#Going from being mostly indifferent about the added cast to being all 'wait what'

[fadedrainbowbookshelves]

Are you really best friends if you can't heckle them about their crush?

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt: Something causes Lan Qiren to just SNAP, go absolutely fucking feral, and run off to become a rogue cultivator.

Beautifully Spent

- Chapter 1 -

aka Five Times Lan Qiren Left The Lan Sect Behind

“It is your duty, Qiren.”

“Is it?” Lan Qiren asked coldly. “I believe you’re thinking of my brother. You might remember him – the sect leader?”

He’d never spoken that coldly to anyone, least of all an honored elder, one of his own teachers, but he had no choice.

Ever since he was young, Lan Qiren wanted to become a traveling musician - to wander the world freely, without the burdens that would fall on his older brother, the prospective sect leader. Even as he got older, he'd never quite let go of that ambition, refining it until it had become not only a dream but a plan.

He would see that plan come to fruition, no matter what it took.

His teacher looked at him helplessly. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked. “You know your brother has chosen seclusion –”

“I know that in the eyes of the sect I have never been a quarter the man he is,” Lan Qiren said quietly. “I know that in each instance that we have argued, you have all taken his side. I know that I was asked, time and time again, to yield – because he is the elder, because he is the heir, because he is the more talented of us two. I have always yielded, because I am a filial son, a good brother, and I love my sect. I have always yielded.”

His teacher cast his eyes down to the ground.

An acknowledgement of guilt.

“I will not yield this time,” Lan Qiren said simply. “This is the rest of my life, honored teacher. This is my entire life. For once, let himbe the one to yield – to do his duty to his sect, as he was always meant to.”

“But –”

“I have always been here for him.” Lan Qiren did not allow him to interrupt. “I have been his scapegoat when things have not gone his way, I have been his pawn in political games, I have even been his punching bag when he needed to vent his irrational anger. Everything he has had the freedom to do, he has done because he has had me here. If I were not here, would he be able to go into seclusion?”

His teacher was silent.

“He would not,” Lan Qiren concluded. “To go into seclusion when you are the only option to lead the sect is to be an unfilial descendant of our ancestors. And so, if I am not here, he would be obligated to live up to his duties.”

“His heart has just been broken. Do you have no empathy for him?”

“As much as I do for the woman who was forced by circumstances to agree to marry him, and no more.”

“Qiren…”

“Think of it as me being dead, honored teacher,” Lan Qiren said, and ignored his teacher’s flinch at such inauspicious words. “Do you need me to remove my forehead ribbon before I go?”

“Qiren! Of course not!”

“Ask my brother,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “He will have the final word, as usual, and he does not like not getting his way.”

He left that day, his head held high.

He did his best not to think of his brother, who had, in his own way, wanted freedom, too.

Lan Qiren travelled, after that. It was just as he’d always planned it: quiet nights along forest paths, visits to small towns in out-of-the-way corners of the world – inquiring and then solving any issues they had that required a cultivator, and playing for them when no such issues remained. He had anticipated hardship, knowing himself to be a rich young master who’d never really faced the world; he hadn’t anticipated kindness: a few married women in one town taking the time to show him how to do laundry, giggling at him all the while, a group of young woodcutters in the next the best way to forage and cook food when one was hungry, a merchant and his wife teaching him how to bargain to avoid getting cheated…in time, through the generosity and enthusiasm of others, he learned all the skills he needed.

He refused payment for night-hunts – amazingly, his sect did not cut him off as he’d almost expected them to, and he was still able to collect his usual allowance – but accepted it for his music, and from his place behind his guqin he watched, quiet and content, as life swirled around him in all its myriad forms.

In between music and night-hunts, he idly taught some skills to the children in the towns he passed through – the vast majority were common people, completely lacking in cultivation skills, but his sect’s rules and the philosophy behind them were applicable in far more situations than that, and basic martial skills in even more. Whenever he stayed somewhere for more than a few days, he added in lessons in basic literacy, mostly because the idea of not having books at hand was abhorrent to him; the parents involved were generally more grateful that he was keeping their children out of trouble than especially interested in what he was teaching them, but it’d never hurt anyone to know a little bit of reading.

When he happened upon a place already governed by another sect, he did not take particular care either to avoid or to approach them; if they happened to meet, and to invite him to stay with them, he would. Lao Nie tracked him down six times for that very purpose, citing increasingly less plausible excuses, before Lan Qiren finally agreed to make the Unclean Realm a regular stop on his travels just to make him stop; in contrast, Cangse Sanren just showed up at the camp he had made for himself one day, her husband as always by her side, and simply refused to leave for the next three months.

He did not visit the Cloud Recesses.

Not when he heard about how his brother had, however reluctantly, come out from seclusion and begun to do the work of sect leader, and do it well, the Lan sect prospering under his leadership as they had always expected to. Not when he got news that his nephew was born; not when he heard that one nephew had become two. Not even when he heard that his brother’s wife had died, though the thought of that miserable woman’s self-inflicted fate had moved him enough to write a letter of condolence to his brother – their first contact in seven years.

Lan Qiren did not expect anything to come of that impulse, though perhaps he should have known better: it wasn’t more than a week later that he received a letter in return, the heavy formal parchment used by the Lan sect as familiar to him as the back of his hand, his brother’s equally formal calligraphy very nearly as familiar.

The words on it weren’t familiar at all.

I have made a terrible mistake, his brother wrote. I need your help.

Lan Qiren was perhaps not especially filial to his sect, having abandoned it as readily as he did – but despite everything, he did love his brother.

He went home.

“Lan Huan, courtesy name Xichen,” his brother said, nodding at the small child, pudgy and fat and adorable, quivering like a pudding even as he tried to force a smile onto his face, clutching onto a baby only a few months old, the little one strangely solemn despite the inexpert manhandling. “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji.”

Lan Qiren was not as shy as he used to be, and he had gotten better at dealing with children. He knelt down until he was level with them, though he did not force himself to adopt any expression that did not come naturally. “Hello,” he said. “I’m your uncle.”

“Hello, uncle,” Lan Xichen said.

Lan Qiren held out a hand and waited, even as his brother took his leave, busier than ever. It took a little while, but Lan Xichen eventually put his own hand in his, and walked with him; after a little while, he even entrusted him with little Lan Wangji, fussing until Lan Qiren had tucked him into the corner of his arm in a manner he found appropriate.

By the time his brother found them again, Lan Xichen was chattering on and on about his xiao lessons, while Lan Qiren nodded along and added his own observations – he was decently skilled at the xiao himself; while it was not his preferred instrument, there were times when it was easier to carry than a guqin, and he had had time, when he was younger, to indulge himself in learning more than one instrument.

When Lan Xichen saw his father, he fell silent at once. He did not hide behind Lan Qiren’s robes, though Lan Qiren half-thought he wanted to – his little hand trembled in Lan Qiren’s palm.

“Would you like to take your brother back?” Lan Qiren asked him. Lan Wangji was a good baby, crying only a few times, each time responding well and easily to the usual things a child his age wanted – milk, a burp, attention. Moreover, Lan Xichen was good with him, thoughtful and careful; Lan Qiren had no concerns entrusting the baby to him, and Lan Xichen brightened a little when he realized that, nodding happily and taking Lan Wangji, pausing only a moment to glance worriedly at his father before scurrying off.

Lan Qiren looked at his brother.

“He’s afraid of me,” his brother said. “You can tell, can’t you?”

A blind man could tell. Lan Qiren said nothing.

“Wangji cries whenever I hold him, too, even though he almost never cries the rest of the time. He’s not even a year old, and he already knows.”

“Knows?”

His brother looked out into the horizon. His hands were behind his back, clasped in a formal pose. “That I’ll ruin them, too.”

Lan Qiren put his own hands behind his back as well. After a few moments, he said, “You care for them both. That’s not nothing.”

Their own father hadn’t managed even that. He had treated Lan Qiren with utter indifference, while treasuring his eldest beyond the point of reason, encouraging him to always think only of himself; the seeds of their estrangement were planted long before either of them knew it, each of them learning different lessons from their father’s mismanagement – Lan Qiren how to be inferior and doubt himself, his brother to be self-absorbed and careless with the feelings of others; Lan Qiren to bend himself to the point of breaking, his brother to refuse to bend at all.

It had served neither of them well.

“I don’t know what love is, except possession,” his brother said. “Xichen torments himself to try to live up to my expectations, and all I’ve managed to teach him, other than fear, is how to say yes to everything just to make people go away. I find myself falling into the habit of thinking of him as an extension of myself, which is still more than I can do with Wangji, who doesn’t even cry like a regular child should…” He paused. “You didn’t cry much as a child either.”

Lan Qiren glanced at his brother, surprised. He hadn’t known his brother had paid enough attention to him back then to even notice.

His brother smiled thinly. “Our family is known for its quiet children, did you know? I hadn’t, but they told me after Wangji was born. Apparently, there’s a few in every generation: a little slow, a little strange, with minds that don’t work quite the same way as the rest of us. The ones that don’t like to look you in the eye – sometimes they learn to speak, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re brilliant. As babies, they’re generally a little too quiet. There were three in our father’s generation, but in ours there was only you. And now, there’s Wangji…”

He shook his head.

“I wronged you before, Qiren. I don’t want to do it again – I don’t want to know what sort of father I’d be to a child like you. I’m not willing to risk waiting to find out, either.”

When Lan Qiren left the Cloud Recesses, he took with him a qiankun pouch weighed down with more money than he’d ever had in his life, two children, one smiling happily as the other burbled quietly, and his brother’s trust.

He had no idea what to do with any of it.

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 1)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

Chapter 1: too wise to trust

A/N: y/n is bisexual but not paired with a women. the characters have been aged up. the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like it as much is i do. if you want to be tagged them pls tell me. also comments are appreciated as they motivate me to write more and i love to know how you guys feel about the story.  

warning: cursing, mention of miscarriage, mention of sex, mention of cat calling, angst. fluff? 

word count: 1.4k

important: character thoughts are bold and italic, flashback is in italic

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 2

She picked up her makeup bag from her vanity and started walking towards her empty suitcase which was wide open on her bed. “What time is your flight?” Haz asked while walking into their bedroom. “I think it’s at 6:30 in the evening but the car will be here to pick me up at 4”, she replied whilst folding her clothes.

“So we have at least an hour to us”; he pulled her by the waist and started kissing her neck. She tried pushing his chest away but failed miserably. “Haz, I’m not in the mood, please stop”

“Fine. But you have been saying that for months now”, he was frustrated.

She ignored his words like always. 

He was right. They hadn’t had sex for at least five months now and it was starting to gain on Harrison. Their marriage, which had been ‘couple goals’ according to the internet, was now slowly falling apart. It was clear that Y/N was falling out of love but she couldn’t find grounds for it. She couldn’t reason it by making him the villain because he was a good man who, in theory, had done nothing wrong. Though, to her, it felt like he had. Maybe he didn’t love her enough or maybe all had gone astray when they had lost their baby last year.

“Will Tom be there?” his words felt like venom, entering her bloodstream.

She placed her hand on her forehead, trying to indicate that she did not want to have this conversation or the inevitable fight, again.

“Of course he will be there, he is my co-star. You should get off the internet, it’s feeding you poison”, she said in an almost nonchalant way. Trying her best not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his name. His name, which did not mean anything to her. Tom was her colleague whom the internet liked to ship her with, but he was just a friend. Haz found it hard to believe this because the internet told him so. Their relationship was so far gone that he had no other way of knowing what was going on in her life. 

His wife was so far gone. She was as distant as the sun is from the moon. The distance left coldness between them. The kind of cold that you feel when you pass a stranger. She was a stranger to him and the only reason he could think of was that she and Tom were having an affair. This was not true, but the ache in his soul found comfort in painting Tom as the villain. 

“I don’t believe you”, Haz spat out.

She threw her heels inside the suitcase in anger. “What do you not believe? That Tom is my co-star? Is that what you don’t believe?” her voice was louder than before.

“I don’t trust him.” Haz matched her voice.

“Do you trust me?”

Trust? Her? How can I trust a stranger?

It was his turn to ignore her.

She zipped her bag, put on her shoes, and left the room. “Fuck you”, she cried before slamming their apartment door and leaving for London.

--

Y/N had first met Tom at a cast and crew dinner in New York, six months ago. Greta, the director, had invited both her and Haz but he had decided to opt-out of the ‘fancy’ dinner. Y/N was excited to meet her new co-stars and mark the starting of a new project, a new phase in her life.

It was cold in New York, she figured she shouldn’t wear a dress. She put on black stockings underneath blue bell-bottoms to keep her warm. She wore a dark grey American Eagles t-shirt and over that, a tan leather trench coat. She liked commuting via subway because she believed ‘nobody gives two shits about who is sitting next to them on the train’; and a town car was much slower, especially when it had been snowing. She stuffed her heels in her purse and wore her commuting shoes.

Tribeca to West Village was a good ten minutes train. Her travel was mostly uninterrupted except for the catcalls which felt like the usual to a native. Just before ringing Greta’s doorbell, she got out of her Converse and wore her heels.

Y/N entered a packed house. Almost everyone was there and she was late. But someone was to arrive even later than her. She examined the room, everyone was mingling with each other. She didn’t know anybody there except Noah Baumbach from the time she auditioned for ‘marriage story’. She didn’t get the part but still loved the movie. She realized Tom was missing.  

Greta pulled her into a conversation about when the production of the movie would start or something like that. She wasn’t really paying attention. She was so eager to meet Tom that her eyes couldn’t stop roaming around the room, trying to find him, and just when she thought he wouldn’t show up, he did. 

Everybody’s head turned towards him when he entered the living room. It was as if every person in the room wanted him, including her. His dark brown hair, falling into place like a domino, had snowflakes in them.

“Excuse me”, Greta gave a small smile to Y/N and walked over to Tom. She greeted him and politely touched his back. “Now that everyone is here we should take the party to the dining hall”, she said in a loud and cheerful tone.

Following Greta, everyone started moving towards the dining hall. Tom sat right across Y/N on the grand dining table. “Hi, I’m Tom”, he introduced himself in his thick British accent. “And he’s English”, Y/N said, adding to her list of things she found captivating about Tom.  

“And?” Tom gave her a confused look.

Shit. I said it out loud.

“I-I mean hi, I’m Y/N”, she tried to cover up her mistake.

His dark brown eyes on her, made her thoughts run wild. It was wrong enough to feel right. The dinner was served and small groups of conversations were taking place. Somehow the whole table took on the topic of bisexuality. Y/N felt obligated to take part in the conversation, being part of the community herself. 

“I think bisexuality is a gateway to being gay”, Tom said to the whole table.

“You’re being bi-phobic, Tom”, Y/N called him out. All eyes were on her now.

“And how do you know that?” Tom asked Y/N.

“Because I am bisexual, and any decent human being would know that”

“Are you calling me indecent?”

“No, I’m calling you bi-phobic”

“But aren’t you married to a guy?”

“That doesn’t change my sexual orientation, and you’re being bi-phobic. Again.” There was silence, everyone was listening carefully. 

“Okay, so please explain to me how I’m being bi-phobic?”

“Just the fact that you believe bisexuality is a gateway to being gay and me being married to a guy, means my bisexual card has been revoked, portray your biphobia”

“I am a little confused”, Tom said while reaching for his wine glass. 

“Someone who is bisexual is attracted to both men as well as women. It isn’t a gateway to being gay, it is a legit sexuality of its own”, 

“Hmm, I suppose I stand corrected. I’m sorry if I offended you or anyone. I will go home, do the research and try to be more open-minded”, said Tom, smiling.

“Good”, Y/N said, feeling accomplished and impressed by Tom’s ability to accept his mistake.

Haz would have never accepted that he was wrong.

Y/N felt wonderstruck. Blushing all the way home. She hoped Tom knew how enchanting it was for her to meet him. She wondered if someone was waiting for him at home, like someone was waiting for her. She wasn’t quite sure whether Haz was waiting for her to reach home or not.

She reached home to an empty bed. Not knowing what to make of it, she got ready to sleep. 2 AM and Haz was still not home. She didn’t try to reach him because she knew all phone calls would go straight to voice message and all messages would go unreplied. She closed her eyes, feeling indifferent towards Haz. Even in her sleep, her mind echoed Tom’s name. She was unaware of the treacherous road ahead of her. And that gave her comfort. His thought gave her comfort.

[chunhua-s]

WITH OUR FATES TANGLED TOGETHER  ➽ ATSUMU MIYA X READER

requested by: @tsumue​

➪ hi davi! so, as you know i fell deeply in love with your soulmate fics (a while ago and so did some of my friends!!) your writing is really beautiful and i couldn't stop myself from intruding your inbox🥺 if it's not too stupid or uninspiring could i mayhaps ask for a soulmate scenario angst to fluff (only if you feel up for it!) with atsumu? thank you!🤍

genre: angst to fluff

soulmate au: soulmates are bound together by a red string

warnings: angst — my ability to write this genre isn’t necessarily the best :v but i tried my best with it, and i did enjoy the experience! hopefully with time i’ll be able to write more and get better at it! 

you meet your soulmate at age sixteen.

the fear that grips at your heart is mind numbing. it sinks cold fingers into your neck and bruises it with a cruel hand that cuts off all air from your lungs, and leaves you empty so that the only other thing you can feel is hot, hot anger.

the anger isn’t yours — the red chord that’s gotten all tangled up between your fingers tells you as much. instead, it belongs to him.

the him who stands before you with hard brown eyes and lips pressed into a thin line. the him who you’d always wanted to meet ever since that red chord tangled itself between your fingers at the age of seven. the him whose name you’d dreamed of without ever knowing it, had fantasized about how it would feel to let it roll from your tongue. he’s here — you’ve finally met your soulmate, but why does the red chord that connects you two together feel so heavy all of a sudden?

miya atsumu sighs, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-matted blond hair: your eyes follow the motion. it was easier to watch that red string and think about the way it wrapped around his fingers than to meet brown eyes that burned under a muted fury. “look, i—“ the voice that you always imagined would cause your heart to take flight on butterfly wings reaches your ears on a cold, flat tone that locks your body down to a barren winter land. “i know this isn’t what you expected for when you meet your soulmate.” by the time you finally pull your eyes to look at his face, they’re burning with tears and blur the image of him until he’s a blend of colours you can’t tell apart. his lips move behind a sheet of haze, like a spell cast over your vision that should protect you from breaking.

“but i don’t think i can be together with someone else right now.”

that spell can do nothing for your heart that rips apart underneath the blunt end of his blade.

when he looks at you, there’s something behind the light of anger and hatred — hatred for you, why does he hate you, you don’t understand... did you do something wrong? what you see behind flames of brown sugar and autumn leaves is a chasm: wide and glaring and so consumingly empty. it spits on the bedtime stories of warmth and unimaginable joy and fulfillment that a soulmate should bring — it chews on those fairytales and coughs them out on a plate of cold indifference, hate, contempt. and it hurts.

“o-oh,” you choke. there’s no way you can meet his eyes like this; your voice is cracking under the weight of your pain and your tears threaten to paint your skin with the colour of blood red agony. “i... I understand.” you don’t. this isn’t what your friends told you would happen. nothing prepared you for your own soulmate to reject you. “that’s fine, i—” breathing becomes hard, your very lungs reject the air that you so desperately drag between your trembling lips. when you look up at him, what hope that you feel is quickly smothered when you catch his eyes. he looks at you as if the sight of you here, on the verge of tears, disgusts him. “i can wait for you... i don’t mind.”

he scoffs: the sound of it is like the grating of metal against your ears. “sure, whatever.” and that’s how he leaves you. broken hearted and crying for the ache that cripples your body as the red chord tightens around your fingers.

now, the picture of him standing before you is so jarringly different that it causes your world to spin so violently that you feel as if your legs might collapse in on themselves. your reality turns itself on its side so that your cup spills out from between your hands and leaves your heart vulnerable to the cold water that floods through your body.

atsumu miya’s eyes are searching as he stands beneath the winter night’s sky, the brown colour in them filled up with a warmth that you know for a fact wasn’t there on that day you met him. there’s pain on his expression, regret so tangible that it tastes sour on your tongue, and when he says your name on trembling lips, you feel the last of your will crumble into dust.

“y/n...” he’s pleading. his eyes are wet with the same tears that had touched your cheeks throughout the two years he’d left you waiting. they tell the story of unmistakable suffering and agony — the familiarity of it tears your heart into pieces and leaves you gasping for air. “please.”

and oh, by the gods above, you want so desperately to welcome him into your arms, want nothing more than to hold him so that you can feel whole for the first time since meeting him. but the pain that still echoes inside your chest is loud and demanding, rumbling through your ribs like a thunderstorm that pushes words you don’t want to say out from between your lips. when they fall, they reach atsumu’s skin like the little snowflakes that fall from the winter sky. they melt into his tears and dig their way into his heart until he’s left breathless because he knows just how he hurt you.

“you made me wait for so long, atsumu.”

he can’t begin to tell you how much he regrets it.

“i’m sorry...” his apology falls from him like a whimper. it dances on his tongue so that he can taste the salt of his own tears. he discovers that it’s awfully bitter. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

the emptiness, the helpless acceptance in your voice echoes inside his mind. “i was so close to giving up, you know? i thought you’d be happier if you weren’t tied down to me...”

he knows. god, he knows. every minute of pain and hurt had trickled down to him through the red string that connects the both of you, and the knowledge that you suffered so much because of him, it tears him apart as he stands before you.

“no, please— i can’t live without you...”

he really can’t. he tried to forget about you. he threw himself out into a reckless life and ate the hearts of others who sought for his affection, hoping that they could somehow erase the wretched piece of cloth that tied him down. he submerged himself underwater hoping to breathe, and found himself drowning without you.

“you hurt me.”

“and i was selfish, i know...” he reaches out for you on a single, hesitant step that crumbles the snow beneath his shoes. when you don’t step away, he takes another, pushes himself forward until you’re standing directly in front of him, tear-stained eyes tilting upwards to stare into his. they’re burning, you notice: the fire that consumes the brown in them this time, though, is different. it’s changed.

he reaches for your hand, holds it between the both of his and cups it close to his chest, and his eyes never leave yours. they reveal to you the secrets that his lips won’t tell to you, they bare every ounce of yearning that his spirit screams out silently, and it’s as if every cell in his body is desperate to feel you against him when you can feel the heat of him through your gloves. “but let me make it up to you...” his whisper falls underneath the soft winds, it caresses your skin just as gently and, as you’re looking up at him, your soulmate, you can’t help the tears that sting behind your eyes. you realize that, just like back then, his image is blurred by the curtains of water, but now he glows like the sun itself. everything about him manages to warm your heart on a cold winter night, and god knows you’ll never forgive the pain that he’s caused you — all those years filled with doubt and insecurity and despair — but you think to yourself as you lift one of his hands to hold against your cheek that, at the very least, you want to take a chance with him.

his eyes shine like the stars when you show him a watery smile. “yes...” you whisper back to him. he thinks the sound of it is sweet, and he imagines that your voice may be what it means to dance among sunflowers.

“i want to take a chance with you, atsumu.”

haikyuu!! soulmate au taglist: @nishiya-is-baby

general taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @tsumue @bootylikepeachy

send an ask to be added!

so this is admittedly one of my shorter works and i did struggle a little with transitioning from angst to fluff :( i originally had two ideas, this one which is mostly angst, and another that’s mostly fluff, but in the end i decided to go with this one since i know runa likes angst a lot :0 bb i hope it was okay!

for atsumu’s character in this i wanted to push across that he didn’t want to be tied down with a soulmate when he had his volleyball aspirations to follow through with. although i don’t recall it being specifically stated in canon, i get the feeling that his dedication towards volleyball is nearly on the same level as kageyama’s and oikawa’s, where they wouldn’t be able to give themselves into a relationship when they had their dreams to seek after. so at the point in time when he meets the reader, he’d already decided to disregard any attachment for his soulmate, and so his attitude towards them is a result of that decision he made. however, time spent intentionally trying to separate yourself from your soulmate causes suffering and i wanted to show in the end that it was that pain and longing that finally drove him back to the reader. i feel like if i’d shown from atsumu’s perspective, i could have portrayed that pain and suffering that he’d have gone through without her, but i really wanted to show that through the reader instead. did it work well?

this is part of a series, so please send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be apart of a taglist! i’m currently taking request for haikyuu characters and soulmate au’s, so please come and leave your requests for those as well! thank you for reading!  ♡ 

previous: hajime iwaizumi | next stop: requests are open!

[beybladefanfictions]

Ryuga’s Return - Chapter 6

(Description: AU where Ryuga survives Metal Fury but loses L-Drago. He reunites with Kenta and struggles to figure out what he’s supposed to do without Beyblade, his purpose in life for so long. Character’s thoughts are in asteriks.)

Kenta’s POV (Yes, again. I have a good reason I promise)

“Ryuga!”

Kenta dashed toward his friend, jumping up and throwing his arms around him. Ryuga barely caught him with a small yelp of surprise. He briefly returned the hug.

“Mind warning me next time you do that?” Ryuga grunted, letting Kenta down on the ground.

“Sorry, but you really had us worried!” Kenta noticed Madoka near them. “Did you seriously stay at the shop all night?!” he asked, gesturing to her.

Ryuga rolled his eyes. “I fell asleep.”

“What were you doing before that?”

Ryuga fell silent. Kenta turned to Madoka instead.

“He just played with Beyblade parts mostly,” she answered with a shrug.

“Really? Ryuga…”

Kenta stared up at his friend. He thought it was weird that Ryuga had wanted to stay in a place full of reminders of Beyblade, when he constantly avoided the topic of L-Drago’s disappearance, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad.

Ryuga cleared his throat. “Your parents wanted us back at your house,” he informed, walking away.

“Oh, okay…” Kenta turned to Madoka. “Bye Madoka!” he called, waving and chasing after Ryuga.

“Bye Kenta!” Madoka called back.

Kenta slowed to a walk once he was at Ryuga’s side.

“You really miss Beyblade that much?”

“Hm?” Ryuga glanced down at him.

“Playing with Beyblade parts?” Kenta raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Ryuga, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then what are you trying to do?!” Kenta exclaimed, clenching his fists. “Wallow in misery over losing L-Drago?!”

Ryuga stopped walking, remaining silent for a few heartbeats. “You’re the last person I expected to be mad at me.”

Kenta froze. *What does he mean by THAT?*

“I-I’m not…” Kenta looked away. “I’m sorry.”

They were both quiet the rest of the walk home. Kenta pushed the door open. His parents were in the kitchen, and perked up at the sight of them.

“Ryuga!” they gasped in unison.

Ryuga stepped back. Kenta tilted his head to the side. Usually, Ryuga would react to Kenta’s parents with indifference or annoyance but this time his eyes were wide and he seemed frozen in place. *Is he… afraid?* With a chill, Kenta realized that this was the first time he had seen Ryuga show fear, and it was toward Kenta’s own parents. After a few moments, Ryuga stepped forward. He grabbed his white jacket off the couch and made his way toward the basement.

“Wait, Ryuga!" Kenta called, chasing after him.

Ryuga stopped and looked down at him. “Let me be alone,” he grunted.

“I…” Kenta stepped back, his heart skipping a beat. Then his shock turned to anger. “Fine. Go ahead,” he grunted, turning away.

Ryuga hesitated only for a moment before retreating into the basement. Kenta grunted as he sat at the table with his parents.

“He just got back and he's already pushing us all away,” Kenta sighed, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

“Oh, he just needs some time alone, kiddo,” his dad replied, with a shrug. “Some people are like that. Social activity is draining for them so they need time alone every now and then.”

“But it seems like he wants to be alone all the time, even though he's living here.”

It had been a week and Ryuga didn’t seem to be feeling any better. He still avoided Kenta’s parents, in fact, he avoided any and all social interaction with anyone besides Kenta, and he still seemed so indifferent day in and day out. *He’s lost his passion.*

“He just needs space,” Kenta’s mom insisted, “He seemed really upset when he called me.”

Kenta looked up at her in surprise. “He called you?”

“He thought we were mad at him for not coming home.”

“Why would he think that?!” Kenta gasped, nearly dropping his spoon. 

“I don't know,” his mother sighed. “It was good of him to check in of course, but it was… worrying.” She turned to Kenta’s dad, who dipped his head.

“I know it’s none of our business but it makes me wonder if something happened to the kid,” he spoke in a low voice, as if he didn’t want Kenta to hear.

Kenta’s mother nodded. “Oh, I think that’s for certain.”

Kenta didn’t want to tell his parents that they were right: something had indeed happened to Ryuga… at Battle Bladers. However, he didn’t see how that event would make Ryuga wary of Kenta’s parents. There was no connection. *Is this a side effect of him missing Beyblade or is this a separate problem altogether?*

Regardless, Kenta knew one thing was true: the happiest he had ever seen Ryuga was when he was Beyblading. *There has to be some way he can Beyblade again.* Then he got an idea. Ryuga didn’t want to replace L-Drago likely because he believed no Beyblade could match its power, and he was somewhat correct. However, if he could design the bey himself… It seemed like a stretch but maybe Ryuga would be willing to try. The WBBA on the other hand…

*I have to at least try. Ryuga gave up his power for me, this is the least I can do for him in return.*

Once Kenta finished his breakfast, he went on his phone. He looked at his contacts. Gingka had spent the day yesterday with his dad but he was probably free now.

-Kenta: Gingka, can you meet me at bey park?-

-Gingka: For a bey battle?-

-Kenta: No, Sagittario’s still damaged. I just need to talk to you about something.-

-Gingka: Uhhhhhhhh okay.-

Kenta stood up and glanced at his parents.

“I’m going to see Gingka. Can you tell Ryuga I’m leaving?” *Since he hates being alone with you so much,* Kenta added silently to himself.

His dad nodded. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

“Have fun with your friend!" His mom called as he walked out the front door.

Kenta made his way toward Bey park, checking his phone every now and then to see if he had any messages from Gingka. He stopped in front of the building and looked around. Gingka was nowhere in sight. Kenta looked at his phone again, letting out a sigh.

"Hi Kenta!" Kenta perked up at the sound of Gingka's voice.

"Hey, Gingka!" Kenta greeted, putting his phone away. "How was your day with your dad?"

“Pretty good," Gingka answered, stopping in front of him. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

“I, uh…" *Okay, right to the point.* "I want to ask your dad something,” Kenta admitted, shifting in place a bit.

“Huh, what did you want to ask him?” Gingka asked, tilting his head to the side.

“It’s something WBBA related."

“You gonna tell me?”

Kenta gulped. “Don’t freak out, please."

“I won’t," Gingka replied, sounding genuine.

“I want…" Kenta paused to take a deep breath. "I want to ask the WBBA to make Ryuga a new Beyblade.”

Gingka stared at him. “Uh… they might-”

“I know they might not want to do it!" Kenta cut him off, his voice quivering as he went on, "But I have to at least try and ask! Ryuga’s been feeling so depressed and left out without Beyblade!”

“He told you that?” Gingka asked, his eyes wide.

“He didn’t have to. Ryuga’s like a brother to me, Gingka. I can tell when he’s upset and I can’t bear not doing anything about it.”

Kenta briefly wondered if Ryuga would be annoyed at him for saying they were like brothers. However, it was true in more ways than the obvious one. Kenta never knew what it was like to have siblings, so he looked up to both Gingka and Ryuga as older brothers.

“Kenta…” Gingka smiled a bit. “That’s really sweet… you can try asking my dad if you think it’ll help. I think he’s available right now.”

“Thanks, Gingka!” Kenta threw his arms around Gingka. His friend immediately hugged back, resting one hand on Kenta's head.

“Alright let's go," Kenta replied, stepping out of the hug and walking forward.

Gingka however stood still. “Uh, but the bus is that way…" he informed, pointing in the opposite direction.

Kenta shrugged. "We can walk there."

"Walk?!" Gingka gasped, his eyes wide. “But it's like... Two kilometres away!”

"Two kilometres?" Kenta bit back a chuckle. “Do you know how many kilometres Ryuga and I walked a day when we were travelling together?”

“Uh…”

Kenta shrugged. “I don't, but it was a lot of kilometres.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Gingka chuckled, gesturing for Kenta to follow him.

The two chatted with each other the whole way to the WBBA headquarters. When they neared the director’s office, they fell silent. Kenta froze. *How am I going to ask them this? ‘Hey remember, Ryuga? The guy who stole the forbidden bey and hurt tons of people with it? Can you make a new bey for him?’ Now that Kenta was thinking about it, he realized just how crazy that might sound. Gingka pushed the office door open. Kenta shook himself from his thoughts, following Gingka inside.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted with a wave.

“Hello Gingka, Kenta,” his dad replied with a dip of his head.

Kenta froze. Gingka’s dad and Hikaru were sitting at the desk, looking over some important-looking documents. Hikaru… Kenta hadn’t counted on her being here.

“What brings the two of you here?” Hikaru asked, tilting her head to the side.

Gingka turned to Kenta.

“I, uh, well… I kinda…” Kenta cleared his throat. “I had something I wanted to ask the director.”

Kenta cast a sympathetic glance at Hikaru, remembering with a chill how Ryuga had attacked her during Battle Bladers. *I can’t just bring this up out of nowhere, especially not with her here.*

“Well, what is it?” Gingka’s dad prompted.

“It… it’s about Ryuga.”

Hikaru winced, letting out a small shriek.

Gingka’s dad stiffened. “What has he done?” he asked, his voice suddenly dark.

“Nothing!” Kenta exclaimed, stiffening with anger.

“Hikaru…” The director glanced at his assistant, whose eyes were wide and unfocused, as if her mind wasn’t fully present. Gingka glanced at her.

“Hey, Hikaru.” He stepped toward her casually. “Why don’t we leave these two to talk about things and get some ice cream or something?” he suggested, pulling the office door open.

“Yes, you can take a break, Hikaru,” Gingka’s dad added with a nod.

“I…” Hikaru dipped her head. “Thank you, director.”

Hikaru stood up and followed Gingka out of the room. They closed the door behind them, leaving Kenta and Gingka’s dad alone in the office.

“Is there a good reason you brought up that b-” Gingka’s dad cut himself off. “That Blader here?”

“He’s not a blader anymore, and I’m sorry. I…” *I didn’t know how else to bring it up.* “I had a request… for Ryuga.”

“For Ryuga?” Gingka’s dad asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why isn’t he here himself then?”

Kenta’s eyes narrowed. *Like you would want him here,* he thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Kenta explained, looking away. “I… I want to get him a new Beyblade. M-make him one, I mean. I-”

“A new Beyblade?” Gingka’s dad cut him off, sounding outraged. “For Ryuga?!”

“I know, I know it sounds crazy but Ryuga is my friend and he’s changed a lot since Battle Bladers. He’s been so depressed without Beyblade… I just want to help him.”

Gingka’s dad let out a sigh. “I understand wanting to help your friend but I cannot comply with this request.”

“Why not?” Kenta had admittedly expected this answer but he wasn’t going to give up this easily.

“It’s too dangerous, Kenta,” Gingka’s dad struggled to keep his voice down. “That kid shouldn’t have been allowed to hold a Beyblade again after Battle Bladers!” The man bristled with rage. He looked like he was seconds away from slamming his hands on the table but had stopped himself.

“Battle Bladers…” Kenta shivered. “With all due respect, director, that tournament was years ago now and Ryuga helped us defeat Nemesis last week, nearly at the cost of his life." Kenta forced his voice to remain steady as he shivered at that memory, "He has changed. Letting him Beyblade again won’t lead to a Neo Battle Bladers.”

Gingka’s dad looked unconvinced.

“Please,” Kenta sighed, his head hanging low. “At least give him a chance…”

“On some conditions…”

Kenta looked up at the director, letting out a squeak of happiness.

“He can’t enter any tournaments, not for a few months at least and I need to know that more than one person will be keeping him and his new bey in check.”

“Um… Well, there’s my parents…”

“That will work. I want one of you three present whenever he uses it.”

“Cool, cool.” Kenta nodded vigorously. He leaned over the desk, pleading with his eyes. “So when can we design the bey?”

Gingka’s dad let out a sigh. “Madoka can make a blueprint for the bey. Kenta, bring Ryuga here tomorrow at one pm. I want to speak to him first."

“Okay, I’ll let Ryuga know.” Kenta dipped his head. “Thank you, director!” he called, dashing out of the office.

*Well, that went well,* Kenta thought with a smile. He made his way out of the building. Then he froze. Hikaru and Gingka were standing just outside.

“Oh… hey guys,” Kenta greeted, forcing a smile and waving.

Hikaru glanced down at him. “Kenta…”

“Yeah?” Kenta froze.

He and Hikaru weren’t exactly friends; they just knew each other through Gingka and hadn’t talked much since Kenta had challenged her over and over again years ago now.

“Is it true?” Hikaru asked, raising an eyebrow. Her tone was almost accusatory.

“Is what true?”

“That Ryuga is living with you and your parents now?”

Kenta stiffened. “Y-yeah. He is. Did Gingka tell you?” he asked, casting a glance at his friend.

“Yeah…” Gingka rested his hand on the back of his neck. He turned to Hikaru. “Hikaru I-”

“Gingka,” Hikaru cut him off, her tone blunt. “I get that Ryuga’s different now and frankly, I don’t care. It doesn’t change what he did.”

“I… I know.” Gingka looked down at his feet.

“Yeah…” Kenta bit his lip. “We’re not asking you to forgive him.” *Even if he might not have been in full control of himself during Battle Bladers, what he did was still really messed up.* Kenta shivered at the memory.

“I… I should get going,” Hikaru replied, turning away. “I have a meeting with my therapist.”

Before either of them could reply, Hikaru dashed off. Kenta and Gingka turned to each other.

“Are we just not going to tell her that you asked the WBBA to make Ryuga a new bey?” Gingka asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I…” Kenta looked away. “I know telling the truth is the right thing but… I don’t want to be the one to tell her. She’ll freak out.”

“She’ll have to find out eventually. My dad will probably tell her at some point. Well…" Gingka forced a smile. "Worrying about it won't do anyone any good."

“Yeah," Kenta nodded in agreement.

“Do you want to hang out for a while? I know Sagittario's broken but we could do something at my house."

Kenta smiled and nodded. "Sure! Let's go!"

Gingka and Kenta walked side by side down the sidewalk, smiling as they chatted casually with each other.

------------

Kenta spent the entire morning with Gingka, playing video games and talking together before noon, when Kenta decided to head home for lunch. He hoped Ryuga would be home too. Kenta had yet to tell his friend about their meeting with the WBBA tomorrow. *I wonder how he'll react. He hates social situations, clearly, but if he wants to Beyblade again…*

Kenta stepped inside the house. He didn't see his dad anywhere, he was probably at work, but his mom was at the kitchen table, her gaze fixed on her laptop. She glanced up at him.

“Hi, Kenta,” she greeted with a smile.

“Hey, mom." Kenta smiled and waved. “Is… Ryuga still downstairs?”

“I think so. Unless he left without letting me know.” There was worry in her tone.

“I…" Kenta bit his lip. “I don't think he'd do that after… Well…”

“Right…” The two of them looked away, clearly remembering what happened that morning.

“Well, I’m gonna go check on him.”

Kenta pulled the door of the basement open and hopped down the stairs.

“Ryuga!” he called.

When he reached the foot for the stairs, Kenta scanned the mostly empty room, looking for his friend. Ryuga was sitting on the bed. He was still wearing his mother’s jacket and his gaze was intent on his phone.

“Ryuga…” Kenta stared at him for a moment. This was the first time he had ever actually seen him use his phone. “What are you doing…?”

Ryuga looked up at him and put the phone aside face down.

“What do you want?”

*Why is that always his response? I don’t always want something from him… do I? Am I too demanding?*

“We kind of have a meeting with…” Kenta stopped himself from saying ‘Gingka’s dad.’ “With the WBBA director tomorrow.”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I…” Kenta took a step back. “I asked them to make you a new Beyblade.”

“You did what?!” Kenta winced when Ryuga raised his voice. It didn’t scare him,  just made his head hurt. “Kenta, I am not replacing L-Drago,” Ryuga grunted, standing up.

“Why not?!” Kenta exclaimed, clenching his fists. “So what, it won’t be as powerful?! You’ll get to design it to your liking and you’ll be able to Beyblade again! Isn’t that what you want?”

“It’s not about L-Drago’s power.”

“Huh?” Kenta froze.

“I miss that too, but that’s not why I don’t want to replace L-Drago. Would you be able to replace Sagittario if you lost it?”

“I…” Kenta was taken aback by the sudden question. “No. Sagittario and I have a bond…”

“Exactly."

Kenta stared at him. He knew Ryuga valued L-Drago’s power above almost everything and assumed that was why he didn’t want to replace it.

“Really? After all that bey put you through, you still have a bond with it?!”

Ryuga nodded. “It was still my Beyblade… and no other bey can ever replace what L-Drago and I had.”

Kenta suddenly felt guilty for not even considering that. *I thought he only cared about the bey’s power? Do I really think that little of my own friend?*

Kenta let out a sigh. “Can… can you at least try?” *I went through all that effort…* Kenta kept that last part to himself. He didn’t want Ryuga to feel guilty; this wasn’t his fault.

Ryuga dipped his head. “Fine. When is this meeting?” he asked, sitting back down on the bed.

“One o’clock tomorrow.”

“In the afternoon?”

Kenta smiled and sat next to him. “Nah, we’re staying up past midnight to design your bey. Best get a nap in now.” He couldn’t help but smirk triumphantly at his own joke.

Ryuga smiled a bit. “Shut up, smart aleck.” He pushed Kenta over. It didn’t hurt; Ryuga had barely touched him yet it still made Kenta yelp in surprise.

“Hey!”

Kenta tried with all his might to push Ryuga over but couldn’t even make him budge. Ryuga just smiled and ruffled Kenta’s hair. Grunting with annoyance, Kenta decided to pull Ryuga into a hug, because that was the best revenge he could think of at the moment. Ryuga let out a grunt but hugged him back anyway.

“Kenta! Ryuga!” Kenta’s mother called. Kenta could feel Ryuga stiffen in front of him. “There’s food on the table!”

Ryuga let go of Kenta.

“We’ll be up in a minute!” Kenta called before turning to Ryuga. His friend was glaring down at the ground, his arms folded.

Kenta sighed, “Ryuga, we need to talk."

“We just did,” Ryuga grunted, standing up.

“Hey, wait!” Kenta jumped toward him, grabbing his arm and staring up at him desperately. “Why are you scared of my parents?”

“Scared?” Ryuga rolled his eyes. “I'm not scared of your overly doting parents.” He tried to pry Kenta off his arm.

“Really?” Kenta let go, his eyes narrowed. “Because it sure seems that way.”

“You're imagining things,” Ryuga grunted, turning away.

“Imagining what?” Kenta ran in front of Ryuga, standing between him and the stairs. He gazed up at him desperately. “Ryuga, please talk to me.”

Ryuga let out a sigh. He sat at the foot of the stairs, gesturing for Kenta to sit next to him.

“I know I upset them,” he grunted, his head hung low. “They just haven't done anything.”

Kenta stiffened. “What do you mean they haven’t ‘done anything?'” *What does he think they’ll do?*

“They can act nice all they want, I know they're mad at me. Why can't they just punish me and be done with it?”

Kenta couldn’t bite back a gasp of fury. “Why would they do that?! You didn't do anything wrong! It was an accident!”

“That doesn't matter.”

“Yes it does!”

Kenta thought back to his parents’ conversation earlier: *I know it’s none of our business but it makes me wonder if something happened to the kid.* Kenta fought back his anger. This wasn’t Ryuga thinking poorly of his parents, this was Ryuga, for whatever reason, being wary of trusting them.

“Who hurt you?" Kenta asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ryuga stiffened. “What?”

“You don't trust them because you're scared of being hurt again. Isn’t that it?” Kenta had no idea; he was just sort of guessing.

Ryuga didn't answer.

“Do you trust me?” Kenta asked.

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “I gave you my power.”

“Yes or no, Ryuga. Tell me.” *I want a direct answer.*

Letting out a sigh, Ryuga nodded.

“Then trust me when I say that my parents are good people. If you trust me, you can trust them.”

Ryuga looked away. Kenta sighed. He hoped Ryuga would at least consider his words. Kenta's parents had given Ryuga no reason not to trust them, so why was he so suspicious of them?

“Hey, after lunch, do you want to go on a hike together?" Kenta suggested, trying to cheer him up. "It can be just like old times.”

“Old times?" Ryuga smirked a bit. “You mean when you stalked me?”

Kenta's jaw dropped. “I wasn’t stalking you!”

“Then what do you call following someone who doesn’t want you around?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You-you wanted me around…”

“I didn’t at first.”

“Are we going or not?”

Ryuga nodded. Kenta smiled and the two of them walked up the stairs side by side. *He seems to be feeling a little better.*

[tseneipgam]

“Query: How contrive not to waste one's time? Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one's days on an uneasy chair in a dentist's waiting-room; by remaining on one's balcony all a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn't know; by traveling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theaters and then not buying a seat; and so forth."

“Thus, in a middle course between these heights and depths, they drifted through life rather than lived, the prey of aimless days and sterile memories, like wandering shadows that could have acquired substance only by consenting to root themselves in the solid earth of their distress.”

“Thus each of us had to be content to live only for the day, alone under the vast indifference of the sky. This sense of being abandoned, which might in time have given characters a finer temper, began, however, by sapping them to the point of futility. For instance, some of our fellow citizens became subject to a curious kind of servitude, which put them at the mercy of the sun and the rain. Looking at them, you had an impression that for the first time in their lives they were becoming, as some would say, weather-conscious. A burst of sunshine was enough to make them seem delighted with the world, while rainy days gave a dark cast to their faces and their mood. A few weeks before, they had been free of this absurd subservience to the weather, because they had not to face life alone; the person they were living with held, to some extent, the foreground of their little world. But from now on it was different; they seemed at the mercy of the sky's caprices, in other words, suffered and hoped irrationally.”

“The common lot of married couples. You get married, you go on loving a bit longer, you work. And you work so hard that it makes you forget to love.”

“Mostly the men he talked to conceded this point readily enough. But usually they added that a good number of other people were in a like case, and thus his position was not so exceptional as he seemed to suppose. To this Rambert could reply that this did not affect the substance of his argument in any way. He was then told that it did affect the position, already difficult, of the authorities, who were against showing any favoritism and thus running the risk of creating what, with obvious repugnance, they called "a precedent." In conversation with Dr. Rieux, Rambert classified the people whom he had approached in various categories. Those who used the arguments mentioned above he called the sticklers. Besides these there were the consolers, who assured him that the present state of things couldn't possibly last and, when asked for definite suggestions, fobbed him off by telling him he was making too much fuss about a passing inconvenience. Then there were the very important persons who asked the visitor to leave a brief note of his case and informed him they would decide on it in due course; the triflers, who offered him billeting warrants or gave the addresses of lodgings; the red-tape merchants, who made him fill up a form and promptly interred it in a file; overworked officials, who raised their arms to heaven, and much-harassed officials who simply looked away; and, finally, the traditionalists, these were by far the greatest number, who referred Rambert to another office or recommended some new method of approach.”

“This was, indeed, the hour when he could feel surest she was wholly his. Till four in the morning one is seldom doing anything and at that hour, even if the night has been a night of betrayal, one is asleep. Yes, everyone sleeps at that hour, and this is reassuring, since the great longing of an unquiet heart is to possess constantly and consciously the loved one, or, failing that, to be able to plunge the loved one, when a time of absence intervenes, into a dreamless sleep timed to last unbroken until the day they meet again.”

“When an innocent youth can have his eyes destroyed, a Christian should either lose his faith or consent to having his eyes destroyed. Paneloux declines to lose his faith, and he will go through with it to the end. That's what he meant to say."

“In fact, it comes to this: nobody is capable of really thinking about anyone, even in the worst calamity. For really to think about someone means thinking about that person every minute of the day, without letting one's thoughts be diverted by anything, by meals, by a fly that settles on one's cheek, by household duties, or by a sudden itch somewhere. But there are always flies and itches. That's why life is difficult to live. And these people know it only too well."

“it was only right that those whose desires are limited to man and his humble yet formidable love should enter, if only now and then, into their reward”

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 14

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: Some gory body horror bits -imo. Violence, another cold open, angst? Butchered Swedish.

A/N: It’s funny, looking back at my series plot outline, I never thought this was the direction I was going to go with this confrontation but... The pen writes what it wants.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

~

Derek and Peter sat in the front of the car –Peter at the wheel driving at a more dangerous speed than Derek did. Markus sat beside you.

The others had taken other cars.

The car was cold. The air-con turned all the way up for some reason. It seemed you were the only one with goosebumps that refused to smooth over since you were the only one rubbing at your skin. In search of a warmer cardigan, you reached beside you to grab your duffle bag, but then you remembered you didn't have it. It was with Scott.

Damn!

You should have dressed warmer.

A dial tone sounded from Derek's phone. This was the third time he'd tried the same number. His brow was scrunched in annoyance as he tapped re-dial for the fourth time.

Your head was pressed to the cold glass of the window, the trees whooshing past to form one collective reel of green and brown as your nails dug into the bandage wrapped around your palm. An itch you couldn’t get at annoying your newly formed cut.

"She's not going to answer," Peter said, eyes focused on the road. "Besides, our plan isn't contingent on her being a key player."

"We need the back-up in case things go south," Derek said. "She's the only one powerful enough to take one of those hunters head-on if we need a quick exit."

"I cannot wait to say 'I told you so' when this inevitably blows up in your face," Peter snorted.

"If that happens we'll all be screwed to high hell," Derek said bleakly. “Which means, you’ll be going down with me, smart-ass.”

Peter rubbed his nose, a redness forming just above his lip. He exhaled loudly.

Once the ringing stopped, an unclear voice sounded out through Derek’s phone's speakers. He placed the phone to his ear.

"I need to cash in a favour," his tone was indifferent.

There was a beat of silence, thick and disturbing.

Peter shuffled awkwardly, stretching against the uncomfortable seat material and forward slanted head rest.

"She's not gonna show," Peter sing-songed.

You laced your fingers around your pendant, wringing it about from left to right like a pendulum. A spot on your chest marked by sage oil.

Derek hummed before cutting the phone, it sounded contemplative rather than disappointed. He turned to Peter, "I guess we're just going to have to hope everything goes as planned then."

 The car was parked on the edge of the treeline to the woods.

Peter groaned, looking down at his expensive shoes and the damp soil outside, "These were new shoes."

"I'll buy you a new pair if we live through this and you stop complaining," Derek clapped back as his heavy boots stomped into the mud, splatters of wet soil spraying on his dark jeans.

You and Markus disembarked and for once you were glad you weren't wearing your tennis trainers.

"On the plus side, if we all die, at least it’ll be in style," Markus noted dryly.

Peter shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

"Alright, split up?" Markus asked.

Derek nodded, "Yeah, since we know the lay of the land better, Peter and I will take one of you and we'll work going inward."

"If this place is so important, why hasn't anyone ever mapped out its location?" You asked, hands stuffed in your jeans to keep your body heat close as a cold breeze swept through.

"We tried. The Nematon has a tendency to hide itself," Derek told you.

"Oh..." you said, pretending to understand.

Peter looked around for a minute before speaking over his shoulder, "I'll take tall, dark and broody with me."

Both Markus and Derek pointed at themselves in confusion.

Peter rolled his eyes before pointing at your brother, "The other tall, dark and broody."

You lifted a finger to protest but before a full sound left your throat, Peter had already disappeared into the dark forest with Markus in tow.

You cursed under your breath and from the cheeky smirk Derek wore, you knew you hadn't sworn low enough.

"Come on," Derek's head nudged towards the dense forest. Hands in his back pockets.

"Perfect," you said sarcastically.

You and Derek walked in silence, your hands running up and down your bumpy flesh to burn the cold away.

The woods held an eeriness to them that made the air feel like burning sulphur despite the cold. Fog rolling outward like a dense smoke cloud the farther from the road you got.

You stepped in a mud patch and slid forward. Derek's quick hands caught you and kept you steady.

"You okay?" he looked you in the eye.

You blinked away and cleared your throat, "Yeah, t-thanks."

"You feel cold," he shrugged off his jacket. "Here."

"N-no, I- I'm fine, really," you refused his offer, but Derek ignored your words, draping his jacket around you. It was sweet of him.

"Relax. It won't eat you. It's just a jacket," he smirked.

You nodded while pressing your lips together.

"So… come here often?" you asked as Derek marched forward with long strides -you practically had to jog to keep up.

"To the woods?" he chuckled. "Yeah, this place is a riot," he added dryly.

You scrunched your face and Derek’s arms flexed as he folded them together.

"Actually I grew up close to these woods," there was a sadness to his voice.

You were intrigued, chin rising higher to get a better look at his face, "What's your family like?"

"Dead. Mostly," he noted casually.

Your eyes went wide.

Derek shuffled, feeling that maybe he sounded a bit more serious than normal. He ground his teeth before laughing humourlessly and tried again, this time lighter: "We used to be like your family, actually. Large, overwhelming, very unapologetically different."

"Thanks, I guess…?" you swatted at some fireflies.

Derek shifted his eyes blue and the bugs scattered from predatory fear. He relaxed back to normal and added, "It's a compliment, trust me."

You smiled before asking, "What happened?"

He answered almost immediately, like it as a rehearsed line or one he’d thought about many times, "The girl I was dating turned out to be a hunter… a homicidal one at that."

"Boy, those just follow you everywhere," you jabbed.

He craned a brow your way, "Goes with the territory."

He held your gaze for a moment too long and heat flushed through you, your lips tingling from the memory of his tender yet rough kiss. Your cast your eyes down at your feet.

When you looked back up you noticed Derek rubbed his nose discreetly.

You were compelled to ask him out of curiosity, "You and Peter have been doing that all night. Everything alright?" you pointed to his nose with a red nib.

"You can't smell it?" he was surprised, his eyes fixed on your pendant.

"Is it the sage?"

He hummed in response.

"Sorry," you said with a glib tone, feeling bad for causing everyone so much discomfort.

He cocked a half-smile, "Don't apologise. That is the only reason we're still alive-" he pointed at your pendant. "I can survive a little irritation. Immortal hunters? Not so much."

You stopped for a bit. Mind remembering something that made you laugh dryly. Derek turned to you.

"What?" he asked.

"N-nothing," you held his jacket as your body shook with laughter. "It's just ironic isn't it? The first time I met you, I dug a bullet out of your chest. You were the one in need of saving then. Now look at how everything turned out. I'm the proverbial damsel in distress and it pisses me off!"

It was Derek's turn to laugh, hot air permeating through the cold night in foggy breaths.

"You find that funny?" your jaw squared as you planted your feet and crossed your arms.

"I think it's funny you think you're a damsel," he smiled wider. "Not many damsels I know of have no qualms with cauterising a man's wound using the tip of an arrow and a zippo.  And you can damn well be certain they aren’t eagerly offering themselves up as bait. Not once mind you, but twice." He held up two fingers.

"Then I guess I'm an idiot," you remarked flatly.

"Aren't we all?"

Derek placed a hand on your shoulder. Your body reacted as you’d come to expect, with a shiver running up your spine and a flush rising up from your neck to greet your cheeks.

He uttered in a manner reserved for those more than friends -soft and intimate, "Take it from someone who lost their lycanthropy once, claws and teeth and speed doesn't make you powerful. Resolve does. And you've got that in spades."

You gulped, the warm feeling creeping into your chest again. It was strange seeing him so… open. This version of Derek was different from the one you first saw bleeding out on your metal slab.

Derek didn't move. His hand sending ripples of electricity through you from the contact. It didn't help matters that his jacket smelled of his scent and was wrapped around you like you were a couple in an 80's movie.

It all should have felt overbearing, too demanding, but for some reason, it felt the complete opposite. It felt like just enough.

You took a step forward and Derek stayed locked in place. He was determined to keep his promise. If anything were to happen between you two, under the stars and the pregnant silver moon, it would be only by your say so. You held all the cards and from the tantalisingly tempting way your lips tingled, you knew instinctively what your next play would be.

Your brain shouted for you to step away, to keep things from getting complicated, to not risk your heart again, but your lips parted of their own volition and soon you were speaking in a heady tone, "Derek… I…"

His jaw tensed, though it was much subtler. His eyes on the verge of turning blue. An odd aquamarine settled over his irises instead. He was trying his damndest to stay in control. It was then that you noticed how tightly he balled his other fist. The air filled with more trails of fog from his and your breaths. They kept climbing in frequency.

"I…" your feet trembled and then a howl pierced through the sound of crickets, startling you from your daze.

Derek inhaled and let his arm drop free from your shoulder, he brought it to his own and started working the muscle there as if it were sore.

"Peter's calling. Think he's found it. Come on," he shrugged as he walked in broad strokes towards the origin of the howl.

You cursed again and followed after, thankful for the cold air for the first time since the night began. It drained the colour away from your face.

"What took you guys?" Markus asked as he hopped off one foot onto the other in repeated motions.

"They were probably in-dis-posed," Peter wiggled his eyebrows as he strained the syllables of that last word, a devilish smirk pulling his face up.

Derek shook his head and you bit your inner cheek, ignoring the suggestive look Peter had shot your way.

A stone’s throw away was an old stump in the middle of the clearing. The Nematon.

"That's the Nematon?" you asked, a little disappointed.

"Not much to look at, but trust me, that thing is teeming with supernatural energy," Peter said.

Markus squatted close to the tree, placing his hand on its flat surface. His eyes flashed to red and back, nails shifting into claws then back to nails.

"They're right, this is it." He confirmed.

"This thing is barely higher than my knee. Without branches, what are we going to fashion stakes out of?" you raised your hand at the short stump.

Derek and Peter glanced at each other, each thinking the same thing.

In unison, they said: "The root cellar."

The root cellar was dark. The smell of earth was rich here. An old stain of a bloody handprint had turned a coppery orange colour on one of the root tendrils snaking into the ground. A five-fold-knot carved into another. The air was freezing, like the temperature decreased exponentially, forcing your teeth to chatter. A sickening feeling tugging at your gut as your organs protested in every way possible.

"Something bad happened here," you spoke in a hushed whisper.

Derek was stiff, eyes turning glassy as they stared daggers at the five-fold-knot. The atmosphere around him shifted. All of a sudden he was his usual brooding and detached self.

"That is an understatement," Peter replied.

Markus took in the air, coughing slightly. He and Peter scratched at their noses in almost perfect synchronicity. Not Derek though. He stayed painfully still.

"What happened here?" Markus rose his eyebrows.

Peter's mouth opened then closed, a furrow on his face.

"Let's just get what we came for and wait for the call," Derek grumbled out, claws extending instantly as he slashed at a sturdy section of root and pulled it free.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, "You heard the man."

***

You paced about the sparsely furnished loft space that belonged to Derek. There was yellow police tape discarded next to the entrance. A large window with no curtains provided most of the light in the open-plan apartment.

Derek tossed his phone on the counter, a sigh leaving his lips. "That was Scott. It worked. Now it's our turn."

"Do you think they'll make it out okay?" your voice was shaky, worry keeping you on edge.

"We can't worry about that now," Derek walked over and stretched out his hand expectantly.

You swallowed hard, a ball forming in your throat as you tried to unclasp your necklace with shaky fingers.

Derek squeezed your fingers, "Let me."

You spun around, focused on counting the number of bricks on the wall whilst he removed your necklace. His thumb brushed the back of your neck lightly and then he walked away to stash the necklace in a sealed ziplock bag, tossing it in a drawer for extra measure.

"And now?" you said after you had counted all the bricks on that stretch of wall.

"We hope Scott and Liam can take a few hits and stop any stragglers from coming our way while we..." Peter kicked his feet up and lounged on a leather couch, "Wait."

You stared down at the yellow tape, sorely aware of how tense the room was.

You did the one thing you hated doing in such instances, you made with small talk, "So… you still wanted for murder?"

Markus's head snapped up from his phone, nose no longer red. His attention was drawn towards Derek who was leaning against the kitchen island -his nose also no longer red.

"Alleged murder," he held up one hand to reassure your brother. "And, yeah, in four counties actually."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do if we survive this? I mean… you can't live on the run forever, can you?" you pressed your palms together tightly using your knees to keep from anxiously bouncing on your feet as you sat on the opposite couch to Peter’s.

"If we survive, that'll be just one of the many things I'll have to cross off my to-do list," he retorted.

Markus squinted before sitting up straight, hands clapping together once, "That's why you look so familiar. You were on the news some months ago. Manhunt in--"

"Shh!" Peter shot up quickly.

"I hear it too," Derek said hurriedly as he vaulted over the counter and pulled you behind him, stake in hand.

Right then, an arrow pierced through his large window and shattered the glass. The sharp point dug into the wooden floorboard a few inches to the left of where you'd been standing.

Here we go again.

"Okay boys," Peter cracked his neck before extending his fangs. "Once more with feeling!"

All three of them were all glowing eyes, long claws and wolfish snarls. You raced behind the kitchen island and ducked behind it for cover but no new arrows whistled through the air.

Just then, Astrid barrelled in in through the window, her nose raised high as she sniffed at the air, fangs extended. Her claws were longer than all the men's and her eyes glowed a deeper blue than Derek's or Peter's. Come to think of it, Markus was the only one in the room with red eyes.

Astrid clicked her tongue several times, one long-clawed finger swaying from the left to right, "I knew something was afoul when you weren't with the True Alpha and his rageful beta.” She turned to stare daggers at you, “Alyster will be pleased I found you and after I kill all three of your wolves, I'll deliver you to him." Her accent was heavy, Scandinavian. You realised this was the first time you'd heard her speak English.

“It is your time now,” Astrid pointed at you, a grin on her face.

Peter laughed.

Astrid’s eyes twitched, "What is so funny?" she demanded.

"The fact you thought it would be that easy," he replied like he knew the punchline to a joke she didn’t.

Astrid took a step closer, her claws slicing through the air. Peter leaned back with perfect timing.

"Now!" Derek growled.

Theo burst out of a hiding spot holding a jar of black ash and chucked a whole fist full of it at a broken circle on the floor. An impregnable ring forming around them while the other men in the room tried to hold the rabid Astrid down. You dashed back to the drawer Derek had stashed your necklace in and quickly clipped it back on.

"Mountain ash!" Astrid screamed in anger.

Like a volatile typhoon, Astrid took on all three men, her long claws slashing deep and wide. Blood soaked through torn clothes and your ears were deafened by the piercing howls and deep growls that vibrated off larynxes. Markus lifted his stake when he got an opening, but Derek held his hand at bay.

"No!" Derek stated bluntly.

Markus stared in confusion, not about to let one of the people that'd nearly killed his sister survive.

Peter took the brunt of Astrid's attacks while Derek and Markus were forced in a stand-off.

"Get out of my way!" Your brother shouted, twisting his arm free from Derek's hold

"We need her alive!" Derek shouted back, replacing his hold with his other hand. “For now.”

"Can we argue about this later?" Peter spoke through bloody teeth.

"Rahhh!" Astrid shouted as she lodged her claws into Peter's side, a scream ringing out.

You gasped, taking a step forward.

Derek got distracted by the sound for a fraction of a second, but it was all it took for Astrid to sink her claws into his back and lift him up over her head.

"Derek!" you screamed as you rushed forward, body impaired by the force field of blue light that flooded your vision when you collided with the mountain ash barrier.

Derek spat out a splotch of coppery scented blood as she threw him onto the ground, hard. The sound of his jaw breaking made the floorboards shake. Markus wasted no time and imbedded his stake in her spine. Astrid screeched, dark veins rising up to become visible around her neck and temple.

"Omöjligt..." she whispered as she collapsed onto the ground. Her eyes still open and her chest still moving. He hadn't killed her, but Markus had successfully immobilised her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. No!" Peter panicked over Derek's bloody and sliced form. His wounds healing, albeit not fast enough. "What the hell were you thinking?" he glared at Markus with bared fangs.

Markus answered matter-of-factly, "Protecting my pack."

You whimpered when you saw black oozing from Derek's wounds.

That wasn't good.

"If he dies…" Peter whispered low and sinister. Then he snapped up at you and Theo when Derek grunted weakly, "Break the seal damn it!"

Theo broke the circle with the dragging of his heel and a wave of blue energy rippled out. Faster than you’d ever seen him move before, Peter carried Derek to his couch.

Upon seeing the blood and smelling the copper, your veterinary skills kicking in. You ran to Derek's side and steeled your nerves before slicing the knife across his shirt and exposing his chest. Peter slumped down next to you, eyes serious.

"Help me tie her up," Theo asked for Markus's assistance as he hoisted Astrid onto a chair, binding her hands in rope.

The black veins had spread and her skin was beginning to wrinkle and prune. The tips of her fingers discolouring to a dark purple as one of her nails slipped off from the crown with no opposition.

"Eugh!" Theo grimaced in disgust as he held back a gag. "Uh, man! I th- think she's- she's starting to decompose. Rapidly."

Markus blocked his nose as a new stench wafted through the air.

You could smell it too. It was so strong it made your eyes nearly water.

"Whatever magic keeps her alive, the root from the Nematon must be sapping her dry. You were right," Markus assessed.

"Whatever you needed her alive for, you better do it quick," Theo urged as his cheeks filled with air from a repressed gag.

"Fools…" Astrid spat, a tooth slowly dislodging from her blackening gums. "We can't die!”

"Yeah, well you aren't looking very alive either," Theo coughed out from behind his palm, trying to keep from breathing in her ghastly scent.

Astrid carried on, “One always takes our place. We’re divine soldiers. A champion must always exist as long as the First Coming still lives."

“The First Coming? You mean the plague?” Markus pumped her for information.

Astrid huffed. She smelled like a gangrene infested wound, septic and infected, “The First Coming isn’t a sickness. She is a woman of unparalled power. Only her own magic can imprisson her. Only the blood of the tainted will keep her at bay. When there are none of the ex alia left she will bring about the end of the world. ”

You ignored Astrid’s discomforting words and felt all over across Derek's back, running over the imperfect triskelion. Padded fingers forced black ichor to cascade out from circular holes torn through flesh. Derek's eyelashes fluttered in pain and all you saw were the whites of his eyes. He was too quiet. Too slack. It was unbearable to see him like this, but you had to focus.

You wouldn't let what happened to Alex happen again.

Not to Derek.

"Peter, get me a sharper knife and some alcohol!" You ordered while examining the claw marks more closely. "Markus get me better light. Theo check to see if any of Astrid's claws broke off her fingers."

Displeased, Theo tried to look over Astrid's fingers as carefully as he could, his face sneered in disgust as he held back more gags. When he tried to lift a finger up gently the interphalangeal joint came right off, skin and flesh peeling away freely.

"Eugh! Gross! They keep sliding off like… like fucking butter, I can't- It's too-" He retched dropping Astrid’s severed finger bit like he just lost at a game of hot potato.

Markus scrambled to collect every lamp he could find and place it closer to you while Peter arrived with the whole cutlery tray ripped out of the drawer. Peter unscrewed the cap off the bottle of scotch and held it out for you.

You took a swig and then another and then poured some over Derek's scraped back. Derek shuddered, but no sound came out of his mouth.

Unresponsive to pain, he was going into shock.

You pulled out a butter knife, doused it in alcohol and started digging around Derek's first cut, barking at Theo with authority, "You're just gonna have to deal with it, Theo! Just keep checking!"

Peter picked up the bottle of scotch and took a few swigs himself.

Astrid started laughing, her voice growing hoarse with each chorus, one of her teeth fell out and Theo winced, dodging the discarded enamel.

"Wait, you're right!" Theo shouted when he looked over her other hand. "One of her claws is broken in half! Among other things…"

"That's why he isn't healing," you bit down, resigning yourself to breathe only through your nostrils as you concentrated hard on your task. "I just have to get it out in tim- Shit!" You wiped sweat away with a blood-stained hand.

"What? What is it?" Peter leaned closer.

"I think it punctured his heart..." you stammered, more tears welling in your eyes. You chased them away with a loud clearing of your throat.

Peter dropped the scotch bottle, the glass shattering and spilling amber liquid everywhere. Then, leaving you with no time to react, he lunged at your brother and the two struggled against one another.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop it! You two can fight it out if he… dies. But not while he's still breathing!" Your shout echoed in the loft.

They all stilled, even Astrid. You returned your attention back to Derek.

You had cleaned Derek's wounds as best you could, but Astrid's claw had pierced too deep into his heart. You were afraid you'd simply send Derek off to a far quicker death if you pulled it out. Maybe that would be a mercy, considering his state now.

Derek's body was burning way past the normal temperatures of any human fever. Almost like he was fighting off an infection. His skin was damp and his wounds not yet healed –that scared you. You compressed his larger cuts with the rags of his shirt, but there wasn't much else to do but wait.

Wait and watch him die.

You sniffled several times, trying to keep from progressing to full-on crying. Your heart heavy and your stomach twisting on itself.

"Theo, go to Scott, you can do more for him there. Take Markus with you. He isn't wanted here," Peter said without looking up from his nephew's dying form.

Markus took a step forward, "If you think I'm leaving my sister alone with yo--"

"Go with him," you said softly, not looking up from the blood-soaked rag. "I'll be fine."

Astrid was getting worse too. Her skin had turned leathery now, as though she was mummifying. Her eyes dulled in colour as cataracts formed over her filmy eyeballs. She couldn't see even though her eyes were wide open.

Peter picked himself off the floor and grabbed Derek's stake off the ground.

"What are you going to do with that?" you asked with no emotion. You knew exactly what he was going to do, you just didn't want to go forward with something unsaid.

"I'm going to save my nephew," he said through gritted teeth and he moved over to kneel next to Astrid. "Tell me how to save him!" he barked in her ear. From the way she didn’t react, you guessed her eardrums were the next to go in her decay cycle.

Her head craned too far back, popping sounds emanating from her sagging neck, "You're too late. Kill me. Don't kill me. It doesn't matter. It's up to him now,” one of her fingers pointed at Derek before falling clean off.

Peter growled before stabbing one of Astrid's bony legs under her now baggy armour.

She wheezed in pain.

Peter tilted his head to the side, twisting the stake in her tough, meatless leg, "Tell. Me. How!"

Astrid's jaw pulled wide as she tried to hold back a scream, a rip forming at the corner of her mouth.

"Peter stop!" You stood and pulled the stake out of her leg. "We aren't monsters."

His eyes flashed blue and he backed you away from him with a frightening snarl, canines chomping at the air close to your face, "That's where you're wrong. I am a monster!"

In lightning-quick movements, Peter pushed the stake into Astrid's heart and her whole body began to shrivel.

Between straggled breaths from burst air sacs, Astrid raised her head towards the light of the full moon, a melancholic smile crossing her dehydrated face. With what little life she had left, she whispered words not meant for anyone in this room, "I det här livet och nästa. Jag kommer se dig igen. Min kärlek..."

Then her head went limp, falling to her deflated chest as the ropes slipped off her body. Astrid was no more and in her place was a pathetic mummified corpse steadily turning to dust. Then she was nothing.

Suddenly, and violently, the weather changed. The wind grew tumultuous, a horrifically sharp scream carried with it. In the distant, lighting struck down in unnatural and frequent bursts of light. Somewhere in the dark clouds, a tornado began to swirl.

You and Peter ignored the chaos happening right outside the window. The two of you were locked in your own personal pandemoniums.

"Pull out the claw," Peter said darkly, having made up his mind.

"It's too close to his heart. If I-"

Peter's nose almost touched your own. His clawed fingers wrapping around your neck to pull you close, "His condition is only getting worse. Pull out the claw. If he's going to die, it's going to be quick. Put him out of his misery."

You shoved Peter away, but you knew, deep down, it would be the humane thing to do. And now you knew you had definitely gone insane if you were agreeing with Peter Hale.

“You just had to make me say I told you so,” he said bitterly, a tear streaming down his face. “Just like your mother.”

You knelt next to Derek, trembling fingers grazing his paling flesh. As you wrapped your hands around the tweezers gripping the claw, you whispered in his ear, "You said it took someone of tremendous resolve to go through what I've been through and have survived. I also believe it takes someone of great resolve to go through what you go through every day and still have the courage to wake up every morning. I admire that about you. I believe you still have some fight left, Derek… and I need you to survive this… because… because I have a question to ask you."

With a solemn teardrop, you pulled the claw out of his heart and crumbled to the floor, palms pressed together as you and Peter held your breaths.  

An otherworldly green glimmer shone from inside Derek's open wound.

Finale!>>

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[regcreates]

The Center of Philippine Hollywood: Lilia Cuntapay

Based on Six Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay

INTRODUCTION

An underrated, unappreciated, plain housewife and actress that is none other than Lilia Cuntapay. It was in this film that she portrayed her life and talent that amounted to her success that was only in her later years in life where she was given recognition. Six degrees of separation from Lilia Cuntapay was a film not only nominated by countless awards but it was a glorious time where it was proven how she truly deserved it. From director and writer Antoinette Jadaone who was able to rediscover Lilia Cuntapay, while conveying a message towards the film industry and its audience about the life of an extra.

BODY

Perceived Meanings

A. Referential

Lila Cuntapay, an old actress whose roles in every part of a film mostly portrayed those of horror characters as this was seen to be fitting due to her appearance, that despite living in poverty she was determined to work hard in doing what she loved and was looking forward to being hired to more films, as she longed to be awarded the title “Best Supporting Actress” from her previous film at that time “Sangandaan” in the 16th AFTAP Awards. 

B. Explicit

An old actress whose struggles were seen depicted in her life as she always played an extra in the film’s she has worked on, passionate, responsible, and determined as she finally gains recognition and awards she’s been longing for the past 30 years in the film industry.

C. Implicit

An old actress whose career was sustained as she worked for as long as 30 years, always thriving and never giving up to the idea that someday she will finally be able to earn an award as a form of recognition and belonging-ness to the film industry and to her co-actors and peers.

D. Symptomatic

In the film industry, actors and actresses alike must value the idea of being passionate, patient, and hard working to pursue their dreams or ultimate goal of being nominated, recognized, and/or awarded. The documentary, Six degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay, not only shows the reality and struggles when being an actor in the creation of an on going film, but it also depicts the nature of what it’s like to be a part of it. The struggles are real, and it is in that time where our own being is put to the test, for whether or not we can handle all the pressure and what it means to be a part of that film.

Film Criteria

A. Realistic

The documentary, Six degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay, showcases the reality of the struggles actors and actresses experience especially those who were treated indifferently. Those who are not as big as celebrities and have to work an extra mile, are misunderstood, unrecognized and and unappreciated. These are the times that you either have to “go big or go home”, because of the pressure brought by the film industry. It is a harsh and sad reality the way it comes and goes inside the works of each film and while being a part of it as a lead role or as an extra. All the time you’ll spend, the waiting, the mistreatment, or not enough pay are seen as one of the struggles they go through each time. And although Lilia Cuntapay faces exactly the same situation, it did not lead her to doubt herself and talent to strive better, work harder, become more patient and stay professional in her line of work. 

B. Moral

While watching the documentary, I realized there were a lot of moral values you can learn from some of the scenes in the movie. There were also several lines that she quoted by herself, that really got me hooked and I think as part of the creative arts industry, I may be able to learn a thing or two and take her as a role model because of the kind of mindset she partakes. 

Patience

“Life is not for the impatient, waiting is part of being human.” This quote by Lila Cuntapay really struck me especially as I watched the scene where the call time was set at 6 am, and she arrived so early, even before everyone else came. All day she was determined to wait for her part, practicing her lines even though they were short, and not once did she complain. It showed here her patience and professionalism when it comes to work, no matter the role. And even after waiting for the fact that she was only replaced by another old woman, because the director did not want to use her face as he was familiar that they use her for horror movies, it was then shown how she was hurt from that time, and went home feeling sad. A glimpse of the scene where her fantasy speech is shown every now and then, it was only there that she said “idiot” as a means of frustration she felt at that time. No matter how she felt, she still remained patient that one day her hard work pays off.

Confidence

Her confidence is off the charts, especially the way she delivers herself. There were a lot of cases in the movie where she remained hopeful and her hope gave her all the confidence she needed to keep on working. She was confident but she stayed humble, allowing herself to immerse on the character she was playing but never went overboard. It is definitely the same confidence I want to achieve as I learn from her.

Generosity

As she was kind, patient, and confident, she was also generous. Every chance she gets, every opportunity that comes her way that offers money in the roles she plays in each film, she uses it to help others, but as generous as she is, not everything goes back to her, but it is within her big heart that makes her happy seeing others happy.

C. Coherence

There were two sides of the film, her reality and her imagination. Her reality showed how she went through her daily routine and her way of dealing with her career. Especially ever since she was nominated as Best Supporting Actress, it appears to be showing her getting ready for her speech, and other days where she goes to casting calls. The other side of the film shows her imagination and the way she is going to deliver her speech in different scenarios relating to her life. There were times she was happy in her “fantasy speech”, times where she’s gone speechless, or those times, she is just plain lost, with the way she was going to handle it. I think for me, it all made sense the way they produced the film, to show two different sides of her life and the thoughts going through her head or how her mind world basically.

D. Complexity

If I were to be honest, I usually do not watch these kinds of films, and so I was doubting it at first, but seeing the introduction of the film made it kind of interesting, because I was already familiar with the face but not the name. And so as I continued watching the film, it was simple and straightforward. It was not too complex that you get lost in the synchronization of the different scenarios showcased in the documentary. It sure was a perfect blend, of the way the emotions brought by her life in the film captured my heart and mind.

E. Originality

Six degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay, caught my attention all throughout the documentary, it was a so-called “mockumentary” dedicated to a very underrated person, Lilia Cuntapay that some might not even heard of yet. I think the film’s originality comes from the twists and turns of how her life came to be. For me, it is not a very common topic or theme for a movie during those times, and that’s what makes it so interesting. Who ever thought to make a movie of the life of an extra? Along with the added imaginations brought by her reality was produced and showcased very well that made the film worthy of recognition overall.

Conclusion

Overall, I personally rate this film a 10/10, as I am happy it was recommended to me I’ll be happier to recommend this to anyone who is looking for a film that’s unlike most documentaries created nowadays. Not only was I able to analyze the structure of the film, but the realness that comes with Lilia Cuntapay’s outstanding perfromance and how she portrayed her life was so genuine and heartfelt, it brought me to tears. I am proud that she was able to achieve her ultimate goal as an actress, and I’m willing to take everything I learned from this documentary as an example to always strive to be a better version of ourselves , especially as part of the creative industry.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Reviews: What Is a Man

I wanted my next review to be The Invisible Man but i keep putting that thing off. I think it’s the pacing. it’s kind of funky. I’ll get around to it eventually. Spoiler alert, it’s pretty interesting so far. In the meantime, i finally caught up on a show that dropped and didn’t see when it first released; Castlevania! I passed on actually reviewing he first two season, well, season and a half. That first season was, like, six episodes. This ain’t the BBC, son. Thirteen or bust! Anyway, since we’re about three days from being under marital law, i figure i got time to revisit and review the series so far. Plus, i mean, i need to catch up since the fourth season has already been announced. F*cking Netflix, man. In that vein, pun in tended, here is my review of the series as a whole so far.

The Good

This show is not anime. It’s not. Avatar is not anime. It’s not. This is a sanitized facsimile of what the Japanese do with their animation. Stop calling this sh*t anime! That said, on it’s own, outside of that hilariously unflattering comparison, it can be pretty dope. I don’t think this sh*t holds a candle to studios like Trigger, Madhouse, Gainax, or Shaft, but it’s the best animation coming out of the US i’ve seen in years. The fight scenes in particular are absolutely gorgeous. You can really tell that Netflix invested the necessary resources to make this show look dope, even if the framerate is a little iffy between set pieces.

Now that i’ve died on my anime cross, i just want to acknowledge how good this show looks. It’s f*cking gorgeous, man. I mean, the world, alone, is a feat for the eyes, but i am absolutely in love with the character designs. If you google the characters from the games they are mad cluttered and full of extra nonsense. I’m never a fan of, like, flair on my characters. That’s why i hate the look of Mortal Kombat. That sh*t is gross. Castlevania has that same issue, culminating in the design vomits of Judgement. That game was gross to look at. Gross. This show takes the ludicrously gaudy designs of the games and make them presentable while still paying homage to the core design of the games. Sh*t is miraculous and i can’t help but marvel at that ingenuity. I mean, f*cking Carmilla, dude. Just look up Carmilla in the games and tell me this show ain’t good at it’s job.

Castlevania’s writing is kind of miraculous. As a cat that’s been playing these games since the late 80s, I’m mildly aware of the interconnecting lore between titles. It’s a mess. It’s a goddamn mess. There’s a dope story there, in the muck, but it’s so mired in melodrama, retcon, and years upon years of independent development, it’s completely lost. I appreciate Konami giving storytelling a shot during a time when gameplay was the principal seller of games, they didn’t have to do any of that, but, at some point, clean your sh*t up with a manga or reboot or something, man. The later titles do this sh*t fine. I adore Shanoa and Soma. Their games got the best of both worlds. The Belmonts? Not so much... This show does an amazing job of cutting through the bullsh*t and sharpening that story to a fine point. This is Trevor’s story, the first Belmont we take control of in game, so watching his line grow through the years, with this quality of storytelling, is mad compelling. I mean, you get right into it and it grips you from start to finish. I can’t wait to see where this goes.

The character work in this show is pretty legit. I was thoroughly surprised since the games themselves are rather bare bones and nauseatingly campy at times. Not this show. Nope! This sh*t is grim, dark, and violent. I love it! You can feel the plight one people and the rage of the vampires. Each main character s is beset with pathos and trauma and consequence, for two seasons. Season three is kind of light on growth but does a decent job explaining certain things. Like, this is Belmont’s tale but Sypha is definitely the most interesting character in the show. Everyone does a great job but there are, of course, a few standouts.

Speaking of my girl, did i tell you that Sypha is f*cking amazing? Ma is the most adorable, most badass motherf*cker in this show! I thought she was going to be kind of a weenie, like she is in the games, but nope! Ma is out here, burning motherf*ckers alive and slicing dudes up with ice blades, all the while being her peppy, adorable, kind of bloodthirsty self. F*ck, love Sypha and her voice actress, Alejandra Reynoso, is perfectly cast! She bring a levity and vulnerability to a woman who can take on an army all y her lonesome. I love that sh*t!

I have to mention how dope Dracula is in this how. He’s f*cking badass and, surprisingly, hilarious. His wit is as sharp as his fangs. Even with such overwhelming power, dude is still amazingly human, often time reminding you that he is just a broken, lonely, man. It’s incredible to see. you actually empathize with an entity hellbent of slaughtering humanity. I couldn’t believe that sh*t. A lot of that has to do with the writing but Graham McTavsh does an excellent job delivering those subtle emotional cues.

I feel like is should say something about Richard Armitage’s Trevor Belmont. Dude is dope. he’s how i always imagined Trevor to be. And Armitage is a seasoned veteran at this voice acting game so he does a great job. I’m not blown away or anything but he’s dope. Considering dude is kind of a supporting character in his own show, i think my indifference is warranted. He’s good, though, don’t misunderstand. I’m not decrying his performance or anything. Gold star for sure.

The best thing about season three, outside of my darling Sypha, is Lenore. Holy sh*t is she a great character! I was thoroughly surprised by how brazenly manipulative she turned out to be. Lenore is a f*cking genius and her feigned naivety is brought to life by an absolutely outstanding performance from Jessica Brown Findlay. Ma is on the long con and Carmilla might have some competition to look for.

I like Issac. This last season did wonders for developing his character. His arc is probably the best after Syph’s, mostly because he’s the only other character that even had an arc. His voice actor, Adetokumboh M'Cormack, does a great job developing the enigmatic Forgemaster into a character more than his humdrum game origins.

The Bad

This show is not anime! Stop telling me it’s an anime!

Alucard’s arc in season three was a little... me. I thought he was the one character let down by the writing but it’s not a terrible slight. I just felt he deserved more of a exploration than what he received.

Season three was straight up filler. I guess it has that in common with anime, even though most modern anime ha move away from the Filler system. I mean, i liked a lot of what went on and the character work was delightful but none of this is really of consequence. Most characters either didn’t grow or are exactly who we thought they were. It feels cheap.

Hector. What the f*ck, Hector. What the f*ck.

The Verdict

Season One showed a ton of potential. I enjoyed the whole Dracula arc, even though this was more a story about his disillusionment with humanity rather than how he became Dracula. Season two is the Castlevania know from the games. It was dope seeing that narrative removed from the shenanigans of that Konami narrative jank. I thought they id the characters dope ass justice and the story itself, was rather compelling. I didn’t mind the character changes and the stuff they added felt organic. Season three is the closest thing to a slice of life anime i’ve seen in this show and it’s ridiculous. Like, nothing really happens of consequence and it feels like setup for later seasons but it’s easily the best looking of the three seasons.

Overall, as a whole, Castlevnia is really good. It’s easily one of the best video game adaptions available. This show takes it’s liberties, of course, but it does so in a very respectful manner. The core of the Castlevania lore is revered and embellished with creative additions while keeping the characters true to their game selves. For the most part. I really enjoyed thee character of Dracula when he was around and, oh my god, Lenore is the goddamn best! Sypha is the MVP of this show, though, and i need you people to know that. The art style is beautiful, the narrative is compelling, and you’ll fall in love with the character work. Castlevania is dope and you should go binge all of it since there is literally nothing else to do under quarantine.

[veliseraptor]

Remedial Measures, 1.6k, remember this cold ‘verse, shuri & loki have a talk after the events of tremors, thanks @ameliarating​ for reading this over for me and indulging my insecurity

You have to talk to her eventually.

I don’t ‘have’ to do anything.

Loki rubbed his thumb restlessly along the side of his forefinger, at war with himself. He and Steve did not argue often, but they had this morning. About the princess. You can’t just ignore her forever, Steve had said, and Loki had snapped back, of course I can.

She was just trying to help, Steve said. And I made the call.

But you didn’t make the machine, Loki had said, and left before he could speak any hasty words he wouldn’t be able to take back. That had led him here, outside, where he was now standing staring at the panther statue in the distance and thinking about Wakanda’s princess.

She hadn’t made any attempt to contact him since his recovery. Not a word. Loki had told himself that if she reached out first, he would answer, but he knew the truth: the princess held back out of respect, and he was punishing her by his silence. He had done the same with Thor, when they were young, though Thor was usually reduced to begging within a day, unable to bear the sting of being ignored. But the princess was not his brother, and he was not a child.

He should at least give her the chance to explain herself.

Decision made, Loki collected himself and changed his clothes with a flick of magic to the adapted Wakandan clothing he’d added to his wardrobe. He sent a brief message to Steve saying that he would be back soon and twisted himself through space.

**

Shuri was not in her lab when he arrived. Loki walked a slow circuit around the room, quite certain she was being alerted to his presence; aware, too, that coming here directly without warning was a demonstration, of sorts. You don’t control me. I do as I please.

The meteorite was gone. Loki wondered what had been done with it, and its deadly burden. His skin crawled, imagining some lingering remnant contaminating the room.

No. Shuri would have scoured this place clean.

He was only alone for perhaps five minutes before the princess burst through the doors, checking herself quickly. Loki turned toward her, composing his face to an indifferent mask.

What if there was a copy of the machine here, and she had some sort of hidden trigger, and any moment...his throat constricted, and raw fear threatened to wash over him. He held it at bay and simply stood, waiting.

“Loki,” Shuri said. “How are you...feeling?”

Awkward, Loki thought. Uncertain. Afraid? No, he didn’t think so. “Well,” he said coolly. “Thank you.”

She came in slowly. “Did you need something?”

“No.”

She eyed him. Careful. Not quite wary. And no, he’d been wrong - there was fear. Some piece of him, small and vicious, was satisfied. Mostly that just tasted bitter. “If you wanted to check,” she said abruptly, “you can look wherever you want. But there’s really - really nothing left. No notes, no record, nothing.” She spoke quickly, and there was something urgent, almost desperate, in her voice. It took Loki a moment to realize, and then he felt a chill.

“Why would I believe you,” Loki said. His voice grated across his throat. “Why would I assume that you would not have hidden copies elsewhere, somewhere secret and out of my reach? And even if not - the knowledge is in your mind, now. You cannot erase that.”

It occurred to Loki, for a sliver of a moment, that he could. Perhaps. It would be difficult, and there was certainly a risk, but…

He did not even finish the thought before dismissing it. Shuri’s eyes widened, stricken.

“I wouldn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t. Loki, please. You have to believe me. If I could forget, I would.”

“You knew,” Loki said. “You were already thinking about how to cut me off from my birthright. Were you grateful for the opportunity to test your theory? To have the excuse-”

He cut off. Her eyes were bright. “Yes!” she said. “Yes, all right, I’d thought about it, because that’s what I do, I think about how things work, I can’t help it. But I wasn’t going to do anything about it, only then - only then you were dying and I had to do something, especially because it was my fault in the first place!”

Loki blinked. Shuri looked on the verge of tears, and Loki remembered abruptly how very young she was. He had forgotten, or let himself forget, because he was angry. Because he was frightened.

“Your fault?” he said blankly.

“If I hadn’t asked you to look at the meteorite,” she said, “you would never have gotten sick.”

Loki stared at her, taken off guard. He honestly...hadn’t considered that. Of all the things he’d thought, since understanding what had happened, what she and Steve had done...the idea that she might feel guilty about that had never entered into it.

“Princess,” he said cautiously, “you had absolutely no way of knowing. And I could have refused.”

Now it was her turn to look stunned. “You don’t...blame me?”

“Not for that.”

Shuri sat down abruptly. “Oh,” she said. Loki looked down at her, an odd feeling twisting in his stomach.

He cast about for a chair and found one, sitting down as well. “Princess,” he said, but he wasn’t certain how to go on. He’d tried to explain to Steve what it meant, having his magic severed like that. But he didn’t think he could speak that much vulnerability here.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it hurt you. And I wish you would believe me, that it is gone, and I’ll never tell anyone how I did it. I swear, on my honor as a princess of Wakanda, and in the sight of my ancestors.”

Loki recognized the sound of a binding oath. And a sincere one. She meant it, and she had done it in the first place to save his life, and blaming herself for his being in danger to begin with. He sat back slowly, though still keeping his face blank.

“The last two times someone separated me from my magic,” Loki said, “it was to hurt me. To control me. Ultimately, it would have led to my death.” Shuri remained quiet, watching him closely. “I did not understand why you had done it. In my fever, I thought perhaps you meant the same.”

Her eyes dropped.

“I know…” Loki wrestled with himself a moment, and then did manage to say, “I know that isn’t the case. Quite the opposite. But I do not…” He considered, then snorted. “I have been accused of being paranoid.”

“If there’s anything I can do to prove,” Shuri started.

“There isn’t,” Loki said. It came out harsher than he meant it to, and she flinched. He glanced aside. “There isn’t, because there is nothing you need to prove. It is me who needs to find a way to believe you.”

And that, Loki supposed, was the crux of it. There was nothing she could do that would make him believe her. He had to figure out how to do that himself.

It was always so much easier to lose faith than to get it back.

There was hurt in her eyes when she looked back up at him. But her voice was clear when she said, “if you can’t, I understand.”

Loki took a slow breath through his nose. “I would like to.”

She brightened, a little, but her voice was still cautious. “That’s...good.”

Something sparked in the back of Loki’s mind, and he turned it over a few moments before he said, “Actually...there is something that you could do. For me.”

Shuri sat up. “Yes,” she said promptly. Loki gave her a sharp look.

“Do not agree to anything before you know what it is,” he warned. Shuri just looked at him steadily, and Loki shook his head. “Tell me how you did it,” he said simply.

That startled her. “What?”

“Tell me how you did it,” Loki said. “How you made - your machine. How it worked. Perhaps if I understand that...I can find a way to fight it, if anyone tries again.”

And someone would try again. Maybe there was no way he could. Maybe by its very nature...but knowledge, Loki had always thought, was the best defense against fear. And the best way to defeat an enemy was to know it well.

“Of course,” Shuri said. “And if I can help you figure that out…”

Loki summoned a small, fractional smile as he stood. It took effort, but it came. “Thank you,” he said, and watched Shuri’s shoulders fall.

“You’re welcome,” she said. She seemed tired, Loki thought. And though she was clearly relieved…

“Princess,” he said, to get her attention.

“Yes?”

“I will expect you the day after tomorrow to resume our discussions,” Loki said. Shuri’s bright smile lit up her face.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “With questions.”

“Naturally,” Loki said. He folded space around himself and stepped through, back to the place he’d left from.

It would take time. The fear was still there. The hurt was still there, and the sense of betrayal - fair or unfair. The lurking doubt, still, she is curious, how far is that curiosity from Doom’s hunger?

But that was fear, and doubt, and not truth. There was already enough to fear, and he had always had too much doubt.

She didn’t deserve his punishment.

His phone buzzed. It was Steve: Is everything okay?

Loki considered that for a few moments before sending his reply.

Yes, I think it is.

[caroldanversmohawk]

Quidditch Captain Danvers - Chapter 3 POSTED!

Chapter 3: You are insane, my desire

Carol had been stalking her prey for the last five minutes. It was too perfect. Saturday morning meant the classrooms were empty. And Natasha's path had brought her past a hallway full of them.

Carol crept up behind her, waiting until they were outside a door. She used one arm to loop around the petit girl's waist, and used her free hand to grasp her wand, quickly casting the unlocking and opening spells, before she spun them both inside the room. As she pulled Natasha's back closer to her chest, she closed and locked the door again, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room.

"Carol!" Natasha's soft, breathy voice didn't have any edge on it. Carol knew she had caught her lover by surprise. She clenched her arms around Natasha from behind.

"What's up, baby?" Carol chuckled in Natasha's ear. "You miss me?" Natasha leaned into Carol's embrace, coming down from her shock and sighing contentedly.

"I saw you yesterday," she laughed, feigning indifference even though her body was indicating something different altogether.

Carol slipped one hand under Natasha's robes, finding the waistband of her skirt and sliding her hand under that to massage the bare skin at her hip. Natasha groaned, leaning back into her more, much to Carol's satisfaction. "Hmm, I guess you did. But we didn't even get to touch." Carol placed a few soft kisses on the side of Nat's neck.

"Is this an apology, Danvers? For almost dueling Stark?" Natasha's voice was fully under control now, less breathy and more teasing.

Carol chuckled against Nat's neck, scraping her teeth lightly down the side until she felt her squirm under her. "Nope. Stark deserves what I would've done to him if we hadn't been interrupted."

"Oh? My fierce little lion." Natasha grabbed Carol's wrist, using it as leverage to turn herself around in Carol's arms to face her. Their lips were hovering over each other, hazel with gold speckles staring into deep green. "Do you want to tell me why Mazie Stanton showed up with Combusting Chalk all over her?" Natasha raised her eyebrow in question.

"You know her?" Carol decided she was done waiting for the conversation to finish. She captured Natasha's lips, hungrily crushing them against hers. Natasha moaned, responding just as aggressively, her tongue slipping into Carol's mouth and fighting for dominance. Carol moved her hand around to Natasha's lower back, teasing the skin there under her fingertips. Natasha countered by pressing her hips into Carol's.

When they pulled back for breath, Natasha continued the conversation as if nothing had interrupted them. This wasn't the first time this had happened. "I know her. She's helped me out on occasion. Sweet girl." 

"She's got a sassy streak too." Carol added.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Not that I've ever heard. But you have a way of bringing out the best in people, Captain Danvers." Carol was about to protest but Nat was pulling her down for another kiss, and she wasn't about to stop that.

Nat pulled back suddenly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you trying to make me jealous, Danvers?"

"You're the one who brought her up!" Carol reminded her. "Though I do like making good girls do bad things..." She gave Nat a challenging smirk.

"Hmm, aren't I the bad one? That's what your Gryffindor friends say anyway." Nat nipped at Carol's lip, tugging on it gently before running her tongue over the sting.

"Right, right. I'm the model student.” Natasha almost snorted at Carol’s words. “You're just the Slytherin Prefect." Carol slipped her hand under Natasha's shirt, grazing the swell of her breasts with her fingertips. Nat shivered under her touch.

"Huh. Maybe we're both the bad girls then." Natasha smirked. Her hand came up around Carol's throat, applying light pressure as she brought their lips together.

"Fine by me," Carol murmured when she finally had a moment to breathe. Natasha brought her lips back down to hers.

Carol was lost in the heat of Natasha's lips, the feel of her fingertips sliding under her robes, alternating between featherlight touches and harsh raking marks. Carol moaned squirming under the surely bruising onslaught, but only feeling the rush of adrenaline released by her body. She felt hot all over, and she pulled Nat even tighter against her to share that fire. Natasha's responding groan told her that she was succeeding. 

Carol pressed forward until Natasha was forced to slide onto a desk. The other girl was already shorter than Carol, but now that she was sitting, it gave Carol even more of an advantage. One that she took advantage of, cupping Nat's face in her hands.

Natasha had other ideas. She leaned back until Carol was off balance. Once she was leaning precariously over her, Natasha made her move, pulling the other girl down and over so that Carol fell into the desk next to them. Natasha then hopped off her desk, straddling her lover, who was uncomfortably draped on her back across the desk. 

She smirked, leaning down for a quick kiss. "Some predicament you got yourself in, Danvers." Carol was breathless staring up into those mischievous, green eyes. Natasha was looking down at her hungrily. Natasha continued to tease her tongue-tied lover, “Too bad you caught me by surprise. I don’t have my strap.” 

Carol’s core clenched at the words, a wicked idea popping into her mind. ���Not like we’re witches or anything.” She smirked sarcastically, looking up at Natasha with a suspiciously innocent gaze. “I could just use a spell and have it here in a moment...”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to think how Carol would do that. Objects couldn’t apparate. Carol, on the other hand, was thrilled by her lover’s confusion. She managed to get her wand free of her robe, holding it aloft she said, “Accio stra--” the rest was muffled by Natasha’s hand.

“Bloody hell, you’re insane!” Natasha’s eyes were wide as she wrestled Carol’s wand away from her, for good measure, still keeping her other hand on Carol’s mouth.

Carol had descended into a fit of laughter, imagining Natasha’s dark green strapon flying through the halls of Hogwarts, past traumatized students, professors, and ghosts until it banged up against the door they were behind. “If that spell actually worked, I’m going to fucking kill you, Danvers.” Carol’s laughter was renewed, watching Nat continue to glance at the door, dreading a THUMP that would indicate that Carol had indeed summoned her strap through the entire school.

It took a number of long minutes before Natasha sighed, the tension in her shoulders visibly relaxing. She pocketed Carol’s wand, not trusting her anymore to keep it. But she let up on the pressure of her hand on Carol’s lips. To which Carol immediately responded by taking Natasha’s fingers into her mouth, and sucking hard. Natasha moaned, caught off guard again, grinding her hips into Carol’s. Carol sucked hard, using her tongue to trace each digit in her mouth, before finally releasing them with a pop. “You don’t need your strap to fuck me.” Carol challenged Natasha with a smirk.

Natasha pressed Carol down against the desk and descended on her with a harsh kiss. She took her revenge with passion, pinning Carol with both her mouth and body, and exacting her toll. Her tongue thrust into Carol’s mouth, making her moan. Her hands slid under Carol’s robe, alternating between scraping her nails across her skin and pressing her fingers harshly into her. Natasha swallowed each of Carol’s whimpers, revealing as her lover arched into her. She wanted to take control, to stay in control. To bend Carol to her will under she was nothing but a writhing mess beneath her, begging for release.

Carol looked up at Natasha, seeing the lust and dominance burning in her eyes. She had pressed and pressed until that switch finally flipped in her lover. And now all she could do was ride out the consequences. All the fire and confrontation that Carol usually craved just melted away when Nat looked at her like that. She didn't even try to resist, letting Nat take what she needed.

And Natasha demanded everything of her, wrapping one hand through Carol's blonde hair and the other pressed into her bare skin at her thigh, bringing her leg up to wrap around Natasha’s hip. Carol's moan opened her mouth to Natasha's invading tongue, sweeping in and across until Carol was arching into her, begging for more contact, more pleasure. It was absolute heaven.

They spent a few hours in the empty classroom, finally getting out the pent up sexual frustration that they both had accumulated over the last few days of public confrontations. Natasha was mostly in control, but Carol wrestled it away a few times when she wanted to see her squirm. Otherwise Natasha would neglect her own pleasure, so preoccupied with Carol's. And while Carol liked being on top, she also loved the spark in Natasha's eyes when she did what Nat wanted, that darkened lust filling those sharp green eyes…

Natasha’s parting words to Carol were ones that she would take to heart. "We should do this more often."

"Mmh," was all Carol got out before Natasha kissed her chastely on the lips, opening the door to slip out into the deserted hallway.

Carol made a mental note to surprise Nat more often in the future. There was no where else she would rather be...until Quidditch practice. Which she was late for, again. Showing up with tousled hair, scratch marks, and smelling oddly like a certain Slytherin Prefect’s perfume. No one said a word to her about it. But one of her Beaters, Valkyrie, kept making comments all practice how they were going to “completely fuck” Slytherin next week. And Carol had to wonder if they knew...but she was so high on the endorphins from that morning that she just didn’t care if they did.

[smokeybrand]

Smokey band Reviews: What Is a Man

I wanted my next review to be The Invisible Man but i keep putting that thing off. I think it’s the pacing. it’s kind of funky. I’ll get around to it eventually. Spoiler alert, it’s pretty interesting so far. In the meantime, i finally caught up on a show that dropped and didn’t see when it first released; Castlevania! I passed on actually reviewing he first two season, well, season and a half. That first season was, like, six episodes. This ain’t the BBC, son. Thirteen or bust! Anyway, since we’re about three days from being under marital law, i figure i got time to revisit and review the series so far. Plus, i mean, i need to catch up since the fourth season has already been announced. F*cking Netflix, man. In that vein, pun in tended, here is my review of the series as a whole so far.

The Good

This show is not anime. It’s not. Avatar is not anime. It’s not. This is a sanitized facsimile of what the Japanese do with their animation. Stop calling this sh*t anime! That said, on it’s own, outside of that hilariously unflattering comparison, it can be pretty dope. I don’t think this sh*t holds a candle to studios like Trigger, Madhouse, Gainax, or Shaft, but it’s the best animation coming out of the US i’ve seen in years. The fight scenes in particular are absolutely gorgeous. You can really tell that Netflix invested the necessary resources to make this show look dope, even if the framerate is a little iffy between set pieces.

Now that i’ve died on my anime cross, i just want to acknowledge how good this show looks. It’s f*cking gorgeous, man. I mean, the world, alone, is a feat for the eyes, but i am absolutely in love with the character designs. If you google the characters from the games they are mad cluttered and full of extra nonsense. I’m never a fan of, like, flair on my characters. That’s why i hate the look of Mortal Kombat. That sh*t is gross. Castlevania has that same issue, culminating in the design vomits of Judgement. That game was gross to look at. Gross. This show takes the ludicrously gaudy designs of the games and make them presentable while still paying homage to the core design of the games. Sh*t is miraculous and i can’t help but marvel at that ingenuity. I mean, f*cking Carmilla, dude. Just look up Carmilla in the games and tell me this show ain’t good at it’s job.

Castlevania’s writing is kind of miraculous. As a cat that’s been playing these games since the late 80s, I’m mildly aware of the interconnecting lore between titles. It’s a mess. It’s a goddamn mess. There’s a dope story there, in the muck, but it’s so mired in melodrama, retcon, and years upon years of independent development, it’s completely lost. I appreciate Konami giving storytelling a shot during a time when gameplay was the principal seller of games, they didn’t have to do any of that, but, at some point, clean your sh*t up with a manga or reboot or something, man. The later titles do this sh*t fine. I adore Shanoa and Soma. Their games got the best of both worlds. The Belmonts? Not so much... This show does an amazing job of cutting through the bullsh*t and sharpening that story to a fine point. This is Trevor’s story, the first Belmont we take control of in game, so watching his line grow through the years, with this quality of storytelling, is mad compelling. I mean, you get right into it and it grips you from start to finish. I can’t wait to see where this goes.

The character work in this show is pretty legit. I was thoroughly surprised since the games themselves are rather bare bones and nauseatingly campy at times. Not this show. Nope! This sh*t is grim, dark, and violent. I love it! You can feel the plight one people and the rage of the vampires. Each main character s is beset with pathos and trauma and consequence, for two seasons. Season three is kind of light on growth but does a decent job explaining certain things. Like, this is Belmont’s tale but Sypha is definitely the most interesting character in the show. Everyone does a great job but there are, of course, a few standouts.

Speaking of my girl, did i tell you that Sypha is f*cking amazing? Ma is the most adorable, most badass motherf*cker in this show! I thought she was going to be kind of a weenie, like she is in the games, but nope! Ma is out here, burning motherf*ckers alive and slicing dudes up with ice blades, all the while being her peppy, adorable, kind of bloodthirsty self. F*ck, love Sypha and her voice actress, Alejandra Reynoso, is perfectly cast! She bring a levity and vulnerability to a woman who can take on an army all y her lonesome. I love that sh*t!

I have to mention how dope Dracula is in this how. He’s f*cking badass and, surprisingly, hilarious. His wit is as sharp as his fangs. Even with such overwhelming power, dude is still amazingly human, often time reminding you that he is just a broken, lonely, man. It’s incredible to see. you actually empathize with an entity hellbent of slaughtering humanity. I couldn’t believe that sh*t. A lot of that has to do with the writing but Graham McTavsh does an excellent job delivering those subtle emotional cues.

I feel like is should say something about Richard Armitage’s Trevor Belmont. Dude is dope. he’s how i always imagined Trevor to be. And Armitage is a seasoned veteran at this voice acting game so he does a great job. I’m not blown away or anything but he’s dope. Considering dude is kind of a supporting character in his own show, i think my indifference is warranted. He’s good, though, don’t misunderstand. I’m not decrying his performance or anything. Gold star for sure.

The best thing about season three, outside of my darling Sypha, is Lenore. Holy sh*t is she a great character! I was thoroughly surprised by how brazenly manipulative she turned out to be. Lenore is a f*cking genius and her feigned naivety is brought to life by an absolutely outstanding performance from Jessica Brown Findlay. Ma is on the long con and Carmilla might have some competition to look for.

I like Issac. This last season did wonders for developing his character. His arc is probably the best after Syph’s, mostly because he’s the only other character that even had an arc. His voice actor, Adetokumboh M'Cormack, does a great job developing the enigmatic Forgemaster into a character more than his humdrum game origins.

The Bad

This show is not anime! Stop telling me it’s an anime!

Alucard’s arc in season three was a little... me. I thought he was the one character let down by the writing but it’s not a terrible slight. I just felt he deserved more of a exploration than what he received.

Season three was straight up filler. I guess it has that in common with anime, even though most modern anime ha move away from the Filler system. I mean, i liked a lot of what went on and the character work was delightful but none of this is really of consequence. Most characters either didn’t grow or are exactly who we thought they were. It feels cheap.

Hector. What the f*ck, Hector. What the f*ck.

The Verdict

Season One showed a ton of potential. I enjoyed the whole Dracula arc, even though this was more a story about his disillusionment with humanity rather than how he became Dracula. Season two is the Castlevania know from the games. It was dope seeing that narrative removed from the shenanigans of that Konami narrative jank. I thought they id the characters dope ass justice and the story itself, was rather compelling. I didn’t mind the character changes and the stuff they added felt organic. Season three is the closest thing to a slice of life anime i’ve seen in this show and it’s ridiculous. Like, nothing really happens of consequence and it feels like setup for later seasons but it’s easily the best looking of the three seasons.

Overall, as a whole, Castlevnia is really good. It’s easily one of the best video game adaptions available. This show takes it’s liberties, of course, but it does so in a very respectful manner. The core of the Castlevania lore is revered and embellished with creative additions while keeping the characters true to their game selves. For the most part. I really enjoyed thee character of Dracula when he was around and, oh my god, Lenore is the goddamn best! Sypha is the MVP of this show, though, and i need you people to know that. The art style is beautiful, the narrative is compelling, and you’ll fall in love with the character work. Castlevania is dope and you should go binge all of it since there is literally nothing else to do under quarantine.

[velvarii]

April Fools / Misunderstanding

A day late for this, but I got the idea late last night and needed sleep. I also realized this kinda-sorta fit for day 2 of Gruvia week: misunderstanding.

Also posted on ff.net [story] [account]

Summary: Gray desperately tries to understand why Juvia is acting so cold to him all of the sudden

Pairing: Gray x Juvia

Rating: T

Gray walked into Fairy Tail and immediately sensed something was off, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

Cana was sitting atop one of the tables and drinking from a large barrel. Gajeel was sitting with team Shadow Gear, but acting as though he would rather be anywhere else, even though he was sitting rather close to the blunette. Natsu was stuffing his face while Lucy rolled her eyes. Elfman was yelling about manly things. Vijeeter was showing off a new dance. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Gray took a few more steps and immediately stopped.

That's what it is.

He actually managed to get a few steps into the guild hall without being tackled by a blue haired water mage. Where is Juvia, by the way? Gray looked around, and eventually found her sitting at the bar and talking to Mira, who was cleaning a few of the mugs. He wasn't sure why, but he found himself walking to the bar and standing next to where Juvia sat and ordered a drink from Mira before turning to the other woman.

"Hey, Juvia," he said, but she cast a brief, sideways glance at him before picking up her glass and taking a drink.

"Hello, Gray," she said lowly. Gray blinked. That's it? A simple hello?

"How're you today?" he tried.

"Juvia is well, thank you." What the hell? Gray thought. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted.

"Hey, Rain Woman, are ya comin'?" came the rough voice of Gajeel. Both turned to see him, arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes! Juvia's coming!" Juvia said, finishing off her drink quickly.

"Where are you going?" Gray asked.

"Juvia and Gajeel are taking a quick job," she said, then left. She left. Just like that. No 'Juvia will miss you, my love!' or 'Gray, darling, won't you please join us?' or even a kiss blown at him. Nothing. He watched with wide eyes as she and the iron dragon slayer left the guild hall, then turned back to Mira.

"Mira, what kind of job did they take?" he asked. She smiled sweetly at him.

"Just a simple security mission. It shouldn't take more than a few hours."

"Any reason why?"

"Juvia was telling me that she and Gajeel were doing it for old times sake. I think it's sweet, the two of them catching up like that," she said happily as she continued to clean glasses.

"So… nothing else?"

"Not that I know of." That didn't help him at all. If it were just for her and Gajeel to hang out, why would she be acting so cold to him? Unless…

"It's not Christmas, is it?" he asked, and Mira laughed.

"No. You've got a long ways to go," she said.

"Valentine's Day?"

"That's an even longer while away." That's right. He distinctly remembers having bought Juvia a box of chocolates a few months ago just to avoid her getting upset over getting nothing at all. He had Lucy to thank for reminding him about such a ridiculous day.

But if it wasn't a holiday, nor their 'anniversary,' then what the hell could it be?

"You're wondering why Juvia was acting strange towards you, aren't you?" Mira asked and Gray nodded with a sigh. "Well, she didn't say anything to me. Maybe ask Gajeel when they return? Or just go straight to her?"

"Yeah, I was considering that, but I don't know. You said they should be back in a few hours, right?" The white haired mage nodded, that sweet smile ever present. Gray sighed and picked up his mug, then went to join Erza, Natsu, and Lucy. He decided not to let it bother him.

But, of course, for the next eight and a half hours, it was the only thing on his mind.

Mira said a few hours. Where the hell are they?

He wasn't exactly worried about them, as he knew they were both once S-class and are very capable of handling themselves, but he just needed to know what the hell was up with Juvia. The sun was already set and Gray was getting tired of waiting. As though the world heard his wish, the doors to the guild hall opened and in stepped the two former Phantom Lord members.

"Juvia said she was sorry, Gajeel!"

"You nearly blew the whole mission, woman!" Gajeel shouted as they walked in.

"You told Juvia to flood the route, remember?"

"Yeah, but… in a better way than that!"

"Gajeel, Juvia doesn't think there are many different ways to flood something…"

"Whatever! It's over now."

"It is, so why are you still so angry?"

"Can it, woman!"

"Juvia's so sorry! Please forgive her!" Juvia cried, throwing her arms around the dragon slayer. Gajeel rolled his eyes, but placed a hand on her head.

"It's fine. Just…" he looked up and saw a few pairs of eyes on them, then quickly detached the water mage from his body. "It's fine," he said more gruffly, then walked to the bar. Juvia smiled at him, then looked around a little, as if trying to figure out where she should go. Again, she did not single him out and jump on him, telling him how much she dreaded not having him by her side.

"Hey, Juvia! Over here!" Natsu shouted with a bright grin, waving his hand in the air.

"Natsu," she said as she came to the table, smiling as she took a seat. "How are you today?"

"Not too bad," Natsu said as he took another bite of meat. Has he been eating all day?

"How was the quest, Juvia?" Gray asked. Juvia's demeanor changed suddenly and regarded him with an indifferent expression.

"It was fine," she said simply, then turned to talk to Lucy.

Seriously? Gray thought. He narrowed his eyes at her, then looked to the bar and stood. He was about to do something he really didn't want to do, but he supposed had no other choice.

"I'm going to get another drink," he murmured to no one in particular as he walked to the bar. When he took his seat next to Gajeel, he swore he could feel the dark aura surrounding the dragon slayer.

"What do you want, stripper?" he growled, lifting his mug to his mouth. Levy and the rest of team Shadow Gear had gone out on a quest of their own, so perhaps that added to his usual grumpy mood.

"I was just wondering if you knew what's wrong with Juvia," Gray said in a tone that showed he didn't want to have this conversation, either. Gajeel looked at him from the corner of his eye with a raised brow. Or… bolts.

"She seems fine to me," he said.

"I mean, mostly, yeah, but she's… God, this is gonna make me sound like an asshole, but she's not jumping all over me or anything. In fact, she's barely even looking at me. When I talk to her, she gives short answers and then turns away." Gajeel let out a grunted laugh.

"Maybe she's finally grown some common sense and has gotten over your sorry, stripping ass," he said. Gray rolled his eyes. He was right in thinking Gajeel wouldn't be any help.

"I just wanted to know if she said anything about me on the mission. If I did anything wrong."

"No, she didn't say a word about you. I get that it's a bit weird, but I couldn't care less," he said, taking another drink. Gray shook his head and turned away to head back to the table.

"Where'd Juvia go?" he asked the others.

"She left a bit ago. Said she just had somewhere to be," Natsu said.

"Did you do something to her, Gray?" Lucy asked.

"Did she say I did?" Gray asked quickly, almost too eagerly.

"No… She was just acting strange towards you." Great. Still nothing. He groaned. Really, it's only been a day that she's acted like this, and they haven't even interacted very much. Though, of course, lack of interaction was also the issue. Still, he shouldn't be making such a big deal about it. Rather than explaining what was going on, he left, deciding he would make Juvia tell him firsthand.

First, he went to her apartment, knocking and even trying to impersonate Gajeel in hopes of getting her to open the door. Unfortunately, she must not have been home. He was glad nobody was around to witness his impression.

Next, he tried Fairy Hills. Even though Juvia had moved out, he knew she would still frequent the place to hang out with some of the girls, but Laki informed him that she hadn't been there for a while.

The third place he tried was all along the river that ran through Magnolia, walking almost the entire length of it before heading back in the other direction. No sign of Juvia.

Why would she be mad at me? What could I have possibly done in the time between yesterday and today that would piss her off so much? Gray thought

Maybe she's just tired of waiting for you, you dumbass.

Unlikely. Shut the fuck up.

Very likely.

Gray groaned, scrubbing at his face to try to clear his conflicted mind. When he looked up, he realized where his feet had brought him.

Lamia Scale.

No.

She wouldn't.

Lyon weirded her out.

Right?

Swallowing thickly, the ice mage lift a hand and knocked on the door, and it opened. Thankfully, not by Lyon himself. Instead, he was made to look down to see who answered.

"Oh, Gray! What are you doing here at this hour?" Chelia said, violet eyes shining brightly.

"Uh, hey, Chelia. Sorry, I know it's late, but… wait, what time is it?"

"About 11:30, why?"

"What are you still doing here, then? Shouldn't you be home?"

"I'm staying here tonight. I mean, someone has to answer the door for people who come at weird hours."

"Uh-huh… Right. Anyway, has Juvia been here at all?" he asked, looking into the guild hall, but it was dark and empty.

"Juvia…?" Chelia's eyes then narrowed. She crossed her arms and looked away, nose up. "No. She hasn't. And that's a good thing. Lyon-"

"Great, thanks, that's all I needed to know," he said before taking off. He wasn't sure where she could be, but decided to head back to Magnolia to check her apartment again. This time, when he knocked, the light beside the door turned on and he heard locks being undone. The door opened, and there Juvia stood, hair slightly a mess and wearing only a shirt that dropped mid-thigh (wait… was that his shirt?). She must have been sleeping.

"Gray? What are you doing here?" she asked, blinking in surprise.

"Juvia," Gray breathed, relief flooding his body. "Can I come in?" She eyed him for a moment before moving out of the way and Gray went in. When he heard the door close, he turned back to face her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, returning to a more cold demeanor.

"First, where have you been? I've been looking for you for hours!" Gray said. Slight shock returned to her features.

"Gray's been… looking for Juvia?" she said quietly.

"Forget that - I wanna know what your deal is. Why have you been so cold to me today?" he asked. He saw Juvia glance away and followed her eyes to the clock.

11:57

Was there some other holiday she discovered? Did he have to make it up to her in under three minutes? No, that can't be it. Right?

"Juvia, what did I do wrong? I can't make it up to you if you won't tell me!" he said. Juvia crossed her arms and cast her eyes downward.

"Juvia… Juvia does not…" her voice was soft and Gray had to strain his ears to hear her. "She…"

"What, Juvia?" Gray nearly shouted, growing impatient. The water mage swallowed thickly, tightening her arms around herself before looking up at him.

"Juvia does not like Gray anymore," she said simply. Gray's eyes widened.

What?

"Juvia-"

"She… she is over you, Gray."

"You… what? Why?" he asked, his voice coming out choked, and Juvia winced. It was hardly visible, but Gray saw it.

"Juvia was… tired of waiting. She has moved on."

"To who? Lyon?" Gray asked, voice rising as anger bloomed within him.

"N-no! She-"

"Then who?!"

"Nobody! Juvia has just moved on from Gray!" Gray shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he tried desperately to figure out what to say. It couldn't all be over. Could it?

"Look, Juvia," he said, stepping closer to her, "I'm sorry. I… I kept you waiting and never gave you a straight answer and I shouldn't have done that. I get why you'd want to move on, but… But I just can't let you! Not now," he said, grabbing her arms. Her eyes went wide, then darted to the clock and back to him again.

11:58

"Juvia… I should have told you this a long time ago, but I was stubborn. I like you. I really like you. More than I probably should, but I do. I like when you're near and talking to me and saying how much you missed me. I like when you grab my arm and hold yourself close to me. I like everything about you and I…" Gray lowered his head and his eyes were hidden under dark fringe. "And I'm too late… And that's my fault. I'm sorry, Juvia. I realize now it's not fair of me to tell you this once you've finally moved on, but I'm not exactly selfless."

"Gray…" He looked up at her again and Juvia swore her heart shattered at his broken expression.

"I know I said I couldn't let you move on, but now I realize I need to. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Juvia," he said quietly, then tore himself away and turned, opened the door, and left. Juvia glanced at the clock again, her heart racing.

11:59

Gray was cursing himself as he left her apartment. Had he not been such an ass, he would have her now. But instead he held too tightly to his selfish pride and had kept his mouth shut about his feelings toward her. And now he was paying the price.

And it hurt like a bitch.

He heard a bell tower in the distance, signaling midnight. This is the first day of what would now be his new hell in a life without Juvia by his side. After her being in it for so long, he didn't know how he was going to settle back into a life before her.

"Gray!" He stopped dead in his tracks at the voice in the distance and turned around to see who had called for him, but before he could focus in on anything, he was tackled to the ground. Looking down at what was wrapped around him, he saw a mess of blue hair.

"Juvia?" he breathed. She lift her head, smiling brightly at him with tears glistening in her eyes. "Juvia, I thought-"

"Happy April Fools!" she shouted with a jovial giggle, tightening her hold on him. Gray furrowed his brows.

"April… what?" What the hell was she on about? She was just telling him that she was over him and had no intention of looking back! Now -

Oh.

"What?!" Gray shouted as realization settled in, but Juvia only laughed happily. "Are you kidding me?!"

"Nope!" Juvia said with a breathtaking smile.

"It was a joke? All of it?"

"Yup!" Gray's head fell back against the concrete sidewalk, but he ignored the pain. She was pranking him?

"You made me believe you were over me," he said, trying hard to keep his voice level.

"That was the point." Gray couldn't believe it. He didn't know whether to yell at her for what she did, or to rejoice that it wasn't true. When he found his arms wrapping over her back to keep her to his chest, he had his answer.

"Juvia… About what I said -" Juvia raised up a little and pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a warm smile.

"It's all right, Gray. Juvia does not expect you to say anything about it. This was a joke she decided to play. She didn't do it to force you into making a decision."

"No, I needed you to do it," he said, sitting up with her in his lap. She blinked at him. "I meant what I said, Juvia. Every word of it. I wasn't exactly sure about what I wanted before, but now I know as though it were the clearest thing in my life. I want to be with you, Juvia. Even if I wasn't losing you, it still felt like it, and I'll be damned if I go through that again."

"Juvia didn't mean to hurt Gray," she said, looking worried. He placed a hand on her jaw and stroked her cheek with his thumb, smiling lightly at her.

"You didn't hurt me. Well… Okay, you sort of did, but - hey, don't start crying! I'm saying that you gave me a wake-up call. You made me realize my feelings and got me to stop hiding from them. I can't say it was a very conventional way, but… Well, not much is conventional around here, really." Juvia gave him a watery smile, then threw her arms around his neck, shoving his face to her chest and hugging him tightly.

"April Fools is now Juvia's favorite day! She is so happy!"

"Juvia," Gray said, voice muffled against her bosom as he struggled against her. However, he had really missed her touch and excitement all day, and let her have her moment because he was still having his own, and was also giving himself time to process all of what happened.

Gray managed to push her away enough to look at her, and found himself unable to stop smiling. She cupped his face with her hands, let out a sob of a laugh, and surged forward crashing her lips to his own in an eager and excited kiss. He chuckled against her lips and pressed a hand to the back of her head to return the gesture. His other hand wrapped around her waist, and he then realized that she was still only in his shirt.

"Juvia, what the hell are you doing running around dressed like this?" he said when he pulled away. Juvia pouted softly.

"Juvia needed to catch up to you at midnight. She didn't have time to change. You did wake her up, after all," she accused. Gray moved her off of him and got up, pulling her up along with him. He then took off his long coat and draped it over her shoulders to prevent anyone else out at this hour getting a look at her dressed in such a way. Juvia smiled at him and took his hand, and he squeezed hers in return.

"Let's get you home. It's late," he said, and began walking her back to her apartment.

"Will Gray stay with Juvia tonight?" Juvia asked quietly, and Gray looked down at her with a light smile.

"If you think I'm leaving after that crazy stunt you pulled, you've got another thing coming," he said, and Juvia practically squealed and ran the rest of the way, dragging Gray in tow.

[whimsicaldragonette]

Some Other Metal Than Earth (Part 1 of 5)

Summary: Draco Malfoy is bored out of his mind in his eighth year at Hogwarts. After a prank gone wrong, he discovers that Harry's life isn't really that much better than his own. As they try to keep their friends from realizing that they've somehow swapped minds, they find it's easier to spend time together. Becoming friends comes naturally. But are their friends really as fooled as they believe? Complete at 5 chapters; will post a chapter a day all this week as a birthday present to myself.

Part 1 (You are here)~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~

-Part 1: Monday-

A fly buzzed around the windows of the new Potions classroom, hurling itself futilely against the glass. Draco found himself wishing he could do the same. Salazar, he was bored. He sighed, propping his head on his hand, fighting to keep his eyelids from drooping. His attention wandered from the lecture again and he found himself watching dust motes dancing in the beams of golden late-afternoon light.

Thank Merlin this was his last class of the day. Staying awake through double Potions right before dinner was turning out to be nigh impossible. Especially on days like this when the sun had heated the room and turned it stifling.

Professor Slughorn’s voice droned on, listing the properties of something-or-other in painfully exhaustive detail. Merlin. The man was worse than Binns. Nearly, anyway. At least Binns could be relied upon to turn a blind eye to the eighth-years’ increasing absences. Draco had been ducking out of History of Magic for weeks now, joining most of his classmates out on the grounds.

Well, not joining, exactly. He usually joined Blaise and Pansy for a walk around the grounds, steadfastly ignoring the Gryffindors as they ran about in their usual madcap fashion or lounged in the sun. Sometimes Daphne tagged along, hauling Theo with her, but Draco was indifferent to their presence. He was only close with Blaise and Pansy, anymore. Greg had chosen to enter an apprenticeship in lieu of returning for eighth year, and Vince…

Draco tried not to think about Vince.; it hurt too much. There was an empty spot on his left, a bit like a missing tooth, and it was so hard to keep from prodding at it. Vince had brought it on himself, gotten in too far for Draco to pull him out again; but he still felt like he’d failed him.

He sat as far from the fire as possible now, leaving the cozy chairs for the irritatingly fearless Gryffindors. He felt his face pull into the familiar sneer, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the expression.  He felt the smallest flicker of jealousy; he’d loved the crackle and hiss of a cheerful fire, once. But now all he could see in the dancing flames was the fear in Vince’s eyes as he fell, burning, burning…

The other students ignored them, mostly, as they strolled around the lake. It rankled a bit. He could do with some brawling, but no one thought them worth fighting anymore. Not even Potter, who seemed content to run about with the others.

The fly buzzed past his head, avoiding his absent-minded swat and bashing into the other window. Draco tuned back into the lecture for a moment. Salazar. Slughorn was talking about Mugwort, now. He knew all this — they’d learned it years ago. Severus’ slow drawl returned unbidden, overlaying Slughorn’s higher, more nasal tones.

He could just walk out. Grab his things and— But, no. He’d have to cross in front of Slughorn to reach the door, and there was no way the man’s sharp eyes would miss him.

The screech of dozens of chair legs scraping across flagstones jolted Draco from his daze and he jumped. His eyes flitted to the clock — there was still nearly an hour left of class. Was Slughorn letting them out early? Then he noticed that the others were queueing up at the supply cupboard and grinned. Labs had been few and far between under Slughorn’s tutelage. Finally. The chance to have a bit of fun.

Draco absently gathered his supplies, wondering how best to relieve his boredom. He hesitated, hand hovering by the jar of powdered lacewing. Just a pinch would react with the mugwort and cause a decent explosion. He’d seen Finnegan do it a few times. The first by accident, the others… well. Finnegan was an enthusiastic pyromaniac. Draco tried to avoid him, as a rule. It had less to do with his infuriating Gryffindor-ness and more to do with safety.

He gazed at the small jar in his hand, wondering. How best to go about this? The sound of approaching footsteps startled him, and he hurriedly replaced the jar as another student entered the dim cupboard, blinking owlishly behind ridiculous lenses.

Draco felt his lips curl into a slow smirk. Congratulations, Potter, he thought. You just volunteered to make things interesting. He shivered in delicious anticipation, wondering whether to make his meddling known. No — there was always the chance that Granger would stick her over-large nose into it and spoil his fun. He’d just have to content himself with the knowledge that he’d been the one to cause their mishap. Though, knowing Potter, it wasn’t likely that he’d cast the blame on anyone else. History had proved that if there was anything he could blame on Draco he would, with relish.

“Potter,” he said, raising a brow as he eyed the other boy. He looked so tired lately, as if all the fight had drained out of him, leaving him an empty shell. He racked his brains for an insult that would knock Potter out of that stupor. “Granger actually trusts you to get the ingredients?” he asked, shaking his head in mock alarm. “Surely she realizes she’s jeopardizing her grades?”

Potter’s eyes flashed warningly, and Draco tensed in anticipation of finally getting a rise out of him, but the fight drained out of his face as Draco watched. It was wrong. He’d thought he’d be relieved at not being tormented or shunned by Potter this year, but this was just wrong. Potter was supposed to be brimming with rage and fire and passion. Draco felt his stomach turn over with a strange, slow flop, but ignored it. It wasn’t important just now. Potter was important. Sparking Potter’s fire was important.

Potter just shrugged, world-weary and listless, and quietly asked Draco to pass the murtlap. Draco didn’t think. His hand shot out and he snatched the illegibly-labeled bottle of lacewing he’d been eying earlier. He held his breath, hoping Potter wasn’t watching, that he wouldn’t notice the switch.

Potter didn’t look at him, just nodded as he accepted the bottle and moved back toward the light of the classroom.

Draco blinked, watching him walk away. He was a mess of roiling emotions, of frustration at Potter not responding to his taunts, relief at not being punched in the face, anticipation for what was to come. He shivered, letting the anticipation take hold, then grabbed the last jar he needed and hurried back to his seat. He didn’t want to miss the imminent explosion.

“Draco?” Pansy asked warily, as he returned to their desk with the ingredients. “What happened?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

She scooted away from him, the legs of her chair scraping across the flagstones. “Well, whatever it is, don’t get me involved. I’ve not had any detentions yet this term and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Draco shrugged. He didn’t want her help anyway. He wanted the satisfaction of finally getting a rise out of Potter all to himself.

Nothing happened for several minutes. The students measured and mixed, murmuring about the changing appearance of their potions and taking notes. Draco left the majority of brewing to an exasperated Pansy. He was too busy watching Potter adding ingredients to his cauldron.

Potter picked up one of the last jars left on his desk, tipping it over the gently bubbling cauldron. Draco leaned forward, trying to see if it was the lacewing.

“Draco! What on earth are you—”

He waved her off, not taking his eyes from Potter, ignoring her heavy sigh.

It was the lacewing, he was sure of it. The powder was tipping forward, right at the lip of the jar, and—

“Harry!” Granger lunged at him, trying to knock away his hand, but she was too late. Draco stood up abruptly and moved closer, watching in delight as the powder fell into the cauldron, settling for a moment on the sludge-brown surface — wait, Draco thought, feeling an icy finger of dread creep up his spine, it’s not supposed to be that color, is it? — and then they melted into it, spreading a golden lacy layer atop it, and he stared, fascinated. He’d never seen anything quite like it.

And then everything happened at once.

Granger’s grasping hand knocked Harry’s arm. The rest of the lacewing fell into the potion. For a second, nothing happened, and then it sucked inward and erupted with a sickening glop all over Potter and himself.

Granger escaped the muck, tumbling backward into Weasley’s arms, and Draco scowled as he wiped the brown goo from his face. It really wasn’t fair, how all of his schemes ended up backfiring. But even that frustration was familiar and oddly comforting.

Professor Slughorn approached, waving his arms in alarm, and hovered over Potter, turning occasionally to scowl darkly at Draco, then finally bundled them both off to the hospital wing.

Pomfrey listened to his rant, seemingly quietly amused, and then sent Slughorn away and turned to examine him and Potter.

“Well, boys,” she said, after running several tests, “you appear to have escaped harm this time. I feel I really ought to thank you for livening up my afternoon. It’s been duller than a blast-ended skrewt’s love life here lately.”

Draco snorted in amusement, surprised at the wan conspiratorial grin Potter flashed him. It faded quickly, though, leaving Draco feeling oddly empty.

“Come along Potter,” he drawled, “wouldn’t want you to miss dinner on my account. You’re far too thin as it is.”

Potter studied him, an odd expression on his face, and Draco racked his brain for an insult to hurl at him, just to put them back on familiar ground. But his mind had gone curiously blank, and eventually, he turned with a sniff and dramatic whirl of his robes that did little to reassure him as he stalked toward the Great Hall.

Why could Potter still get under his skin like no one else? From the moment they’d met he’d felt like Draco’s personal tormentor. His eyes darted to Potter’s face, quite without his permission. Somehow he’d caught up to Draco, and now they were walking in step, the squeak of Potter’s worn-out trainers mingling with the crisp slap of expensive leather on stone.

Draco grit his teeth. Potter was smiling at him, that lopsided smile that always sent Draco’s stomach into slow flips, though it wasn’t usually directed at him.

Draco pressed his lips together firmly, determined not to smile back. He didn’t know what Potter was doing, but they were not friends, and he wasn’t going to let his guard down that easily. Potter, seemingly reading his mind, shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other, and turned away as the entered the Great Hall, veering toward the Gryffindor table and leaving Draco feeling as if the stones under his feet weren’t quite as solid as they appeared.

“So,” Blaise asked as he sat down, nudging Draco in the ribs. “What happened?”

Draco frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t be coy, Draco,” Pansy drawled, “it doesn’t suit you. You and Potter have been gone for ages.” She raised one carefully stenciled brow, and Draco sighed.

“Drop it, Pansy. Nothing happened. Pomfrey just insisted on running as many tests as she could think of.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And, what were the results of your little… experiment?”

Draco shrugged. “Nothing. A bit disappointing, really. I’d hoped for an explosion.”

“From Potter or his cauldron? Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ve been itching for a fight with him since we got back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness that had been building there, and turned his attention to his food. The only way to shut Pansy up was to ignore her so thoroughly that she gave up. After several minutes of pointedly focusing on his plate, she huffed in annoyance and turned her back to him, joining Blaise and Daphne in some inane conversation Draco had no interest in.

It was like it had never happened — those last, horrible years. They were all pretending so very hard that he thought some of them had started to believe it. He didn’t want to forget it, didn’t think he could. Maybe it was different for them. They hadn’t let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Hadn’t tried to kill Dumbledore. Hadn’t had the sodding Dark Lord living in their home, commandeering their bedroom to house some of his more loyal followers.

As usual, the thought of Greyback and Aunt Bella left Draco’s mouth tasting of ash. He shoved his plate away, suddenly unable to stomach even the thought of food, trying to shove the memories away with it.

“Excuse me,” he said, not caring that he had interrupted Pansy mid-sentence. “I’m not feeling well, after all. Think I’ll go sleep it off.”

“Draco? You don’t look so good — should we take you to the hospital wing?”

He waved her off, needing to get away from the food, the chatter, the overwhelming press of people in the Great Hall. “No. No, I just— I just need to rest, I think.”

He turned, stumbling a little as he hurried out of the room, wanting nothing more than to fall into bed, sneak another sip from the vial he kept under his mattress and let the arms of Dreamless Sleep claim him.

Part 1 (You are here)~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~

You can also read on AO3, FF, Wattpad

[blkpnkwriting]

bad for you

part i. / part ii. / part iii.

bad!girl Rosé x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drug use (tobacco, alcohol)

Word count: 7,418

     You were the type who believed in “if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen” but that didn’t seem to be working out too well for you. The moment you practiced “if you want something, go get it” was the moment she came into your life.

NOTE: i accidentally deleted the original request from anonymous, i apologize !! it was essentially asking for a scenario between rosé and a female reader where rosé is all cool and tough and indifferent but then her attitude changes completely once she meets the reader and she’s not afraid to show it

     You palmed a set of tarnished keys in your hand, belonging to your new apartment. Above you, you heard the faint ticking of time passing inside the empty convenience store.

    This was your fresh start.

    High school was a little over a year ago, and in that span of time, you had nothing to show for it. Nothing has changed. Your entire life has spun around you, the epicenter, dynamic while you stayed stagnant. Life was boring sitting on the bleachers while everyone else got to play.

    And you were tired of it. You wanted something different, something new.

    Which was exactly why you moved away from everything you knew. You managed to scrape by on the skin of your teeth, a change of scenery, a place of your own, and an odd job. The store owner was more than content with throwing you into the mess of things, running over rules and regulations, what your role entailed. Which appeared to be just about everything. Whatever, you would make decent money at an easy enough job. You were just happy that you somehow got what you wanted.

    Not the whole package, but it would do for now.

    Night fell as you counted change for a customer, handing the remainder back with a fake smile plastered on your face. They nodded and left the way they came, and you were alone again. Bored, again. You leaned forward on the counter, resting your chin in the curve of your hand, and blew hair out of your face. This shift wasn’t going to last much longer, you just had to make it to midnight. Then, you were expected to close and lock up shop, catch a bus back to your apartment, and start your routine over the next morning.

    You wanted things to change, but the most you had accomplished was isolating yourself.

    You were contemplating the effects of another Red Bull on how well you’d sleep tonight, when there came the distant rumbling that could only be associated with a motorcycle, growing louder and ever nearer. Eyes closed, you prayed they wouldn’t come in and bother you during your last stretch of your shift. Couldn’t you just sit in peace and watch late night news until it was time to bail?

    Apparently not, as the chime of the front door opening rang. It was already annoying. You swallowed your bitterness and prepared to put on that same fake smile again, when you registered just the kind of group that was entering.

    Leather jackets, studded joints. The dull thud of worn combat boots. Jovial laughter, a guy elbowing his friend roughly as they horsed around. And when they cast their attention on you, you almost cowered away. As you would have done in the past. They looked like thugs, and you were the only one in the store. Little, ol’ you. Some of the men towered in comparison, and the way one toyed with a toothpick between his teeth, eyeing you over, had you deciding these were not the kind of people you wanted to be alone with in the middle of the night. Except, you were.

    A muscle in your jaw jumped as you clenched it shut, steeling yourself against your flight instincts. Before, you would have been the type to hide away and wait for them to leave, no matter what they did. It wasn’t your problem, and you didn’t want to get involved. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe you didn’t involve yourself with anything your entire life, which was why you had no experience to speak of. No notable friends, no direction after high school, and honestly? Barely a life worth living.

    You didn’t want to be that scared, little girl anymore. The one who watched the world like it was a movie and wasn’t even a supporting character in it. Too content with your silence and trepidation. You moved away to start over, but you had to follow through with your plan. You had to do the one thing you hadn’t yet.

    Go out of your comfort zone.

    You stood your ground at the cash register, wincing out a sickly-sweet smile in response to the man still gazing at you over the candy aisle. It was countered with a mirthless chuckle, and he must’ve tapped his buddy beside him, because he too began staring at you. The hair on the back of your neck pricked at you, warning you, but you ignored it, glaring back into dark eyes crinkling with thoughts you didn’t want to know anyway.

    The door chimed once more, and you inadvertently deviated your eyes.

    To her.

    Whoever she was, whatever she was doing with this wayward gang --- there was one thing you knew for certain and that was just how beautiful she was. Strawberry blonde hair to stand stark against the weathered leather of her bomber jacket. Ripped jean shorts, fabric hanging in tendrils down her thighs, belonging to impossibly long legs that finished with clunky boots. In hand, she used a motorcycle helmet to bash her friend’s shoulder at whatever they had said.

    You were staring and you couldn’t help it. You were staring so much that as she passed the register, she looked up, meeting your eyes. There must’ve been an expression written all over your face for the lopsided smile she gave you. At that, you felt your cheeks grow warm with a blush, and you almost caved your already weak resolve.

    Almost.

    Movement over her shoulder stole your gaze just as one of the ruly guys pocketed some merchandise like he was merely helping himself to a five-finger discount. And without thinking, you sprang into action.

    “Hey, you wanna maybe put that back?�� you snapped rather rudely in his direction. You didn’t let the fact that it came out easier than expected rattle you.

    The girl now in your peripheral stopped in her tracks, smile falling, turning to look at the man in question.

    The guy shrugged, the ghost of a smile tweaking at the corners of his thin mouth. He glanced at his friend for confirmation, who only shook his bald head in faux innocence. “I don’t got nothin’.”

    “Yeah, you shouldn’t go around accusin’ people,” his buddy countered, snickering. The confrontation was making your chest all tight. “It’s bad for business, y’know.”

     You weren’t sure why you did it, but you rounded the counter, striding past the girl and past the way it made your heart leap out of your chest, and right up to the guy. His eyebrows lifted in mild bemusement at your being forward, his smile in full force. Before, you would have turned tail by now. You hated that look on someone’s face, condescending and arrogant, like they had already won. At the present moment, it pissed you off. You found yourself inwardly praying again that you wouldn’t stutter or make a fool of yourself.

    “I know what I saw,” you stated. A hand jutted forward for his pocket and you added, “Give it back, and then you can leave.”

    “‘I can leave?’” he repeated, laughing in your face. He smelled like cigarette smoke standing this close to him, and it made you want to gag with how heavy it was. No wonder he had no money to properly buy anything when all of it was spent on his vice. “What are you going to do?”

    You opened your mouth to speak, but it wasn’t your voice that came out.

    “Alright, cut it out.” Someone brushed past you, gently, in a way that wasn’t meant to disturb you. It was the girl with the strawberry blonde hair, and she reached up to grab the guy not so gently by the hair, yanking him down a peg, literally. “You’ve had your fun, now give it up. You’re being fucking stupid.”

    She didn’t wait for him to say anything, releasing her hold on him not so gently. There was a sound of discontentment as he reared back from the push, but he didn’t try to fight back, and with a roll of his eyes, he pulled out the couple of candy bars and a set of earbuds he had thieved. You realized your hand was still stuck out and he seized it, his fingers calloused against the back of your hand, slapping the items into your palm. The force shook you to the core but you took a deep breath and kept from crumbling.

    Without another word, he smacked his friend’s shoulder and the two of them left. You could hear them muttering slurs as they threw open the door.

    “I’m sorry about that,” the girl said then, turning around to face you, voice much softer. All that confidence that you had built up to face the thief wobbled before her. Up close, you were hit with the whole impact of her beauty. Even as she spoke, you couldn’t stop looking at her supple lips, slightly redden with lipstick from hours ago. Or it was just the natural color of them. “Sometimes they forget how to behave in public. They’re good guys... mostly.”

    The accompanying laugh, low in her throat, did things to your stomach that you hadn’t felt before. But you weren’t responding, and she was doing that same lopsided grin at you again like she was in on some joke.

    “Well, sorry again. I hope you have a good rest of your night,” she finished, nodding at a couple stragglers inside the store. Together, they all began to file out, and with them, the anxiety of the whole scenario. In its wake, you were left with this sensation of elation, of actually standing up for yourself. Maybe that was what gave you a short burst of courage, because as the girl was leaving the store, you finally spoke up.

    “Who should I be thanking for tonight?”

    A pause, hand holding open the door, and then she looked over her shoulder. Smirking. “Rosé,” said she, and not without giving you a last glance over, and leaving you with a wink.

    That wink was all you could think about while you laid wide awake in bed that night.

    A series of days trickled by, uneventful. The girl, Rosé, almost felt like a distant memory at this point with hardly anything to remember her by. It was much shorter than you recalled, the entire store visit lasting no more than a handful of minutes. You weren’t paying that much attention, you had just wanted to go home. All you could think about was that lopsided smile, the hint of... something behind it. It was like she knew something about you right from start.

    Whatever, you couldn’t ponder about it anymore or it was going to drive you crazy. Instead, you contented yourself with thinking about how her long hair must feel so silky. How nice her voice was once you thought about it, all milk and honey. How there was that trace of a threat still in her eyes when she faced you, only for it to disappear when she addressed you. It was sexy, you had to admit, and you wanted to hit yourself for being the stereotypical girl who was attracted to the bad guy.

    The sound of a pen clicking over and over filled the void inside the convenience store. It was located somewhat on the outskirts of the large city you were trying to get familiar with, and the people that would come by either knew about it previously or were travellers. The store was growing old, if you were being honest. The walls had water stains, the shelves were due for the garbage and sank under the weight of its property, and the television set was a bulky son of a bitch that had a handle at the top for you to carry around if you so wished. Yet, it did well enough that the owner could pay you worth your while, and that’s all you cared about.

    In time, perhaps you could even appreciate the antiquity of it all.

    A customer passed through the doors, headed for their usual. After a short wait, they came to the counter, head bowed as they perused the lotto tickets that were displayed beneath the glass under your hands. You conversed absently with them as they mused over which ticket they’d buy, and you didn’t bother to look and see who had also entered just then, the bell clinking their arrival.

    “I think I’ll buy one of these...” the customer finally said, finger pressing against the glass. You shuffled through some tickets in the stash behind the counter, selecting a few of the types they had picked.

    Ringing up the tickets, you informed the customer of the price, and accepted the bills as they were handed to you. The register clanked open, allowing you to then sift through the money, and placed the bit of leftover change into their hand, thanking them as customary.

    The customer turned, leaving the counter.

    Behind them stood Rosé.

    Your reaction was simultaneous --- you rooted to the spot, your mouth dry, and your brain short-circuited.

    Today, Rosé gifted you with a mesh top with only a black bralette underneath, and you took note of the way the fishnet had ripped on her shoulder, hanging slightly. She was too close to the counter to see the rest of what she somehow managed to look grunge chic, but that didn’t matter, because she was talking and you were forgetting to respond again.

    “Did I smudge my eyeliner?” she was teasing, idly brushing at a spot beneath her eye.

    You shook your head, and forced yourself to say something. “No, you look nice.” Wait, not that.

    That low chuckle again, like she knew she had you wrapped around her finger already. You would be totally happy with that... if you weren’t trying this new thing of not letting yourself be easily swayed by what happened around you. Even if this girl had somehow already gotten to you, you were out to prove to yourself that you could take control for once. That you didn’t have to be stuck in the same old life where nothing happened because you had no agency.

    “What can I get for you, Rosé?” you asked, enjoying the way her name rolled off your tongue. You tried to appear nonchalant, even allowing a faint smile to grace your lips. You don’t miss the way she glances at them, and you privately celebrate your small victory.

    “Well... Y/N,” she started, taking a second to purposefully look down at your nametag your boss made you wear. Your heart fluttered. “I’d like some Luckies, if you got them.”

    “Some what?” you blurted out, blindsided.

    Rosé laughed again. “Lucky Strikes, the cigarettes? I know some places don’t sell them, but I figured I’d try here.”

    Cigarettes, you thought disdainfully, everyone’s got to have a flaw. There was a puzzled look on Rosé’s face when you then turned around and momentarily browsed the cigarette selection you have at your disposal. After a beat, you found them, and reached up to take a pack of them down.

    You sat them on the counter, and Rosé’s fingers brushed yours as she asked, “What was that look for?”

    “What look?” you replied earnestly, the words coming out quickly at the contact.

    “You gave me a weird look when I asked for the cigarettes,” she explained, smirking. “What, don’t like them?”

    “Actually, no,” you honestly responded. You shrugged a shoulder, “Never really been a fan of them. I think there’s more to not like about them than anything else.”

    As you spoke, a strange expression crossed Rosé’s face, and you feared you said too much, upsetting her. Even after you stopped talking, she didn’t say anything, and didn’t remove her hand or the cigarettes from the counter. Now you fucked up. “Sorry, I don’t mean to ---”

    “No, don’t apologize,” Rosé interrupted, and you were relieved to see the crooked smile you had been thinking about for days. And some nights. “I’m glad you don’t like them. They’re seriously bad for you --- make you smell bad, your teeth get all yellow... stuff like that.”

    “You don’t look so bad,” you said without thinking. Again. You wanted to slap your forehead, but Rosé chuckled, ducking her head the slightest bit. She acted like she wasn’t complimented all that often, and the sudden thought made you sad. There was so much to admire, and the idea that no one was telling her that was a disservice to everyone.

    “Well, I try,” she said, taking the cigarettes off the counter. In their place, she set down a couple bills, and before you could input the amount into the machine, she was speaking again. “Don’t bother. It’s for you.”

    “I can’t do that,” you reluctantly declined with a shake of your head, pushing the money back. Black fingernails scratched at the counter as she stopped you from rejecting the money.

    “Think of it as a tip, for the advice.” Rosé winked at you again, and damn it if your heart didn’t speed up.

    Disappointment flooded your entire being when Rosé turned back and started for the door. What was it that made you want her to stay? You barely knew her, and she only got your name today. For all you knew, she could be just like the guys she ran with: good for nothing except trouble. Yeah, you wanted a different path than the one you had been treading your entire life, but you didn’t want to go down the wrong one just for the hell of it.

    “Cigarettes are bad for you!” you called after her, just like the other night.

    Rosé didn’t bother looking over her shoulder as she neared her exit. But she still replied, and it rattled you to the core, just like the bell as she left.

    “Maybe I’m bad for you.”

    Maybe I’m bad for you.

    What Rosé said has stuck with you for days.

    Did that mean she was going to come back? Did that mean you were right and she was nothing but ill will for your future? Did that mean she liked you like you liked her?

    You spent an entire night thinking about it. Realizing you did feel... something for her. There was no one else like her that you had met. No one that so instinctually provoked you to feel confused and dazed and excited and apprehensive and fuck, just everything. It was all just a big mess in your head, and you stared up at the darkened ceiling of your small apartment, churning inside your mind. Why was it like this? You had only met her twice now, and it was not enough. You wanted more. You wanted to know her.

    You just didn’t know where to begin. How to contact her. How to show without showing that you wanted to... you don’t know. And so you tossed over and buried your head in your pillow and forced yourself to sleep.

    Today was a new day. And you were at work. At the very least, it was a different shift than usual, one where you would be let off at a reasonable time. You might even be able to grab a bite to eat after work instead of scarfing down microwave meals and then going to bed.

    It was busier during the day, you noted. Which was welcoming, allowing a reprieve from your overactive head from thinking about things that would lead you nowhere but distracted and unreliable.

    “Got any plans for this evening?”

    Your coworker, a slack-off of a guy with a nice enough personality, asked you but not without taking his eyes off his cellphone game. Lame.

    “Nothing but something to eat at someplace nice,” you informed. You were actually excited about it. You didn’t get to go out very often even if it was just by yourself. You swept some dust into the broom butler, attempting to look busy. You had been working since early this morning, while your coworker had only shown up about an hour ago. He would ultimately end up the night shift, your usual gig. You looked at the clock to see just how close freedom was.

    “Oh, so you got a date?” he asked, and his eyes flitted from his screen. Apparently, this was slightly more important than his phone.

    “Don’t need one,” you countered, pleased with yourself at the confidence. “I just wanna find a nice place with good food, maybe even make it a regular pit stop.”

    “’Cause you’re new,” he added, nodding. His foot jiggled from its prop on the counter, laces slapping the side of his sneakers. “We should go out sometime, I can show you around.”

    You’re going to have to look away from your phone for more than five minutes for that to happen, you thought. You didn’t respond, and he didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. You rolled your eyes and moved to a new area to sweep.

Cleaning up the last of your duties, you were finally able to leave your shift. You entered the bathroom to change, and sighed in happiness when you took off the tacky polo you have to wear for the job. Your favorite grey t-shirt was much more comfortable to wear. Shoving the polo into your backpack, you left the bathrooms and headed for the front, snatching up a Red Bull as you’re about to leave.

    “I thought you didn’t have a date,” your coworker snorted from behind the counter.

    “What?” you said, brows furrowed, and he gestured his head toward the front of the store. His thumbs continued tapping the screen of his phone as you left.

    Stationed directly in the middle of the lot was a jet black motorcycle, glinting in the evening sunlight. Leaning against the seat was none other than Rosé herself, arms crossed and not without that signature smile you were growing to love. You didn’t move as you gazed over her, marvelling at how she could ride a motorcycle when wearing a skirt that mimicked a school-girl uniform. You pushed away accompanying dirty thoughts at the skirt, resisting the blush threatening your face. She had to be waiting for you.

    “Got any plans this evening?” Rosé uncannily repeated the same question your coworker had asked you.

    “I’m guessing you already made them for me,” you said, walking just close enough to hear each other. You didn’t want to be that presumptuous, but again, there was no other reason for her to be here. If she wanted her special cigarettes, she would have just gone inside for them.

    “You guessed correct,” the red-blonde said, winking. Everything was her signature move, but it fucking worked. You weren’t able to stop the flashback of your prior self in the way you avoided her eyes, brushing away a bit of hair that wasn’t there. When you did look at her again, there was that amused but curious expression on her face, the same that she had when you told her you didn’t like her vice. As if she noticed something you did that she hadn’t quite chalked up.

    “C’mon, get a move on.” Rosé reached over to beside the back seat of her motorcycle, revealing another helmet that had been strapped to the side. She held it out for you, but you didn’t take it as you glanced at the vehicle. “What, never been on one before?”

    “Uhm... no.”

     This was the start of something different you wanted. Part of the reason you were so boring was because you didn’t take risks. Sitting here, wondering if Rosé really was bad for you, why you had never ridden a motorcycle --- it was time to just say fuck it.

    “First time for everything,” you hummed, smiling and accepting to helmet.

    Rosé gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head softly so that her gorgeous blonde hair flew across her face and gave you the desire to brush it away. “Just climb on up behind me.” You did as she said, trying not to seem as awkward as you were. It was surprisingly comfortable, the seat underneath you, but then you were faced with where to put your hands to keep steady. Rosé chuckled again, sitting forward now. “Just hold onto my waist. I promise I showered this morning.”

    Don’t say that, you internally groaned. The thought of Rosé, naked, probably with a banging body, and all wet had you on the fast track to hot and bothered. You were thankful for the helmet that you slid over your features, insulation gripping your head securely, able to hide the blooming blush. It didn’t help, however, that next, you had to actually hold onto her. The first time you would ever touch her. What a strange thing to think about, but it was true. The two of you hadn’t even shaken hands or hugged, yet, you were about to hold onto her as she drove you God knows where on a badass motorcycle.

    You placed your hands on her hips and swore you felt a spark ignite at the contact. The next thing you noticed was how remarkably slim her waist was, hidden underneath loose garb. All that was thrown aside the second she started up the vehicle, an aggressive rumbling vibrating you to the bone, the engine alive in your ears even through the safety of the helmet. It belonged to the same group of motorcycles you recognized that first night, and now you were given the chance to actually ride one of them. How quickly you had ended up here when it never occurred to you before.

    In front of you, Rosé held onto her helmet a second longer, turning a bit in her spot to look at you. The angle of her face, her profile, was stunning, and even if she asked if you were all ready and if you were okay, the most you could do was nod. There wasn’t much you could hear over the sound of the vehicle anyway. A flash of a smile, pretty white teeth for someone who smoked, and then she was tugging on her helmet. A hand gripped the throttle, giving it a twist and revving the engine, and you found your fingers curling into the material of her skirt. It rode up a bit on her thighs, and you were happy to see a bit of what appeared to be spandex, black, underneath. Happy, because it meant no one else would be getting a show. Why you felt so possessive, you had no clue.

    Your hands on her hips quickly became your arms wrapped around her as she peeled out of the parking lot. A scream stuck in your throat, too surprised to make a sound, as she cut across lanes of traffic, right past moving cars, and headed directly into the city. It was swiftly obvious that she was a practiced rider, weaving in and out of the lines with ease and fluidity. She didn’t seem to mind the fact you were pressed against her back now, arms clenched at her sides, hands balling up the lapels of her leather jacket. If you weren’t so scared, you would have paid more attention to the fact of how close you were, how warm she felt even through the clothes, and just how amazing this all was.

    No. Instead, you were praising anything that listened to you that she couldn’t see your face. How the fuck she was driving a motorcycle was lost on you. Your heart thudded dangerously against your ribcage each time she leaned a little to each side. She was so small against your frame that you worried you would break her, but she never once showed it disturbed her or her directing. She must have forgotten to tell you where to place your feet, but you managed to find the pedals, pressing your heels down so hard you feared you’d break them. They never gave, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

    The dying light of the evening glared from behind, shining off the glass of the cars you passed and the buildings you soon became swamped in. Even within city limits, she hardly slowed. What about cops? Apparently, they didn’t matter. A yellow light, on the verge of red, meant that Rosé should speed up, and she did, narrowly avoiding a car turning the corner into the same lame. A horn blared at the back of your skull, but all it was drive a smile across your face.

    This was amazing.

    There was no keeping track of the streets or the landmarks that you passed. Rosé knew where she was going, and there was no telling her otherwise. You trusted her. That sudden revelation was jarring, but it was true. You trusted Rosé because she had never given you a reason not to. The lip of a manhole covering caused a slight bump in the ride, and your grip on her jacket slipped. The flat of your hand pressed against her stomach now, and you might just die of embarrassment at how intimate the touch was.

    A hand reached down to squeeze your thigh. She was checking on you, and your heart danced along to the jagged rhythm of her fingertips on the inside of your knee. You didn’t move your hand, allowing yourself this small pleasure. Underneath your palm, you felt subtle muscle flexing as she manuevered the streets. There was a certain art to driving a motorcycle you decided. And you liked it.

    Altogether too quickly, the drive came to an end. For once, Rosé slowed down, gliding into a dank alleyway. Dirty water sprayed up against the sides of a brick building and a battered wooden fence until you came upon a small lot. A few motorcycles not unlike Rosé’s, as well a car or two, sat in the space. Rosé came to a halt in a spot near the back door, and you forgot to take a look at the place you had arrived at, now that you were behind the establishment. It was a bit sketchy... a lot sketchy, but you didn’t entertain the idea that Rosé was about to murder you and dump you in a Dumpster.

    The blonde let her legs down to balance the motorcycle, hands releasing the handles to smooth down her skirt that had flown up around the top of her thighs during the ride. It was a habit that had been practiced many times. Even with a motorcycle, it didn’t seem that Rosé was going to give up wearing whatever she wanted.

    “How was it?” Rosé asked the second she removed her helmet. Her hair was in disarray, but it suited her, and just a run of her fingers through it had her looking wild and so god damn attractive.

    You pulled off your helmet, taking your first deep breath since you got on. But you couldn’t stop smiling, and even if you hadn’t said anything yet, she was gazing at you with something you couldn’t quite read in her eyes, and she laughed a wonderful sound.

    “C’mon, I’ll help you off,” she said, swinging artfully off her ride without letting it go and toppling you. She toed the kickstand, and then held out a hand for you. Butterflies swarmed your stomach and you swallowed them as you took her hand.

    Smooth skin, fingers tightening around you as she assisted you off the back. It was surprising to find that your legs were wobbly, jittery like you had one too many energy drinks. It was the adrenaline from the ride, and you laughed under your breath at how incredible it all was.

    “Seriously, did you like it?” she tried again, a brow lifted. Now you noticed the eagerness in her. She truly wanted to know if you had enjoyed yourself, or if she had made a mistake in taking you on a ride like that. Being honest, it was a bit too much too soon...

    “It was great,” you said despite yourself, lingering in her hand a moment longer before regrettably pulling away. Rosé grinned, and you would say anything to see her like that.

    She took your helmets and assured you they would be safe on her motorcycle, snapping the straps to the side like they had been before. “I have some people I’d like you to meet,” she said, opening the back door and waving for you to follow. It didn’t look too welcoming by the sight of the darkened portal, but again, you ignored your gut that told you to leave and instead followed her inside.

    As it turned out, it was a bar. You heard before you saw the pool tables, the cue clacking against the pool balls, ricocheting off the borders. A jukebox bleated out classic rock in a corner, and since it was still early, there weren’t too many patrons enjoying their pints of beer in various tables around the space. It was quite dark, lighting apparently not needed. Bare light bulbs hung from a strand along the moulding above the bar, the only real area you could comfortably see. The bar was stocked full, but upon closer inspection, there wasn’t anything you would get at some high-rise fancy club. Jack, Jim, and José had a monopoly here.

    Behind the counter, a girl with white blonde hair and blunt bangs looked up from absently wiping at her station, and a wide grin split her face. A glint of metal and you noticed the labret piercing on her bottom lip.

    “Rosé!” she greeted, her voice cute and light in comparison to the rag-tag bar. Eyes shifted over to you, and the smile melted into something more lecherous. “Who’s your hot date?”

    The hand that met the small of your back almost made you stumble.

    “This is Y/N, and yes, she’s my date,” Rosé emphasized, guiding you toward the girl at the bar. She gestured for a bar stool, and you thanked her under your breath, too out of place to act like you knew what you were doing. The bartender didn’t stop her speculation of you, eyes roaming over your face and what she could see of your body. “Y/N, this is Lisa, one of my close friends.”

    “Best friend, jerk,” Lisa corrected and glared over her shoulder, turning to grab a bottle of bourbon. Two tumblers were set on the bar counter, and she poured a generous amount of alcohol into each, sliding them forward. “On the house.”

    “You’re too kind,” Rosé mocked, smirking before taking her glass and throwing it back. It was like nothing to her, sliding down her throat, a throat you couldn’t help imagining kissing the length of now that it was exposed. Then she was setting the glass back down, settling into her seat next to. Your date, you remembered.

    It was a date.

    “Don’t like bourbon?” Lisa poked, leaning forward on crossed arms at you. She really was cute, in a roguish sort of way. There seemed to be a constant amusement to her expression, like everything was funny to her. Out of the friends of Rosé’s that you had met, you definitely liked Lisa the best.

    “Never tried it,” you admitted. With that, you reached forward and took the glass, trying a sip. It was fucking strong, and you pushed the back of your hand against your mouth to stop the cough desperate to escape. Lisa giggled, taking back the glass.

    “Here,” she said, dropping a couple ice cubes into it and then handing it back. “Let it sit, it’ll water it down so it won’t be too strong.” At Rosé, “I like her already.”

    “I know,” Rosé said to no one in particular, and you weren’t sure if the blush on your cheeks was from the strong alcohol on the back of your throat or the way Rosé had been talking about you since you arrived. Her bar stool whined slightly as she angled toward you. “You hungry? They have some great food here, if you like burgers and stuff like that.”

    “Yeah, I could eat.” A horse, you thought. You were starving, and your original plans entailed chowing down on some food not so lady like. Not that it would be a problem here. Behind you, you saw a couple guys throwing fries at each other, attempting to land them in open and waiting mouths. When they missed, raucous laughter filled the bar.

    It was a shock to the spine when you recognized one of the men in the back as the guy that had harassed you at the convenience store. Before he could see you staring, you turned back around. This was all going to be okay as long as he stayed as far as away as possible and you forgot all about his existence.

    Lisa saw it all, and she gave a curious glance toward the last tables to spot the guy. Then she rolled her eyes, leaning to you again with her chin propped on her hand. “That guy’s an idiot. Don’t worry about him, though --- he’s all bark and no bite.”

    “A lot of the guys here are,” Rosé chided, a new glass in hand. It didn’t look like she was going to throw this one back as quickly as the first.

    “A lot of them,” you mused. “But does that mean all of them?”

    At that, they both paused, and then Lisa shrugged noncommittally. “I mean, there has been a couple that have been arrested for one charge or another, not gonna lie. And I’ve had to break up more than my fair share of bar fights here.”

    “Hope I’m not here for one of those,” you muttered, sculling the ice cubes in your bourbon.

    “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to protect you,” Lisa purred, a hand crossing the bar to tickle along yours on your glass. You froze, not sure how to react. Lisa was beautiful, no other way to put it, but ---

    “I’m betting you didn’t think it would be from me,” Rosé ripped up the moment. Dare you say it sounded like she was on the brink of jealousy, and to prove your point, an arm slung around your shoulders, jarring you free of Lisa’s touch.

    Lisa’s laugh rang out pure and spirited, backing away from the bar. “Oh, shut up, Rosie. You know you’re my main girl. If only you had fallen for me!” She twirled behind the bar, her oversized leather bomber jacket billowing like a cape. You wanted to question what she meant by that, and then ask about why Rosé’s face had gone blank for a split second, but it was all blown over as Lisa grabbed a bottle of Jack and slammed it down on the bar, loud enough to grab everyone’s attention.

    “Shots on the house! If you don’t take one, you’re a motherfucking pussy!” she shouted.

    At once, anyone that had been in the bar was joining the din of loud voices and crowded around you at the counter. An elbow jabbed you in the ribs, hard enough to bruise, but Rosé was there to sidle you away. You were thankful for the hand that was on your hip, a finger hooked in your belt loop. Even when you were out of the mess of rowdy drinkers ready for their shots, Rosé didn’t let go. You chanced a glance at her, and the eyes that stared back said so much at once that you couldn’t read it at all.

    “You two! Take your shots!” Lisa snapped at you, shot glasses of amber liquid sliding and spilling toward you.

    “Jennie is going to kill you!” Rosé called with a mischievous smile. Lisa shrugged, and then upended the bottle over a thug’s open mouth.

    “Cheers,” Rosé said softly to you. You took the shot, clinking it against hers, and didn’t break eye contact until you were forced to tilt your head back, hoping it would go down easy.

   Now you knew why the bar was so dark.

   Your vision swam, a giddy smile on your face that you couldn’t shake. Just looking at the lights above the bar ached, an indication of the hangover you’d have to deal with tomorrow.

   Rosé leaned over the edge of the pool table, skirt hiking up so you could openly stare at the smooth expanse of her thighs. You wanted to know what else lied beneath it.

   “Motherfucker!” Rosé’s opponent swore angrily, throwing her cue stick against the wall. You laughed whereas you might’ve jumped at the noise. Rosé sunk her last two stripes in one fell swoop, miraculous for how much she had drank. Except, you couldn’t tell how much she had drank. You thought you had kept up pretty well with her, yet, she didn’t behave nowhere near as drunk as you. No stumbling, no slurred words, and that perfect smirk that drew up just one corner of her plump lips. Lips that you wanted to kiss and bite and ---

   “Hey!” You spun around on your stool to the voice behind you at the bar. A little too quickly but you didn’t fall off at least.

   Lisa had a guy by the collar of his jacket, yanked over the bar so that he was off kiltered. An expression you hadn’t seen all night on her face, she growled something at him that you couldn’t hear. It took you a couple seconds to catch up, and then your smile faltered. It was that guy from the store, and his dark eyes flitted to the side. At you.

   Someone touched your arm, and you started in your seat unexpectedly. It was only Rosé, brows knitted in concern. She glanced between you and Lisa with the guy, who then jerked away from her grasp. A roll of his shoulder to fix his disheveled clothes, he smirked at you, winking. It was a wink that you did not appreciate, unlike Rosé and Lisa.

   “Time to leave,” Rosé scowled, taking you by the elbow and lifting you out of your seat. The bar swayed in your head, and you had to grab onto her to stay steady. She said something but you missed it, clutching her shirt.

   “What’s the matter?” the guy spat, arms out like he wanted a fight or something. He took a step forward, and you cowered against Rosé. So much for that confidence you had lately. “Someone a lil’ tipsy? Need someone to take real good care of you for the night?” There was a gross gesture that you looked away from, not wanting to become sick from it.

   “Shut the fuck up, Jason,” Rosé barked. The tone was one you didn’t like, and didn’t want to hear again from her. “Go have another drink and black out in a ditch somewhere.”

   Rosé didn’t wait for a response, dragging you out the back. It happened too quickly, and you passed the threshold into the dark lot, a single streetlamp providing weak light, then tripped. Rosé caught you effortlessly, hoisting you back onto your feet. Her arms felt like they were everywhere on you, and normally, you would have been thrilled. If you weren’t so drunk, and if someone guy hadn’t just propositioned you.

   Somehow, you were placed on the back of the motorcycle. Rosé situated herself in front of you, and without your inhibitions, you didn’t care that you pushed all your weight on her back. But she didn’t even bow beneath you, sturdy and grounding you. She asked you something about an address, the words fluttering through one ear and out the other. Your mouth moved on her jacket, the faint taste of leather on your tongue. It was wet out, you could feel it clinging to your skin. When the motorcycle started up, it was much farther away than you expected it to be. Shouldn’t it be louder? A hand seized yours, drawing them around Rosé’s body, and then you felt skin. Soft, warm skin against your fingertips. You couldn’t move your hands very well, just your fingers against her skin, and what felt like an elastic band. In the back of your mind, you knew you had voluntarily slid your hands down the front of her skirt, just a little.

   The ground gave way, and you clenched your eyes shut. You were moving too fast, and it was all too much to comprehend.

   It was very dark.

♡ part ii.

[xxxprettydeadgirlxxx]

Dark Paradise

Loki/OFC Rated M for Violence and NSFW Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

I tagged those who have been responding to the fic. If you would like to be added/or removed from the tag (or if I missed someone), let me know. :)                                                                                                 Chapter 5

When Octavia and Loki had finally woken up from their sex dazed slumber, the word awkward was an understatement. They had ended up having sex four times in total throughout the night, but the last three times had been longer, and before they realized it the sun had come up and the sex was no longer necessary. They had both fallen asleep immediately, curled up against each other. When they awoke they awkwardly sat up, and Loki magically dressed them, since he'd fallen asleep before he'd had a chance to do so.

"I should check outside. Make sure it's safe before we move on." Loki told her as he stood up, walking over to the cave entrance.

He was in a decent mood this morning. Although, he had realized half way though their sexcapades last night that he had a thick fur blanket in his magic pocket, and he could have just used a spell to warm her up. Why he had not thought about that before he had already fucked her twice he couldn't figure out. Maybe it was his dick screaming out for him to get laid. He decided he was going to keep that bit of information to himself; he was sure she would not be happy. Plus, her not knowing had its advantages. He'd get to fuck her quite often and although he wasn't too thrilled about the idea at first, now that he'd finally released some of his sexual frustration he wasn't ready to give it up just yet. Though, it was a little weird now. Usually, he'd just kick people out of his bed when he was done with them; he never kept the same partner for very long, but this was a slightly different scenario. He actually had to face her the next morning, and he honestly wasn't sure what to say at this point. "Damn..." Well, there went his good mood; maybe...

"What?" Octavia groaned, almost afraid to even ask.

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a chuckle. He wasn't sure whether he was pissed or thrilled right now. "We slept all day." When his words didn't register he elaborated. "It will be dark in an hour."

Octavia's eyes grew wide with horror. "WHAT! Are you fucking kidding me, an hour!? Oh my fucking, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" she exclaimed, realizing her only hope was fucking Loki again. "How could you sleep all day!"

Loki gave her a 'don't fucking blame me', look. "You slept all day as well!" It really wasn't like him to sleep so long, but under the circumstances....

"Fuck, fuck my life!" She threw her hands up and growled. "At least tell me that stream is clean enough to bathe in? Please, please, please!" she pleaded. "I feel so gross. I'm dirty and full of Loki semen. I cannot fuck you again this gross and I'm not fucking you until you bathe as well!"

Loki only chuckled at her comment and confirmed that yes, it should be clean enough to bathe in. He was actually about to suggest it, feeling rather gross himself. It wasn't far from where they were staying so they had time. Loki took the lead and they quickly made their way back to the stream to clean themselves up.                                                     *********** Octavia had basically stripped when she got there. Loki had already seen her naked (her shirt came off at some point last night) so what was the big deal now. She was going to have to screw him again anyway. She threw her clothes down and stepped in and started scrubbing herself with her hands. Turns out they both needed each other's help to remove all the dirt and that was annoying, though Loki didn't seem to mind, which annoyed her even more. Loki had magically cleaned her clothes for her, for which she was grateful, and they headed back towards the cave just as it was beginning to get dark.

"I'm hungry." she whined as they headed inside. "I guess we aren't eating tonight?"

"No." He said almost regretfully. "Too dangerous to hunt."

She sighed and nodded, but didn't complain. There was no point. It really wasn't his fault the sex had been so amazing they both went into a coma afterwards. Octavia just hated to admit to herself that she had enjoyed it. A part of her may have even been excited about the fact they were stuck in the cave another night, though being cold was getting old.

"I shall stay awake this time and make sure we leave at a decent hour tomorrow." Loki assured her, getting comfortable. He gave her a dark, lusty smirk. "I suppose we will be having a repeat of last night?"

"Shut up." she almost laughed, but stopped herself. No, do not start to like him; he's an ass. Octavia rolled her eyes and walked over next to Loki, sitting down beside him. "Before it gets too cold, tell me something about yourself." She gave him a pleading look. "I can't keep fucking you and know nothing about you, other than your a god, arrogant, an asshole, and apparently a Frost Giant."

Loki chuckled. "What do you wish to know?"

She thought for a moment. What did she want to know? "Well, basics. Favorite color, age, and perhaps some things you enjoy?"

"Green I suppose would be my preferred color. I also like black, as well as gold. I'm over a millennium in age, which is equivalent to about twenty-two Midgardian years." he explained. "I enjoy the dark arts; magic, as well as reading. I like knowledge." he smirked. "Now you. Same questions."

"Okay, well, I like black and hot pink, mostly together. I'm twenty-three so that makes me older, and I also like books. I paint and draw as well. I like pretty things..." she trailed, remembering her world and how beautiful it was, and how horrible and violent this one was. "Anyway-" she began, snapping out of it. -"So, if I overstep my boundaries, just tell me to shut up." she paused. "Why did Odin take you? I mean, if he was at war with them why take you back?"

"As a bargaining chip, basically. For peace." he spoke sadly, and Octavia didn't miss the tone. Why Loki was even telling her this he wasn't sure. Maybe because he didn't expect to make it off this miserable planet, so what did it matter. "I know he regrets it. He told me my birthright was to die, cast out on a frozen rock." Loki's voice had converted to a whisper. "Instead of the ax, I was to be locked away in the dungeons for the rest of my days, never to see my mother again."

"Where is she now?"

"Dead." Loki growled, causing Octavia to jump. "She's dead." he repeated, burying all his hostility back down deep inside his haunted soul. "I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. I wasn't even allowed to attend her funeral. I was told after the fact..." Loki trailed, his eyes wet and slightly red now.

"I'm so sorry." she told him sincerely.

"I do not want your pity." he growled.

"It's not pity." Loki glared at her, unsure how to take her comment. "I just know what it's like to lose someone you care about, that's all. I lost my dad, though, he was a good dad and not a shitty one like yours sounds."

Loki chuckled silently, then gave her an apologetic look. "I am sorry, for your loss." he told her, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Death is never the end, you must remember that."

Octavia could only nod in agreement. Not only did Odin sound like a dick, but Loki's mother had died while he'd been locked up and had been forbidden to go to her funeral. Hell, even on her planet in certain circumstances, they allowed prisoners to attend funerals. From the way he was speaking she had been very important to him and Octavia couldn't help but feel remorse for Loki, even a little guilty for being such a bitch. "Why were you locked up?"

"For a crime I committed in Asgard-I'd rather not talk about it, and New York. I'm sure you heard about that."

"I did." she paused, unsure what to say next. "How did you get out of the dungeons?"

"Thor released me to help defeat the dark elves and I died. I cheated death and I don't even know how. I should be dead." He licked his lips. "Odin I suppose, decided banishing me was better. I am never to set foot in Asgard again. My home is lost to me." Loki missed Asgard. He missed his room, he missed the gardens, the library, but most of all, he missed Frigga. He supposed he was better off; too many memories of his mother. His dead mother...

"Wait, you died?" What the hell?

"Yes, or so I thought. I don't know."

"You sure have been through some shit, haven't you?"

Loki chuckled darkly. "Oh pet, you have no idea."

She wanted to ask more, but she started to shake; the cold was beginning to set in. "Won't be long now." she laughed, shaking her head. "The things I do to stay alive."

"Is it really that dreadful?" he questioned indifferently.

"No, not really." she answered honestly. "I mean, I don't have a lot to compare it too, but it was definitely better than what my ex tried to call sex." she giggled, and Loki chuckled with her. "Seriously, it was awful." Octavia met his gaze and licked her lips. Damn. "You're definitely not awful." No. No, no, no.

Octavia didn't get very long to argue with herself since Loki had pinned her down and crawled on top of her. He'd already magically removed her clothing, as well as his, and had begun to ravish her womanhood with his mouth. She should have told him to stop, that this wasn't necessary just yet, but she couldn't. All she could do was fall apart, gushing against his mouth as he lapped her juices up greedily. Just like the night before Loki fucked her all night, only this time he had found a few new positions to try. She didn't fight it and had decided just to let go completely and enjoy the intense, amazing pleasure Loki was giving her. For a guy she couldn't stand and couldn't stand her, he sure did know how to fuck her.

Loki had once again fallen asleep, but he had at least remembered to dress them this time. However, he hadn't been asleep for very long when he felt Octavia being yanked from his arms, letting out a blood curdling scream.

Sorry, I like gifs.... xD @mastreworld @neurotic-narwhal @helenaisabel @hellokittyismyspiritanimal @court-of-thorns-and-roses @mad-about-britain @archy3001 @iamhisgloriouspurpose @burningarbiterheart @scoobysnacks31 @sweetangelfan @Kidamon