendance. Truly you were ashamed but began to see no point in continuing to rush the pace at which your day was running.

The locker room door opens and you see Kyungeun peep herself inside, "Y/N? You alright?"

You pull your boxy shirt flat down, zipping and tying every spot on your tracksuit jacket, "Yeah, sorry rough morning..."

"No worries, I just said that I had to go to the bathroom but I really just wanted to check on you." She had a motherly sound to her voice which comforted your bad start to the day. Perhaps she was in a good enough mood for you to ask her briefly about her relationship with Sunghoon.

"Kyungeun, I think I need to just clear the air... I saw you with Sunghoon in the library." You tilted your head in regret as to whether or not you were starting off the conversation in the right direction.

"Y-you saw us???" Her face drained to an unrealistic hue, "Lord... Sunghoon will kill me if he finds out you know."

"Stop! What do you mean? He'll kill you? Is it because I know that you two are dating?"

"NO! Nevermind then!" She cut you off right after the question mark in your voice. She looked rather relieved at your response which could only mean their relationship was much different than you had presumed. "I just can't tell you about our relationship I'm s-sorry it's between just us two."

"So then it's okay for him to flirt with my roommate?"

"No? Are you serious right now ?!" Kyungeun panicked.

"So you are dating?" You gave a smug smile.

"It's not that..." She was visibly frustrated not being able to describe herself in words, "I'll tell you this, I'm bound to him..." She ran her index finger along the reddened gash on her neck  He's blackmailing me."

"So you're like his pet?" You held in your laughter, you knew you should be more serious but you had no other way of trying to help Kyungeun express the gist of her relationship.

"I'll tell you another day...  Let's just go before the teacher gets mad at you for taking so long to change."

...

After your class full of advanced leg exercises and mediocrely fun games, you got halted by your gym teacher, "Y/N can we speak about how tardy you were today?"

You got fearful of her sentencing you detention, freezing up from your heel upwards, "I'm so sorry, I just had a lot going on last night..."

"Sweetie, I know this is your first late in my class but unfortunately the school does not tolerate tardiness in the way I believe it should be." She tapped her chin a few times, "I have no other choice but to send you to detention but it'll just be a half-hour at lunch." You felt better that it wasn't for a full hour or two after school but you were still dreading the idea.

"Can't you just let me off the hook? I promise it'll never happen again" You pleaded desperately.

"I'm afraid I cannot... If the other teachers or students knew you didn't get sent to detention I could get into trouble for giving you 'special treatment'. I know you didn't mean to love but I cannot afford to lose my job so I'll see you then." She patted one of your shoulders, giving it a little squeeze to cheer you up.

"I understand..." You nod with your head that already hung low.

"It's in the English room down the hall, there is usually only a few students there. Some familiar faces."

...

That rest of your morning would only pull through faster as you got some weird anxiety over walking into the detention room. You could not concentrate at all in the class you had before lunch. You felt as if you were too good for the detention group of kids, but here you were about to join those you criticized. Karma.

"Make sure to answer the questions 8-16 on page 300, you have the rest of the class to do so. Any questions?" Your physics teacher stood with his hands balled up behind his back.

Realizing you had no physics book in your bag after triple checking, you shot your arm up in distress, "ME! I forgot my textbook today... I was in a rush this morning." You faked a polite laugh with the expectation your teacher would have a spare.

"I'm afraid I don't have an extra, anyone willing to share?" The teacher lifted his head to scan the class.

"I could share." Jaeyun winked making your face recoil

"Perfect! You'll probably have to move your stuff to his seat then." Your teacher suggested.

With a thick coat of disappointment, you pulled a chair up to Jaeyun's desk to which he kneed you annoyingly.

Within just a few seconds of settling down, you complained "How the hell am I supposed to write? There is no space... Desks are made for ONE person."

"Okay then don't use my textbook and fall behind" He sneered.

"Wait wait, I just had the greatest idea Jaeyun." He gave you puppy eyes when you said his name, "What if you look for half the answers I do the other half then exchange?" You whispered so the teacher could hear.

"I can't trust you make good answers though..." He jokingly sighed.

"HEY! Okay or work together for every question to get it done twice as fast? Oh wait but then I'll be the one carrying the team... Bummer..." You stretched the corners of your mouth until your lips disappeared.

"I honestly don't feel like doing work so lose-lose." He pouted and rolled his eyes.

"Same... I can't even focus, I'm having a rough morning..." You openly admitted, "I got sent to detention for being late in my first class."

"Detention? Didn't think you were the type." Jaeyun had an unexpectedly sweet giggle which contrasted with his lower tone voice, "Heeseung and Sunghoon get sent often, surprised they aren't kicked out of the school."

"They get sent often?!" Your voice rose to which you quickly quieted down to avoid trouble, "Will I see them there?"

"Why? Looking forward to going now?" Jaeyun whispered with a grin, causing you to scoff.

"As if..." A sudden idea coming to mind, "Say Jaeyun... About the party... Heard you guys have a place in the woods...?" You became aware that you could pry some information out of him that would help you when searching the woods that night.

"Yeah, we do... We don't normally tell people about it." He said casually yet still with some sort of caution.

"So why tell us then?"

"Haven't had any visitors in a while..." Jaeyun toyed with his mechanical pencil, using the plastic part to trace around his lips, "Awfully interested aren't you?" He seemed to have caught on to your intentions, shifting the mood of the conversation around in a full 180.

Suddenly the dream you had earlier slipped into mind, causing you to sit in growing discomfort, "What do you want from my friends and I?"

"Nothing sweetheart... We're more interested in you than your dormmates. You look like someone we know." He laughed like a psycho and it creeped you out how the two of you were just poking lighthearted jokes to something much darker and mysterious, "I know you're afraid of us, you know far more than most girls." His voice dropped to a whisper as he watched the teacher behind you to make sure he didn't see the both of you slacking.

"Kyungeun knows your secrets too she said she'll tell me."

"She's acting like we don't know her secrets." Jaeyun closed his textbook, "Y/N just remember this, Kyungeun is half as bad as we are and half as pure as you are."

"Alright class, that's it for today's class. This textbook assignment won't be due until Friday have a good lunch." The teacher interrupted, causing your conversation with Jaeyun to end on a hanging note.

"Good luck with detention."Jaeyun hushed in your ear.

_______________

p.s, i changed the cover lol don’t make fun of my photoshop skills!

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Soulmates

Summary: THE S0U1MATE SYSTEM. A week-long experience guaranteed to find you your soulmate. Laxus had dismissed it as nothing but crap, and brought himself a ticket to prove it. It would have gone well, if it weren’t for the handsome guy running the program who kept catching his eye.

Notes: This was written as part of Fraxus Week 2021, as always hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. Check out their blog to see all the other content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

THE S0U1MATE SYSTEM

Year: 2055

Location: Tokyo, Japan

"Laxus Dreyar," A robotically cheerful voice echoed through the room. "Please step into the preparation area."

Rising quickly, Laxus strode through the reception room and towards the door that had lit up. The animated emoticon projected onto the wall followed him as he walked, and the glass door shimmered out of existence as he approached. Once through the archway, the glass flickered back into place, and the emoticon went back to its unanimated state. So far, Laxus had yet to be impressed by THE S0U1MATE SYSTEM.

It claimed to be an experience that will end up matching an attendee with their soulmate. You paid your fee, gave up a week of your life, trusted in the system that it would work, and supposedly you'd end up meeting the love of your life. Laxus was only there to disprove it.

Well, also because Ever had paid for it, and he knew how much it costed. But mainly he went to disprove it.

So far, he'd undergone a full body scan, had his social media accounts interrogated, and submitted a completed questionnaire that covered everything from best first date ideas to how he dealt with the inevitability of death. This was apparently so the algorithm could create a profile for him, and was not reflective of how the program would be. According to the guidebook Laxus had absently flicked through, the morning of the first day was slightly tedious, so to better match him with potential lovers. It all seemed stupid – as far as Laxus was concerned, romance was born out of coincidence and chemistry, not a list of things you liked and didn't like – but he was willing to undergo it all just to prove how it was a waste of money.

Each day, he would go on an 'Experience' with a match. It was a simulation of a first date, purpose built to the two people's shared interests. Some people went on candle lit dinners, some people went into an escape room, some people were stranded in the middle of the ocean with only each other for company. Every experience was tailored to the participants.

At least it would be interesting.

Laxus walked down the corridor, following the neon arrows that pointed him to another shimmering glass door. The pretentious modernism of the building was obvious, and it showed off every ridiculous advancement in technology in the most frivolous ways. It couldn't be a more obvious money-making scheme if it tried.

As he walked through the door, he saw a man standing at a podium. His date, perhaps.

Well, if that was the case, they at least knew his type.

Tall, long legs with some obvious lean bulk to them. Well dressed, in clothing that clearly was trying to highlight his physique but not in an obvious way. His face, looking down at the tablet attached to the podium, was sharp and angular, with high cheek bones and a slightly jutting chin. A mole rested below one of his vibrant eyes, and a long main of flowing green hair hung down to his waist. He was hot and Laxus grinned; at least he would spend a bit of time with a sexy guy.

As Laxus approached, the man looked up with a polite smile. He didn't make a move towards him, as Laxus expected, and continued to tap on the tablet before him. The lights gained a bright blue and the small room illuminated itself.

"You must be mister Dreyar," The man said in lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah, nice to meet ya," Laxus nodded, stepping forward and offering the man a hand to shake. He took it; he had a good grip on him. "Guess you're my date for the evening."

"Ah, I'm afraid not," The man denied, and Laxus frowned a little. "I work here, I'll be overseeing your simulations throughout the week as part of a quality control test. You'll meet the man who you've been set up with in the simulation itself."

"Thought the system was supposed to be automated?" Laxus asked, retracting his hand, and taking a step back.

"It is. A few times a year someone is called to watch over, to make sure it's as streamlined as possible," The man looked back down to his tablet again and began typing, and a small bubbling of curiosity grew in Laxus. Nothing he'd act on, but the face of concentration on the man was an attractive one. "I'm surprised you weren't informed beforehand; I must admit. It's in the contract you signed that this could happen, but the company does like to warn people before things begin."

"It ain't a big deal," Laxus shrugged, looking around the small room. "I ain't really sure how this part of the process works, so maybe you could help. I didn't catch yer name, either."

"Freed Justine," The man introduced himself, smirking ever so slightly. "In a moment you'll walk through those doors," he motioned to the aforementioned doors, "and the simulation will begin. Your date will walk through another set of doors, and you'll meet then. We like to have dates meet for the first time mid-way through a simulation, as it feels more natural than meeting beforehand. Once you've spoken for a while, the activity of the simulation can begin."

"How do I know what the 'activity' is?"

"It's normally fairly obvious. If you were, for example, white water rafting, you'd be placed on a dock with a boat already attached to the rapids," Freed explained, looking up from the tablet again. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Laxus would have rather known what he was getting into before it happened, he felt like it would give him an advantage. He couldn't dwell on that, though, as the floor below him lit up. Pulses of light seemed to guide him to a corner of the room, where an odd glass cylinder stood. Clearly they were informing him that he was to get inside the cylinder and, after a nod from Freed, he did as he was instructed.

The cylinder closed as he stepped in, and a flicker of nervousness dwelled inside of him as the glass seemed to seal itself shut. He glanced towards Freed, who gave him a short smile, before a flash of light erupted from above. It only lasted a moment, and Laxus took a second to understand what had happened.

His clothing had changed. Where once he wore an outfit he saw as worthy for a date, he now wore a tee-shirt, shorts, and sneakers.

"The hell?" He murmured under his breath.

"That's the outfit that best fits what kind of date you'll be having," Freed explained as the glass unsealed and Laxus could step out. "Partly it's to better round out the simulation, but I think it's mainly so we don't get sued for property damage should your actual clothes get stained or damaged."

"How romantic," Laxus murmured, before looking down at himself. "Am I having a date in a gym or something?"

"Yes, actually. One of your shared interests is combat sports, so you'll be placed in a boxing arena," Freed said after looking towards the tablet. He thought for a moment, then frowned. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"Glad you did, I like being prepared," Laxus shrugged. "Boxing's hardly romantic, though."

"For the right person, it is," Freed retorted. The lights around the simulation door lit up green, and Freed smiled. "Speaking of the right person, the simulation is ready, so when you're ready please step through. I hope you enjoy your date."

"I'll certainly try," Laxus nodded. "And if I don't, I get to punch the guy."

Freed laughed, and Laxus approached the door and refocused his attention on his goal on disproving the systems worth. He knew that the guy in the simulation wouldn't be his soulmate. If the company was worth it's price, then they would have understood that Freed was a better match for him than some random guy who happened to like to box. Still, once this was over and he'd disproven their complete success claim, he might get Freed's number. It wouldn't be a waste of time.

---

"So he wasn't the love of your life, then?"

That was what greeted Laxus as he walked into the preparation area outside of the simulation. It had been a day since his first date, and Freed stood before his tablet again as if he'd been waiting for Laxus to approach. He probably had.

"Wouldn't be here if he was," Laxus shrugged. "You saw how it went. Hardly compatible."

"I suppose not."

The date itself wasn't awful, in fact it was pretty fun. As Freed had stated, he'd been taken into a simulation of an old-fashioned boxing gymnasium, where he'd met the guy. He wasn't bad looking, and in pretty damn good shape, but they hadn't been destined for a relationship and they both knew it. Though Laxus couldn't say it was time wasted, as they'd exchanged information and said they'd workout together at some point. Laxus had always found it hard to find a spotter who could match his weight, and the guy could certainly do that and more.

"The first dates don't typically be where people settle," Freed continued, tapping at his tablet, perhaps setting up the next simulation. "The first half of the week has a low success rate, honestly. I believe it's mainly collecting information to better inform the matches later in the week, so don't be disheartened."

"I wasn't," Laxus shrugged. "If I'm honest, I don't believe this is real."

"I thought as much," Freed chuckled. "Though you probably shouldn't have told a member of staff that. It might taint my view of you."

"What are you gonna do. Throw me into a simulated volcano?"

"I could," Freed grinned, and it was a pretty nice look on the man. "But the real danger is that you say it to a member of staff who's gone through the program and who met their partner through it. They can get somewhat defensive, and they'll do whatever they can to make you believe it will work, and they'll be rather annoying while doing so. It's something I know from experience."

"You ain't been through it?"

"No, I'm hardly in a rush to find someone," Freed shrugged a little. "I believe that these things will happen when they're meant to, so why force them? And yes, before you point it out, it's hypocritical of me to say that while working here."

"Never been tempted?" Laxus asked.

"Of course. I know you don't believe it but I've yet to see someone leave the program without meeting someone they eventually fell in love with."

Freed didn't seem like the kind of guy to say bullshit like that for no reason, and the honesty in his tone didn't feel as though he was parroting a line from a corporate memo, so maybe he did believe it. Admittedly Laxus hardly knew Freed, so he couldn't make too many judgments about his person, but the fact he seemed to believe that this could find him true love was a little intimidating. A pragmatist like Freed – that's what Laxus thought him to be, anyway – wouldn't say that if he didn't believe it.

A horrible thought suddenly hit Laxus. He might actually find someone who he might fall in love with. That was… worrying.

"You won't need to change clothes today, your date won't require it," Freed said, looking up from his tablet again.

"Good to know," Laxus nodded, trying to ignore the nervousness that was filling him. "You gonna tell me what I'm doing?"

"No," Freed shook his head. "For all we know, if I didn't tell you yesterday, the date might have been entirely different."

"Nah, I don't think so," Laxus chuckled, walking towards the podium Freed was standing behind and leaning on it. He grinned at the man, who looked up at him for a moment before averting his eyes. "Tell me, I'll complain about you to yer manager if you don't."

"What a horrible threat," Freed said sardonically, though he did look down at his tablet again. "It's a fairground with a circus performance at the end. And apparently your date is something of a gymnast, and so there's a high chance that he'll get on stage and perform for you."

"Is that gonna be impressive or is it gonna make me wanna claw my eyes out?" Laxus laughed.

"He's a professional athlete, so I suspect the former," Freed grinned a little.

They chatted for a few minutes more, and eventually the lights around the door lit up again and guided him towards his second date. Laxus pushed off from the podium he was still leaning on, ignoring the teasing comment that he should adjust his posture if he wanted to impress his future husband, and walked through the door and into the simulation of an outdoor fairground. As he crossed the threshold, he didn't notice how his nerves had disappeared completely.

---

"I'm startin' to think your program ain't as good as you're saying it is."

Laxus spoke as he walked into the preparation area, and Freed looked up with a small grin on his face as he approached. Laxus had the slightest falter in his step as he saw that Freed had his hair tied up in a high ponytail, rather than using the low band he'd had on the two previous days. Seriously, the simulation had matched him with two random men and not the beauty before him and yet still claimed to be the best matchmaking system in history. Ha.

His second date hadn't been bad, exactly. The guy was hot in his own way – and someone with a scene/punk interest would have been all over him – and he was entertaining the entire time. But he was a little too much for Laxus. Constantly wiggling eyebrows and euphemisms. Good for the right guy, but not for Laxus.

"We're still collecting data, every date is an improvement on the last," Freed waved off the complaint. "For example, you seemed to enjoy the games you were playing, so a bit of friendly competition is something you'll like in a relationship," Laxus had to admit, someone who could challenge him was a turn on, so the system had gotten that right about him. "That's certainly been taken into account for this date."

The way he'd said the last sentence, with a hint of amusement and restrained laughter, made Laxus nervous. He didn't push the topic, partially out of fear.

"We'll see how confident you are when the week's over and I've turned everyone down," Laxus shrugged.

"You're determined for this to fail for you, aren't you?" Freed asked with amusement, and Laxus didn't deny it, instead choosing to shrug. "Is that why you're here, do you see yourself as the man to take the system down and prove how much of a scam it is? Because we've had literally hundreds of people try that and we've yet to have an unsatisfied customer."

"How do I know they've not been silenced?" Laxus joked, grinning as he walked closer to Freed. "Or worse, you killed 'em, blended their bodies up and sold it as a health drink or something?"

"Because we're not in a poorly written young adult novel?" Freed chuckled. "We actually just burn the corpses, it's much less messy."

"Knew it," Laxus laughed. "You gonna tell me what you're gonna put me through today?"

"Absolutely not," Freed grinned. "And I won't move on that today. Because nothing is going to please me more than seeing your reaction to it."

"Why, it's not weird is it?" Laxus frowned, looking concerned now.

"It depends on your definition of weird, I suppose," Freed smirked, and if it weren't such an attractive expression on the man then Laxus might have taken issue with it. "I'll simply say, I expect it's weighted slightly more towards what your date will enjoy rather than what you're going to enjoy."

"Or you could just tell me what's gonna happen," Laxus prompted, and Freed shook his head.

"You'll require an outfit change."

Laxus sighed a little, apparently the topic was to be dropped. He walked to the glass pod in the corner of the room and allowed it to close behind him, and he turned to look at Freed in expectation. Freed pressed something on the tablet and the light flash of light filled the cylinder a moment later, the same chill running over him as his clothing was replaced.

When he saw his reflection, Laxus found himself more confused than anything. He was only wearing swimming trunks and a large life-preserver. He could swim fine, so didn't know what the hell the point of that thing was, and turned to Freed again in confusion.

Freed, who had apparently been looking at him, immediately turned away, and Laxus could see his cheeks redden.

Huh. Had Freed been checking him out.

"You really not gonna let me know why I need to wear this?" Laxus asked, stepping out of the pod, and lifting one side of the life-preserver. Freed looked back to him, pointedly looking only at his face, cheeks still covered with the slightest dusting of a blush. Laxus wanted to focus on that, and maybe flex his abs to see if he got a reaction, but instead spoke again in a jovial tone. "You know if I drown in a simulation, I'm gonna get a lawyer right?"

"I doubt that will happen," Freed said, seemingly forcing himself to shake off the blush. "It's just a precaution."

"You wanna tell me what it's a precaution against?" Laxus probed.

"No," Freed grinned again. The lights above the door lit up, and Freed's grin widened. "And it seems you'll be finding out now."

Laxus wanted to push the topic more and find out what he was going to endure, and he very nearly ignored the flashing green lights and did just that. He almost did, if it weren't for the fact that he also wanted to take off the life preserver and give Freed an unhindered view of his chest to see what happened, so he clearly wasn't in the right mind to be making decisions. He was trying to disprove love could be found in this place, flirting with the guy was hardly helping his argument.

As he had the previous two times, Freed wished him luck as he approached the door. Thie time, though, it was tinged with amusement, and Laxus felt a swell of anticipation as he walked through the door.

The simulation was… interesting. It took Laxus a moment to realise he recognised what he was seeing, and a further moment to remember what it was. When he was a kid, his grandfather had watched old reruns of a gameshow: Wipeout. It was a ridiculous set of obstacle courses, where idiot contestants tried to win money but usually ended up looking like assholes, falling into water after being hit by giant mechanisms covered in foam cladding. It was cheap entertainment where the contestants were there to be laughed at, and apparently Laxus was going to be enduring the damn thing.

He turned around quickly, watching as the doors flickered out of existence, Freed's smirk being the last thing he saw.

---

The moment Laxus walked into the preparation room, he was met with a bursting of laughter. He crossed his arms, watching as Freed tried and failed to retain his laughter. It took longer than it should have, and it was tempting to shake the bastard. He would deserve it if he was laughing at what Laxus thought he was laughing at.

"It ain't that funny."

"Oh it truly was."

Laxus grit his teeth. His third date had been the most interesting, that was for sure, but it had also been ridiculous. He'd been forced to go through three stupidly weird obstacle courses, competing against his date, who was a loud-mouthed idiot with stupidly pink hair.

Multiple times, he'd been pushed from the course and into the unnecessarily cold water. The loud cackling from his date seemed to be shot straight into his ears the moment he broke the surface of the water, and the man's amusement at Laxus failing seemed to double each time it happened. During the last round, when he'd been knocked down a slope of gushing water by a barrel of all things, Laxus had to stop himself from swimming over to the man and clocking him on the nose. He'd probably be kicked from the system, so he talked himself out of it and instead put his focus onto winning the game. He had, and the brat annoyingly wasn't bothered at all.

"He was fucking annoying," Laxus muttered as he walked closer to Freed. He leant against the podium again, closing his eyes in exasperation. "Good luck finding him a guy to match with."

"Actually he's on his fifth day here, and everyone other than you said they wanted to match with him," Freed informed him, looking over the tablet. He was being cagey in letting Laxus see the screen surely the next date wouldn't be as bad as the last. "So you're the outlier in the set. He's remarkably easy compared to you."

"Honestly, kinda offended by that," Laxus muttered.

Freed breathed out a laugh, before placing the tablet back onto the podium. Laxus didn't spare it a glance, and instead looked towards the clothes-changing pod to see if he would need a new outfit. Seemingly knowing that, the pod lit up and directed Laxus to enter. With a small sigh, he did.

Once inside, the flash went off and his clothes were replaced by the appropriate outfit. Thankfully, this time he'd been replaced by an actual normal outfit. A dinner suit, perfectly tailored for his body. It was entirely black and white and, while he definitely looked good in it, it wasn't exactly what he would have chosen for himself. He liked his clothes to have at least a splash of colour, and suits could have that in a tasteful way when done right.

"Before you ask, you'll be having dinner today," Freed informed him as he stepped out of the pod. "Fairly simple, but I think that's more than earned. Most people only have one peculiar simulation, you've had nothing but."

"Lucky me," Laxus murmured. "Wanna tell me about the guy?"

"No," Freed shook his head. "Though I should say, it's at this point in the program where the system starts to understand what you're looking for. So it's entirely possible that he might be the person you end up with."

"I doubt it," He rebuffed, glancing at his reflection in the pod.

"Just go in with an open mind, that's all I ask," Freed said, typing on the tablet again. "The gentleman you've been set up with supposedly has a ninety two percent match with the data on you we currently have. There's a good chance that this might go well if you let it."

"You know I wanna disprove this, right?" Laxus grinned. "I ain't gonna help you."

"Well, lets make a deal," Freed smirked. "If you go into your date with an open mind, I'll promise not to put this on YouTube."

Laxus went to ask what, but the lights lowered, and a projection appeared on one of the blank walls. Watching the video, Laxus felt his blood run cold and his body tense, and a glare was soon aimed at Freed for what he'd done. The grin, which could only be described as shit-eating, he got in return only went to further annoy him.

The video was of Laxus' previous date. All the instances of him falling off the course, and into the water, had been put into a montage, with ridiculously obnoxious circus music blaring behind it. Laxus looked like a damn asshole. When the footage slowed down, showing him getting punched in the face by a foam-covered fist, only to lose grip of the handholds and fall face first into a pool of mud, Laxus openly growled.

"Delete this."

"Absolutely not," Freed smirked. "You heard my terms. Give your date a chance and I'll make it disappear. If not, the whole world gets to see you looking like this."

"Yer an asshole, you know that?" Laxus asked, though he couldn't help fighting a grin.

"I do," Freed nodded, and Laxus barked out a laugh. "And your date is ready for you. Have fun."

Laxus waved a hand towards him, walking towards the door and adjusting his jacket as he did so. He supposed he would give this date a chance, just to avoid the humiliation of that stupid video being leaked onto the internet. If it went well, then he'd meet a guy he might be interested in. if it didn't go well, then he could spend the entirety of the next day planning some kind of revenge on Freed for forcing him to endure such a night. That would be fun.

---

The date had been… interesting. Freed was right, the guy had certainly been the closest to someone Laxus would consider getting into a long-term relationship with, and that had somewhat spooked him after the date had ended. He'd been completely certain that he wouldn't meet anyone even close to what he wanted, and hadn't allowed for any deviation from that mindset. Having that belief challenged was worrying.

The guy was smart, silver tongued, and pretty sexy. He wore a suit to perfection, knew all the right things to say, and was flirtatious by nature. Which was all good, and certainly wasn't a turn off, but it wasn't enough for Laxus. He was all too focused on flirting, and didn't show off the other facets of his personality, which Laxus had wanted.

But if he had done that, what then? What if he had a good sense of humour, or was passionate about random things and would happily speak of them for hours? Laxus liked men like that, and his date had been dangerously close to that.

What if he'd gotten Laxus to match with him? What would happen then?

Those thoughts were plaguing his mind as he walked into the preparation room. He hadn't prepared himself for actually meeting someone, certainly not someone he wanted to get serious with. Laxus didn't get serious with guys, he was more of a love them and leave them kind of guy. It was part of the reason he wanted to disprove this place; not everyone was looking to find a guy to settle down with, and Laxus saw himself as one of those people. But the entire selling point of THE S0U1MATE SYSTEM was that it matched people together in relationships that would last.

Who even was he when he was in a relationship? Would he be one of those people who obsessively cleaned their home to impress their partner? Would he have to constantly be thinking about dates and things to do? Would he have to buy the guy flowers? He didn't know how to do that shit. He didn't think he even wanted to do that shit.

"Laxus," Freed asked, cutting through Laxus' growing panic. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, fine," Laxus lied. He didn't say anything else.

Freed didn't push conversation, apparently noticing that Laxus wasn't in the mood for their conversations. Laxus walked to the small sofa that he'd previously ignored, sat down, and listened to the gentle tapping of Freed's fingers against the tablet. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out his thoughts.

He wasn't ready for the date this time, because if they were meant to get better each day, then the guy he'd be matched with next might one day become someone important to him. What if he fucked the date up and the guy didn't wanna match with him? What if the guy was perfect for him and he didn't feel anything? Maybe he'd spent years sleeping around, never being with the same guy for longer than a month, and it'd fucked him up somehow.

"If you'd like to enter the pod," Freed prompted, and Laxus looked up to see the clothing pod lit up.

Doing as he was told, he walked into the pod and waited for his clothes to change. After it happened, he felt that his pants had been replaced by something uncomfortably clingy, and he frowned a little. The frown turned to a grimace when he saw his reflection.

"The fuck?" He demanded.

He was dressed in all green, wearing tights and a slightly sparkling tunic. He looked fucking stupid; even more stupid that he had on the damn Wipeout video. He gaped at his own reflection, not entirely sure what to say. The whiplash from emotional turmoil to embarrassed confusion was overwhelming.

"The fuck!" He repeated.

"You'll apparently be performing as Peter Pan for your next date," Freed informed him, and something close to dread built inside of Laxus' stomach. What the fuck? What the fuck! How the fuck had anyone thought that was something he'd enjoy? Who could think he'd wanna be with someone who wanted him to… to perform on stage while looking like an asshole?

"I fucking am not." He snapped.

"The system states that you'll have a very high matching rate with her," Freed replied, before frowning. Laxus also turned to look at him. "You only wanted to be matched with men, didn't you?"

"That's right," Laxus nodded, voice low. It had set him up with a woman?

Freed looked down at his tablet, face scrunching slightly for a moment as he swiped and tapped at the glass, and Laxus tried not to enjoy the sight. He seemed to understand something, flicked on the screen a few more times, and the pod Laxus had left lit up again. Laxus frowned, looking towards it in confusion before turning his gaze back onto Freed.

"There was a blip in the system. Apparently your date and another man's date were mixed up. If you'd like to step into the pod again it'll give you your actual outfit."

Relief flooded through Laxus. There were certain things that he would have outright refused to do, and making an ass out of himself on a stage, dressed like a glorified pixie was certainly one of them. But the contract he had signed said he was obligated to undergo all simulations if he didn't find a match, as not doing so would harm the reputation of the company unfairly. Would Freed had forced him to do it if he hadn't noticed? Laxus hoped not, but he couldn't be sure.

The new outfit was a lot more simple. It was normal clothing, with a large winter coat and, he realised a moment before he tripped, his shoes had been replaced by ice-skates. He knew how to skate, so it wasn't a problem, and compared to what he'd nearly had to undergo, this was perfect.

"Would I have had to do the fucking performance if you didn't notice it?" He asked.

"I'm sure the system would have picked up the mistake before you went in," Freed dismissed, tapping on the tablet, and lighting the door to the simulation room. "You should go now. Don't want to keep him waiting."

Laxus glanced towards Freed, not commenting on how obvious Freed was being in his dismissal. He walked through the door to see an ice rink empty of everything but one man, who was skating towards him. As Laxus skated towards his date, all he could seem to think of was how much better this was than Peter-Fucking-Pan.

His previous nerves about the date were the last thing on his mind.

---

"So here's the thing," Laxus said as he walked into the prep room. "I think you lied to me yesterday."

"Lied about what?" Freed asked.

"This is supposed to be the most successful, most advanced matchmaking system in the whole world, right? It's unmatched and has years of coding and advancements in technology inside of it, right?" He asked, and Freed nodded. "So it kinda seems a little bit bullshit that it wouldn't understand that a guy who's gay would only wanna go on a date with other guys. Feels like that's one of the basic things it should get right?"

"That would be a fair assumption."

"So, if that's right, then it seems unlikely that it'd just happen to me. Seems even weirder that it'd happen conveniently when there's a guy watching over the sessions to pick up the mistake," Laxus walked towards Freed, maintaining eye contact. "All seems coincidental."

"I suppose it does."

"Yeah, it does," Laxus nodded. "So why don't you admit that you're the reason it happened."

"If you already know, what would me admitting to it do?"

Laxus laughed. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he decided to confront Freed with his realisation, which had happened half way through the date with the guy, but he hadn't thought he'd get an honest admission without a moment's guilt.

He wasn't angry about what Freed had done. If he'd gone on the date wearing the costume then he'd certainly be pissed off, but in reality he'd only worn the stupid clothes for a minute or two, and Freed had quickly replaced them with what he was actually meant to wear. In reality it was just a weird thing that Freed had decided to do for a reason Laxus didn't quite understand.

"You really just wanted me to look like a jackass?"

"No, that was coincidental," Freed admitted. "A happy coincidence, mind you, but not the reason I did it. You clearly had gotten overwhelmed by the possibility that the system might actually work, and you were getting in your own head about it. You needed to be shocked out of your own self-doubts, and it was the easiest way to do it. A simple ice-skating date is hardly a challenge when you've just avoided something ridiculous that you'd never enjoy."

Oh, that was actually kinda nice. Weird, but nice. Not what he expected. It was almost flattering, in a way, that Freed had chosen to help him at all.

Of course he couldn't actually say that. He'd entered the room with a build-up of energy, having expected he would need to force the truth out of him by repeatedly asking him. He had been so certain that it would take their entire time together, and it would end with Freed laughing and Laxus trying to salvage his own pride back. He'd half thought that his costumed self would be edited into the fucking Wipeout video to further add to his embarrassment. A kind, if not slightly odd, action was hardly what he expected.

"So, is it actually automated?" He asked, instead of voicing his thanks because it was the only thing he could think of saying. "Or have you just been saying it is while doing everything yourself."

"No, it's automated, but I can override anything should I want to, which is what I did."

"Show me," Laxus demanded.

Freed nodded, moving slightly so Laxus could stand beside him in front of the tablet. Laxus stood behind him, trying to ignore the fact that this was the closest he'd been to Freed, and he could almost feel the heat radiating off him. It was hardly an appropriate thing to think, particularly when he was going to be on a date with another man damn soon.

He focused on the interface. He saw a quick flash of what his date would be – another meal with a guy – before Freed overrode the system. He pressed a few buttons and ended up controlling the clothing pod. He loaded the program up, and was given a large interface of different outfits, all with pictures to show what they'd look like.

"It's surprisingly user friendly," Freed said, pressing a random outfit and loading it into the system. "Now if you went inside, you'd be wearing that."

"So even I could do it, then?" Laxus asked with a grin, and Freed faltered beside him.

"I suppose."

"What you did for me was pretty nice of ya, but I still ended up like an idiot in a costume because you made me wear it," Laxus mused aloud, and Freed audibly sighed beside him. "So if you think you're getting away without me turning the tables on ya, you're an idiot."

"I probably should have expected that," Freed murmured to himself, and Laxus laughed, placing a hand on his shoulder, and gently guiding him towards the pod. Freed didn't fight him.

"You should have," Laxus agreed, pushing him into the pod before Freed could second guess anything.

He stood at the tablet a moment later, knowing Freed was watching him. He swiped down the hundreds of outfits before inspiration struck him. He pressed the button for the search bar, typed in his idea, looked over the ten or so options before picking the one that looked the most ridiculous. He added it into the system, pressed the apply button, and grinned as the pod flashed with light. A moment later, Freed was revealed, and Laxus burst into laughter.

Freed looked ridiculous. Dressed entirely in an old-fashioned jester's outfit, purple and yellow, with a stupid hat covered in golden bells. He looked at himself in the mirror, crossing his arms unimpressed as Laxus guffawed at him.

"Holy shit," Laxus cackled. "What kinda date would need you to be dressed like that?"

"The system needs to cover all bases," Freed grunted, expression showing annoyance, but Laxus felt like a smile wanted to break through when the bells on his hat jingled. "Can I have my own clothes back, please?"

"We've got a couple minutes before the sim starts, that's enough time to have fun," Laxus grinned, scrolling through the recommended costumes. He found one, applied it to the pod and activated it.

A moment later, Freed was dressed as a circus clown, and Laxus spluttered into laughter all over again.

"Very mature," Freed mumbled sarcastically, though his words were slightly nasally because of the large red nose he wore. "I'm glad you're having fun."

"I am," Laxus grinned, holding back sniggers as he took in Freed for a moment before he began scrolling again.

This was an opportunity that he couldn't waste, and he'd get the man in as many stupid costumes he could before the date began. He quickly settled on a vampire costume that looked equal parts cheap and ridiculous. Once he applied it, he was slightly disappointed to see that Freed managed to pull it off with startlingly good looks. It was twenty-fifty-five, nobody should be able to look good while wearing a cape.

"The fact you're not complaining about this kind of takes the fun out of it," Laxus teased. "You like dressing up or something?"

"Not particularly, but I'd rather you be doing this than stressing about your date," Freed shrugged, seemingly all too comfortable dressed like a vampire. "Night six has the highest success rate. I thought you'd be panicking, this is better."

Laxus paused for a moment, but didn't say anything. He instead found another costume, and grinned when he saw how little it suited Freed. A clean-cut man like Freed didn't make a good caveman.

He fiddled with the tablet for a little while longer, flicking between costumes. Freed managed to make them look better than he had any right to do, but some of them looked ridiculous and Laxus decided to enjoy those as much as he could. A small timer at the bottom of the screen told him the simulation would be ready within the minute, and in a scramble to further annoy Freed, Laxus quickly picked a random outfit from the selection of superhero costumes. He had applied it before the lights to the simulation lit up, and smirked.

The smirk fell when he looked towards Freed. He'd expected it to be a cheap thing covered in cushioned muscles. The reality was… snug. Too snug for Laxus sanity, truly. He'd expected that Freed was hot as well as handsome, but having it clarified wasn't helping things. The guy was muscular, had a tight body, and biceps that strained against the fabric. Laxus pointedly didn't look down. That would be too much.

And he managed to pull off a bright red cape too. How? Capes were stupid. Not hot.

"You've had your fun," Freed said, and Laxus found solace in looking at his face rather than his very, very visible body. "May I have my own clothes back before you start your date?"

"Why?" Laxus asked as he stepped away from the podium. "Can't you do it yourself while I'm in there?"

"No, I can't," Freed muttered, and Laxus grinned.

"That kinda sounds like a you problem," He smirked, and Freed's face darkened for a moment as he stepped out of the pod. His cape billowed behind him and Laxus smirked. He patted the man on the shoulder. "I don't wanna leave my date waiting, after all," Without any reason to, he actually winked at Freed. "Enjoy your walk home, Superman."

As he entered the sim, he was fairly certain those few seconds of seeing Freed blushing unabashedly would be better than any date the system had in store for him.

---

"Is there something wrong with me?"

The high of messing with Freed hadn't lasted throughout the date, and the feelings had been replaced with a maudlin sense of nothingness. That was a feeling Laxus couldn't seem to get rid of throughout the day, and had persisted as he walked into the preparation room for the last time.

On paper, his date was his perfect man. He was intelligent and suave, well lived and happy to talk about his passions. He was hot, had the long hair that Laxus had always favoured on men, and had been pretty good company. He knew the guy was into him, and he felt like he should have reciprocated the attraction. This man should have been ideal for him, and yet Laxus had felt like he was going through the motions. It made him wonder, if that man wasn't right for him, then who the hell would be?

"What makes you say that?" Freed asked, who had been hunched over his table, furiously tapping at it before he'd entered.

"You said most people match with their sixth date. The guy was nice, good looking, we had interests in common," Laxus muttered. "Didn't feel anything for him."

"That doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

"Maybe," Laxus didn't believe it.

He'd wanted to be the person who ruined THE S0U1MATES SYSTEM'S reputation. He'd wanted to be the person who proved that soulmates were pointless because they didn't exist, and even if they did, a computer program wouldn't be the way to find them. He just hadn't realised that, if he did prove that to be true, it would feel like a punch to the gut.

The system had a complete success rate! Everyone who had ever been involved found love. It was fact. Laxus was apparently going to be the exception to that. He was the first unlovable person to enter the program, and he would be the idiot who couldn't get a boyfriend no matter what.

It was shit. It was just fucking shit.

"Laxus, they're just dates," Freed said softly, placing a hand on Laxus shoulder in a comforting gesture. It felt like fire against him. "We dress them up with fancy technology, and we can explain the science in a way that makes it sound impressive, but a date is just a date. When you get two people together, they can fall in love within a moment, but they could also hate one another. That can happen to anyone, no matter what the statistics say."

"The statistics ain't got it wrong with anyone else."

"And you don't know that they have with you. People wait for the seventh night, and it works out for them," Freed assured him, the hand now gently massaging him. It was electric, and Laxus could almost allow himself to be thrilled by it. "And even if the man isn't the person you end up with, you'll find someone at some point. Don't put this on some kind of pedestal, all you'll be doing is meeting a man for the first time."

"The guy's meant to be my soulmate," Laxus scoffed. "It ain't exactly like meeting for coffee."

"It is what you make it, Laxus," Freed placated him. "Not matching with him isn't a failure of personality. It's just a thing that has happened, and it doesn't shape you."

"I guess," Laxus muttered, not exactly confident in his own words.

"You will find someone Laxus," Freed said firmly. "You're fun, intelligent, confident, good looking. A man is out there, and he will find you. Just give him time."

Freed didn't say anything else, and instead patted Laxus on the shoulder and returned to his tablet to do whatever it was he did. Laxus looked down at the floor, his nerves and self-pity only slightly at bay as he tried to agree with what Freed had said. He had come into the program wanting to prove that it was false, and he should have known this would be the outcome.

Focusing on his own problems, he didn't notice the slight change in posture from Freed. His eyes had widened, and he was tapping somewhat manically at the tablet. His teeth were gritting together and his heart hammering. A moment later, he stood up, and Laxus frowned when he saw how tense he looked.

"Don't overreact to this," Freed demanded, voice too calm. "This is a glitch, nothing else. The system has flaws, this is apparently one of them."

"What?"

He took a moment before speaking again. "Apparently you haven't been matched with someone tonight," Freed spoke quietly, almost under his breath, and Laxus felt as though he had been shot. Freed was quick to speak before Laxus could spiral. "This is the program not being able to work as intended. It is not a reflection of you. Do you understand me?"

"Fucks sake," Laxus growled, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck!"

"It's not you, Laxus," Freed tried to tell him, but Laxus was walking towards the door. He needed to leave, to get out of this damn place as quickly as he could. Why the hell had he gone there? He was an idiot. He shouldn't have gone. "Wait. Laxus, don't leave."

"Why the hell shouldn't I?"

"Because I don't want you to," Freed said quickly. "I don't want you to feel like you're… whatever it is your feeling. Because whatever it is, whatever you're telling yourself, is false."

"How the hell do you know?"

"I've watched every date of yours, Laxus. I know you, and you are a good man, and anyone would be happy to have you," He insisted, stepping towards Laxus, and placing a hand on his forearm. "If I'm honest, I found myself somewhat jealous that those men got to be with you. I'm sure I could find hundreds of men who would feel exactly the same. Truth be told, I had to stop watching you talking with that little blonde ass last night. It's unprofessional, I know, but it must be said. You are a man who, one day, will be adored and you will deserve it."

Laxus scoffed. "Sure."

"You're incredible, Laxus," Freed stepped closer, placing a hand on Laxus' cheek. Laxus blushed at the action despite himself. "And if this program has made you think otherwise, even for a moment, then it is pointless. Do you understand me?"

"You think I'm incredible?" Laxus asked, voice a little raspy as he looked down at Freed.

"I do."

"Then do something about it," Laxus whispered because he needed Freed to do this.

And he did.

Freed leant forward without hesitation, tilting up his head and slowly, cautiously pushed his lips against Laxus'. His hand remained on Laxus' cheek, and slowly he started to move his lips in tandem with Laxus', opening his mouth slightly as he pushed himself up against him. Laxus wrapped an arm around Freed's waist, and felt himself clinging to the man as if he were a lifeline.

The kiss could only last a moment, and when Laxus pulled away and was met with the slightly flushed, kiss swollen expression of Freed in his arms, all of his doubts seemed to flow away. This was more important.

"Damn," He whispered, and Freed breathed out a laugh.

"Yes," He agreed. "Damn."

"Wanted to do that from when I first saw ya," Laxus admitted.

"And I you," Freed confessed, smiling. "I must admit, watching you with those men became somewhat torturous by the end."

"Would've stopped if you told me," Laxus shrugged.

"Then you might not have come back, and I didn't want that any more than I wanted to see you match with someone," Freed chuckled.

They stayed in their embrace for a moment, Laxus gently stroking Freed's lower back with his fingers in a slow and comforting gesture. Freed was still cupping his cheek, and it was a delightful sensation that Laxus didn't want to break. He would have to at some point, and he found himself at a loss of what to do next. For a moment he considered asking Freed to set up some kind of simulation for them both, but he felt he'd had enough of the damn place for now.

"You wanna maybe go somewhere and get something to eat?" He asked, and Freed pulled back slightly with a smile.

"That'd be nice," Freed agreed, though then smirked. "Though are you sure it's not too boring? Wouldn't you rather ice skating? Or maybe a boxing match? Or an obstacle course that you keep failing at?"

"Don't be a dick," Laxus laughed, pulling himself off of Freed. "Or I'll drag you back to the pod and you'll have to go to dinner dressed as batman. Dunno how happy a restaurant is gonna be with the Dark Night's cape falling in the soup."

"I'd rather avoid that. My roommate already thinks me odd after what you did yesterday, I don't need anyone else agreeing with him," Freed laughed, and Laxus grinned at the confession. He wrapped an arm around Freed's waist as they began to leave the room. "Though, if I could get you in the Peter Pan costume again I couldn't complain. Those tights were rather flattering."

"Didn't realise you were lookin'," Laxus smirked.

"I was more subtle than you were, then," Freed grinned, and Laxus laughed.

As they left the room, the simulation unused, neither man noticed the screen of the table lighting up with an updated message.

Laxus Dreyar.

Profile = Matched.

Soulmate Level = 100%

[niksixx]

Patience

~Part 4. This will most likely be your favorite part. I know it was mine!~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader 

Warning: Vince holds a knife to Axl’s throat dear Jesus Vinnie

A/N: Reblog and comment! Spread the word about Patience!

*Picture is not mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @curly-hudson @julessworldd @madamsixx @headlight-queen @metalheartofgold @ginny-baker-sixx @mickmarstookmyheart @gunsngunners @bex-tothe-rescue

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

You arrive home the next morning to an empty house. Thank God. The boys had another day at the studio you were assuming, which gave you plenty of time and space to turn the kitchen into a full blown bakery.

After a quick shower, you begin to assemble the kitchen into your work space. Cartons of eggs and milk, bags of flour and sugar, tubes and cartons of icing, and multicolor sprinkles litter the kitchen counters. Bowls, pans, and cupcake liners accompany the baking products.

With an apron tied around your waist, you turn on the radio, singing and dancing as you mix up the batter with a smile. This is where you were most happy. In the kitchen, surrounded by loads of treats that would make others happy, too.

“Up next...Guns N’ Roses.”

You freeze, licking the sweet vanilla batter from your fingers, turning your attention to the radio to make sure you’d heard it correctly. A song begins to play, the guitar in the beginning extremely impressive, and you increase the volume, bobbing your head and jumping around to the beat. Holy fuck. Axl can sing.

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him. He has a raw, raspiness to his voice that’s unlike any voice you’ve ever heard. It’s pleasantly scratchy. It’s unusually rugged. It’s sexy. And not that you would admit it out loud, but Axl’s voice? Ten times better than Vince’s.

There's a knock at your door but you don’t hear it, too focused on the song as you sway your body, feeling the rhythm in your bones. Axl lets himself in, surprised that you’d left the door unlocked, stopping dead in his tracks as he watches you with amusement in his eyes. When he recognizes the song as his own, he quietly shuts the door, leaning against the wall, observing your every motion.

It’s a total contrast from what he saw last night. You’re lively now, freshly showered and clean, grinning from ear to ear, no care in the world. He loves this look on you.

The song comes to an end and you pout, but then your eyes focus on the man standing in your home. He wears a proud smirk, and his lips are inviting.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Axl says, coming into the kitchen. He wraps you in a hug, kissing the top of your head. You notice the kiss lingers a bit longer than usual.

“Axl, you’re amazing,” you say, and his heart soars. Your eyes, your voice, hold nothing but sheer adoration. “What was that song?”

“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” he replies proudly, taking in the sight of your messy kitchen. Oh shit, what was he about to get himself into? “Jeez, did something blow up in here?”

Chuckling, you throw him an extra apron. He raises an eyebrow at first in protest, but then wraps it around his waist after you mentioned that cupcake batter doesn’t come out of jeans. It does, though. But seeing Axl in a bright yellow apron will provide you with comedic relief, so you force him to put it on.

“Well I loved it. I don’t know why Vince won’t let me listen to you guys, but you’re incredible. I hope it comes on again,” you answer. “Now, how much experience do you have with baking cupcakes?”

And as Axl stares back at you blankly, all you can do is laugh. The next three hours were going to be fun. You could just tell.

~~~

“Who in the hell needs fifty fucking cupcakes?” Axl asks as you both scan all the flavors spread out on your counters. Chocolate. Vanilla. Red velvet. Funfetti. And that’s not including the surplus of icing flavors you have yet to douse the cupcakes in.

“My friend Lei, the owner of the restaurant we met in, she’s throwing her son this huge ninth birthday party. The boy has like twenty friends alone, and that doesn’t include all her family members that will be there,” Wiping your hands on the apron, you fish two butter knives from a drawer, handing one to Axl. “She was my first friend when I came to LA. I love her family. I never charge her the full price, but she always tips generously so I don’t mind.”

“So how am I supposed to do this?” Axl asks, picking up a small carton of icing, ripping off the lid. “I don’t wanna screw this up.” While he was there to help, Axl also wanted to impress you, though he barely knew his way around a kitchen. The best he could do, on a good night, was pasta.

“It’s easy. Watch me.” You dig the knife into the chocolate icing, swirling the metal utensil a few times before pulling out a bountiful amount. “So you take this much and then slap it on the top of the cupcake. And then you spread it around. Make sure to get the sides.”

Axl catches on quick. Soon, he’s icing the cupcakes like a pro while the two of you dance along to the radio music. A few songs you’re familiar with, some by Freddie Mercury, Poison, and even Mötley Crüe.

You smile. Axl rolls his eyes as he listens to your boyfriend's screeching voice, but it doesn’t keep him from dancing with you.

He loves this. He loves seeing you so happy, and he loves knowing that he contributes to part of your happiness.

His enthusiasm in the kitchen doesn’t last long, though. After icing fifteen cupcakes, he’s fallen bored. Beside him, you sway your body, eyes focused on the cupcake in front of you, when Axl gets an idea.

He checks to see if you’re watching him before he scoops a dollop of strawberry icing onto his finger. “You have icing on your face,” he says calmly, holding back his laugh.

Glancing toward him, your eyebrows pull together. “Where?”

And your eyes go wide as he spreads the sweet cream across your lips. “Right there.”

For a second, he’s worried you’re upset. You don’t move, you don’t flinch. But then you startle him as you swipe a line of vanilla icing across his cheek. He’s taken aback, and you smile innocently. “Oops.”

Game on.

He dips another finger in the chocolate icing, drawing a horizontal line across your forehead, and you counter with more strawberry icing, two fingers skimming across his nose.

A full on icing war erupts in the kitchen as you and Axl grab the butter knives, flinging the cream at each other. It goes everywhere: Your faces, your aprons, the fridge, the counters, the floor, and somehow gets on the ceiling. The kitchen looks as if a bomb was set off, the poor cupcakes rest on the table, half un-iced. Icing is everywhere it shouldn’t be, but you’re having the time of your life with your best friend. Your heart is full.

“Okay, okay, I surrender!” You beam at Axl who cocks his head curiously, but he stalks toward you when you put your hands up in defeat. He returns to his position beside you, giving you a look before grabbing another cupcake to decorate.

You’re too quick for him as you sneakily dig your finger into the vanilla icing. By the time he sees you and tries to protest, your fingers are brushing the icing across his mouth, a look of triumph on your face. “Gotcha. I win.”

He sets the knife down with a grin, turning back toward you. Grabbing your wrist, his brings your hand to his mouth, eyes dark.

“What are you doing?”

Slowly, his lips wrap around your fingers, tongue swirling around to collect the sweetness. Lips parted, your breath is shaky, just like your legs, as you feel his warm tongue lick the cream from your fingers. He knows what he’s doing. He’s driving you wild while also testing you. To see how far you’re willing to let him go.

You almost whimper when his lips unwrap from your digits. He smirks, dropping your hand, and steps forward. His breath fans over your face, and he’s so close to you, but not close enough. “You still have cream on your lips.”

“Yeah, I…” You swallow slowly, nodding your head. “I know. So uh...do you.”

Another step forward from Axl has your head spinning. There’s a darkness to his eyes, one of pure lust as they flicker to your cream coated mouth. His hand, soft and gentle, grazes the skin of your collarbone before it wraps around the back of your neck. Leaning into his touch, you lick your lips once, hands pressed against the fabric of his cutoff t-shirt. He’s going to kiss you. Fuck, he’s going to kiss you.

“Axl--.”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” his voice is tender and smooth, quiet, almost as if he’s just as nervous as you are. Only on the outside, he’s calm, unflinching.. And he’s ready, but not unless you are too. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

But you can’t.

You can’t say anything like that.

Because it’s not true.

Because you do want it.

Because you want him.

And when he dips down to your face, noses touching, lips dusting against lips, you melt. You fall apart under his touch as his lips mold with yours in the sweetest kiss, and not because of the lingering taste of vanilla and strawberry icing.

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you kiss him back, hard, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him against you. He backs you against the counter and you don’t have a chance to draw in a breath, lips working together in passion, in fiery need.

The air around you is buzzing, your head is spinning with thoughts of him, of Axl, of the boy he was and the man he is now. In a kitchen, in a home that you share with your boyfriend, is where you're kissing your best friend and loving every minute of it.

But as you kiss him, you realize that he’s no longer a friend to you. He’s something more. He's always been something more. Something as simple as a kiss has opened your eyes, your heart.

The more you kiss, the more intense it gets. You’re lost within it, and you don’t want to be found. It feels right. Axl feels right.

With each swipe of his tongue against your own, he steals your breath. The kiss feels like lightning as it cracks against the sky, and your heart is just as loud as thunder.

You kiss long, you kiss hard, until the faint sound of an opening door pries your bodies apart. Staring at Axl, you’re breathless. He’s breathing heavy, and his eyes are focused on the man behind you.

You don’t want to turn around. You already know who is standing in the doorway, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

And when you turn around, your fears are confirmed. Vince stands, one hand on the doorknob, the other slack at his side. His eyes are sharp, cutting through you, as he steps inside and slams the door.

It’s eerily silent at first. Axl’s eyes are on Vince, your eyes are on Vince, and Vince’s eyes are somewhere looking between the both of you.

And you whisper, “Vin--.”

But he holds up a hand, silencing you. He stalks into the kitchen, eyes only focusing on Axl as he says in a menacingly low voice, “I don’t want to know why you’re in my goddamn house, but you have three seconds to take yourself outside before I crush your skull with my bare hands.”

“Vince!”

He pins you with a glare, daring you to challenge him.

All you do as a response is release a sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen the kiss.

Axl gives you one last look. Your eyes plead with him not to go, not to leave you alone with Vince. He was sober, luckily, but sometimes, he was scarier that way.

~~~

Not even the second Axl steps foot outside is when he feels himself being slammed, back first, against the side wall of the house. Vince grips the collar of his shirt, lips curled back in a snarl, eyes crazed.

“What do I need to do to get you to stay away from my girl, huh? Do I have to kill you? Huh?”

“You won’t do shit,” Axl replies nonchalantly, rolling his neck. He refuses to let Vince intimidate him. “Me and Y/N are friends. Get the fuck over it.”

The bricks of the wall press harder into Axl’s back, and he bites down on his tongue to keep from making a sound.

“Then you don’t know me.”

Something cool presses against the base of Axl’s throat, and he swallows, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. He feels the rough ridges of the blade against his skin, and he shuts his eyes briefly, trying to remain calm.

“You know what that is,” Vince taunts. “One wrong move and you’re done.”

Vince backs away, and Axl can finally breathe.

They stare at each other, eyes calculated, fists clenched, jaw set. There’s no way they’ll ever be able to settle the hatred between them. The animosity they feel, it’s too strong. They’re both fighting for the same girl, but only one of them will win.

“Get off my property,” Vince says gruffly, poking a finger in Axl’s chest. “And stay the hell away from my girl.”

~~~

Axl arrives home in a fury, slamming the door behind him, smashing an open palm against the wall.

He’s never felt so enraged before.

So threatened.

Scared that maybe Vince was actually crazy enough to hurt him.

He mutters a string of curses under his breath, forehead pressed against the wall. He should’ve done something, fought back, but instead he let Vince have the upper hand.

Axl’s heart raced at the thought of you at home with Vince. God, he shouldn’t have fucking left. Vince...the damn bastard had already laid his hands on you once. What if you were fighting right now? What if he hurt you again?

“Fuck!”

He slams his palm against the wall again, ignoring the sting. When he turns around, breathing heavily, he pauses, eyes flickering from one bandmate to another.

“Uh…” Steven trails off, glancing at Izzy, who shrugs his shoulders.

“Are you good?” Slash asks, feet raised on the coffee table.

Duff squints, coming forward, poking Axl’s cheek. “What the hell is on your face? Paint?”

“It’s icing,” Axl says, grabbing a napkin to wipe the residue from his face. He can’t wait to shower, wash off all the icing, the anger.

“Do we want to know?” Izzy asks, shutting off the TV.

Oh, boy, where to start.

“I went to Y/N’s to help her bake cupcakes and then it turned into this big icing war and before either one of us knows what the fuck is going on I kissed her and it was the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life and then the door opens not even a minute later and fucking Vince walks in but I’m positive he didn’t see anything becasue if he did I wouldn’t be standing here right now and--.”

“Wait, stop,” Steven says, brows raised, finger pointed. “You made cupcakes and didn’t even bring any home?”

“Steven!” Izzy shrieks, startling the rest of the band. “How is that the only thing you picked up from the fucking story?”

“And that’s not even the worst fucking part,” Axl groans, hand tugging at his hair. As he swallows he can still feel the pressure of the blade on his jugular. “Vince held me at knifepoint.”

“He what?” Slash stands, eyes blazing.

“And you let him live?” Duff emphasizes, arms crossed.

“Well I wasn’t going to fight the dick,” Axl says, hands thrown in the air. “He had a switchblade on my throat, Duff. The only thing I was thinking about was getting out of there alive.”

“This is war,” Steven says, retrieving his own switchblade from his back pocket, finger gently sliding up the blade.

“Is Y/N okay?” Izzy asks, already have taken a liking to you.

Axl can only hope. “I have no idea. I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to hurt her again.”

“Wait,” Slash pauses. “What do you mean again?”

Fuck.

Pulling up a chair, Axl sits himself down, hands scrubbing over his face. “She came over last night because they got into an argument and he uh...he hit her.”

The atmosphere shifts. It’s more tense now as no one speaks. Jaws are clenched, teeth are bared, mouths are dry.

“I love her, man,” Axl says quietly, breaking the silence. The other four turn to him, faces softening. “I just want to be with her, you know? I want to hold her hand and kiss her cheeks, everything that Vince doesn’t. I want to protect her and love her the way she deserves. I know I can,” Axl sighs dejectedly, palms rubbing his knees. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. She won’t willingly leave him, and at first I didn't understand but now I do.”

“I don’t,” Duff mutters, voice low.  

“I don’t want to give up but I'm out of options,” Axl says, head hanging. He’s defeated. “I mean, I’ve thought about her everyday for the last seven years. She’s been in my heart all this time.”

“Maybe you just have to take it slow,” Izzy suggests, lips in a thin line. “Be patient.”

A slow smile creeps onto Duff’s lips as he grabs the notepad and pencil from the coffee table. He begins to scribble a few words, erasing and rewriting, tuning out the conversation as he concentrates on making the words on the paper flow.

“What are you doing?” Steven directs to Duff, glancing over his shoulder.

Duff throws the pad to Axl before looking at Izzy and Slash. “Grab your acoustics. Hurry.”

They oblige and come back to the sofa quickly, sitting in a circle. Axl silently reads the words to himself, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Patience?”

Duff nods, tapping the guitar with his pick. “You used to write songs about her, man. If you can’t tell her directly how you feel, then sing it. Start slow, soft.” The blonde glances back to the two remaining guitarists. “Follow my lead.”

“Wait, what can I do?” Steven pouts.

“Be quiet and observe,” Izzy commands.

“Ready?” Duff asks, and Axl nods. “One, two, three, four…”

With music, Axl likes to get creative. He’s used to belting his songs, adding in a few wild screams for good measure, but this song in front of him? It’s special. It’s unlike anything he’s sung before.

To add his own twist to the song, he starts by whistling gently, and slowly but surely, the words, the emotions, come together, and with his bandmates, he creates a masterpiece.

~~~

They play it over and over until their fingers are sore, voices tired.

But each time sounds better than the last.

As Axl tosses the pad back on the table, he glances to his bandmates, a new sense of peace washing over him.

“If this doesn't make her fall in love with you, man,” Steven says. “I don’t know what will. It’s perfect.”

It is perfect.

Every lyric, every feeling poured into the song.

You would love it.

You just had to.

Because if not, he wouldn’t know what else to do.

“So, when do you want to perform it for her?” Slash asks excitedly, setting his guitar between his legs.

Axl smirks, leaning forward on his knees. “How fast can we get booked on MTV?”

[acciocriativity]

Helpless||Harry Potter

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: You are one of the students of the Beauxbatons commission and like the others you are determined to win the Triwizard Tournament but instead of the Goblet of Fire, you ended this season at Hogwarts with something better . 

Word Count: 2,0 k  

N / A: This story is based on the Helpless of the musical Hamilton and if you want, I recommend listening to the song along with the lyrics.

Part II 

Ooh, I do, I do, I do, I do (hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)

Hey! Ooh, I do, I do, I do, I do (Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)

 I have come to be known for some characteristics over the years. For most of my colleagues, determination and patience, but for my family and especially my sister, I was always going to be a hopeless romantic. 

But then we heard about the Tournament and I would have to concentrate fully if my name came out of the Goblet of Fire, so I decided to leave this side of me in France. But that change did not last more than a few hours. 

Boy, you got me helpless

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

 We were all sitting at the Ravenclaw table while the director finished announcing the Triwizard Tournament formalities and I couldn't be paying any less attention. From the moment I entered that room, a pair of bright brown eyes caught my eye. I couldn't help noticing the incredible amount of redheads on one table, but only one of them left me with a different feeling that I didn't know until now. 

Of course, I didn't spend much time looking. My goal here is very specific, I would not have time for distractions as my name could be called up tomorrow. 

- Of course, to travel to a swamp on the other side of the world, you're going to have to give up putting your name in the cup, right? - my sister asked in an irritated tone of voice and I had no idea why or what she was saying.

- Oh sure, I think it's a great idea, sis - I replied with a smile as I looked back at the director, but he was no longer standing - has he finished? Has he talked about the Yule Ball too?? - I asked, looking back at the older one. 

- Yes, why are you acting like this? Eat a little, I think the trip didn't do you much good - she replied with a worried tone, leaving the anger aside. 

I agreed to a nod and concentrated on the French food that had been kindly prepared for our arrival, but my eyes kept looking back at the table where he was one last time. 

I'm helpless

Down for the count, and I'm drownin 'in' on

 The next day, during the morning there was a circle of students around the Goblet of Fire but as soon as we arrived, they made room and then each one of us put the paper with our name in there. I chose to be the last in line, because I was in no hurry and for a single reason. He was there again. 

The same eyes, but now I could see more closely and without having to worry because it was not in my direction that they were. The boy was having a lively conversation with some other students and his own twin. 

After my turn passed, I walked over to where a friend was standing because I also wanted to see the rest of the competition, that's not exactly what happened. 

I admit it was a funny scene to see the two of them being thrown two meters out of that circle but at the same time, I was a little worried. 

I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight

We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night

 After a few months, we were finally at that ball that promised to be one of the best events of the year and perhaps the decade at Hogwarts. A lot of things changed in the meantime, the first was that I wouldn’t be the champion but I was vehemently rooting for Fleur, the second thing is that a minor had entered the competition and that turned this castle upside down and finally, I had managed to get close to that redhead. To be fair, me and Alexia. We both agreed that only an idiot would voluntarily sign up as a minor, this caught the attention of Harry Potter's friends and himself. 

In fact I learned his name, it's George, it's easy to tell when I can see his face. From the back, I don't have much of a guarantee and it's hard to see them standing still somewhere, so it's even more difficult for me that way. 

Laughin 'at my sister as she's dazzling the room

Then you walked in and my heart went, "Boom!"

 I had been invited by some boys before accepting to come with a student from Durmstrang, I confess that I hoped to be invited by George but I preferred not to risk waiting. 

I looked for my sister with my eyes and it was not difficult to find her, she was dancing with her own partner in the middle of the dance floor, impossible not to notice. They were even a beautiful couple, but I knew she was interested in someone else, I just didn't know who. Just as I hadn't told her about my feelings yet. 

My attention changed completely when I saw the door to the Great Hall open and the unaccompanied Weasley twins came in. My heart stopped for a second and I could feel it beat faster, some questions crossed my mind. I hadn't seen them before, did they come alone? Hope had returned. 

Tryin 'to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom

Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume

 The slow song was over but I only noticed it when I saw the girl in front of me and then I smiled, trying not to lose sight of George but didn't go like that, since I was on the other side of the dance floor. 

- You were having fun out there, weren’t you?? - I asked with a smile, giving up looking over her shoulder, so I just focused on her face. 

- Yes, and where is your partner? You should be having fun too - she replied leaning against the wall beside me. 

- He said he was going to talk to his friends but so far he hasn't returned - I couldn't hide my indifference, because I never had to hide anything with her.  

Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

Grab my sister and whisper: Yo, this one's mine

- I know he wasn't your first choice, so who is it? I’m willing to know - his gaze left me and scanned the party full of people, looking for who could be right for me. 

- I wanted to make sure he was interested in me before I told you. It's George, from the first moment we arrived here for the first time - I didn't try to hide my smile or my passionate look when I finally found the redhead again. 

My sister made her way across the room to you (ooh)

And I got nervous thinking

"What's she gonna do?" (Ooh)

 In a moment, she was beside me with an expression I didn't recognize and a second later the brunette was walking towards the other side of the dancefloor. 

- Alexia, what are you going to do… - I didn't even try to speak out loud, because the music was incredibly loud for anyone but me to hear. 

To my horror, she walked towards the Weasleys and I

paralyzed. One of my sister's characteristics comes down to doing basically everything for me, I already knew that nothing bad could be in her intentions but that didn't relieve my nervousness. 

She grabs you by the arm

I'm thinkin ', "I'm through" (ooh)

Then you look back at me

And suddenly I'm helpless

 I couldn't look away even though I looked crazy to those outside, so the two stepped aside a few meters and I could hear my heartbeat increasing by the second. 

Would I like to be able to hear them? Certainly, but before I could think better about it. He looked directly at me. 

Oh, look at those eyes (look into your eyes)

And the sky's the limit

I'm helpless (I know)

Down for the count and I'm drownin '

Helpless (I am so into you)

 Few things in life have left me so nervous as that moment when George Weasley was walking towards me, with that smile on his face, the kind of smile I hadn't seen yet but perfectly matched his features. 

She accompanied him halfway and winked at me before returning to the dancefloor. I didn't know what to expect but I would thank her forever, if that was what my hopeless heart was telling me. 

Look into your eyes (I am so into you)

And the sky's the limit

I'm helpless

I know I'm down for the count

And I'm drownin 'in' in

 The night ended perfectly and I almost felt like it was fate, because his partner ended up dancing with my partner. So they didn't even care for a second about being "abandoned", not that I was going to let this opportunity just slip through my fingers. 

He was cute and kind, we danced and talked a little bit alone before going back to our friends. 

But this time it was different because we were never so close to each other, I couldn't help but notice his arm around my shoulder, making me stay even closer to him. 

That was my signal, the signal that this night meant something more to him too. 

One week later

I'm writin 'a letter nightly

Now my life gets better, every letter that you write me

 A week later, I had come to Paris with Ale to spend the Christmas holiday with our parents, but it didn't mean that we would lose contact. At that point it was past midnight when I was replying the letter I just received. 

The owl that brought it was barely able to flap its wings when it arrived here and as it was freezing outside, I left it in the cage with mine to rest. She drank some water and practically passed out, poor thing. 

- As I was saying, he really cares about you. Who wouldn't want someone like that? - she said after reading the letter I received. 

- You will find one of these soon, there is a whole group of boys waiting for the chance of their lives to show you that - I replied with a smile while thinking of the right words to answer, everything had to be extremely perfect.  

Laughin 'at my sister 'cause she wants to form a harem

I'm just sayin ', if you really loved me, you would share him

Ha!

- Yes, but still, it is not enough - she replied pouting but then smiled as if an idea had crossed her mind - we shared everything, why not that too? - She completed folding the letter and I just laughed. 

- That's the only thing we can't share in this life and you're too jealous to share someone - I replied laughing even more at the expression she made. 

- I'm going to sleep, just don't take too long to answer this letter, ok? Tomorrow we will all go out together, in case your little head has forgotten - she gave me one last hug before leaving, but I noticed that the light in her room was on for a while longer.

 Many other things happened afterwards, but my hand is hurting and my ink is running out, so I'll leave the rest for later, ok? I promise don't keep you waiting to know what's happens next. See you tomorrow, dear diary. 

Harry Potter Masterlist

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 27

Who's still reading this? Have fun!

CW : character death (This spoils a lot I'm sorry but I have to put it.)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Previous Chapter : What's behind door number two?

Staying in Shape

John Price

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It has been almost three days since the culmination of the New York Attack and most of his contacts regarding Nero and Shepherd's movements were quiet. He was getting anxious to step back into the fight, but without sufficient intel, or even better weapons, they couldn't do anything.

Price scanned the room, everyone else started to pair up with each other, a dynamic he expected to happen anytime soon. With all the challenges they've been through, finding love within each other was inevitable. And Price was fine by that. Heck, when he was younger, he had his fair share of romance during missions.

With the thought of Nero and Shepherd resurfacing any moment soon, Price devised a plan, to keep his crew in shape and always prepared to deploy as soon as sufficient intel is presented.

With the help of Jack, they created a training and endurance exercise schedule, where the soldiers, including Price himself, would follow to still continue to stay in shape and prepared for battle. They asked permission from Soap who was more than willing to help, an excited grin all over his face.

"I'll help you set up." he said, gaining a nod from the old man.

"France will train at the basement gym." He added and Soap nodded.

From that moment, the team started training, improving their physical abilities and endurance. Weapons training wasn't possible at the moment as they left it all in Brazil.

Jack overlooked the team from afar, Samantha and Maxine were at the gym helping out France's version of the training. They did the regular set of training from standard 141 protocol, using everyday materials in exchange for some of the equipment Soap didn't own. Price also instructed a specific dietary plan for the soldiers instead of just eating whatever they liked.

While on break, the two girls, Samantha and Maxine approached Price with an excited look in their eyes. Priced raised an eyebrow and asked what they were up to.

"Everyone's doing their best and We both wanted to offer our help." Samantha explained as Maxine inserted.

"We'd like to apply as the team's dietician and health consultant. My resumé is that I have vast knowledge in cooking along with their nutritional information." She grinned.

"And Samantha here has little background on tending to physical wounds and pain. You could see how fast Alex's face healed!" Maxine added. Price was more than happy to accept their offer, it goes to show that they were willing to give whatever it takes for the people and cause they cared about.

"Alright. Guess you're both hired." he chuckled as the two cheered and made their way to their respective 'partners', probably out to share the good news.

Wiping his sweaty forehead with a towel, he looked around the main room where everybody was. Jack was by the office, looking up something on the laptop or probably just playing solitaire. Soap and France were at the gazebo, he could barely see them by the angle he's at but he couldn't miss that flashy mohawk.

To his left, he saw Samantha sitting on Alex's lap as she carefully cleaned Alex's bruise, Roach sat on the other end of the sofa, chugging a bottle of Gatorade while Maxine stood behind him, he could barely hear it, but it looked like the newly hired dietician was already lecturing him about the benefits of said drink, saying the word 'electrolytes' somewhere in the sentence.

He felt proud that this team stood by him ever since he made that choice. He was very grateful that he had someone whom he shared common goals with.

"Price. It's for you." Jack called from the office, causing him to immediately get up and answer the call.

"Aye, this is Price. Got anything for me?" he muttered.

"John. Looks like your friend is on the move." Kate Laswell spoke on the other end of the line, her voice was authoritative as always.

"Which one?" he chuckled, it was about time he received some news.

"Shadow Company. Looks like they're brave using the same car again. Same plate and all." she informed, giving Price the last route they went before going cold once again. It led them to an empty warehouse just by the docks.

"Just what are these bastards up to…" he muttered.

"I have no idea. Think you'll do recon? It doesn't strike as a threat to warrant an official team, this leads really calling your name, John."

Laswell hinted. Despite him being out of the force and one of Fbi's most wanted, Kate insisted to use such perk for further trapping the suspicious Shepherd.

"I worked hard forming the 141 and he easily disbands it like it's nothing…" she added, her voice sounded very bitter.

"Now now, Kate. Take it easy. We'll get him. He's bound to fuck up anytime soon. Keep in touch, mkay?" he said as they both said their goodbyes and ended the call.

"A little recon mission won't hurt, right?" he nudged to Jack who grinned proudly at the solitaire victory screen, cards bounced all around the edges of the screen.

John Price found himself unable to sleep. It was either he's actually excited to do some missions or he's too worried about what they're about to discover, what would Shadow Company be up to and what is the quiet Nero planning behind the scenes? His thoughts raced to a dozen possibilities, all calling for drastic measures and sacrifices. He knew he had allies by his side, allies that are always ready to do whatever it takes to fix this mess.

He lazily dragged his feet to get a glass of water in the kitchen, despite being huge, the house was awfully quiet. Too quiet that he could hear every soft rustling from the halls.

He wasn't one to eavesdrop but he couldn't help but hear soft murmuring near MacTavish's bedroom.

"So.. um.. same time tomorrow?" said a low Scottish voice a chuckle followed. It was obviously Soap and Price thought only enemies were doing something behind the scenes.

"You wish.." a female voice giggled.

"But seriously… Thanks for tonight John." she added.

"No problem, Francine. So.. what's stopping you from staying overnight?" he chuckled. Price knew this was wrong but his glass of water was still half full.

"You know that I'd love to… but Maxine also needs me right now. Especially that she's slowly recovering bits and pieces of the past." she reasoned and Price knew it was time to head back to his room quietly.

Maxine Winters

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It felt real. She looked around and felt that this was more than just an ordinary dream. The vision was too dark with a small ray of light peeking from the slightly ajar door.

She knew where this was. She liked hiding here, her parent's closet.

She was waiting for Francine to find her, Francine always knew where she hid. But in this certain memory, she wasn't there.

She giggled quietly and hushed herself as soon as the door opened, France was going to find her. But instead, what she heard was her Dad saying words of assurance followed by heavy breathing. She was curious enough to peek through the small opening.

Her dad carried her Mom to the bed, his hands held hers tight, wiping the sweat off her forehead as her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath was labored and her eyes looked tired.

"Hang in there, love. The doctor's on the way." his father assured, making his wife comfortable as they wait for help to arrive.

"I don't think I can make it anymore…" She whispered.

"No no no. Don't do this to me Coraline, don't you want to see our angels grow up?" he sobbed, tears fell on her hands as he kissed it. Maxine remained still, she wanted to cry but she just sat inside the closet, peeking, frozen in a mix of fear and worry.

"I do , Love … but it looks like my body can't make it to that day… I'm sorry…"

"Don't! Please Coraline, stay strong, for me… for the kids…"

"I am… and I know that you know it." she exhaled, panting heavily after the last sentence. Her Dad hugged her until her breathing stabilized, while Coraline weakly raised her hand and hugged him back.

"Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you… Francis Maximus Winters." tears fell from her tired eyes. Her dad held her cheek and wiped it off, sobbing as she slowly closed them.

"I'm not sure if I could keep all of those promises… but I will try… I love you Coraline Winters, I always have and I always will, until the time we'll meet again." he muttered. Maxine witnessed it all, the way her father's face frowned when he realized he just lost his wife. It was one of her saddest memories.

~

Maxine gasped and opened her eyes, touching her face as soon as they opened. Tears. She was crying while asleep. She flicked the lamp and looked around her, France wasn't around. Just as she pulled the sheets so she could leave the bed, the door knob slowly turned and a soft creak was heard. It was Francine.

"France!" Maxine gasped and immediately ran to her side, hugging her tight as she began crying. France smelled different, almost masculine, but she didn't mind.

"Max! What happened? Are you okay?" France quickly hugged her, rubbing her back as she quietly bawled out her emotions.

"I saw… " She panted.

"I saw… Mom…"

"Mom died…" She exhaled as Francine escorted her downstairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to calm her heart.

"You were in the closet. We were supposed to be playing hide and seek." France muttered as Maxine turned to her.

"Francis… Maximus Winters." she recalled.

"That's dad's name. It's quite long, right? Mom actually liked him because of it." France enlightened, trying to make Max calm down.

"Yeah… is he ?" Max asked.

"Yeah… but he's kinda forgot about us now. Every time we visit he just looks for Coraline."

"Mom."

"Yes."

"He kept his promise." Max said.

"Huh?" France tilted her head.

"Mom's last words. Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you…" Max recalled from her dream and as more words were added, France's sobs were louder.

"He… he did them all…" France cried as they both hugged each other. And it was the moment that Maxine remembered what France looked like when they first met, her smile… It was the smile of someone who was finally reunited with her only family, and it was painful how the only ones she could cling to couldn't remember her.

"What's that smell?" Maxine asked as she killed the mood of the sisterly hug. France's face turned red, even in the dimly lit room, Max could tell that she was blushing.

"N-Nothing… I don't smell anything." She laughed nervously.

"I swear I passed by that scent somewhere…" she looked at her suspiciously and laughed, shrugging it off which actually made France relax her shoulders.

"Let's go back to sleep." Maxine invited her sister and they both got back to their room.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @enderio @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

[thiswasinevitableid]

if you're in the mood for requests i would honestly LOVE to read some stern/indrid outside of the ot4... au where stern is sent to find the mothman instead of bigfoot? or the fbi hires indrid as a consulting psychic on a case and stern is obsessed with finding out whether or not indrid is a Real psychic? or indrid approaches stern as someone with the societal authority to actually prevent a disaster? or whatever else you vibe with

Here you go!

Joseph picks his way over the rocks, camera clutched carefully under his rain jacket and water dripping off his “Bluff Creek” baseball hat. Voices bounce off the trees on all sides of him, and he rolls his eyes; how is he, at eighteen, the youngest cryptozoologist here but the only one who knows to keep his mouth shut so he doesn’t scare off the find of a lifetime.

Mothman is not, traditionally, a Midwestern cryptid, so he was skeptical when the forums he follows started having reports of sightings around Chicago, Milwaukee, and Madison. Two nights ago, user TinFoilCrown posted a photo that doesn’t sport the tells of a fake, and Joseph would stake his college fund on the winged figure in it being something other than a bird. 

It was when he arrived at the last known sighting point that his suspicions were further confirmed; in among the amatuer cryptozoologists were three or four people who looked like people dressed like they thought an amatuer cryptozoologist might dress. In other words, they looked like cops, or maybe even government agents. That means that the sightings are credible. 

He’s been out for well over an hour, it’s getting dark, and so far he’s scared up some deer, four dozen squirrels, and one perturbed owl. He scans the tree-tops, hoping for glowing eyes or giant wings. 

Which means he misses the edge of the embankment he’s walking along, and goes rolling down a slope to land in a muddy stream bed.

In the fading light, he sees tracks in the mud that are like nothing he’s ever seen; clawed, four toed, and huge. He follows them to a hollowed out section of roots, switching on his flashlight so as not to lose them, and then they stop. But just up the embankment are broken plants and chittering noises that sound almost like curses.

He hauls himself up into the leaf litter, and comes face to face with Mothman.

Mothman is not pleased with this turn of events. He hisses, poofing up his feathers and baring his teeth. 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I, I just want to take your picture.”

Another hiss, Mothman glaring at the camera.

“Or not. This is incredible, I can’t believe you’re real, you’re real, and you’re right here and you’re-” the flashlight beam falls on his right wing, where a patch of feathers is broken and bloody. 

“-you’re hurt.”

Voices in the trees, somewhere to his left. Instead of poofing up, Mothman shrinks in on himself. 

“Will...will something bad happen if you’re found?”

A frantic nod.

“And you can’t fly because of that wound?”

Mothman hesitates, then nods again. Joseph reaches into his small backpack, pulling out his first aid kit; they may not have let him into the Boy Scouts, but he still knows to be prepared. 

Carefully, he crawls across the ground to the wounded wing, watching the claws on the two sets of chitinous hands. He touches the wing and Mothman hisses, more softly, and chirps in pain. 

“I’m sorry, this might hurt.” He parts the dark, speckled wings, and rubs a disinfectant pad across the cut. The part of his brain that is freaking out over the fact he’s touching the Mothman gives way to the part that can focus on the task and on keeping the cryptid calm.

“There” he smooths down the bandage, “is that better?”

Mothman flexes his wing, winces, but then nods. The voices are getting closer, and Joseph turns, trying to see how close they are. There’s a whoosh of wind, and he whirls around to find the spot behind him empty. 

He sighs; the encounter of a lifetime, and he didn’t even get a feather or a photo. 

From above him, a lilting voice softly calls, “thank you.”

He blinks into the tree tops, hoping for a final glimpse, and murmurs, “holy shit. Mothman can talk?”

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

No one ever said FBI training was easy, but Joseph’s muscles protest every step as he climbs the stairs to his apartment. He’s only two months in, determined to become an agent for the department of Unexplained Phenomena, and that means vigorous bouts of physical training strewn between tactics for identifying serial killers. He knows for a fact there won’t be any discussion of cryptids or aliens until he’s in his department of choice. Even then, he’s not certain he won’t be seen as an oddball, either for his belief in the supernatural and unexplained or for the fact he’s more interested in studying them and learning how their societies interact with human ones, rather than seeing them as something with implications for defense or monetary gain. 

As he’s on the last flight of stairs, he realizes he’s out of muscle rub, and most of what he needs for dinner. He rounds the corner and, in front of his door, is a take out bag and a tin of tiger balm.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened; a bag of cold supplies the day before he gets sick, a note on his car warning him not to take a certain route home. There’s no pattern, and there have been years between incidents. He has a hunch as to who his mysterious helper might be, but he’s never been able to prove it. 

Two nights later, he gets his chance. A fall storm batters the town, the windows of his apartment rattling with wind. Then rattling changes, becomes underscored with tapping. Standing on his dark, rainy balcony is a tall figure with glowing eyes. 

He slides the door open, and the Mothman steps inside. 

“Hello again. May I trouble you for a towel?”

“That’s-”

“-An odd way to start this interaction. Yes, but you tend to prefer the futures where I don’t drip all over your floor.”

It makes as much sense as anything else about this moment, and so he grabs a towel from the bathroom and hands it to the cryptid. 

“Thank you.” Water drops flick from his antenna as he dries himself.

“You’re welcome. Um, you must be the same mothman I met in the woods years ago.”

“That’s right.” 

“And the one who’s been leaving me helpful advice or items?”

“Right again. It seemed fair to repay a large favor with several small ones.” He extends his wing to test its dryness. 

“I see. Um, what’s your name? Or is it even something I can pronounce? I mean, I assume your name isn’t ‘mothman’ because that’s a name humans came up with.”

The cryptid smiles, showing pointed teeth in addition to his mandibles, “My name in my native tongue is” he breaks into two atonal chirps followed by a trill, “but you may call me Indrid.”

“It’s nice to meet you again, Indrid. I’m Joseph.”

“I know.” Indrid pads down the hall, dropping the towel on top of the laundry basket. 

“Right. Um. Is there a reason you’re here? I’m, I’m not complaining, and this is incredible, but are you in danger? Am I?”

“Not exactly. I foresaw the storm knocking me into the capitol building, badly injuring me and exposing me to unwanted eyes. Taking shelter with you seemed the best option.”

It’s flattering, to know someone so remarkable trusts him, and he blushes before an issue occurs to him. 

“Indrid, you’re welcome to stay but do you know what I’m training for?”

A nod, “A job with the UP. A future I saw flashes of that night we met.”

“That did sort of...solidify what I wanted to do. Knowing that you, and therefore maybe other entities like you, are out there, that there could be connection between your world, or worlds, and ours. There’s so much I want to know.”

“And there is a limit to what I can tell you; some secrets are not mine to share. However” Indrid settles at the little kitchen table, taking a small, leather pouch from his upper right wrist and setting it down, “I’m willing to answer some.”

“Even knowing what I plan to do for a living?”

He could swear Indrid raises an eyebrow, “Do you intend to reveal my existence to your superiors?”

“No”

A cocked head, Indrid extending his wings in a casual gesture that also emphasizes how much larger and stronger than Joseph he is, “Are you lying?”

“No. I think I can learn more being your friend, and maybe do more good overall if we’re allies rather than if my superiors get a hold of you.”

“Very well. In that case, we can trade: a question about me for a question about you.”

“You mean about humans?”

“No” antenna twitch in the direction of the oven, where his left-overs are reheating, “about you, Joseph Stern. I’ve been on earth for some time, humans are familiar to me. I…” for the first time, Indrid sounds shy, “I’d like to learn about a new friend.” 

Joseph smiles back, “I can do that. So my first question is: what would you like to drink?”

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

Indrid’s appearances remain infrequent as the years pass, but he makes good use of what he learned with his last question the night of the storm 

“What’s your phone number?”

As the human progresses in his training, Indrid calls him with tips and warnings; he never reveals his fellow Sylphs, but there are plenty of strange happenings or disasters that Joseph may be able to stop without accidentally starting and interplanetary war. 

More than that, he calls him to catch up. Joseph tells him stories about his work, or about the book he’s reading or the restaurants he’s checking out, and Indrid tells him about his travels. The longer they keep in touch, the less Joseph’s questions center on learning about Indrid and other Sylphs and the more they center on how Indrid is doing, if he’s safe, if he’s staying out of trouble (and camera lenses). 

It’s nice, having someone who is so invested in his well-being. And it is nice to have a friend to look after. 

As often happens, Indrid is in an area where phone reception is poor. So he wanders down, quarters in his pocket, and finds the nearest payphone. 

“This is Stern” laughter in the background, and a glimpse of the futures show the man in a bar, smiling and a little wine flushed. His fellow newly minted agents flit about in the background, but Indrid only has eyes for his human. 

“Hello, Special Agent. And congratulations.”

The voice drops to a hush, “Indrid?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, Joseph, nothing about this call will get me carted off to Area 51.”

A groan, “Not you too. That’s not what Area 51 is for.”

Indrid chuckles; tipsy Joseph is always a bit grumpy about paranormal misconceptions, “I know. I merely wanted to congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you, Indrid.” 

“You’re welcome, my dear. Have a goodnight.”

“You too.”

It’s only when he hangs up that it occurs to him: he called Joseph ‘my friend,” right?

Right?

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

The motel in the middle of nowhere, Arizona, is stifling but at least he gets to have the evening in peace. Agent Rogers was pulled, as Hayes deems this mission a one-agent job. 

Which is why the knock at the door is confusing. Opening it explains nothing.

“Can I help you?” He eyes over the man in front of him, taking in his silver hair, his wide smile, and his large, red glasses. 

“Yes” the man lifts a white plastic bag, “you can have this birthday cake with me.”

Peering out into the parking lot, he sees a weathered Winnebago. There is one person he knows of who owns such a vehicle and also knows his birthday.

“Indrid?”

The man nods, stepping inside when Joseph waves him forward. 

“Happy birthday, my friend. I stopped off at the last diner to get us dinner. You have spent your last two birthdays alone because of your work; I was in the area, so it seemed silly not to remedy that.”

“Did you make a human disguise just to see me?”

“No. This is how I am able to go about the world without being detected. I keep the disguise in my glasses.” he taps the frames, “don’t look so glum, special agent. This disguise is not on your behalf, but this is.” He produces a green, spiral notebook. Joseph opens it, finds odd, angular characters, beneath which are music notes, followed by a word or sentence in English. 

“It’s Mothman to human dictionary!” He gives a little hop of joy, knowing Indrid will not begrudge him a full on geek out. 

“A highly abridged one. But this seems more effective than relying on me alone to teach you.”

Joseph snickers remembering the last time they met in person; they got drunk on spiked eggnog and Joseph insisted that he would get Indrid’s name right in his native tongue. He managed it, then demanded Indrid teach him more, the cryptid chirping hysterically at his attempts. At some point, they ended up slumped side by side, a wing around Joseph’s shoulders as he showed Indrid pictures of his sister and niece. 

“This is amazing, Indrid. Thank you. And, um, thank you for trusting me with your human face. I know that must be high risk, letting someone be able to connect this you with the other you.” He sits on the burnt-orange bedspread, Indrid plopping down beside him. 

A cold hand brushes his cheek, “I trust you, Joseph.”

He’s so close, like this, and in his human form Joseph is actually taller than him. He could hug him, protect him from a world that they both know isn’t the safest for him. They could go on dates with Indrid like this and no one would know the truth but them. 

Indrid’s hand is still on his cheek, but when his eyes glance towards it the other man notices, and lowers it. 

“Now” Indrid grins wide, clapping his hands together, “let’s have that cake.”

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

This is one of those moments where, if Mama ever finds out he did what he’s about to do, she will lock him into a room at the Lodge so he cannot do something so foolish again.

The government agents only just arrived back at their hotel, having picked up one of their ranks outside of Forks, WA. He was one of two, and the only survivor of a run-in with something not of this earth. Indrid happens to know it was a fellow Sylph, gone feral. Because he was vampiric in nature, the futures show all case reports concluding he was human gone mad and bloodthirsty. 

Joseph was luck; he’d been searching another section of the forest, and only arrived in the aftermath of the fight. But what horrible aftermath; Indrid sympathizes. 

The hotel is non-descript, and nobody pays any attention as he walks the polka dot carpet to room 402. Footsteps reach the other side of the door, and then it’s hurled open and he’s yanked into a darkened room. 

“Are you out of your mind!?” Joseph hisses, “there are five agents here, not counting me, all on high alert.”

“And I have looked like this” he indicates his disguised form, “for the last day, just to be safe. I wanted to comfort you, not add to your stress.”

His words register as Joseph cards his hands through his formerly slicked-back hair. 

“You...you’re worried about me? Indrid, I, I’m a special agent, I’ve seen intense things before. I’ll be fine.”

Indrid almost buys it. Impressive. No wonder Joseph is so successful in his work. 

“We’ve been friends for years. I can tell you’re agitated. Also, I looked at the timelines, and in the ones where I didn’t come you had nightmares and a panic attack all night.”

Joseph stops pacing, sits heavily down on the bed. 

“It was awful. All that blood. And, and both of them looked afraid, laying there dead. Like his attacker realized in their last moments what they’d done. I keep seeing it.”

“I’m sorry.” Indrid says softly and sadly, sitting beside him. He is; he is sorry for his friend, frightened by what he saw. He is sorry for the other agent, and for his fellow Sylph, yet two more beings he failed to save.

“I don’t want to think about it. I keep trying to read, or watch T.V, but it doesn’t work.”

Indrid checks the futures, then removes his glasses, the bed creaking at the surprise change in weight. 

“I have an idea. You have expressed, in prior meetings, a desire to more closely investigate this form.” He spreads his wings in welcome, “perhaps that will distract you.” 

Joseph hesitates, then carefully holds the bottom of one wing and cards his free hand along the feathers, studying them. For a time he says nothing, then, “does your coloration serve any purpose?”

“No more than human hair color does, at this pointOOOH careful, ah, I forgot to mention that inner patch is sensitive.”

“Sorry!” Joseph starts pulling away, and Indrid catches his hands, setting them on his chest.

“No harm done, little human.”

Joseph’s eyes widen at the nickname, then he schools his face and runs his fingers through the feathers of Indrid’s chest and up to the fluffier ruff. 

“I knew this was soft, but I never realized just how wonderful it is to touch. It’s like bird down and rabbit fur mixed together up here.” He scritches and Indrid chirps, then purrs. The human does it again. Indrid lightly wraps his arms around him and lays back against the pillows, Joseph staying on his chest and moving his attention to his arms.

“Is this as strong as chitin?”

“More or less” Indrid combs his hair with his claws.

He runs a finger up to Indrid’s elbow, “Can you feel much through it?”

Indrid shudders at the soft touch, “Some.”

Joseph nestles closer, petting his ruff, “Will you stay the night?”

“Absolutely.” 

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

Joseph reads over the text from last nights date, composes a polite brush off, and sets his phone in it’s charger. The guy was nice, but he’s been having a problem lately; every time he fantasies about being in bed with someone, he sees red eyes and longs for feathers under his fingers. When he makes out with a date on the couch, he’s thinking of cold hands and an otherworldly smile. 

He’s trying to keep those thoughts from his mind as he cleans the apartment; Indrid is coming over tonight, and he wants it to be fun but to not pressure his favorite cryptid with his silly crush. 

The trouble is, Indrid seems hell-bent on exacerbating is feelings. He compliments him, purrs at him, licks his fork clean with noises that count as porn in no fewer than five states. And then, as he’s trailing a hand over Joseph’s back while he does dishes, he murmurs, “goodness, you’re all knotted up. Come along, cleaning can wait.”

“Indrid, I’ve seen your trailer, I do not trust your cleanliness standards.”

“Defer to me just this once, little human, so I can massage that sore back.”

“Okay. But just this once. I saw what was living in that travel mug on your dashboard.” He laughs when Indrid elbows him, flicks on the bedroom light. 

“Please take your shirt off and lay on your stomach.”

He complies, and Indrid chirps a laugh.

“Oh lord, the tattoo, I forgot-”

“That you have my likeness on your shoulder? I must admit I’m flattered.” The cryptid teases, and Joseph gasps as four clawed hands set to work on his back. 

“You, you were integral to my life’s work, and I got this well before we became friends. I never thought it would be something you’d see.”

“It’s not a bad image, though the coloration isn’t quite right.”

“Indrid, I saw you in the dark for a total of three minutes.”

“Is that being a formative experience also the explanation for that round mothman pillow you have?”

“That was a birthday present!”

“Suuure it was.” The claws add pressure and Joseph whimpers. Lord, it feels like Indrid is everywhere, studiously mapping his skin with his hands. Then the cryptid freezes.

“And that toy under your dresser?”

“Oh, shit” he buries his face into the blanket, “I thought I put that away. Please forget you ever saw it.”

“It’s supposed to be mine, isn’t it.”

Joseph keeps quiet. Then he yelps as Indrid flips him onto his back. The mothman cocks his head. 

“Or is it supposed to be my tongue?” 

“Yes” He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he has a full-body blush from the admission. 

A cold, thin pressure drags from his navel up his stomach, and he opens his eyes as it hits his chest; Indrid’s tongue, long and vibrating with a purr. 

“Can your toy do that?” Indrid flicks his tongue playfully over his nose. 

“No. But, but you don’t have to, Indrid, really, I know it’s probably weird to know I feel that way about youOOooo!” He arches off the bed as Indrid pulls back his palps (not mandibles, he learned that years ago) to suck a bruise onto his neck.

“On the contrary” two hands thread into his hair, the other two play along his sides and chest as Indrid stares down at him, “it’s immensely flattering. I’ve had people attracted to my human form. But this one” he flexes his wings, smirks when Joseph’s eyes lock onto them “not so much.”

“I mean, I like moth you and human you.”

“Even better.” He helps Joseph sit up enough to kiss his cheek, hands resting in the feathers of his shoulders. 

“That came out weird. What I mean is I...I like you, Indrid.”

A tender purr, Indrid leaning in to nuzzle his face and neck, “What a nice thing to hear in real time, rather than just see coming. Because I like you too, Joseph. So very much.”

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

Joseph opens the dossier, listening as Hayes lays out his instructions for the mission. He tries not to focus on the phone call he got early this morning, Indrid alerting him to his safe arrival in West Virginia. 

“I have some business in Huntington, then on to Kepler after that.”

As he scans the case notes, the destination catches his eye, and he keeps his smile hidden under his professional veneer as Hayes finishes his briefing.

“Understood, sir. I’ll set off for Kepler first thing tomorrow.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hi ash! i know you said before that you're not autistic you just did a lot of research to depict chris realistically- do you have any advice for finding resources on writing disabled characters that isn't like... horribly abelist? im writing someone with an intellectual disability from head trauma and who is nonverbal, and i want to get it right but everything online seems very autism-speaks-y. im autistic and semiverbal but i dont have an id and i want to be realistic and respectful.

I cannot speak with any expertise or sense of speaking from enough experience to be taken as an expert here, and defer as always to those with lived experience with intellectual disability!

But I will give a few more general tips for what to do when looking to write a character with a neurological makeup that doesn’t match your own, as far as what has worked for me with Chris:

1. The story should never be ABOUT their lived experience if you do not also have it. Chris’s story is not about autism, or being autistic. I would never presume to try and write a story like that because, whatever my intentions, I don’t have that knowledge that comes from living it. I would at BEST be taking the experiences of others, their voices. At worst, I would be someone standing with a megaphone shouting over those who deserve to be heard.

Making the disability what the plot revolves around is... generally just not going to be a good idea, in any sense. It’s moments like this where I feel like it’s best to defer to the writers who have lived it, instead. 

This is not to say “never write someone different than yourself”, because... I don’t think that’s at all good advice. I think that way lies stunted writers who never push themselves. But it does mean “do not center the story on this thing if you have not experienced it and don’t have that knowledge and understanding”.

2. At the same time, don’t try to be coy or dance around or hide the disability behind purple prose or refuse to acknowledge its reality. Trying to make a disability sound cute, or talk around it instead of speaking it out loud, can be minimizing or shaming in ways that I think it’s easy to miss, if you don’t live with that disability yourself! To me, this touches on one of my hugest pet peeves - characters who are written as having a particular neurodivergence in media, or shown on tv, but they never expressly admit to it or name it. 

I know I hesitated with Chris, more because I didn’t feel comfortable giving him a diagnosis until I understood autism better myself, and I do regret how long it took me to embrace that reality about him. I just thought it better to err on the side of researching before I embraced. But I do feel some guilt about waiting so long when I had readers who were identifying so heavily with him, and I kind of knew, but just didn’t feel comfortable owning it yet.

3. On a related note - disabilities in a story that become melodramatic tragedy or turn the disabled character into a ‘redemption story’ for an abled character. This is so, so prevalent in common media and pop culture and once you recognize it for what it is, it’s so hard to not see it in so many places. Think of how many movies, novels, etc contain a disabled character who exists to teach abled people some virtuous lesson about living life to the fullest or ‘what it really means to be human’ blah blah blah blah blah. Don’t do that. Please. (I mean, I kind of feel like you definitely won’t, but I’m just speaking very generally here). If you find the story going in a direction in which abled people learn something from the disabled person, please think very carefully and critically as to why the story is heading in that direction.

Language alone can also be a problem here - think about the difference between openly describing a character moving around their life with a wheelchair vs. calling them “wheelchair-bound” or “reliant on a cane”, when the cane or wheelchair may actually represent freedom to that person - an aid they need, yes, but one that allows them to live with far more agency than they might have had otherwise. 

To describe them, especially from their own POV, as “wheelchair-bound”, may ring false to disabled people who understand that the wheelchair isn’t a cage, but a tool that allows that individual person to feel less caged by being able to more freely leave home.  

(This varies person to person, just providing an example)

4. Educate. Research. And don’t just do so by asking people with disabilities to tell you their stories. I often express gratitude to the autistic readers, those with ADHD, etc who spoke up about Chris, talked about their own experiences, identified with him, found him very resonating for aspects of their own lives. 

These stories, this information, this sharing of their lives was given freely to me, and I’m fucking amazed and grateful for how welcomed Chris was, and how willing readers were to share about themselves when talking about him.

Their willingness to speak about these things is something I treasure. But I absolutely would never believe that a single person owed me the story of their life to make sure I got Chris right. That was my responsibility, you know? I try to keep in mind the concept of ‘emotional labor’. Asking a disabled person to be your resource is asking them to give, and give, and give of themself. They may want to give you that kind of labor, they may not. But I definitely wouldn’t ask it of anyone without understanding it was something they were happy or felt comfortable giving.

Research, on the other hand, is essential. You mentioned things being “autism speaks-y” when trying to research on your own, and oh god, do I feel you. It sucks that autism speaks is the first thing to pop up when trying to research the lives of autistic people - and in my research, I was lucky to already know AS sucks and write them off and anyone who heavily referenced them as not helpful. I can see how someone might not know that, though, and stumble on them and believe they were a helpful resource for writing autism when they... well. Nope. 

Try to think about the express disability you are writing for this person, and why, and then go research! I looked up “books on autism recommended by autistic people”, and found some invaluable books, yes, but also papers published online, websites, etc! Each of them vetted and looked over and recommended by autistic people, so I knew I was getting information that came from people with those experiences and that understanding. A good example - I picked up a book on the history of diagnosis and treatment of autism in the United States, mentioned it here, and @redwingedwhump recommended a book called Neurotribes... which turned out to be immensely more helpful, spot-on, and provided some really excellent foundational information I wouldn’t have found in the first book at all.

There’s a lot of information out there on Traumatic Brain Injuries and their lasting effects on individuals who receive them, so I would start there. What you’re describing sounds like a TBI with lasting effects! So I would start your research there, and also look up being nonverbal separately, as well as combining the two. Make sure you’re not just looking at the top links - often paid ads or problematic organizations that are able to pay more for better exposure - but also scanning for blogs, nonprofits, lived-experiences stories, too.

I found a lot of information on the second or even third page of results i would never have seen if I only stuck to the first. Remember the algorithm on search engines is usually showing you what other people are clicking on, not necessarily the best source.

5. This is one you the asker already know, but I want to include it for general reasons: do not ‘dumb down’ the thought processes of a nonverbal or semi-verbal person. I see this in fiction surprisingly often, and I think it’s this sense we have as abled people (’we’ just meaning I’m including myself) that being verbal is required to have a highly complex thought process, and it’s... it’s just fucking not. Speech and though are related but not completely wound around each other, and the ability to verbalize is not the same as the ability to think. 

Like I said, I know you know this, asker, but it’s something I see in fiction/media and it drives me up the wall. So I wanted to include it.

6. For the love of God, do not use medical terminology unless you actually know what you’re doing/talking about. Many disabled people or those with serious medical conditions become what amounts to experts on their own diagnoses, because they have to. They have to be experts to receive the care they should be able to rely on. If you constantly fuck up terminology - trust me - it will be noticed, and it will take people out of the story or hurt their ability to suspend disbelief while reading.

There are ways to do medical scenes/conversations with doctors that avoid falling into this problem! I would just be very very careful to heavily research before using any complex terminology.

7. This disabled person does not exist to evoke pity. They are a human - nuanced and multi-layered - living their life, and their story should always, always reflect that. I don’t really have anything else to add to that.

I would love to hear further advice from anyone with anything else to add.

[katsukiboom]

is it okay to request a scenario of bakugou really hurting his fem!s/o's feelings one day? you can decide what to do or where to take it ^^ i'm just in for the angst! you can also decide the ending! suspense is the best 😂 you're an amazing writer btw!

Part 2 || Part 3

Thank you so much my dude! I went with the old angsty ways to make this a cheating story, so if you’re not up for cheating!bakugou you have been warned! I hope you like it

It had been a long enough day for both Katsuki and you, the last day before the holidays at both your new workplaces tiring you from every side possible until you had barely any energy for dinner. Your shared apartment was closest to your agency while Katsuki’s was an hour away, meaning he always came home right after you had your shower before going to bed. You waited until he finished dinner and talked about your days, what had happened and the things you did, and then after he showered too you went to bed together, the other’s company being the best way to end the exhausting week that had both of you going crazy.

It was 2 a.m. when you heard it at first.

A faint buzzing noise that you tried to drown out by burying your face even more against your fast asleep boyfriend’s side but that ultimately woke you up, much to your exasperation. You looked around with a half-asleep, half-angry expression, separating your body from Katsuki’s warmth, and then you sat up, locating the source of the noise being his phone. You believed it to be work and were more than eager to tell whoever was calling everything that was running through your mind at that moment, from cursing to saying that it wasn’t a good time to call.

Groggily standing up and walking to his side of the bed, you picked up his phone while letting out a yawn that saw itself being interrupted as you looked at the little screen in front of you, the face of a girl unknown to you smiling at you in the contact photo. The number wasn’t one you knew and it definitely wasn’t one that he had saved, so even if your heart told you to leave it, to go back to sleep and that everything would be okay, you went to the other side of the door and took a deep breath before picking up, not trying to jump to any conclusions, but the voice on the other side would quickly prove you right.

“Katsuki-kun~,” a girlish voice called from the other side, making your blood freeze inside - you felt a knot in your stomach starting to form, but then she kept on talking, not even caring to hear anything from your side. “I know you told me to wait until late but how long will it be until I get to see you again? I want to repeat what we did the other day at the hotel, I miss you so much.”

The hotel? You tried to think for a quick second and then remembered that just the past week he had told you he would come home really late due to a meeting for dinner with the boss of an important international agency, asking you to not wait for him as he didn’t know when it would end. You felt every bit of rage you had in you coming together, a dark monster that now occupied your whole mind as you suppressed the need to cry. “W-who is this?” you asked, finally finding your voice to speak; you saw Katsuki moving to the side under the sheets just a bit, and then you thought of something to do. “I’m pretty sure you have the wrong number.” Your voice was loud enough to get him to groan, and as he opened his eyes and sat up you heard the woman kept on talking.

“Oh, you’re (y/n), right? I’m Rika.” There was not even the slightest hint of embarrassment in her tone, which in turn enraged you even more as you saw Katsuki sitting up, his eyes scanning the room until he found you, standing by the door with a phone in your ear - his gaze quickly went to his nightstand and then back to you once he understood what was really going on, his expression going from sleepy to angry in a matter of seconds. You wished he could feel the heartbreak you did, the betrayal and disappointment that now weighed your entire world down, but you had to show him just how strong you were willing to be; you pressed the loudspeaker on the phone, which only made his eyes grow wider as he listened. “Katsuki-kun told me a bit about you, he told me about how his girlfriend was just being bitchy all the time, not appreciating him for who he really was, so I’m doing what you can’t do, sweetie - you should be happy I’m keeping your man content for you.”

Despite your every attempt, your eyes filled with tears with every word the girl named Rika said, and your stare was fixed on your boyfriend’s as you tried your best to decipher just what the hell was going through his head. “So, from what I understand, you’re kind of like his mistress, is that what you’re telling me? Do you know just how many does he have?”

“I don’t care about if he has others, and I don’t care about you.” Her words were filled with ill intent; maybe she was aware that Katsuki was listening, you couldn’t be sure, but when she added something again, that was the last straw for you. “Now go be a good girl and tell your man I’ll be meeting him tomorrow if you have already gotten the hell out of his life by then, I miss having him between my legs.”

And you didn’t even mind to reply and you didn’t mind about Katsuki’s yell as you smashed his phone on the floor, shards of the plastic flying around as you saw the screen turning off completely, never to be used again. Turning around, you heard him getting out of bed but before he could reach you you opened the door and started walking towards the living room, your cheeks red with anger and a few tears escaping from your eyes and falling onto your shirt.

“Come back here!” you heard him yell, and you were sure the neighbours would give you shit about the noises the next day, but you didn’t care. Turning around, you saw him approaching you, his smoking fists balled up to his sides and the angriest, just nastiest expression on his face - you were brave though, and with only a stare he felt himself go stiff, his body unable to move in the worst position he had been stuck in. “Don’t you dare use your Quirk on me, you shitty girl!”

The nickname he had before used lovingly in his own way now held so much disgust it was incredible, and you wished your ability could also making him shut up. “What are you going to do, Bakugou?” He scoffed when he heard your tone, and you could see that there was a glint of something in his eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. You couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him though, both your body and your mind getting even more tired with each passing second. “Are you going to take someone else to bed again? Are you going to be a fucking liar again? Telling me that you love me and making me wait for you every day while you’re out there, putting your dick into everyone who allows it; what kind of life is that for me? If they’re better than me just say so, and I’ll gladly go.”

“They are so much better than you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

That was the last thing you had to hear to completely break down, and as you felt your heart ripping in two you walked up to him and quickly raised your fist and brought it down after a moment of hesitation, your knuckles meeting his cheek and nose as you punched his face with all the strength you had left in you. “Don’t try to fucking find me - I’ll take the car, you can do whatever the fuck you want next. Good luck getting out of this one though, because I won’t revert it.”

You thought you saw his expression falter for a moment as you said that but you couldn’t care, you just couldn’t - the one person you had put your whole trust and heart in was gone, replaced by just the shell of a broken man who just seeked carnal loving instead of something deeper. You understood now, and the realization that you were probably nothing more than just a pawn in a bigger scheme made you shudder as you exited the apartment, the cold of the night embracing you better than you knew he could have.

[mileycfan4eva33]

Fandom: SVU

Title: Covenant From The Heart

Chapter 1: Violent Moment

P O V: Amanda Rollins

(A/N: Noah, Jessie, Billie do not exist in this fic. I own nothing except my ideas and original characters. All others belong to Wolf Entertainment and NBC.)

Saturday, June 2020

Christopher Street, New York, NY

"I hope you don't mind

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

how wonderful life is while you're in this world."

The radio plays as I sit inside the back of the Covenant House Van across from my Captain Olivia Benson, along with two trained Crisis Counselors from Covenant House, New York. Andrea O'Sullivan and Robert "Bobby J" Rodriquez. "Thanks for coming again with me, Amanda."

My smile is tight as I look back at Olivia there is a sadness in her eyes as we turn towards each other. "You're welcome, Liv, did Kat give any reason as to why she couldn't make it tonight?" "her mom has to work a double, and they couldn't find a babysitter last minute on a Saturday."

"Yeah, I hear that could be hard." Olivia sips her coffee, trying to keep warm. "I never mind helping Captain. Covenant House is such an amazing place Olivia, I'm always happy to volunteer for whatever they need."

"Thank you, detective Rollins we try. It isn't easy when we have 20,494 youth who are homeless." Andy's statement sends tremors down my spine. I try to hide the fact that I am shivering, as a cop, I knew those statistics. The number of homeless children in the United States is at its highest in more than a decade.

I can even break down the statistics that roughly 800,000 children are reported missing each year in the United States that's 2,000 kids who go missing every day in the USA. There are 115 child stranger abduction cases, LGBTQ youth represent as much as 40% of the homeless youth population. Between 1.6-2.8 million youth runaway each year in the United States. Children can begin running as young as ages 10-14. The youngest are the most at-risk for the dangers of street life.

Too many people take the attitude of Children who runaway make their own decisions to go. Let them be, they've made their personal choice and must deal with the consequences. If they want to come home, they will. That is so wrong because once these kids hit the streets, they have hours of reaching an inner-city before they become targets for these pimps. Once the pimps get their hands on these kids, they no longer have a choice. They are property of those pimps, and these monsters would take a bullet before they lose their 'product.' It is estimated that many young people, especially girls, begin engaging in survival sex within 48 hours of leaving home. Sex for food and a place to stay can quickly escalate into formalized prostitution.

I've seen what happens to those kids after becoming branded; they learn quickly to harden themselves and trust no one. The treacherous environment in which they must learn to survive is heartbreaking. They do not always outwardly present as sympathetic victims. They also frequently suffer from short–term and long–term psychological effects such as depression, self-hatred, and feelings of hopelessness. These child victims also need specialized services that are not widely available given they often have illnesses, drug addictions, physical and sexual trauma, lack of viable family and community ties, and total dependence—physical and psychological—on their abusers.

"Amanda, do you want some coffee?" "no, thanks, Liv, I'm good." "Sure you are; that's why I can see those goosebumps on your arms, Rollins." Olivia's left-hand grazes across my left arm, which she has now caused to go stiff in fear. Olivia's touch, smile Liv has no idea how she effects me.

Every hair is standing at attention, my heart racing, face flushed. My brain stutters to find words to respond to Olivia. It should be simple to say those words to tell Olivia how I feel; this is 2020, not 1990. I shouldn't be afraid of rejection to tell someone I have a deep crush on that I have a crush. I've told more than a half of a dozen women in my past that I liked them. I am not ashamed to identify as a lesbian.

Which brings me to question why I haven't confided in anyone I have worked with over the past nine years. Swallow Amanda, just swallow and relax. Olivia has no idea how you feel; she isn't asking you to spill how you feel. She's asking you for a drink stop freaking out you'll look like a fool.

"No, I'm good save the coffee for the kids, they need it more than I do. I'm okay."

"Detective Rollins we have more than enough." that's a lie I know before it even escapes Andy's lips she's just being nice to us since it's rare for cops to volunteer to do ride a long's, the department does not sanction them. 1PP truthfully goes out of their way to discourage us from doing them because they are so dangerous because these pimps could recognize one of us and blow our covers in the future. Sometimes I think they fear we will become too sympathetic with a homeless kid because God forbid NYPD cops be human and understand what life on the streets is actually like; we might let these kids go when indeed we are forced to pick them up for simply trying to stay alive.

Saturday nights are one of the busiest nights in New York City, especially for the homeless population in our impact zones. Turning down Bleeker Street, which is alive with nightclubs blaring music. Flashing neon signs obnoxiously calling out $2 dance bars—other signs signaling their bars, clubs, stores. Panhandlers line every corner, many with bloodshot eyes, sniffling noses, and scanning the crowd from our blackened windows. I can see swindlers working in pairs trying to rob the tourists who unsuspectingly stroll among them the glittering, neon buildings. Many are walking with cell phones out, looking for directions.

Olivia and I both exchange a look knowing half of them will be robbed. There's so much we both want to say but don't. Drug deals go down in plain sight to the untrained eye. It would be easily missed, in between the blaring lights and smells of Colombian bakeries, beauty salons, Mexican restaurants, and bars like the Gentlemen's Club advertising beautiful female dancers. People along this stretch of road hand out business cards emblazoned with half-naked women or fruits and flowers all that advertise "Free Delivery" and typically list the hours of operation between 10:30 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. It's a cover, of course, the cards are marketing tools of brothels that have set up shop inside private homes and apartments.

As the hour is growing later, the tourists are fading away; the clubs are starting to shut down, and the other Christopher Street, the one never mentioned in magazines, or featured on the nightly news and morning talk shows comes alive. This is our Christopher Street teens strutted past in the dark, often stopping to air kiss, catcall, or sometimes brawl.

Young LGBTQ youth in platform thigh-high boots, buttocks-revealing denim shorts, red-pleather boleros with matching caps and tops of the backless, sleeveless, or even frontless variety, those on the nightly parade here do anything but hide. They compete for best outfit, /best moves in nightly dance battles that rage beside the Hudson River to the sound of a boombox on the pier at the end of the street.

The teens are beautiful, but the night-life here is ugly, violent, and scary; the teens themselves often fight turning violent. Customers drunk throw glasses, bottles, or try to take the girls, ripping hair out, beating them. Not every person working is trying to cause problems; of course, there are many just trying to get by to pay rent that now topples over $3,000. I can barely afford my apartment in Brooklyn with my salary.

Cops are lining every street, but we are not here as cops Olivia and I are riding with the covenant house team to help them reach the kids whoa re too afraid to find Covenant House or don't know that help exists. We are reaching to find kids who need food, warmth, and shelter. We provide sandwiches, beverages, ears to the kids if they are ready to tell their stories.

In the van we provide education about sex, pregnancies, STD prevention, we give them condoms. We let them cry, scream, ask questions, or sit in silence; we let the kids choose what they need when they need it. Many have never been given a choice of anything in their lives. We gain the kids' trust and, when ready, we will get them to our crisis shelters, where they're given love and support to permanently stay off the streets. Some stay only a few days and decide they aren't ready to give up the life they know. They have to be willing to be drug-free and make other commitments to stay at Covenant House. Some, however, remain with Covenant House and complete the whole program.

Frequently it takes multiple interactions before the kids will trust those of us on the outreach team enough to accept our offers of help they've simply been burned by adults too many times in their lives.

"So Captain Benson, my boss tells me you've been coming on these rides along's since you joined SVU in 1999. Any specific reasons?"

Andy's question perks my interests in the nine years I have known Olivia; I have never known the answer to this question myself. For the first six years, when I went on these outreach trips, I never knew she went along. I only found out three years ago when we were paired together by accident on a night when they had more volunteers than vans. I never asked myself for fear of having to answer the same question back; it's a part of my past. I have kept hidden for many years. I have no intention of starting to share that story now.

"I was on the job about two months with Special Vics when we came across the case of a fourteen-year-old girl who we had to arrest for selling drugs to her classmates, sometimes in exchange for sexual favors. The whole Squad called her Spoiled Sally because she came from the upper west side, went to a private school. She had all the advantages of a rich kid, yet she chose to squander her life by selling drugs."

"You thought there was more to her story though, Olivia, didn't you?"

"You know me well, Amanda." Olivia has no idea how well I know her how I have spent my whole adult life, and most of my teens years studying her career trying to be half the cop she is. Olivia has no idea that I listen to every conversation hoping to gather a new detail I didn't know already. I know her favorite, color, movie, TV show, her worst fears, her dreams. I know which ice cream flavor she likes best, her favorite spot for ice cream, who her favorite baseball team is, and which sport she hates the most. I know Olivia uses vanilla body lotion but hates vanilla ice cream.

My body shivers despite being June. The temperature is dropping fast the later it gets. "I did think there was more, so I started investigating further. Interviewing her friends, teachers, classmates. Came to learn Sally transferred schools six times over the last year, she had moved from city to city since she was six years old."

Olivia bites her lower lip as she laughs slightly "Amanda you'll love this part, my boss told me to drop it, or he would transfer me, I couldn't drop it, I defied his orders and kept digging. I matched her picture into enhanced facial recognizing came to discover our Spoiled little Sally was Marcella Marginals, a kidnapped girl from Mexico who vanished at age six when her family was on vacation over there. They let go of her hands for two minutes, and she was snatched. Marcella was smuggled into different cities by different men. Who caged her up like an animal beat her raped her, sold her from family to family."

"This last family was an elderly couple who never had kids of their own; the man who sold her to them kept weekly checks on her forced her to sell drugs for him. Raped her weekly to keep her in-line raped the wife weekly to keep the parents quite. When we went to collect Marcella, the bastard was there raping the wife, the husband an 82-year-old man who could barely move was tied to the chair. A battle broke out between the police and the pimp, Marcella was shot in the battle, by my gun. I was devastated. I felt as if it was my fault if I had left it alone, as my boss told me. Marcella would be alive no matter how hard her life was, at least she drew breath. Because of me, that sweet girl was dead."

"All my co-workers kept telling me it wasn't my fault; it was just part of the job. I had to accept it as God's plan. I couldn't though, I mean, how did God see that to be fair? How could any God justify a fourteen-year-old girl being raped, beaten suffering every day as okay?"

"So I headed to my favorite bar to get there I had to pass the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, I wasn't raised in any dominant religion growing up, but I felt drawn to it. I felt like I needed to talk to God, to let him know how angry I was at him."

"At first, all I could do was sit there, staring at the candles, the altar, tears running down my face. I have no idea how long I sat there for; till I felt the gentle touch of Sister Mary Rose McGeady, she sat by me and listened to me. Then she said something to me that has stayed with me my whole life; she replied ours is not to ask God why; ours is simply to close our eyes and listen to our hearts, and believe God always has a reason why. It's hard at times, but I made a promise to God to listen; he has to lead me to my calling to help kids on the street, his kids."

"As you know at the time, Sister McGeady was the president of Covenant House from 1990-2003. She took me to the house and showed me the center; I spoke to counselors, volunteers, and the kids themselves. I fell in love with the mission, with the kids the staff. I knew I had to try to make a difference."

"I started doing the outreach van around 12 years ago, at first, it was just because it was always so short-staffed, not many people volunteer to do something so dangerous. Then it became another passion for me."

I reach over and take Olivia's hand "you know Marcella's death wasn't your fault, Liv. No more than Easter's was mine."

"I know Amanda, up here, I know that." She points to her head, "But in here." Olivia's hand moves to her heart. "that takes reminding I am sorry I couldn't comfort you after telling you about Easter, I should have held you talked to you instead of getting up and walking away. The memories of that day hit me so hard; I think I am moving on, and then I am hit with a wave of guilt so intense it takes my breath away."

"Liv, it's okay. I needed my Captain than you did what I needed. You gave me time to cry, scream you stayed in the room, so I knew you were there, but you gave me privacy. No one can take someone else to pain away. But having you in that room brought me comfort."

Olivia smiles at me as Bobby J speaks "You two should come Tuesday for our annual Sleep-out for Covenant House, we have a line-up of stars who are performing and over 1,000 people who have signed up to raise money for our kids by sleeping out."

"Yeah, sounds good, Amanda?" "I'm in for sure."

"So Miss southern sweet tea, what is your story? I know you got one." My body tenses at his suggestion I feel all eyes on me my heart races as my stomach twists. How am I suppose to get out of this one? "Don't be bashful to spill your game." Bobby J nudges me as I fight to keep my nausea from spilling out onto the van's floor. If Olivia knew the truth, she would never look at me the same ever again.

"Help me!" Loud, intense screams ricochet off the buildings in the side-street where we are parked; a young girl comes racing out of the cover of darkness shadow. So fast her legs stumble, but she doesn't allow herself to fall; she can't she's running for her life. Those skinny legs barely hold her body up, yet she hurls herself forward, never glancing back. I can hear her heavy breathing as she approaches "not here." she points to two streets over. Eyes glance at us. I see the pain and fear "My man he's watching he'll see me get in, I'm dead then, he'll know where to find me."

She's gone in a flash, hurling her skinny body down the side streets in a race for her life, dodging into different avenues. The van squeals to life as our driver Michelle steps on the gas, the girl's arms pump flying as she dodges cars, people she isn't quitting or playing. It's pitch black out here now except the glow of a few broken street lights.

Michelle flips off our headlights as we reach the street the girl wanted us to, we sit in silence the radio shut off now. Our heartbeats are the only sounds slowly. I get out my legs a little shaky from being crouched in a van for hours. Olivia follows me closely behind as seconds tick into minutes both of us praying her man as she called him didn't find her, which we know damn well means her pimp. Rustling has us both turning around I spot her first she comes running full speed towards us, fooling her pimp she had run around the block twice; New York blocks ain't no joke either, they are long.

This girl is in eight-inch heels her feet must hurt so bad I feel tears well up I can barely walk in those types of heels nerve mind run. The girl is only twenty- yards away from us. I can see the depth of fear in her cyan blue eyes. An ocean deep of pain she is so close to safety just within feet of being saved Olivia and I are both tense ready to grab her up. The squeals of tires alert us to a sense of danger; I don't think twice I take off "Rollins!" Olivia yells as I pump my legs harder than they have ever been pumped before. Hoping that this girl can see it in my eyes that she can trust me, she can reach better days if she reaches out, allows me to take her hands. Gets in this van with me, I can help her find the sunshine behind these rainy days. Sometimes one person can make a difference. I close my eyes every day I pray I can be that person.

My hands reach the girl at the very last second my lungs are screaming in pain, I can barely breathe my muscles are straining with every-step. "Grab my hands, don't let go no matter what I got you." My arms wrap around the girl's frail body as my feet make a sudden turn burning my heels. I pull her body racing to the van as doors fly open. "Rollins, get down!" Olivia screams as a hail of bullets rain down on us I push the girl into the van slam the door and bang on it. Michelle takes off my legs give out as I crash to the ground Olivia is returning fire. I can't breathe or think my legs are twitching in pain I can feel my blood filling my mouth as I start to cough.

I can't seem to focus on anything. Every breath is harder to inhale and exhale. "Amanda, it's Olivia we've got to move, they took off, but they'll be back we just cost them a major investment. Can you move at all?"

Olivia's arms lift me pain stabs me at every angle it's mild though so after a few breaths I can put pressure on my legs she doesn't let go of my arm though pulling me along with her as we race to meet the van a few blocks over. Sweat pours down my body as my stomach cramps I feel flushed. I'm losing blood I can feel how weak I am, but I have no idea where or how serious it is. "Amanda that was stupid as hell, we are off-duty you know the department does not cover any injury you get, any action you take as a citizen which means you face the same charges they face. No union rep to cover for you."

"Yeah, I know Liv, and it also means I don't have to play by the rules."

"Amanda, it doesn't mean you get to risk your life."

"It's mine to risk Olivia, and if you ain't willing to risk your life, why are you out here?"

"Uh! Why are all the bad-asses so damn stubborn!"

"That's what makes us hot."

"Yeah, I know that's why the bad-asses like you are always the one who looks the most fuckable."

My ears ring did Olivia Benson just say she wanted to what with me? I stop moving physically, yet my Vertigo didn't get the message. I can't speak all I can do is stare at Olivia, watch her long legs so muscular her statuesque frame so lean and beautiful, long dark hair loosely held back with a decorative clip. Her appearance takes my breath away. She smiles as she slowly moves us towards the van.

All I can do is picture her lying on top of me on her bed as she places her mouth over my clit. A direct hit, her gorgeous lips closing around it and lapping at it with her tongue. Her hands hold my hips as I try to buck against her face; she is a master at getting me off like this. I can feel an orgasm building in my walls, I can feel the heat rising as I writhe under her face, and just as she is about to push me over the edge, she inserts a single slender finger inside as she does I feel the first wave of fire rising and spreading through me. I come hard onto her hand as she rapidly pumps two fingers in and out while she sucks on my clit.

"Amanda, move!" My head peaks up from the daydream of Olivia, and I making love seconds too late as the car comes speeding towards us headlights as bright as the Georgia summer sun. Michelle rushes towards us, Andy and Bobby J throw open the doors. "Get in!" Olivia's hands push my body into the van's. I feel Andy and Bobby grab me pulling my limp body up as Olivia screams at Michelle. to"Go."

Wait, where is Olivia going? Why didn't she get in with me? Gunfire fills the air as I try to stand but am thrown back against the wall hard as Michelle takes off, tires squealing. "Calvin!" I hear Olivia's scream as my head slams into the floor, sending me crashing into a world of blackness. All I can do is pray; God keep Olivia safe.

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