#HE’S DOING HIS PEACE SIGNS!!!! AND HE HAS THE RAVE LIGHTS

[dj-wayback]

I COME BEARING A GIFT OF ONE THE MOST RADICAL GUYS TO EVER!!!!!!

Anyway hope u like it, u have no idea how long it took me to work up the bravery to send this in qwq👍

THAT’S SO RAD, DUDE, THANK YOU!!!!

[space-rot]

Something Stupid

paring: carmen “carmy” berzatto x reader

word count: 2.0k

genre: fluff, its all jokes bbyy

warning(s): smoking? Its carmy, what else does he do in his free time

summary: when you find peace in the small moments

a/n: better call saul and the bear? together? Well, don't mind if i do. anyways, i do not smoke, i do not condone smoking…but its kinda sexy ngl (thx @officialjimmybuffet for the images, smooches)

There is something so inherently nasty about cigarettes.

The unnatural smoke that burns your eyes, the chemicals that collect under your fingernails, and the smell that manages to leave an everlasting scent on your clothes.

You were never a smoker– somehow managing to avoid the advances of the punk outcasts trying to sell their self-rolled cigs in the back of your highschool parking lot for a dollar each. Sure, there was the typical uncle who seemed, and smelled, like he went through two or three packs a day. The faded voice of a family friend warning the children of the dangers of “the cancer stick,” and that smoking one was equivalent to signing your soul away to the devil.

A scoff leaves you, smirking as you free said cancer stick from its confinement. You were never one to heed the advice from strangers who believed they knew you better than you knew yourself anyway. Bringing it up to your lips and quickly lighting the end, basking in the warmth the small flame brings to battle the chill of the Chicago air.

It's not as though you didn’t know the risks that the habit came with, you are not ignorant to science and health officials; but as you inhale the first hit and can practically swim in the warmth of the filtered tobacco as it fills your lungs, you damn the professionals and all their holier and wiser than thou bullshit. But as you go for a second drag, the door to the alleyway opens and you’re greeted with unruly blonde hair, light blue eyes, and the face of a man who looks like he got the shit kicked out of him.

Because he has, you think, blowing smoke from your nose at the thought. Ever since the transition from The Beef to The Bear, things in and out of the kitchen have gotten easier, but that doesn't mean a headache doesn’t follow. Signing up to work in a kitchen comes with its ups and downs, mostly downs. But those scarce highs are filled with such intense feelings of euphoria, that it is the true addiction that should be studied.

Carmy walks towards you, quick rushed steps, leaning on the wall next to you, close enough to ensure that your arms are touching. A sigh leaving his lips as he rests his weight on the wall, raking a hand through his hair only to continue to drag it down his face. You can see him turn towards you from your peripheral, but you’re looking forward because looking at him means kitchen talk and no matter how long you’ve known Carmy you know that every break talk will just lead to him ranting and raving and you're on a smoke break for a reason and–

The cigarette is plucked from your lips, fingers decorated with SOU disappear with your cigarette just as quickly as they appear, bringing it up to their owners lips for one hit, a second, before he’s placing the stick back exactly where he stole it from.

To say you’re surprised would be a lie. This isn’t the first nor will it be the last time Carmy does this. Hell, he’s the whole reason why you kissed your lungs away in the first place.

You’ve known Carmy for a few years now, having met at that bastard of a restaurant in New York. You weren’t even supposed to be there, having worked at a restaurant adjacent to it, but they were low on staff and the GMs were close enough to send their chefs back and forth when need be.

It was moments before dinner service was supposed to begin, every chef taking last minute precautions to ensure they don't get chewed out by the newly established CDC, Carmen Berzatto. You don’t even know what he looks like yet, the kitchen is doused in pure silence that even asking someone what he looks like seems like a distraction worthy of a mental breakdown from a fellow chef. Even though your check didn’t come from this place, you prepared your station as well as you would in your own restaurant because that’s what being professional means; treating anywhere you cooked with the most respect.

Stepping foot outside and leaning against the wall, you began digging through your pockets for your phone, cursing to yourself when you realized you left it next to your station.

“Hey, uh, I got an extra smoke if you want,” says a voice coming from your right. Turning in its direction, you find a long, blonde-haired man sitting on a milk crate. A cigarette is dangling from his fingers, the smoke swirling dangerously close to his eyes before he brings the cigarette back to his lips, your eyes skimming on the tattoos that decorate his arms and biceps.

“Uh, I’m sorry what,” you question back, having forgotten the original prompt said by him. 

“A smoke,” he holds out a carton of cigarettes towards you, “that’s what you're looking for right?” The box is white but decoded with a strip of blue running through the center. The look he gives you is so inviting, but there's only one problem:

You don’t smoke.

Not once has a cigarette grazed your lips. Not once have you been possessed by the ghost of defiance and inhaled the breath of the devil. Not once have you been wrapped in the haze of smoke.

But the look of desperation that’s hidden behind his eyes, the subtle look asking to not be left alone in the back alley of the world’s best restaurant, is enough for you to reach out and grasp your one way ticket to demise–and oh how right you were. How could one assume that a measly little cigarette would alter the rest of your life.

The physics of it seemed easy enough: inhale and then exhale, breath in and then breath out, anybody can do it. So you take the cigarette out of the box, and lean back on the wall, inspecting it like it would sprout legs and run away.

“Hey, uh, do you have–,” the flame of a lighter is already being cupped by his hand. You bend over, close enough to this man to smell the left over nicotine mixed with the atmosphere of the kitchen. He doesn’t look away, mesmerized by the way your eyes drift to the flame to ensure the end of the cigarette is lit, the slight tilt of your head towards the heat. Even when you blink back up to him he doesn’t look away, he’s almost afraid to breathe in this moment, worried it’ll be another thing he manages to fuck up.

But then you're inhaling and–

“Holy shit are you alright,” there’s a hand on your back, patting with a gentle force with the hopes of expelling your coughing fit. “Here, have some water,” he hands you his container of water, because what kitchen has bottled water?

Taking a sip, you contemplate a universe where you can save this situation. How does one manage to fuck up this badly? All of the movies make it look so easy, but the burning of your lungs say otherwise. But the warm hand on your back doesn’t move once you stop coughing, and you turn to see worried eyes meet your own. A beat passes, then two, then a scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head in disbelief.

“Sorry, I uh,” you scramble for something, anything, to save your pride, your dignity. Here is this incredibly attractive man willing to give you a small piece of his world, and you spat it back out in his face. He must be thinking the worst demeaning thoughts, because what chef isn’t thinking in the worst way possible? Here is some person who can’t even inhale properly, what makes them think they can handle the smoke in the kitchen? Coughing up a storm all because of what, one drag of a cigarette and the chef needs to tap out–

“No it's okay, I know these ones taste bad as shit, but they’re the only pack I had on me,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand (the other is resting still on your back, not that either of you noticed), “I normally have this other brand, y’know a little sweeter and not as bitter and uh, yeah sorry about that,” he trails off, looking sheepish at the thought of giving out a shitty cigarette brand.

You are given two choices now: one, you can lie and agree that the brand is shit, keeping a small amount of pride and dignity, or two, come clean and admit to this total stranger that this is the first time you’ve held a cigarette and you only agreed because he looked pretty.

A former option has never looked more inviting.

So you lie, you lie out of your ass and agree that the brand is shit and that you have to get back to your station. Packing in a joke about how fucking insane the CDC apparently is and that you’re glad to only be here for the one night. You wish him luck for the night, he gives a small chuckle and wishes you luck as well.

It was five minutes later that someone pointed out that the CDC just walked in from the back and you realize that he was the same man whose cigarette you coughed up.

But that was years ago, and now here you are, with the same CDC behind his new restaurant, a now shared cigarette between your lips. You followed Carmy throughout his time in New York, you followed him to his brother’s sandwich shop, and you will follow him throughout his new endeavors at The Bear. Following him wasn’t always easy, if anything there are more lows than highs, but it’s the small moments like these that make everything worth it.

“You wanna know something funny,” he asks, stealing the cigarette again.

“What?” 

“This is the same brand I had you smoke the first time we met.”

Pulling the pack out of your pocket, you let out a hum of acknowledgement, “holy shit you’re right,” the blue stripe around the box stands out against your palm.

You turn to look at him for the first time since he’s stood next to you, backs against the harsh brick of the building.

He’s already staring, a knowing smirk growing across his face, “Thought you hated that brand?”

Stealing the cigarette back, you let out a last puff of smoke, “Only hated it cause you were the one to give it to me.” You finish the cigarette, throwing it onto the concrete and stomping it out, “Come on Berzatto, this place won’t run itself,” you call out with a small wave thrown over your head, walking back towards the kitchen.

Carmy laughs, knowing that you hate the story of how you two met. He can’t help but tease ever since he found out he gave you your first cigarette by accident. You didn’t know anything about different brands, just that you found the man giving you one attractive. Carmy only knows this after taking you home after a drunken night with Sydney, you babbling about anything and everything that it took him a few hours to put the whole story together.

Of course he feels bad at certain times, such as watching you pat yourself down for a smoke only to find that you finished your last pack the other day. But Carmy is always there to give you one of his, whether it be his last one or not, only if you two can share it with a small moment together outside.

And so he walks back inside, looking forward to the next smoke break, and the one after that, until his lungs couldn’t handle anymore, only to keep going if yours haven't given out yet.

[hoppity-scotch]

~Sweetest Thing~

IMPORTANT TO NOTE: This is an 18+ account, if you are a minor please DNI and do not touch! Please leave, go on, get! This is an adult only environment, now SHOO!!!

___________________________________________

Connor lays his head back against the alleyway as he tries to get some peace on his short break. His boss has been hounding him for his lack of professionalism towards his customers, not his fault that most of them are a bunch of dicks. He absolutely hates the customer service scene, but he doesn’t have a high enough education to pursue something better - guess dicking around at school finally caught up to him. 

Connor begins to watch the street across to him, watching the cars honking at each other at a green light as well noticing just how busy it gets in the afternoon. As much as he hates to admit it, he does love to ‘people watch’, it’s just so interesting to watch how others interact with each other. He could never really understand relationships, then again, he’s never had the best role models in his life to experience such a thing. 

He shakes his head, no, absolutely not he is not diving into that can of worms today.  Connor looks back to the street and feels his heart flutter. He watches intensely as he sees Y/N casually bopping down the bustling street, a bag of groceries linked in one arm while the other holds their phone. Their lips curl into a soft smile with each tap of a button, oblivious to their surroundings as they continue to walk. 

Connor crosses his arms as his brows furrow ‘Who were they texting? What kind of conversation would make Y/N smile so pleasantly?” he thought to himself, gritting his teeth at his own words. He leans his head back on the brick walls of the alleyway and takes a deep breath, what was he thinking? It shouldn’t bother him who Y/N was talking to, he’s just being a paranoid freak. Connor signs again as he flicks out his lighter and ignites his cigarette from his back pocket, taking it to his lips as he takes a deep puff of that sickly honeyed nicotine. 

It’s not like Y/N would be interested in him anyways, he’s a walking bag of bad karma, a monster just wasting to sink its teeth into the next sweetest thing he could get his hands on. By the gods you were so sweet, the most tooth-rotting treat he has ever laid eyes on. He hates to admit it, but there isn’t a time of day where he is not thinking about you. From the delicacy that is your curves to the wrinkles that form on your face when you laugh, everything about you seems so…

Right… like a dream too good to be true-

“Connor! What are you doing brooding all the way over here?” 

He snaps back to reality to find Y/N staring at him with their wide eyes, how did he not notice her approaching? Connor starts to cough, not realizing he has been holding onto that puff of smoke for far too long. He exhales as he tries to regain his composure, banging his fits on his chest trying to get all of it out. Y/N looked at him worryingly, as they gently tapped his back, the warmth of their hand was like a bolt of lightning shooting down his back, in a good way. 

“I’m just - taking my fifteen minute break” He sputters out, finally catching his breath. Y/N simply smiles before reaching into their plastic bag. 

“Well good thing I caught you, I was walking by that Japanese style bakehouse everyones been raving about and grabbed some BBQ pork buns” They chirped happily as they pulled out a freshly wrapped bun “They had a few discounted so I grabbed what I could, you can try one while you're on your break” 

Connor started at the glistening bun, the smell of pork was overwhelmingly good, he was already drooling at the thought. He takes the bun gently from Y/N’s hands, their fingertips just brushing against each other. Connor could already feel warth spread to his cheeks as he felt dizzy. 

Without warning, he grabs Y/N’s wrists and pulls them towards him, causing their plastic bag to fall on the ground. He watched their warm smile turn to utmost fear in a second, guilt began to creep up but he couldn’t help but hold their wrists tighter. Y/N’s loving warmth was too much for him to bear, almost getting high off their scent but most of all completely overwhelmed by their kindness. He’s never felt like this before, it was wrong but… so intoxicating. 

Immediately, he notices small tears gathering on the corners of Y/N’s eyes, shame hitting him like a truck as Connor releases his hold on them and backs off. 

“I-I’m so sorry” He stutters out, his mind scrambling to think of an excuse for his misbehavior “I lost my balance there” Y/N slowly backs up and starts rubbing their sore wrists.

“Don’t- Worry about it” they said shortly as they quickly pick their grocery bag back up “I should be heading off anyway”

Connor winces as he notices a small red line has begun to form around their wrists, he can’t believe he just did that. Y/N goes to quickly run around the corner before stopping, hesitantly they look back his way. 

“Hope you enjoy the bun” they smile timidly as they finally disappear around the corner, leaving Connor alone in the alley again. He turns to the brick wall and casually bangs his head against it, feeling a sliver of blood run down his cheek. 

“I AM A FUCKING IDIOT!!!” his words echo loudly as the previous scene plays back in his head. That was such a shitty thing to do, and to Y/N of all people! They just wanted to give a quick snack and what does he do? Tries to hold them down like some sort of animal! He could feel bile build up, almost unable to hold back his disgust. 

Connor begins to take deep breaths and starts to calm himself down, he has royally screwed up this time. Now they’ll never come near him again, the thought of not seeing Y/N makes his whole body writhe in pain. 

‘No’ he says sternly, trying to reassure himself “I am not going to lose the only kind person I have left” 

Connor looks down to see that he is still holding the bun, the reminder of their kindness before. He brings the bun up to his lips before grinning wildly, his eyes twinkled with a predatory glint as he takes a bite. He will win them over, he just needs to learn how to control his urges first, most of all he needs to apologize for their actions. 

He knows he may never be good enough for Y/N but they are too good, they need someone like him to be able to take the front of all the bad things life has to offer.  

He’ll never admit it, but they’re just too sweet for this word- 

-and oh, how he loves to indulge…. 

___________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed! This is my first time writing Yandere content, also I did not proof read so sorry if there are any errors!

[bunnyscar]

The Siliven's Request: Part 35

Alaine leaned on her balcony railing, gazing out at the forest city. Lights from tree houses sparkled like stars in the night sky, smaller lights bobbing along the ground, indicating a few people were still out on the streets even at this late hour. Branches above rustled as small creatures scrambled across, and now and then Alaine heard an owl hoot. Being nighttime, it was especially dark; but in the morning, it would still be dim and grey, the sunlight blocked by the many tree branches of the tall trees. Despite the darkness of the place, though, Vawaren really was beautiful.

Lighting a lamp that stood on the railing, Alaine turned her attention to a letter she held in her hands. The Overseer had sent it a few days ago, but with all the business that had to be settled now that the war was over, she had had no time to read it. She had barely seen Manas either, for he had been even busier than her. She sighed. Had it really been a year since Manas had taken the throne? It seemed like yesterday they were storming the castle and confronting the queen, yet it also felt as though Manas had been ruling a long time.

She opened the letter and began to read.

“Dear Sara,

“I hope this finds you well and enjoying your new life in Vawaren. And I hope Manas doesn’t keep you too busy! Please give my regards to him, to Pim, Alf, Kelsin, and the rest.

“We are well here. Now that I am no longer the Overseer, I and the Searchers have returned to focusing on research and learning. Though there is an impossible amount of paperwork to be done, since we slacked on our studies during the war, I have hopes that we soon be able to send our researchers out to gather info again.

"Please tell Manas and Kelsin that the former queen is doing better, and we would encourage them to visit. After her initial episodes of raving madness, she has calmed considerably. She doesn’t seem to remember much, and acts rather as a young child would. Perhaps in a way, her memory loss is a mercy.

“I hear that the trading town is going well and that Pim is gaining quite a name for himself as water magician and peace keeper. I am glad to hear it. He is fortunate to have such a great teacher and mentor in Alf.

“Congratulations as well on your upcoming marriage! I suppose by the time you receive this, the wedding will be in only a few days, and there will be no point in my having sent this letter since I could’ve told it all to you when I come. Ah, well, I do look forward to seeing you all, Kelsin and Chess and Fanny too.

“Ever yours,

“Raimas”

Alaine smiled at the signed name. The Overseer had started using his real name, since he had given up the role of authority over the races. But to Alaine, he had always been the Overseer, and it was not easy to start calling him another name. She would have to try, though.

Alaine gazed out again over the city, her mind turning to the wedding that was in three days. Three days before human and Siliven married for the first time in perhaps a hundred or more years. Three days before she was married. They had waited until after the bulk of negotiation with King Sharn was over, deeming it prudent not to include a wedding in all the craziness of setting up the trading town and transporting the refugees. Besides, there were issues within Vawaren that had to be dealt with: the few Siliven who disagreed with Manas about ending the war, the reform of oppressive laws, the delegation of workers to the trading town, and the setting up Siliven villages outside the forest.

Alaine had helped as much as she could, though often she felt rather useless. The most she could do was listen to complaints from the nobles or the poorer citizens of Vawaren and relay them to Manas. But Manas assured her that she was a great help. The people needed to know they were heard, to know that their king and queen cared about them.

Queen. Alaine wasn’t sure how she felt being called that. It seemed so strange to her that she would be royalty, that soon she would be one of the most important people in Vawaren. Though some of the noble women here had attempted to teach her some royal etiquette, she felt awkward and ungainly when trying to eat daintily or walk regally. It felt like walking on eggshells.

“Can’t sleep?” She looked up as Manas stepped onto the balcony and stood next to her at the railing.

“Just enjoying the view,” she replied, smiling. “How about you? You must be exhausted. I haven’t seen you almost all week.”

Manas sighed and nodded, but merely said, “There’s a lot to be done.” After a slight pause, he asked, “Have you been visiting with Valerie? Chess said he thought he saw you going to her room. And he told me she’s been spending a bit more time with him and Fanny, and that she seems a little different. More kind to them.”

Alaine glanced at him. “I did go talk to her. Since she is your sister and will soon be my sister-in-law, I wanted to get to know her better. The topic of her children came up once or twice. I’m glad that maybe it changed her mind about some things.”

Manas smiled at her. Seeing his smile warmed her heart, especially when she remembered how little he had genuinely smiled when they first met. She sighed contentedly and turned back to the view. She was home, finally home. Since leaving her uncle, no, since leaving her parent’s village, she had felt like a wanderer with no place to belong. But now she did belong, now she had a family.

“Sara?” Manas’ hesitant voice brought her out of her thoughts. She turned to him, to see an uncertain look in his blue eyes. “I know I told you never to reveal your name to anyone, for safety, but…since we are to be married soon, I was wondering…. Would you tell me your real name?”

Alaine stared at him for a moment, then suddenly burst into gay laughter. “Of course I will! But you already know it.”

Manas gave her a baffled look. “I do?”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. “You’ve been saying it ever since that day we first met. Don't you remember the many times you've said I was precious? Manas, my name means precious. My name is Alaine.”

THE END

Link to Part 34:

EPILOGUE

Under the rule of King Manas of the Siliven and King Sharn of the humans, the war between their races finally came to an end. King Manas and Queen Sara ruled over the Vawaren land with peace and justice for a good fifty years, after which Manas passed away peacefully. Queen Sara survived him another twenty years.

After Manas’ death, Prince Chess took the throne, as the youngest Siliven to ever become king. With Kelsin as his advisor, he continued the reforms and trade negotiations that Manas had started. Under his reign, the land continued to have peace.

Though the Overseer cast aside his role as such, he became the director of the Searchers’ research projects. Under his direction, several new discoveries were made, both in medicine and magic. Princess Fanny of the Siliven spent some time as his pupil, then left to do her own research, traveling far and wide across the land, making many inroads into the study of magic and its development.

Pim became renowned as an ambassador between Siliven and humans, as well as a skilled and powerful water magician. His many deeds of saving villages from floods and other disasters have been recorded in many songs. At times, he would join Fanny in her travels, helping with her research.

Time does not permit to tell of all the discoveries and achievements of those days. Those stories must reside elsewhere. But for many years the tales would be told of how Manas, Sara, and their friends brought about an end to the great divide between humans and Silivens.

[the-hem]

75. The Savitri Upanishad. The Exploration of the Mysteries of the Vivifier.

The Savitri Upanishad explains the unity between all the media in creation. There is no known date of first publication. Savitr is first mentioned in the Rig Veda, which was composed between 1500 and 1100 BCE. The Upanishad is numbered 75 of 108 and is contained in the Sama Veda.

Savitri - "animator, vivifier, rouser" was long thought to be a name of the primary deity of the civilization that composed the Upanishads, but no one calls God Savitri any longer. The term Shiva prevails instead.

Upon conclusion of the Sannyas Upanishad, one should easily be in touch with the animating power of the sun. Whether it has a name or not is not of great concern to a person who has completed Sannyas. The sun is the sun.

Here begins the Upanishad.

Om ! Let my limbs and speech, Prana, eyes, ears, vitality And all the senses grow in strength. All existence is the Brahman of the Upanishads. May I never deny Brahman, nor Brahman deny me. Let there be no denial at all: Let there be no denial at least from me. May the virtues that are proclaimed in the Upanishads be in me, Who am devoted to the Atman; may they reside in me. Om ! Let there be Peace in me ! Let there be Peace in my environment ! Let there be Peace in the forces that act on me !

Always let us pay homage to the peaceful forces in the world, the ones that reside in all that is holy, strong, powerful, the very same proclaimed in all the religions across the world.

The Upanishads call the origins of this peaceful Cause of the creation the Brahman, "unconditioned light without boundaries or definition."

The only being capable of defining it and providing us with its benefits is the one we call God. Because of this we pay homage to Him, reveling in all He can do, being sure never to pay heed to the bumblefucks that rant and rave all day long but cannot even scratch His Surface.

No matter the approach one takes, all one can ever do is open one's eyes, ears, nose, and see there is just this One God and there has never, ever been one other. He cannot be told what to do, how to behave, or explained except by a man, woman, or child who has renounced nonsense. Should a snakehead come along and try to tell you how to pray, what to believe, about this life or the one beyond, all one has to do is point to the sun.

Say, "I renounce all that cannot be seen in the Light of the Sun." The Upanishads assert this includes all that mind cannot see, such as numbers, letters, equations, everything an intelligent mind can illuminate on its own. This is also considered the Light of the Supreme Sun.

The Upanishad is short, only fifteen verses:

1-2. Who is Savitar, who is Savitri ? Who is Savitar, who is Savitri ? Agni is Savitar, earth is Savitri. Where there is Agni there is earth and where is earth there is Agni. The two are causes forming one pair. Varuna alone is Savitar, water – Savitri. When there is Varuna etc., --they are the sources, forming a pair.

Agni is the power of speech. Speech, spoken or unspoken illuminates life. Speech is considered dual by the sages that wrote the Upanishads. One can use speech to lie and obscure the truth and curse this place as easily as it can make life more worthwhile.

Our perception of God is subject to speech. To some He is a horror story, like the one spoken of by the Evangelicals, gun-toting, election stealing murderers who want to put a pedophile president in the White House *(again)*. This is a sign of the truths they invest in about God.

No one has yet spoken of a God who has published in all the Books He wants the world to be invest in peace, happiness, charity, industry, and find alternatives to war, violence, and hate. But He is the One.

Varuna is water. Water in Sanskrit called Jala, AKA the network of connection or friendliness. The Upanishads say we are all boats floating on the surface of the water.

The Sun, the Water and blessed holy truthful speech, this is the essence of the illumination caused by the god called Savitri.

[1n-bl0om]

finbin modern au mini fic

raver finney | fluff

Finney is heavily interested in rave culture and kandi. He spends endless nights looking at tutorials on youtube and making bracelets. At first, it’s hard for him, the beads falling off the string before he can tie it off. But before Finney knows it he’s making rotating cuffs and even kandi bags

Robin has spent these nights with Finney, watching him as he makes his bracelets. He’s hyper-focused during all of it, not taking his eyes off of his hands.

Robin loves watching Finney have that knit in his brows as he works. It’s very interesting to watch. And Robin may not know a lot about rave culture, but he knows how tedious the process of making kandi apparel is.

Finney is tackling a new project, making a small rotating cuff. The cuff is black and red, with skull and clear beads standing out as centerpieces.

It takes almost a week, between school and hiding the beads from his father, for Finney to finish the small cuff.

As soon as finney is done he leaves his position from the floor and walks to Robin. He takes a seat next to him on the bed. Finney smiles from ear to ear as Robin just stares at him.

“Give me your hand,” Finney says without breaking his smile, and robin follows the statement. Robin gives him his hand and watches as the taller boy shapes it into a peace sign. Finney mimics the gesture and puts their hands together.

Robin can tell what Finney is doing. He’s seen him do it a million times at raves. He’s doing plur with him. Robin is quick to follow the steps. Peace, love, unity, and respect. As their hands link Finney shimmies the cuff off of his arm and onto robins.

Robin can’t explain the warm feeling in his chest. “Did you make this just for me?”

The look Finney gives him is answer enough. Robin practically tackles him into a hug, overwhelmed with joy. His chest is heavy but light. Heavy with warmth and light with love.

Finney pulls back, looking at him shyly. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it.” Robin spins the little singlet on the cuff. “I am never taking this off.”

True to his word, Robin doesn’t take the cuff off. he wears it to school the following Monday. Finney is as red as a tomato, his cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 14

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: depictions of panic attack, suggestive content Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

After a couple of days had passed, Bucky had approached you with the idea of going on another date. At first, you were greatly hesitant. The memories of the Hydra man telling you their first glimpse of you was during a date couldn’t escape your mind. You had brought it up to Bucky as gently as you could but he assured you, you had nothing to worry about. Those at the facilities were…”gone.” He had simply put it at that. You didn’t want to think about how deep the organization may actually run seeing as they had been able to be under the radar for a while. But you forced yourself to put the rest of your great concerns away and, eventually, agreed to a date. 

Bucky thought the movies could be a fun thing for you two to do. He admitted he hadn’t been to one in quite some time and was interested to see what was out there in terms of genres. That led you two to sitting at the kitchen counter in the compound, leaning over the newspaper, skimming the movie showtimes. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you could've just looked this up on your phone.

“What about an action movie?” Bucky asked. You scooted your stool closer to read the title he was pointing at. You had to admit, you were getting pretty comfortable at the compound, having declared this one particular stool yours in the kitchen. You were harboring a lot of concerns over your apartment. It still sat in your mind as the, well, the initial scene of the crime. The start of that incident. Thankfully, no one seemed bothered by your extended stay and you thought Bucky seemed to secretly enjoy playing house in this capacity. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “They’re so hit or miss. We might not like it.”

Bucky hummed. “If we don’t like it, it’ll just give us an excuse to make out.”

You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your lips. It was a rare occurrence lately and Bucky always looked relieved when you’d show any signs of getting closer to peace. “Is that why you want to go to the movies, Buck?”

Your soulmate scoffed, shaking his head with a little cheeky grin. “You mean to tell me you really watched every movie you went on a date to see?”

“Oh, hush,” you smirked back as Bucky playfully rolled his eyes. “I guess nothing really changes over the years.”

This banter was good - it felt good. You weren’t in pristine condition but this was maybe showing some progress. Crying in bed with Bucky seems like a lifetime away despite just being a day or so ago. Concerns of various formats weren't vanishing so fast, though. Especially in the realm of nightmares. You hadn’t brought it up to anyone but it was like something had reset in the bond. While they weren’t as obnoxious, you weren’t getting dreams of Bucky reading or any cute shit like that.

“How about a horror movie? That could be fun,” Bucky said. “I can hold you when you get scared.”

You bit your lip. “Who said I get scared during horror movies?”

Bucky shook his head, letting out a light laugh. “You’re making this impossible, doll.” 

Before you could tell him to quit it, someone entered the kitchen. The person came up behind you two and began looking over your shoulder at the movie times. “Going to the movies?” Steve asked. 

You and Bucky turned to him, nodding. “We can’t figure out what we want to see, though.”

Steve hummed as his eyes raked over the page. “How about a romance?” He suggested. “Bucky used to cry his eyes out over those.”

Immediately, Bucky began spewing protests left and right calling Steve the biggest liar while you couldn’t help but genuinely crack up at the situation. It was a nice thing, you thought, sitting here laughing over something silly between Bucky and Steve. Almost like you were getting on and everything was figuring itself out. Maybe today would be the day it all finally took a turn. 

“Alright, alright,” you said, trying to calm Bucky. Steve looked greatly amused while your soulmate was just annoyed. “I think that’s settled then. My curiosity has peaked. I wanna see a romance.”

Bucky groaned. “It happened one time.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe she can hold you just in case it happens again.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky scoffed. “Want to share anything else with her? Any other embarrassing stories from back in the day you think she just desperately needs to hear?”

You looked excitedly towards Steve. “Yeah, Steve, is there anymore?”

He smirked. “Trust me, there’s plenty. But I wouldn’t want to waste them all now. I’ll save them for your wedding day.” And with that, Steve nodded, possibly quite proud of himself for dropping that, and exited the kitchen, back on his path to wherever he was going. He left you two practically with a bomb. 

Wedding day - the idea of that was something that has never crossed your mind. And from the looks of it, neither had it crossed Bucky’s. It wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to get married. Most didn’t see the purpose outside of the legal side but you didn’t fall into that. You were hopelessly guilty of daydreaming about your wedding day...

Bucky cleared his throat. “So,” he looked back at the paper, “romance it is, then?”

You took a deep breath, snapping your thoughts back into place. “Sure.”

***

Steve’s claim hadn't been that too far off. As you two were exiting the theater, having just watched an hour and a half of two people being oblivious when it comes to love, Bucky wouldn’t meet your eyes. You were commenting on the movie but he was stuck looking at the hem of your dress. You had gone with a light sundress having not much effort to get that dressed up but still wanting to look good for your man. It was decorated with little polka dots. Apparently, the dots were the most fascinating thing in the world to Bucky.

“Bucky,” you nudged him as you were walking down the street, “are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” Bucky jumped, his eyes finally meeting yours. And sure enough, they were wet. You couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped you.

“Steve wasn’t kidding,” you smiled, “romances really get to you, huh?”

Bucky playfully rolled his eyes and looked away. You took the opportunity to take your hand in his as you two continued your walk. 

After a moment, you spoke again, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Buck. I think it’s quite endearing.”

He scoffed. “You’re just saying that.”

“I am not,” you protested. “I think it’s very sweet you love love that much. I see it when we’re together.”

Bucky finally turned back to you. “Really?” He asked so gently. His eyes had a glimmer of hope in them. Your heart was melting. 

“Of course.”

Abruptly, he stopped you two right there on the sidewalk. He looked like an absolute dream in his nice shirt and slacks, illuminated just by the glow of the night and the flickering street lamps. He was looking at you like you had hung the moon and stars. You went to ask why you two were stopped but before you could, Bucky’s lips were on yours. They were so soft and gentle yet fierce and loving. You had forgotten how much he channeled in these kisses as you hadn’t been quite intimate since before the kidnapping. You had been scared, quite honestly. Despite the sequence of events not exactly being related, the last time you slept with your soulmate you were whisked away. It was a stupid, ridiculous fear you felt slowly dissipating the more your lips moved in sync. 

Suffice with the moment but leaving a bit to tease, Bucky eventually pulled away. “Let’s get back to the compound.”

You bit your lip a bit more hesitantly than you had intended but still nodded. You knew where this was going and you had to run with it. You had to let Bucky guide you to it. He was it for you, you had to remember. He was your soulmate for a reason and you were getting through this together. As cliche it seemed, you walked with him into what felt like the unknown. 

***

The second you were outside the shared bedroom, Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was the perfect gentleman on the way back and even all through the compound but once the coast was clear, his hands were trailing up and down your sides, dipping scandalously low. You tried playfully shooing him away but then he’d reach under your dress and pinch the inside of your thigh and, well, after that, you were practically done for. 

You were absolutely amazed by how naturally you fell back into this rhythm with Bucky. You figured something had just been needed, some kind of push to get you back on track. Maybe this date had been that. You didn’t want to think too much anymore, though, so you followed Bucky as he walked you back into the bed. 

He was on top of you in a matter of minutes, lips locked fully with yours as his hands continued to roam. It was all happening fast. Very fast. Bucky was a skilled multitasker in more ways than one. As he was taking off his shirt, he was already working on getting your dress off. You paid little attention to any of it, trying to let yourself get lost in the movements and lovingness of your soulmate.  

Once your dress was discarded, long forgotten in the room with Bucky’s shirt, next came his pants and your bra. All while doing so, Bucky kept stealing kisses from all over your body. Your lips. Your neck. Your chest. Your stomach. He was like a starved man and maybe, in some way, he really was. Part of you had denied him from so much, including sex, after the…

Your eyes shot open. Your heart was suddenly pounding but not in the excited, horny kind of way. Not in anticipation for your soulmate’s touch. In fact, you wanted the exact opposite of that. You felt like you were suddenly suffocating. You became very aware of Bucky’s body on top of you, the weight of him holding you into the bed that was so soft you felt like you were sinking. 

Bucky was seemingly oblivious to all of this despite your breath becoming shallow and unsteady. You wiggled under his touch trying some way to get him off but he mistook it for pleasure and kept his teasing work around your panties. 

“Bucky-,”

“I know, doll,” he hummed, his lips back at your neck while his metal hand dipped a little into the waistband. You shook your head.

“No, Bucky, please-,” your voice was barely there as you tried to convey your nervousness. Your brain felt like it was cloudy. You didn’t know what to say, what to do, to get his attention. You gasped, overwhelmed.

Bucky pulled away from your neck immediately, brows furrowed in confusion at your sudden switch in emotion. He said your name, voice so full of concern, but he felt so far away.

You couldn’t find the words anymore so you just tried to push him off. While naturally impossible, he took the sign and quickly lifted himself off of you, going as far to leave the bed. He stood at the foot of it, watching you try to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

You were struggling to breathe still and trying so hard to get your brain focused on something other than the feeling of being held down. It didn’t make sense, though. It really didn’t. You hadn’t been held down like that but there was something about the logistics of it your brain couldn’t separate the actions. You couldn’t move, you were dominated once again. And then you suddenly remembered Bucky’s involvement and it all just… It was all just one giant fucking mess. Your hands were shaking. 

Bucky tried again, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Your eyes shot to him, realizing how wild you must look. You were having a panic attack in the middle of sex. How much more could your life be affected by those goddamn-

“Doll, please, breathe with me,” Bucky pleaded as he leaned down to your eye line. You sat up further and he took the chance to take your hands in his. He held them as they shook uncontrollably. You stared into his eyes, regaining some order in your breathing.

“I-I’m sorry-,”

Bucky shook his head. “No, don’t you dare apologize. It’s alright, I understand. Just focus on your breathing. There’s nothing bad here, sweetheart. Just me.”

You nodded slowly and closed your eyes, focusing on your heart which was finally settling down. You pushed away the thoughts. The images of being strapped down. The way you were tossed around like a ragdoll. The look Bucky wore as he killed those men-

You shifted your attention to the weight of Bucky’s hands in yours. They had done so much bad but were also doing you so much good. 

It was over. Everything you had endured was over. Those men were gone. That Bucky wasn’t really that Bucky. He was still your Bucky. The Bucky that walked you to work and cried over movies. You had to drill this into your brain before something else overtook you.

After a moment or so, you felt you could finally reopen your eyes. Bucky was still watching you intensely.

“B-Better?” He seemed nervous to ask.

“Yeah,” you said, finding your voice again. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He let out a small sniffle and that’s when you finally saw the tears forming in his eyes. You looked down at your connected hands, unable to bear seeing what you had caused. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

You gave a small, shy nod. “Can we just go to bed now?”

Wordlessly, Bucky stood up and grabbed one of his shirts for you. While you threw it on, Bucky began unmaking the bed. Once he had set up your space with the blankets you cherished, you crawled right in and tried to let sleep take you.

It wasn’t very pleasant in your dream world as the memories of the kidnapping filled you, despite all your best attempts to suppress it. 

But you stood no chance escaping these because they weren’t your memories. They were from Bucky’s perspective. 

Unknowingly to him, you were seeing all the steps he had taken when it came to murdering the Hydra men. You felt the anger, the determination. The absolute disregard for them. You could practically feel it as his fist collided with them. As he drained their life from their bodies. 

You didn't want to react, though - God forbid you give Bucky another reason to worry -  and instead, you gave in to them.

[sunnyville36]

First star I see tonight

Requested from anon

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Themes/warnings: **allusions to trouble sleeping, insomnia**, late night/early morning dates, Chan being a soft and tender boy™️, so much fluff like a LOT of fluffiness

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: This is not meant to be used as a model of behavior to support all those who have trouble sleeping or sleep disorders. Reader in this scenario knows what Chan's character deals with, knows he has treatment and support systems available if/when he needs or wants them, and behaves the way they do at the request of his character

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

There’s something special about that time of night, where one day turns into another.  You read somewhere once that people like you found comfort in it because it was the one time where everyone else was asleep, where you were free from the demands of others.  The part of the day you had control over.  And you suppose that theory was right in your case.

So you never have a problem waiting up for Chan.  You know he loses himself in his work; comes home sometimes too restless to fall asleep right away.  While you care deeply about him getting the proper rest, you never want to make him feel pressured by you.  So the two of you venture out, him in his hoodie and you in your woolen cardigan, usually to walk the paths along the Han river.

That’s exactly where you are tonight, following the path lit up by the light of the lamp posts.  When it’s this late (or should you say early) you never feel rushed, meandering arm in arm slowly down the sidewalk, taking in the city and each other’s presence.  His busy schedule means you don’t get a ton of time together, so you appreciate every moment you do, whether it’s listening to him gush about his latest project or simply holding hands in peaceful silence.

You come upon a fork in the path, and the grassy spot between the two diverging trails is covered in tiny bunches of white and yellow flowers.  Some might call them weeds, but you’ve always thought they were a sign of nature’s beauty, especially now, when the light from the lamp post is giving them a delicate glow.  Your companion follows your gaze, catching sight of the little buds, and plucks a couple from the ground, holding them out to you.  “Just like you,” he says, dramatically bringing the other hand to his heart, eyes glinting with mirth, “the light in my darkest of nights.”

“Channn,” you fake whine, blushing at his cheesiness and hiding your head in his shoulder.  He takes the opportunity to put the little flowers behind your ear, placing a kiss on your temple and whispering a simple “Thank you for being with me.”

---

It’s 1 AM and you’re heading over to Chan, planning to surprise him with some homemade food at the JYP building where he’s been holed up all day.  Making your way past the front desk and up to his studio, you knock lightly on the door, his head turning to see you raise your loosely packed bag of food.

“Up for a late-night snack?”

Down in the courtyard, you set out what you brought on one of the round patio tables, Chan sliding into the chair next to you with a blanket draped around him.

“Jjapaguri?!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up at the sight of your huge container of noodles.

“And mochi for dessert,” you answer, incapable of stopping the smile that takes over your face from his little fist shakes of excitement.

He scarfs up the noodles like you knew he would, raving about how good you’ve gotten at making them.  You tell him about the class you’ve been working on all day, about how you’re excited for the date the two of you have been planning for the weekend.  When it’s time for dessert, you each take your little mochi and hold them up, bringing them together to “toast” like you would champagne glasses.  In his other hand, Chan records your tradition on his phone like he always does, saving the short looping video before taking a huge bite into his ice cream.

His mouth is still full when you whisper, “You know what Bin would say about this?”  And after a moment of silence for him to swallow…

“You’ll get a stomach ulcer!” you declare in unison, both cackling at your rather poor impressions of Stray Kids’ resident wisdom-giver.

“I’d say these are worth it,” he says, extending the blanket to wrap around you as well.

You smile back, scooching closer to rest your head on his shoulder.  “I would too.”

---

It’s especially late for Chan to be out, but the boys have the next few days off, so you’re not too worried.  A few minutes later, you hear the sound of the door opening and his voice calling your name.

“In here!” you reply, and wait for your boyfriend to find you in the living room.

He comes around the corner of the hallway, and you’re immediately struck by how nice he looks, his loose white button up giving his skin a pretty glow.

“What’s the special occasion?” you ask.

“Oh nothing,” he replies nonchalantly.  “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He leads you out into the hallway and to the elevator, punching in the button for the top floor of the dorm.  You keep quiet, not wanting to ruin whatever surprise it is he has in store for you.  At the top level, he takes you to another tiny staircase that you assume leads to the roof, his hands coming up behind you to cover your eyes as you reach the door at the top.

“Okay, no peeking!”

He guides you out the door into the warm night air and across the roof a little before removing his hands with a “Surprise!”

You open your eyes to see a tiny two-person table adorned with candles and a thin-stemmed vase with flowers.  Two plates of food and a bottle of wine are set out, and soft music is playing from somewhere in the background.

“Chris…” you breathe out, almost lost for words.

“I got special permission to bring you up here,” he says, arms snaking around your waist.  “So we could have a real late-night date.”

This is the most extravagant, thoughtful, and romantic gesture anyone has ever done for you.  “It’s beautiful,” you manage to whisper as he walks you to the table, pulling your chair out for you.

“After you, my love.”

The two of you spend the next few hours on your special date, catching up on everything you’ve been doing and enjoying the serene quiet of the city at this hour.  The food is delicious, and you can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off your boyfriend for any longer than a few seconds, absolutely wonderstruck by how lucky you are to be with him.

You’re preparing to head back downstairs when Chan moves his chair closer to you, holding out his phone.  “I have a little something for you, Y/n.”  He places the phone in your hands and taps the screen, your heart beating in anticipation.

What appears is a video, a montage of photos and videos of the two of you from all of your early morning adventures over the last year.  The images are set to a soft instrumental, one that sounds very similar to one he played for you the other night that you mentioned was one of your favorites.  And overlaid with the music is Chan’s melodic voice, quietly reciting...

Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have this wish I wish tonight

Some of the pictures you recognize; the obligatory thumbs up selfie you’d taken with the similarly-formed sculpture in Olympic Park just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, the mochi “toast” from your impromptu meal a few weeks ago.  But many are ones you’ve never seen before; ones of you.  One of you looking out at the sunrise from a grassy spot you stargazed in one night; one of you walking along the river, your form framed against the backdrop of the city lights.  You never noticed him taking these photos of you, and there’s something so intimate about having your partner catch glimpses of you no one else has seen, capturing you as a living memory.

As the video comes to a close, you hear Chan’s voice whisper one last line.

You are my wish forever Y/n

Near tears, you wrap him in the tightest embrace you possibly can, his arms circling around you to reciprocate.  You’re overwhelmed by the emotion of what it feels like to love a man like him and be loved in return, so you let him hold you for a long while, cherishing every second.  When you finally pull back, you take his face in your hands, wanting to make sure he hears what you’re about to say.

“Thank you, Chris.  You are my forever wish.”

---

Is there really a thumb sculpture in Seoul's Olympic Park? Yes!

As always, happy to hear your thoughts, and thank you for reading!

[ewritesthangs]

Halstead

Authors Note: First installment for my Sister!Halstead x Connor Rhodes series. I do hope you enjoy. I am by no means the best author on the planet. Feedback is appreciated. Also, things may not be completely accurate, for I live in NY, so laws and practices might be different. 

Plot: Shane recently moved back to Chicago to be closer to her brothers. 

Pairing: Sister!Halstead OC x Connor Rhodes

Warnings: None that I am aware of, as of yet. 

----------

The sun illuminates the city, alerting the patrons of Chicago that it was indeed morning. A relatively loud, heavy knock interrupts Shane’s peaceful slumber. Earning a groan from the 25-year-old.

“Unless you have an iced coffee, do not speak or enter!” She grumbles out loudly.

“Iced caramel with 5 cream and 2 liquid sugar.” A red-headed Halstead holds the coffee container out from behind the door, a grin plastered on his face. "Interview day. You excited?" Shane grabs the drink from his hands and begins to sip. "Shane?"

"I heard you. I need at least three sips of my joy juice to fully engage in conversation." Will chuckles and ruffles her hair. "I am so nervous Will." "I'm pretty sure this is just a formality. Dr. Charles was very impressed by your resume and academic standing. Like Voight." Shane had gotten a job with CPD in intelligence about a week and a half ago. Voight was utterly impressed with her resume. He wanted Shane the moment Jay started talking about her return. "This is really important to me Will." Shane states. "I know youngest Halstead. Believe me, you are an incredible young lady and you already have the internship. But you will rock this Interview." He initiated their secret handshake. "Thanks Will. I guess I love you." "Love you too, twerp. Come on. Up, get dressed. We have to be there at 7." Shane groans yet again, but obliges. Dressing herself in; a form fitting light gray top, a light gray textured pencil skirt, a maroon blazer with a small pump heel. She smooths the fabric of her blazer as she ganders at herself in the mirror. She radiated intelligence and sophistication. She puts her contacts in, applying light makeup. A nude lipstick with clear gloss accentuates her luscious lips. She was ready. "S, I'm leaving!" "Coming, coming!" She hurries down the hallway, grabbing her tote-like purse and iced coffee on the way. On the drive there, Will blasts some throwback tunes to ease her nerves. Once they arrive and the car is parked, they head inside. "SHANIE!" An excited Maggie jogs over, giving a hug to Shane. "Oh Maggie it's so good to see your beautiful face. I'm calmed down already." She chuckles. "I can't believe you're so grown up. You excited? Nervous?" With a deep breath, she nods. "You could say that." "OH, Shane. There you are. Prompt." "Good morning, Dr. Charles." "Lovely to meet you, finally. Please come with me." He leads her up to his office. "I am quite impressed with your work and history. What brings you here, well back here I should say." "Well you see, I wanted to explore my options, expand my knowledge base, and be home with my brothers. Family is very important to me." "Anything you'd like to tell me about yourself, Miss Halstead?" She takes a gulp before continuing. "You see, Dr. Charles, I have always been intrigued by criminals and their behaviors. I worked closely with them in Quantico while I was out there for college. That is why I want to study them, work with you. My brother speaks highly of you." "As he does of you." "I want to learn from you, Dr. Charles." He simply nods and writes things down. "Well, Miss Halstead, this Interview was just a formality. For records sake. Welcome to the team. You will do paperwork with Sharon Goodwin." Dr. Charles holds his hand out. She lets out a shake breath of relief she never realized she was holding. Shaking his hand, her once serious face now showed happiness and excitement. "Thank you, Dr. Charles. You have just made my entire day!" Shane beams. Daniel calls Goodwin. She comes to his office and brings Shane up to her office, where they go through the hiring/internship process, loads of paperwork and signing. Meanwhile down in the ER

The middle Halstead saunters in. "Hey Jay, are you hurt?" Worried Will asks his brother. "No. Just wanted to drop by and say hello." "See your sister?" Jay nods. "She just went up about 5 minutes ago."

Shane walks down about 30 minutes later. Her face showing no emotion. "Hey kid!" Jay walks over to her. She looks at her brothers, who are waiting in anticipation. She cracks a smile. They cheer and hug her. "Told ya!" "I knew you had it! I am so proud of you!" "Molly's tonight?" "Sure!" Jay drives her back to Wills apartment, where she changes into more comfortable attire. Still sleek, but more casual and comfortable. She goes about her day, running errands. She goes on a job to her the hospital, bring her brother some homemade lasagna with garlic bread. "Did you run here? Girl you trippin’." Maggie chuckles. "I brought some lasagna. Enough for everybody." Shane smiles and holds up her bag of food. "Includes garlic bread." "Who is that?" Connor asks Will. "My baby sister." He side eyes Connor, a silent threat made. You so much as even think of my little sister I will hunt you down. "Huh, she's all grown up now." "Yeah. Hey S! Thanks for the food." Will walks over and kisses her temple while wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Wanted to meet everybody I didn't know." "Hi. I'm Connor." "Ahh, yes Dr. Rhodes." She looks him up and down. "Cardio-thoracic surgery. My brother told me about you." "All good things, I hope." "Eh, for the most part." She flashes him her signature grin. “I’m Shane, by the way.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you. You brother has been raving about you.”

“Yeah, he has always been number 1 supporter along with Jay and my mother.” She smiles fondly up at her brother. His smile is just as fond. “Go get some food, William. Let me mingle.” Will holds his hands up and goes to get some food, watching like a hawk.

“So, you are the intern for Dr. Charles?” Connor asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“Why yes, I sure am. Word travels fast.”

“I overheard Will talking about it with Jay.” Connor shrugs.

“They really need to stop talking so much.” She shakes her head. Connor chuckles.

“They are very proud of you, as they should be.”

“I get that. But I want to be able to tell my good news, myself.”

“I can understand that.” He nods. “What are you doing to celebrate?”

“Molly’s.” She shrugs. “I am not big on parties or celebrations. You should come by, save me from my brothers boasting. Please!” She claps her hands together, emphasizing her want for someone to save her.

“Oh, alright. Those puppy eyes got me.”

“Thank you! Come at like 730, so it doesn’t look obvious you are there for me.”

“You got it.” He smiles a toothy smile.

Will was watching, his lip reading skills were subpar. “Hey, Nat? What are they saying?”

“I don’t know Will. Stop worrying, she is an adult. Let her be.”

“I don’t want him hurting her like her ex did.” He pouts.

“I know, and neither do I. But nothing will happen. She is not looking.”

“He is.” He grumbles.

“Will.” Nat warns.

“Fine, fine. I will lighten up.”

“Thank you.” She rubs Will’s bicep comfortingly.

[obiwanobi]

Ok ok but Clem, hear me, I need to share my personal Obi-Wan gets out release some steam in the lower levels of Coruscant but instead of stripping or raving at club, he gets into clandestine fistfights. He just goes all fight club on who wants to get punched in the face. Once, Anakin follows him in secret and find him his nose bloody, bare torso glistening with oil like a gladiator and dozens of fans screaming his (fake) name. He whites out instantely.

THIS IS WHY I’M HERE FOR I wanted to write like 2 paragraphs but then I got really into it, so here’s Anakin going from “time to laugh at my boring old master who I’m definitely not obsessed with” to “ANYWAY denial time’s over, I need him to pin me to the ground in front of everyone immediately”:

It takes fifteen minutes after landing on Coruscant for Anakin to decide that it’s time to bother Obi-Wan. For once, it’s not a decision on a whim, despite the carefree way he announces it to Rex before leaving his troops and ship in the hangar. The Force guides him through the halls and corridors toward the warm and familiar presence of his former master, but Anakin isn’t surprised to feel him preoccupied. 

Obi-Wan has been stuck in the Temple for the past four months.

Because of some careless planning, he was unlucky enough to be on Coruscant when Yoda realised that he was the only council member not currently swamped in various missions off-world. Since it was an unspoken rule that at least a few Council members should always be at the Temple, Obi-Wan has been asked to put his missions in the field on hold, and dedicate his time to represent the Council, until more of its members come back.  

Since then, Anakin has only seen him through holotransmitters for official briefings and reports. The artificial blue lights haven’t hidden the creases between his eyebrows and the twitch of his hands when Anakin raised the topic of his time away from the front, telling him all he needed to know about how Obi-Wan felt about being stranded on Coruscant to do paperwork all day or act as the face of the Jedi Order in the Senate.

Now that he can finally see him in the flesh, it feels natural to seek out Obi-Wan, poke at his poor master and laugh at his concealed misery. There was no doubt that Obi-Wan always brilliantly plays the role of a calm and serene Jedi Master, but Anakin hasn’t spent more than ten years around him without catching on the fact that at heart, he’s still a man of actions who needs some excitement and tangible problems to solve before he grows bored.

Anakin isn’t surprised to find him in the middle of various maps, datapad in hand and pointing something on a holotable at another Jedi. What does surprise him, after a few minutes of waiting for them to be done and the Jedi to go away, is that Obi-Wan is not putting any weight on his left leg. It’s the most subtle of change, probably undetectable to anyone else but someone who has spent so much time watching the way Obi-Wan walks and moves and carries himself. But it’s there. 

“Oh, that?” Obi-Wan says almost like he hasn’t noticed, after Anakin didn’t even bother with a ‘hello’. “A knight asked me for some hand-to-hand training sessions. Since I’m to stay at the Temple for an indefinite period of time, I can at least be useful to others. He didn’t go easy on your old master, that’s for sure,” he quietly laughs, and Anakin will be annoyed at himself later for not noticing the clear bait.

But for now, it’s the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, saying that old men like him should pay more attention to their health, and “be careful Obi-Wan, you’re already part of the Council and drink your tisane before going to bed at 2200, you can’t be going around holding your back and complaining about young people or I’ll start mistaking you with Master Yoda!”

A datapad comes flying at his head and it only makes him laugh harder.

Anakin starts to become suspicious two weeks later.

He arrives in the middle of the night from an exhausting mission in the inmost depths of the mid-rim, and his feet take him directly to Obi-Wan’s quarters. it’s closer than his anyway, and he knows Obi-Wan keeps his old room just the way he left it. If he’s being honest, he should also admit that he spends half of his time there instead of his own quarters. It’s just a question of being used to it, he thinks as he lets himself fall on his old bed. And here at least, he knows he will find the bed made and a cup fo caf waiting for him in the morning. Plus, there is nothing more comforting than the feeling of slipping between fresh sheets and the smell of the familiar citrus detergent, unchanged since his childhood. He should really ask Obi-Wan which one he uses. 

When he opens the fresher’s door the next morning to brush his teeth, he barely notices that Obi-Wan is already taking a shower, complaining about sacred personal space and unruly boys who never learnt common courtesy like not leaving their muddy boots in the living room or barging in occupied freshers behind the curtain. Nothing out of the ordinary, until Obi-Wan comes out with a towel high on his hips, but not high enough to hide the large bacta patch on his back and shoulder. 

“Wha-” Anakin tries to ask between toothbrush and toothpaste, but Obi-Wan is already out of the room, and even outside their quarters with a hurried goodbye when Anakin finishes brushing his teeth. 

Anakin starts to get annoyed when he comes back from Corellia a week later and Madame Nu catches him near the entrance of the library. 

“Please come get your master,” she sighs with a hand grabbing his arm, already dragging him in with unexpected strength. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but this is getting ridiculous.”

The ‘not my master anymore’ is still on his tongue when she makes an exasperated sign to a corner of the library where he finds Obi-Wan seated at a table, chin on his hand and head bowed toward a screen.

Snoring. 

Anakin barely contains his giggle long enough to take a holo and send it to Ahsoka. He takes another one then, closer, focusing on the way the late afternoon sun catches his hair, his beard and his lashes, enfolding Obi-Wan in its warm golden light. Focusing on his peaceful expression. 

 He saves this one for himself. 

Reluctant to disturb him, he allows himself a few more minutes of fondness and gentle affection in front of the scene before putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and shaking it gently. The wince and sudden jerk he gets as a result surprise him, before he remembers the flash of a bacta patch in the fresher a week ago. 

“'N’kin? You’re already back?” Obi-wan mumbles, straightening himself with difficulty on his chair. 

“Yes, just arrived a few minutes ago.”

 “What are you doing in the library?” He asks in a light tone. Something cracks, and his hand makes an aborted move toward his shoulder before thinking better of it. “I thought you would only come back this far in the economy section under death threats.”

This time, Anakin doesn’t take the bait. 

“You’re still hurt. Are you going to tell me which knight beat you up and apparently kept you up all night?”

The words have barely left his mouth when he realises the double meaning of his question and there are suddenly a dozen images in his mind and- No no no, it can’t be- Obi-Wan would never... Well, he would. But not this way, not the- Hand-to-hand training? With another knight? Every time Anakin leaves for a certain period of time, when no one will notice if Anakin’s not here? Being so tired that he’s sleeping in the middle of the library? The bacta patch? To get this, that would have- Oh, that would be a sight to- NO, no, this is definitely not it, Anakin has to believe it, or he will lose his mind right there. 

“A knight?” Obi-Wan asks, apparently still too drowsy to sense Anakin’s inner meltdown. He stretches his arms, and Anakin grows even more confused when he realises that his knuckles are scraped. “What are you talking about?” 

 “The- The one you’re training?”

Something passes in Obi-Wan’s eyes and he puts his hands in his sleeves just a little too quickly to look natural. 

“Ah, yes, the knight. Yes, he- we, we’re still having sessions now and then. Good to stay in shape, you know. Now, since you’re back, what do you say about dinner? I’m paying for Dex’s takeout if you go get it.” 

Anakin doesn’t feel focused enough to harass him about his flimsy explanation or tease him about taking a nap in the library. There are way too many incriminating images in his mind he needs to get rid of first. 

The next time he comes back to the Temple after a few days trapped in negotiations with neutral planets, he doesn’t comm anyone and is careful not to let Obi-Wan knows he’s here. He sends R2 and one of his droid pal to stand close to Obi-Wan’s door, and then, he waits. No one pays attention to droids, and most people forget that they have cameras that can be turned on at any point in time, if you ask nicely. It doesn’t take long. At 2240, R2 sends an alert to his comm. He gets his robe, shields himself heavily in the Force, and starts following Obi-Wan.

Anakin really, really doesn’t expect his former master, his “remember that wherever you go, you represent the whole Jedi Order, Anakin, so act accordingly” master, to make his way to the bars and clubs district of the lower levels through hidden shortcuts, bypass cameras and security officers like he’s done it all his life, and knocks at a durasteel door full of graffitis in a language Anakin can’t read.

Definitely not meeting a Jedi knight for regular hand-to-hand training. 

Under his hood, Obi-Wan nods at the Twi’lek who opens the door for him. Anakin lets a few minutes pass before making his way to it. It takes him a heavy mind suggestion to get her to let him in, and when he walks through the door, his heart suddenly starts beating faster in anticipation of what shameful secret he’s going to find.

The thought of seeing Obi-Wan sprawled on a couch of a hidden club with a harem of girls around him crosses his mind, and it twists something he usually tries to ignore in his stomach. It’s not Obi-Wan’s style, it’s so far from everything he knows about his master, but his mind won’t stop entertaining the most insane possibilities of what he does when he’s stuck without Anakin at the Temple and bored by meaningless paperwork. He wouldn’t have imagined Obi-Wan doing anything else but meditate to release tension, but here he is, in the worst part of the whole planet. So what’s next to come?

His throat is already dry, but it’s even harder to swallow when he imagines Obi-Wan letting himself be lead to a private alcove by one of these imaginary girls.

Or boys.

Anakin suddenly thinks that there is no way he’s going to handle this whole thing well.  Whatever he will find will make the effect of betrayal, and he’s not certain why. But Anakin is also convinced that he will be restless and unable to sleep for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get answers. He needs to see, to understand, to know everything about Obi-Wan, even the things he apparently doesn’t want to share. It’s selfish and unkind to his master who has always made a point of respecting his privacy and was probably way too lenient with him during his apprenticeship. He knows that. Now that Anakin has a padawan of his own, he’s fully conscious about all the things Obi-Wan let him get away with for years. He knows. 

But there is something about him that Anakin can’t let go, will probably never be able to let go, that makes Anakin greedy. Demanding. Needy. A poor example of a Jedi that his master would be ashamed of, especially for being the source of it. 

 Anakin refuses to think about it for too long. 

The arena is a distracting surprise.

All of a sudden, he’s pushed in the middle of a crowd, unbalanced by the music, the loud cheers, the flashing lights, the Togruta yelling into a mic, the bell ringing and the thunderous applause all around. No one pays attention to him, way too engrossed in what’s happening in the centre of all this agitation, a few meters down from Anakin’s position.

Nothing could have prepared him for watching the two fighters in the centre of the arena. 

One of the men, the largest one, is face down on the red sand, clearly defeated for the night. Anakin barely notices him, because above him, rubbing his knuckles against his bloody nose before raising it in a universal sign of victory, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Polite, well-mannered Obi-Wan, who once lectured Anakin for ten minutes because he walked on a nice carpet with his boots on, is now bare-chested in front of a rowdy crowd roaring at him- no, for him. He’s sweating, cheeks, knees and hands covered in sand and exhibiting massive bruises on his ribs and his shoulder. The wide smile on his face says enough about what he thinks about it. 

When Anakin thinks that he will never truly recover all parts of his brain from seeing Obi-Wan’s muscles gleaming with oil and sweat under the artificial lights, he realises that people are chanting his name. Well, nickname. Even with the deafening sound of his blood pumping in his ears like he’s the one fighting in the middle of the arena, Anakin can’t stop himself from scoffing. How can Obi-Wan get into illegal street fighting in the lowest levels of Coruscant and choose to call himself Ben? At least some of his boring master’s choices don’t surprise him. 

It's not the first time he's watching Obi-Wan fighting with nothing else than his fists. It was even quite common when his master was teaching him how to defend himself, when Anakin was still a young padawan. But Obi-Wan was always so proper about it. Focused on the fastest and most efficient way to get the upper hand without maiming his opponent. The picture of calm and serenity, even while throwing his padawan down on the mat to teach him an important lesson about self-defence. Rarely a strand of hair out of place.

But here? Here it's nothing like the impassive and soft-spoken Jedi Master who doesn’t even seem to sweat in the training room of the Temple. Here, it's a fascinating grin on his face, bloody knuckles in the air, adrenaline and flashing lights painting his red hair a shade too wild. It's a violent and brutal show for glory and entertainment, and it suits Obi-Wan like nothing else before.

Anakin has never wanted to be slammed down in the sand so badly in his life. 

The crowd around him suddenly goes quiet, and it takes Anakin a second to realise it’s because Obi-Wan asked for it with a simple hand raised. There is something fascinating in watching all these strangers obeying him so promptly, eagerly waiting for a word from him, when Anakin can still remember all the times he cut Obi-Wan off in one of his tedious lectures. 

The whole arena holds its breath, and Obi-Wan takes a few seconds to enjoy it. 

“Next!” He finally yells, and the crowd yells back in delight. 

Anakin needs to gather his thoughts. Or what's left of them anyway. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan dodging the punches of his new opponent with a flourish, parrying and making an acrobatic show of throwing him over his shoulders on the ground just for the crowd’s enjoyment is more than distracting. Despite the blood on his face, the bruises, the dishevelled hair and the sand sticking to his torso because of the sweat, Obi-Wan hasn’t looked this carefree since the beginning of the war, and Anakin can’t look away. 

 He can’t decide if he’s content to simply be mesmerized by the whole thing, thrilled to be able to admire Obi-Wan being this bold, almost smug, from far away, where his clear feeling of want doesn’t have to be ignored right away, or angry at him for putting himself in danger for no reason when he’s taking enough risks as it is fighting a war. For once, Anakin is tempted to be the voice of reason for the two of them.

It doesn’t last long.

A minute after the commentator enthusiastically yells into her mic Ben’s victory, a bell still ringing in celebration, Anakin has already made his way to a little booth away from the show, where a bored Kiffar asks him what he wants. Anakin licks his lips, and can’t help feeling like he’s a young padawan again, giddy with excitement and vibrating with anticipation. 

“How much to join?” he asks, but doesn’t let him time to answer before adding, pointing to the arena, “How much to fight him?” 

[alfredosauce50]

Island Escapade [Ex-con! 2p! America x reader x Denmark] 09

Island Escapade - 09 - The Great Escape Wordcount: 3, 370 The reader is referred to as she/her.

The house was quiet save for the voice of a reporter. Mathias wasn't one to watch something as boring as the news, so he was probably dead asleep in front of the TV. If not, about to be. You appeared in the doorway, unable to help the growing smile at the sight of him nodding off. As peaceful as he looked, you couldn't let him pass out on the couch. "Don't sleep like that, or you'll ruin your neck. C'mon. You have a perfectly usable bed at your disposal."

You patted his cheek until his eyes began to flutter. He merely grumbled, unwilling. "But you’re not in the bedroom." Mathias rolled his head away and screwed his eyes shut. "Night." Never bothering to add anything else, he licked his bottom lip before drifting off again.

You sat beside him with a huff. A week had passed since he recovered, but the exhaustion was there all the same. When you put two and two together, concern washed over you all over again.

If he wasn’t excitable and bounding with energy, he was tired, burnt-out, even. It reflected his mood, which was rarely anything besides a good one. Anger he could manage, but sadness? It drained him like a vampire would suck their victims dry.

"Just because I'm not sharing a room with you." He couldn't seem to handle being alone at all. Not even when he was sleeping. "You're hopeless." Pulling his head onto your lap, he immediately buried his face into your shirt. Despite being unconscious, he took on a relaxed expression as if he knew where he was. It was exactly where he wanted to be. "I can’t keep doing this for you, Mat..."

And yet, here you were. You’d be lying if you said it was just for him.

He was pulling you in again. Getting you to put up with his shit. First, he disappeared, then fell sick. And now, the sad sap didn't need to compete for your attention. Not anymore. It seriously begged the question, what if you never shut him out? Physically, you did. For a while. But emotionally? You didn't want to think about it.

So you were stubborn. So what?

Allen had been filling out his logbook when you wandered off into the living room. Giving all the boxes a brief skim, he left his room to find you. "Looks good to me. Now I gotta get this signed off..."

When he walked out, he saw you on the couch with the dumbass Dane on your lap. He never thought much of you still caring about the guy, especially after being shipped off like that. But watching you comb a hand through his hair made it too jarring. The way you held him, looked at him.

You were still in love with him.

It made his chest ache in the subtlest of ways.

"Am I interrupting something?" He began, the voice making you freeze. The denial was glaring at this point. Allen grinned lazily when you exchanged glances with him and Mathias on your lap. Nervously. "Don't mind me. Just wonderin' if you could spare me a few and sign off my hours." Holding up his booklet at that, he waved it around for emphasis.

"Yeah, of course! Hand it over." He did as told. While you flicked through the pages, he came around to the back to wrap his arms around your neck. There, he watched on. "Let's see... Wow, your hours are coming along nicely. You'll be done with this in no time!"

He bumped his head against yours. "Couldn't do it without ya. Let's say waking up early isn't my strongest suit."

"Oh, yeah?" You ticked everything off with a smile of your own. "I can't believe it's already been three months! I don't think you'll have to stay for the whole sentence. Six months, I mean. Cuz' at this rate, you'll only need..." Your excitement for him faded. "One month." In other words, he already stayed most of his welcome. Three-quarters of it.

Allen seemed to be on the same page as you.

"One month until I'm a free man again, huh?" He took his logbook and set that aside. "And I was beginning to like it here. But nothing lasts forever, I guess." Closing his eyes at that, he joined you on the couch with a soft sigh. He never said anything after that. He didn't need to. The silence was deafening, and both of you shared the same sentiments without opening your mouths.

"I'm gonna miss you, Al." Your gaze saddened. He furrowed his brows. And he was trying to avoid the emotional aspect of it. You, however, jumped straight to it. In your defense, nothing lasts forever didn't seem to apply to you the same way it did to him. What you wanted to stay didn't. What you wanted to go away never budged. Allen and Mathias. Like Yin and Yang, they were the perfect opposites of one another.

Allen reached out to pinch your cheek affectionately.

"What do you mean? I'm still here."

You hardened your stare. "Not in a month, you won't."

He nodded slowly in defeat. Then, he responded with a low chuckle. "Always so serious, aren't you, doll? You didn't have to say it like that. We can't help what we can't change." Pulling out his phone, he directed your attention to what was on the screen. "What we can help is animal trafficking, though. What do you know? What your stupid ex did gave the Interpol good, useable intel."

Who would've thought?

After scanning the article's contents, you sucked in a gasp, completely enraptured by the news. "And you never told me? Allen, this is amazing! Oh my God, we're getting our turtles back!" The said man managed a lopsided grin to reflect your delight. While you shook Mathias awake, violently, the reporter on TV announced the news—'Lucky ferry mix up leads to animal trafficking bust'

"I figured it would find its way to you," Allen said.

Mathias groaned while he was rocked back and forth. "Guh... What... What's happening?" He croaked. An earthquake? No way. When he saw the look on your face, he snapped out of his daze. But nothing could've prepared him for what he was about to hear.

"Mat, you did it! We're getting our turtles back!" You exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. That wasn't enough to express the gratitude and relief surging through your system, however. "I can't believe it! You actually did something right! Not that you don't ever, but what you did was really stupid--" He shook his head in shock. Wait, did he hear you correctly? You climbed onto his lap and squeezed him again.

He must’ve. Otherwise, why would you be sitting on him? "--I'll still be mad at you for it, but at least it wasn't for nothing—!"

He returned the embrace slowly, still unable to fathom what you were saying. "Woah, woah, woah. What are you talking about? What's up?" Nevertheless, he found himself lighting up at your tone of voice. You were overjoyed, and the euphoria seemed to be targeted at him. Combined with the hug you gave him that only grew tighter and tighter, his melancholy was soon no more.

"The eggs, you idiot!" You pulled away to gleam at him. "The police found them! They must've cracked them down when you explained why you were undocumented in America!"

It finally clicked, as evident in his change in expression. "Ha! We did it, we did it!" Mathias's nostrils flared as he stood up with you in his arms. "I told you not to worry! This was always a matter for the police, kæreste," While he spun you around with great enthusiasm, you laughed at his hypocrisy. A matter for the police, he said. His stupidity never failed to amaze you. For once, it was a good kind of amazement.

"You're just lucky, Mat. I don't know why God keeps smiling at you. Just never do that again." In the heat of the moment, you kissed his cheek. Mathias widened his eyes, and after some hesitation, he leaned in to kiss your forehead. Allen looked away. This was so hard to watch. The Dane was back to murmuring something in your ear, something he couldn't pick up, but whatever it was, you didn't like it.

You were set back on the ground again. You had the choice to move away, and yet, you didn't, and instead, stayed put with your face in his chest. He coiled his arms around your form. And he was smiling, wistfully.

Allen had no idea what was going on in Mathias's head. Whether he was really the person you thought he was, he had you wrapped around his finger. He wanted to help you. He really did. But what if this was for the best? If you couldn't stay away from him, there must've been something about the guy that made him so worth forgiving.

Or was it just his insecurity talking?

Seeing you so infatuated got him rethinking what kind of person he was himself. Mathias had his life together. A successful scientist, and now, a hero. That goof was on the right side of the law. He wasn't. He was a nobody. After this sentence, he was back to job-skipping around Ibiza. And if that didn't check out, nothing was stopping him from living up to the name Mathias insisted on him.

A criminal. A bum.

So what the hell was he thinking, trying to save you from something you didn't need saving from? He was the one who needed to get his shit together. Not Mathias, not you.

The night called for celebration. With Allen's speedy progress and Mathias's lucky break, you were getting a taste of the exuberance yourself. Your work was only getting better and better. You've never felt this on track with your responsibilities. The same couldn't be said for other aspects of your life, however.

You had no idea how to act around Mathias anymore. So what did you do? You avoided him at all costs. After spending the first twenty minutes at the back of a rave, you took Allen's hand and pulled him away. When he shot you a weird look, you offered him a sheepish smile. "Just trust me. I know a better place to be!" He could barely hear your shouts over the pandemonium of EDM and a screaming crowd.

While you led him to the inside of the club, which already looked like the aftermath of a wild night, deserted and strewn with trash, he let out a low chuckle. "What's a better place to be than a party like that? This dump?" He grinned, earning a heated glare from you.

"Quit being such a smartass and follow me."

You both appeared in a separate pool room. While he skidded to a stop, he was prepared to object. "Don't have to do that when you're—" Allen trailed off as he took in his surroundings. "—dragging me." His tanned complexion took on a bright blue glow from the heated pool. Next to the huge body of water was a minibar. Behind the counter was a lone bartender, scrubbing away at a glass.

"And I thought I liked to party." He remarked in awe, turning to you with a scoff. "This is one of the coolest spots I've ever been to."

"You'd be surprised. This is the party island, after all." Allen wiped his hand down your smug face as if to smear invisible dirt all over it. "Eugh--I didn't take you to be a bad sport, Al." The man shrugged off your annoyance with a playful smirk of his own. Of course, the animosity was short-lived on your end, and you were back to pulling him around. This time, to the minibar he set his sights on.

"Just didn't think you'd be the type to... You know. Be like me. Self-indulge. I'm good at that." He took a seat on one of the stools while you ordered a round of drinks. Allen blinked. It only felt like yesterday that you chewed him out for trying to get in some beer at the fundraising party. "... But I guess everyone needs an escape."

You flashed him a tight smile. The bartender rocked his mixer back and forth, filling the backdrop with the rattling of ice and booze. "What do you know? I didn't think you'd be one to be so philosophical." He wanted to get hot-headed. But that wasn't quite right—he only thought he would. He always had a bad temperament, a bad attitude, even. Antonio could agree with him on that.

And yet, it was almost as if he didn't have an angry bone in his body. Not here he didn't. Not when you were the one giving him the jabs.

You craned your head to the side thoughtfully. "I was wrong about you, Allen." He froze up. Nevertheless, he darted his wary eyes to your tender expression to watch you speak. In that space in time, the same thought occurred between you both. Why are you looking at me like that? Why he seemed so worried all of a sudden, and why—

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked with a shake of the head. "Don't." Your tender gaze was no more. It was replaced by dejection. "I'm not doing this with you, doll."

You scoffed at him, defeated. "Do what? I was just trying to say I'm proud of you, Allen. You've changed. You're not so much of a—"

Allen rose a brow. "—a bum?" He cut in. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. I really am. But you were right about me all along." He took a long sip of whatever you ordered him. While you could only watch him do as he pleased, helplessly, he downed every last drop before slamming down the glass with a wince. "Once this is all over, I'm going back to who I used to be."

"And what's that?" You exasperated, eyes wide with grief. Before the heat blurring your vision could turn into tears, you blinked it away. "A criminal? You aren't a criminal, Al. You aren't the same as you used to be! Why the hell would I even be so close to you if you were? Use your brain, you idiot. You're just as stupid as Mathias, sometimes," His lips separated ajar at that. He was at a loss for words.

Out of all the things you could cry about, you were crying about him.

"Yeah, so my point exactly. He may be stupid, but at least he's got his shit together!" Allen sighed sharply. "And I'm probably just stupid like you said. There's nothing great about me."

Your face fell. His head was turned away, and he was showing a bitter glower. This was why he blew up? The feelings of inadequacy were always there, and it came back to haunt him like a ghost now that his sentence was drawing to an end. No wonder he was so closed off in the afternoon. He wanted to stop thinking about his own life. With you around, he was hard-working, playful, and sensitive.

But by himself, he was nothing. Without this community service, which was more of a getaway than anything, a ruse, even, he had nothing to try for. So he had everything to lose himself in. Drinking, partying, and getting handsy with random chicks, whatever it needed to feel alive.

"If there's nothing great about you, why am I here?" You began in a faint murmur. "I wanted to hang out with you, Al."

Allen hung his head. "Don't start with me. Don't do this to me."

Now, he wasn't exactly a poet, but what he really meant to say was this—don't give me hope. Don't make me try to be a better person. It was so much easier to stay where he was, here at the bottom of the world, all because he couldn't get any lower.

You shook your head stubbornly. "I do what I want. I pick my own friends. If I like you, then that's my business."

"Well, that's the problem, doll. I don't think you just like me." He admitted, fully expecting mortification on your end. Much to his surprise, your steely gaze on him remained unfaltering. Hell, it even looked like you were beckoning him to continue. "If I could, I'd snatch your pretty little ass away from that Danish douchebag the second I had the chance."

Okay, now that got your face lighting up. All until it looked like Christmas at the Vatican. The blush was setting in, and it seemed like you had your ears peeled for what was next. "Then why don't you? I'm right here." It was Allen's turn to get flustered, but the feeling was short-lived when he saw how you looked at him. There was untold sadness behind your eyes. Even tiredness. Dread.

He finally understood why you were so on board with him. Why you liked him so much, and why you wanted him to see himself the way you saw him.

"I can't keep doing this. With Mathias. One of these days, I'm gonna make a mistake I'll really regret." You urged, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. "I need you to help me get him out of my house. I can't think with him around." That was right. He'd been drawing you in again, just like every other time you had an argument and decided to shut him out. But this had to stop, at least for a little while.

"Promise me you'll do that before you leave."

Allen nodded, albeit reluctantly. He didn't know what you were planning, but at least it didn't exactly involve him. "Sure. But what's the plan after that, boss? You're not gonna bootycall me the second he goes, are you? I hope you don't."

You shot him a heated glare. "No, you dingus. I just need some time to think."

He closed his eyes contentedly. This conversation ended on a happier note than he expected. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say." Allen laughed when you slapped his shoulder. He then opened his eyes to stare at you through his eyebrows. "But I'm still not taking it back. I'm a criminal, dollface. It's a mindset, not a state of being. I don't have money. I don't have shit. So one of these days, I could get desperate."

He leaned in forebodingly. "I could steal stuff. Rob a bank. Who the fuck knows. So keep that in mind when you do your thinking. I'm not good enough for you, babe. He is."

You were fuming through your nostrils at this point. Humoring him on his fragile self-esteem was one thing, but once it involved you, the line had to be drawn. Especially when he was talking about Mathias like the Mr. Right he very much wasn't. "Take that back." He turned away to ignore you. "Fuck you, Al. I thought you of all people would know how he can be. But I guess you're not done brooding about yourself."

Reaching out to your untouched glass, you gulped down the contents knowing damn well you couldn't handle your alcohol. You slammed it down when you were done, alerting Allen to spin your way. Well, I'll be damned, he thought. You had some attitude yourself. "You're a better person than you think you are. You're everything I could ask for in someone I could trust."

He couldn't believe it, but he was letting you get to him. Allen swore an oath he'd try everything he could to keep that asshat in check. It was the least he could do as a friend. That determination waxed and waned for a while, but it was finally coming back as he listened to you speak.

"You're everything he isn't."

That also begged the question—why did you hate the idea of getting back with Mathias so much? Besides his persistence, entitlement, and everything in between, something major must've gone down.

And Allen had a feeling he was about to find out what.

[eyessharpweaponshot]

hi there!! are there any fics you’re reading right now that you would recommend? i need something good after the season we’ve been given so far 😣

hello there!

I agree, this season has been disappointing - especially considering it’s the last one. but thankfully, our fandom is full of amazing writers that serve us goods regularly. I have so much to recommend, it’s a joke. so prepare for a long fic rec. In no particular order, let’s begin:

1. Chasin’ You - @burninghoneyatdusk

okay. you’re gonna see a bit of a theme with me in these fic recs because the authors I mention are some of my favourites in the world - sam being one of the TOP TIER ones. this fic is a modern au, written about clarke and bellamy as exes (a favourite trope of mine) that have went their separate ways. clarke has moved away and hasn’t kept tabs on bellamy but he's soared to the top as a country star, his hit single being about her and what they had. if there’s any fic from this list you need to start reading, it’s this one.

2. Voices in the Water - @burninghoneyatdusk

It’s the canon version we all wanted. set on earth, clarke’s aunt (nia) forces her into an arranged marriage with king bellamy to unite the clans. but under it all, nia has tasked her to kill him. obviously, as clarke falls in love with bellamy, it’s the one task wanheda probably can’t complete. I'm in love with the imagery and descriptions in this fic. there are honestly some lines that sam writes that I want to frame and put up in my house. absolute brilliance.

3. All Because of You - @burninghoneyatdusk

*sheepishly raises hand* - hi, it’s me again, fangirling over another one of sam’s fics. if you have followed me for a while, either here or on twitter, you’ll have seen me screaming about this fic. I've pulled over while driving to read an update that came through to my email. no lie. I don’t say this lightly but it is definitely in my top 3 favourite bellarke fics of all time. sam DELIVERS with this one. bellamy knocks up his sister’s best friend when they’re both young and they grow together in raising their daughter. this fic flashes between present and future in the most seamless way and we see how in love they were back then but too scared to admit it, combined with how in love they are now that they are mature and older - but yet can’t seem to take the leap. I can’t tell you enough how good this fic is. I'm in love and it’s one of those fics that I would happily have as a book on my bookshelf, the pages worn and falling out from the amount of times that I re-read it.

*I just want to note that sam is doing a fantastic job at running @bellarkefic-for-blm. This is an opportunity for the bellarke community to directly support the Black Lives Matter cause through reading and writing fanfiction. For every fanfiction prompt a participating writer receives, they ask that you donate to an organization that supports the BLM cause. This initiative includes non-bellarke the 100 ships and requests for other content (e.g. gif sets, icons, moodboards, fanart). please check them out and request a prompt (this also includes updates for the above mentioned fics)*

4. Count Your Teeth - @icantloseyou-too

let me tell you, you guys will be well fed after reading this fic. It’s one of the most original idea’s and we get so much bellarke and the blake siblings in this one. bellamy is a treasure hunter and married to clarke, after leaving his thieving days behind him. that is until his past comes knocking and drags him back into that world again - and clarke along with him. absolute chefs kiss!

5. Cups and Sorcerers - @icantloseyou-too

again, such a unique plot with just the right amount of fluff. clarke is a witch who owns a coffee shop and she ends up meeting someone just as unique as her. I’m invested in this to an embarrassing degree and it always puts me in a good mood when this fic is updated. such a light and heart filling read and ciara does a fantastic job of world building in this fic.

6. Paint me in Trust - @pawprinterfanfic

I'm sure this fic needs no introduction. everyone and their mother has heard of it and if you haven’t read it yet, believe me, you’re missing out. a harry potter au that runs alongside the last few movies without being involved with the main characters. essie manages to make an already existing world so different, thrilling and gripping. it emotionally upends you and takes you along for the ride without any intention of letting you off. I'm just in love with it and rightly so!

7. When the Wolves Come Home - @pawprinterfanfic

I don’t know how people aren’t RAVING about this fic more because I certainly am. it’s massive for me to even say this because I love all of essie’s work but it’s my favourite fic that she’s written. I can’t describe the feeling I get when I read how she’s written bellarke in this. it’s a percy jackson au but you don’t need to have knowledge of that world to enjoy this. I actually started reading the books because of this fic. essie writes it so well and incorporates a lot of fantastic elements from greek mythology while also keeping me on the edge of my seat with bellarke’s journey. HERE FOR IT ALL THE WAY.

8. I’ll Find You in the Morning Sun - @cominguproses13x

I’ve never seen a fic talked about as much as this one. with 60 chapters, it’s bound to satisfy any hunger you have for bellarke. it’s set in a post apocalyptic world and it is beyond a shadow of a doubt, my favourite setting to read bellarke in. I've actually stopped reading this fic on chapter 5 because im currently writing my own post apocalyptic au as it was a trope on my bingo card and I don’t want any subconscious spill over, but I fully intend on reading the rest of the fic in one go once my fic is published and done. it deserves all the praise and hype.

9. For Blue Skies - @kombellarke

kayla’s fics make me actually weep. her writing style is just unbelievable and she sucks me into stories so fast. this one is no different. I live and breathe for bellarke as exes and this fic is one of my favourites. it’s a modern au with clarke as a mother and she cascades back into bellamy’s life without warning. perfect angst and anticipation. in love.

10. Love Like Fools - @talistheintrovert

the way I love talis with my whole heart. I'm always obsessed with her fics and the way this one was written was just magnificent. enemies to friends to lovers, roommates, angst, emotional comforting? SIGN ME UP. the perfect mix of all of those and I felt so good after reading this. always a fan.

11. It Had To Be You - @useyourtelescope

I had the honour of pre-reading some of this fic before it was published and I felt so privileged. a regency au with a prank war sprinkled in? perfection. hana honestly writes this so beautifully and I can’t recommend this enough. it’s so unique and we are all so incredibly lucky that there’s something in the bellarke fic world for everyone.

12. Veni, Vidi, Vinci - @carrieeve

Again, proof of the pudding that there’s something in fic for everyone. I’ve never read one like this before and it THRILLED me. murphy and bellamy working together to steal a Vinci? it was the fic I never knew I needed. the bellarke interaction in this was beautifully written and I am just completely obsessed. we really struck gold with the bellarke big bang works this year.

13. A Twist of Fate - @queenemori

let���s be honest, soulmate au’s are always wanted and needed in this fandom and kara does an excellent job of serving us this one. we got some team cockroach in here along with some top tier quality bellarke. what more could you ask for? if you haven’t read this fic yet, you need to. so thankful for kara being the absolute gifted babe that she is.

14. Power Over Me - @sparklyfairymira

okay, if you recently watched the witcher on netflix like I did, believe me, you NEED to read this fic. if you haven’t watched the witcher, this fic will make you want to watch it. the smut in this, the plot, the WRITING. absolutely phenomenal. have I mentioned how lucky we are to have such fantastic writers in this fandom?

15. There’s a Serpent Lying Deep Down in These Still Waters - @shaeheda

post apocalyptic au? SIGN ME UP. bellarke thrown together in unkind circumstances? SIGN ME UP. this magnificent human writing a fic? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. I'm so in love with this fic already and I haven’t even finished it yet. as I've said, I've stopped reading fics in this genre until my own is completed but I’ve read enough to tell you that this needs to be on your next to read list. forever in awe of the talent here and this fic makes me feel so lucky to be part of something so great.

I hope this satisfies you for a while and that you enjoy all the bellarkey goodness that comes from these fics. I'm gonna drop some of mine below because why not? just in case you’re in need of something more.

1. I Found Peace in Your Violence

clarke griffin has it all. she’s popular, an artistic prodigy and has a wealthy family to boot. so when her perfect world comes crashing down around her, it’s time to sink or swim. she tests positive for the Homicidal Tendency Syndrome gene, also known as the kill gene. clarke is plucked from her comfortable life and placed into a school with people just like her - carriers, delinquents. when she meets bellamy blake there, he looks like everything they say HTS carriers are. a monster, a criminal. yet, he’s the one who protects her.

2. I Am Lost This Time

a void!bellamy fic that we all deserved to have happen in canon. an au where bellamy hears clarke’s radio calls from earth, sees her memories in m-cap and where she really is the key: the one that unlocks his memories and brings him back to her.

3. Purple, Blue, Orange, Red

bellarke are childhood friends and teenage lovers, reuniting in the midst of the same grief that tore them apart.

4. Devil Side

post apocalyptic setting and my favourite fic to have ever written. both of them coming together to survive and protect those in their family, including two small children. bellarke started out as strangers, who would have thought that they’d end up co-parenting in the middle of a world that is too dangerous to survive out in the open?

5. Waste It on Me

a soulmate/reincarnation au that I wrote based off my own breakup and feelings. probably my most popular fic and should keep you going in terms of bellarke feels.

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 11

Synopsis: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings:  Explicit smut, violence, gore, cutting, angst, manhandling, choking, foul language, bondage, breath play, unprotected sex. 

A/N: Assuming my usual panic attack positions! Ok, so there are about 2 chapters left and I fear this story is about to conclude... 😰 This chapter put me through an emotional turmoill! Many thanks for my editor and muse @agniavateira, @yespolkadotkitty for the cover art and @dancingwendigo and @wondersofdreaming who’re helping me through my panic attacks and providing tips

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me

Pearly tendrils of light shine through the creases of his lids, waking him from a dreamless sleep. A mixture of iron and dream-like mellowness tugs at his nose, like death and fresh roses. It’s so close he can nearly taste it on his parched tongue. Swallowing the scorching dryness in his throat, the fallen man attempts to move but a leaden warmth defies him, hugging softly onto his upper torso and embracing him in the foreign fog of solace. 

A delicate heartbeat murmurs against his, so frail it virtually feels as if it melted into his own ribs. 

As if she dissolved into him.

Cold sweat layers his forehead. Snapping frantically he shoves the girl off of him, curling against the headboard with a crazed neurotic look on his face as if he was touched by a blaze of blistering fire. 

“What the fuck do you want!?” August yells, his voice hoarse and cracked. His glare shoots through her across the small bedroom, his mind rapidly trying to grasp any recollection of the messy chamber. This location is strange to him; the walls feel like they’re closing in, withdrawing the air from his lungs in a place that seems like a warzone. The light-carpeted floor is soiled by a long path of the darkest red, the trail leading back to them.  

The porcelain valkyrie is pushed to the edge of the bed, seemingly like a rare mythological creature. Her long hair drapes her face like a dark veil, pierced by two shiny diamonds that glimpse through, imbued with naivety. Still drowsy, she tries to collect her own senses, rubbing her heavy forehead and releasing a soft groan.

“Relax, stop shouting.” she pleads with lids half shut. Her slender arms spread in the air, suggesting a peace treaty. 

August scowls, his airflow becoming short and quickened. He lets a hand rave over his chest with panic, finding it bare and sticky with dry blood and sweat. A clean bandage is wrapped around his left pectoral and crossed tightly around one shoulder. While the aching sting still bites into the wounded muscle, his energy has slightly renewed, as well as his sanity. 

Or so he believes. 

Making another hasty survey of the room, he finds his belt and armed holster scattered on the floor. He makes a dash for it, immediately aiming the gun in Ingvild’s direction, refusing to fall to whatever game this may be.  

She stares at him motionless, remaining seated with her knees folded and her feet nestled below her behind. “Feels nice doesn’t it?” she provokes, her lips breaking into a faint grin as if the muscles of her face are still learning the concept of smiling. “To wake up with your tits out.”

Looking back at her unamused, his hand waves the gun. A glower shadows his face, painting deep lines in his forehead. The attempt to greet her with an onslaught of insults results in nothing but a painful wheeze as his throat sears. 

“Don’t move,” Ingvild commands lightly and climbs off the bed, completely ignoring the click of the gun and August’s arm that follows her every movement. Her legs nearly float through as she moves gracefully, rushing to the bathroom nearby. She grabs a glass and fills it from the tap before quickly returning to sit on the bed, offering the tall glass to August.

Wary of her peace offering, he hesitates, scanning her for any signs of wickedness and finding none. Something else glints through her big irises instead. The deep lines that dot those beautiful greys seem so brittle, immersed in emotion he can’t define or recognize at all. 

It makes him feel attacked.

Snatching the glass violently, he swallows its content in one gulp, feeling a thirst he never sensed in his entire existence. He places the glass on the nightstand, slamming it so harshly it shatters.  

Ingvild peers at the light sparkling onto the broken shards and averts her eyes back to August’s profoundly ragged face. He glares with blazes of fury, evidently less than inclined to trust her despite her efforts to make amends, and the fact that she nursed him through a stormy night. 

It pricks her heart, more than it ever did when she tried to gain Liam’s affection.

“I could have killed you at least three times in your sleep,” she murmurs and then pauses, attempting to smirk again. “You should really lay off the snacks, I nearly fainted trying to get you to the bed.”

Unphased, he carefully gauges her appearance. Soft, pale light shines through the window, showering her skin with a mellow haze as she sits holding a hand over her forearm, squeezing it nervously. Her glance is filled with rain clouds, the cynicism and the hatred he grew so accustomed to is untraceable. 

A piece inside her shifted, deeming her fragile all of the sudden. In his heart of tar and stone, he knows she speaks the truth, yet the spirit of vengeance won’t let go. Bile rises in his throat, fingers twitching as the constant hunger to touch her prickles his skin. The woman is a natural prey to him, making his mouth salivate. It’s enough to see her defenceless to make him want to gnaw fresh cavities in her flesh. 

But something else boils in his veins. More than just a primal need.

“Why can’t you just let me be?” he asks sharply, teeth gritted and jaw strained tightly. A slight tremor runs through his bones, his body dominated by anger and despair. 

“You came here,” she answers, staring fearlessly between the barrel and his furious gaze. A small frown forms between her eyebrows, the grey clouds inside her lustrous eyes beginning to take wind. “You wanted to retaliate.”

Fragments of the other night begin to slice into the black matter of his brain: her tears, her lips moving slowly, whispering his own words of a vendetta in her angelic voice. 

Like a dream, nebulous and virginal, how beautiful she was surrendering her will to his. 

‘Fight it! She betrayed you.’

“Oh trust me, princess, I still very much want to see you die.” he retorts, the gun beginning to feel heavy in his hand. He reaches to hold his own wrist, giving a fierce glare. “You should have ended it, darling.”

“Yes, I should’ve killed you,” she agrees, her lower lip slightly quivering as she looks at him with desperation. Her chest begins to heave through the cleavage of her top, the same tarnished one she wore that night. It still smells like his sweat. His musk is so stubborn it lingers. 

“I should be a good girl, for Liam, for Icarus. But I have so many thoughts going through my head over and over again, splitting my mind in half. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to kill for them, I don’t want to kill you. It hurts.”

Shuffling in a swift movement, she crawls toward him, her muscles flexing inward. Her slick manoeuvres remind him of a majestic feline. August’s pupils dilate as the lines of her face sharpen in his sight and the warmth of her body returns to caress him like a pleasant autumn breeze.

Ingvild reaches her slender arm for his wrist fearlessly before he can even muster any protest. Ignoring the gun aimed at her throat, she forces his palm flat onto her chest and inhales sharply. Her heart thunders against his touch, making his own beat accelerate.  

“Right here,” she says, gazing deeply into his eyes as if trying to enchant him. “I have killed close to 470 people since I was 14. I don’t remember their faces, but I do know I never felt this before, not for any of them.”

The azure ocean in August’s eyes gushes with alarming gusts. The scarce physical contact ignited a spark inside him, driving him to withdraw his hand aggressively, putting down the flame before it begins to spread again. 

“What do you want? What do you think this is?” he asks furiously, boring a frenzied look into her eyes. He feels a certain heat rising in his chest. He reasons with himself that it’s just the gunshot wound festering, burning his lungs to cinders.

“I want you,” she answers, her gaze dropping to his lips, admiring the fine shape. A sharp cupid’s bow hidden beneath the coarse hair of his thick moustache. Her hands dream of stroking his sculptured jaw and feel the bristle of his untamed stubble. 

“I want to follow you on your mission.”    

‘She is lying. Don’t trust her, remember what happened the last time you’ve placed your faith in a woman?’

August’s nostrils flare, his mind scouring frantically, bargaining for a reason why she would be different. Twice he spared her, his murderous will weakened by her manipulative spells, clawed by whatever it was she had on him. The voice in his head warns him gravely, yet the fact that here he is, still alive by her merciful hand spikes his doubts, meddling with his thoughts the way only she could do. 

Ever since she stepped into his life he’s been spiralling into a cataclysm. Something that he always gripped with zeal was no longer in his control.  

Leaning closer, he narrows his eyes with spite. The muscle of his jaw contracts, clenching tightly. He grazes the cold barrel of the gun against the supple skin of her cheek. “Why should I trust you?” he spits out, tracing her face further with the hard, crude metal.  “You think that because I broke you in, I actually care about you?”

Ingvild studies his face, not showing any sign of fear as she nods to herself. “You need proof.”

The young woman looks around her, searching for something in the room thoughtfully. Her eyes rest on the nightstand beside August and she leans to it, brushing her entire figure against his broad body for a split second as she reaches for the broken glass. 

“What do you think you’re doing, princess?” he asks cautiously, his eyes following her every move.  He crooks his eyebrow as she sits in front of him with her legs bunched beneath her bottom. Displaying her left arm with her elbow resting on one knee and her palm facing upward, she presses the shard against her wrist. 

August frowns in a mixture of confusion and agitation, alarm bells ringing at the back of his head. Yet no rational thought makes it to his mind as he watches the glass tear through her skin. 

Silence befalls the room. Abruptly so quiet he can hear the buzz of the electric cords running through the walls. Even her breath pauses as her right hand drops the shard on the bed, her eyes remaining poised, darting onto his. Overcome with disbelief he wonders if she actually did it, scrutinizing her flesh which seems intact.  

Suddenly, a spout of blood emerges through her open wrist. 

Dark red liquor licks down her arm, sensually dripping onto her worn jeans and pooling onto the blanket. August’s heart stirs with shock, yet he attempts to force his emotions away. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” 

Keeping her sight on his, Ingvild remains still, not flinching a muscle as the blood pumps out of her severed artery. The pain is excruciating yet the chants in her mind continue to tell her to hold her groans inside. 

‘Show no weakness, prove your strength.’

“You want loyalty.”

“Won’t mean a thing if you’re dead,” he answers coldly, waiting for her to stop the blood, to show any fear or regret. The thick liquid continues to flow down her arm, tarnishing her porcelain skin that begins to turn paler as the blood drains from her body. He gathers the torture must be unbearable yet she won’t even make a whimper.

‘What is she waiting for?’

“I’m not going to save you,” August warns. 

Ingvild shrugs lightly, trying not to move her arm too much. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll die one way or another, by your hand or Icarus’. At least this gives me a choice.”

The drops staining the bed sound like rain tapping against a window ledge, heavy and dull.

August’s brows knit together, his eyes running back and forth between her arm and her face, watching her lips turning light blue, triggering disturbing memories in his mind. “What on earth does that mean?” Heavy frown lines paint his forehead as he recalls her words before she shot him. 

“I have to kill you.” 

“You’re a slave?” he reckons, looking at the colour vanishing from her face as she nods. “How very disappointing, Ingvild.”

“A tool, controlled by men whom I’ve never seen to manipulate the world and sustain the old order, as you wrote in your manifesto.” she shuts her eyes for a mere second, trying to push back the throbbing twinge in her vein as her body screams with panic. 

“They stole my freedom…” she pauses, finding it suddenly hard to speak. “They stole me... what did they take from you?”

“It’s none of your business,” he snaps, aware of how her voice slows down along with her breath. He swears he can hear her heartbeat getting louder as if begging to be rescued. 

“But I am bleeding for you.” she provokes, offering a small weak chuckle. Feeling the euphoria creeping to her mind. “You should tell me your plans like villains do in the movies. I’m dying anyway.”

August snarls. Shaking his head, his eyes hold a rageful ocean, washed with concern. The image of her dying corpse lying beneath him flashes into his memory. A dead angel in the snow, lips frozen in time. He should have left her there in the frozen lake. But for a split second, she was Lacey and then she wasn’t. 

As she slowly dives into her own death, he still wonders why he couldn’t let her drown.

‘For fuck’s sake.’

Ingvild closes her eyes accepting the shadows that seduce her to join them, the pain dwindling as her body gives in. But she’s quickly pulled back by August who holds her hand, covering the bleeding slit with his tattered shirt and pressing into it. His voice comes as distant thunder, vibrating gently in her ears before words begin to make sense again.  

“Hold it up, like this,” he commands her, folding her arm and fisting her wrist tightly. “Where are the bandages?”

Ingvild tilts her chin, her sleepy eyes gesturing onto her bag on the floor where a pristine white pack of badges lies. 

“Keep the pressure on,” he orders her again. His voice is calm as if once again he follows protocols. Yet something stirred, hiding within the silent sea of his eyes which snap at her for a split second. 

They’re tainted by fear. 

Ingvild watches with hushed admiration as he hurries to grab the bandage and returns to her. A small wrinkle rests between his brow, focusing intently on wrapping her open wound. He makes such a beautiful, neat work dressing her injury, she almost feels sorry for making a mess out of his.    

“Have I proved myself?” she taunts, peeking at him through her lashes while he makes work of tying the dressing tightly at her wrist. His elegant hands wrap a piece of medical duct tape around the bandages, twirling the long thick bands ceremonially as if they were silk ribbons.

His stern gaze rests upon her face, noting every flake of her long lashes, watching the different colours shift like thick liquid as daylight breaks onto her glassy irises. Awe plays with the strings in his chest, mesmerized by the innocence in her that refuses to die even after he desecrated her. 

The craving in him seethes. Like a thirsty man in the desert who stumbles onto an oasis.    

‘You can’t let her go, can’t let her slip between your fingers.’

With her wrist still in his grasp, he allows himself to stroke a thumb over the white cotton of the bandage, brushing the suppleness of her skin.

“This is not the devotion I need from you, princess.”

Ingvild flinches like a scared animal, shivering at the foreign tenderness of his touch. No one ever touched her with kindness. Soft, feather-like caresses embark further up her milky skin, making her moan at the pleasant new sensation. Light and careful, his fingers ascend to her neck and press around her chin.  

“Angel,” August murmurs, low and sonorous. His bulky body looms closer, whilst the grip around her jaw becomes tense, drawing her closer until his lips are a mere inch away from hers. “Do you want to be devoted to me?”

“Yes,” she answers, voice still lingering either by blood loss or the passion that begins to cloud her mind.

Consoled by her answer, a small growl builds in the pit of August’s diaphragm, accompanied by a lustful grin that edges his chiselled face. 

“Then show me your devotion.”

“No…” she protests lightly, finally breaking into a true little smile that glints brightly in her eyes. The radiance almost makes him want to take it from her by force. “I’m not a toy.” 

August smirk widens at her response, exposing his sharp fangs that beam at the faint hint of rosy hues that circles her cheeks. 

“Did I stutter?” Authority paints his voice, his grip putting pressure on her nape and pressing her chin up with the pad of his thumb. The patience in him wears thin, greed weaving in his gut yet he vows to hold back as much as possible, unwilling to tear down her wings. 

She must submit freely.

Fallen by his power, she watches the darkness pour into his eyes, his lips pulling apart slightly, anticipating the moment when he can steal the air from her lungs and nibble into the plumpness of her lips. Whatever strength in her wanes, bending to his will. She meekly takes his lips into hers, suckling him above and below, feeling the rough graze of his moustache. 

It’s nothing like the violent kiss they shared in the pit, yet something in her quickly awakens: a hunger like no other, turning the kiss more demanding. Like fire spreading, their tongues quickly engulf each other, dancing feverishly. August’s growl vibrates all the way down her sternum, his hands roaming down to grope every patch of skin. 

A mewl of protest breaks from her as he leaves her lips, followed by a deep sigh as he begins to kiss down her throat. The scruff of his coarse facial hair makes her blood rush and her heart pumps with exhilaration, nearly halting from the bliss of his touch.

“I want everything.” August blurts out, tugging her shirt over her head and then biting her breasts over her bra. The canvas of her skin is tainted by deep-grey and purple shades. Flicking the clasp of her bra, he wonders briefly which were from their fight and which formed as he fucked her so aggressively. He feels nothing but pride in knowing he will make new ones right now. Brand her as he claims her his own. 

Sharp teeth sink into her tender breasts, coaxing yips of pain, marking her with wet little cavities while his fingers fiddle with her jeans, urgently huddling it down her legs along with her underwear. Impassioned, she shifts from her position, kicking away the last remnants of her clothes. The chill air tickles her wet flesh, making her exhale with ghastly need. More wolf than a man, August leans back, his torso layered with sweat that glistens of the dark fur of his torso. The fabric of his trousers is stretched painfully over the massive bulge and mindlessly she reaches out to feel him, kneading the outlines of his erection through his pants. 

‘Fuck, her touch...’ 

Fervent groans tremor through his sinew as she squeezes him harder. She frees him from his trousers, running a hand up and down his shaft, astounded by his vastness and the correlation of smooth velvet skin over rock-hard muscle. 

Still sore, the pounding heat of need rocks at the centre of her cunt, possessing her into swaying her perky breasts against his cock. Pearly beads of precum exude from the tip, coating the erected peaks of her nipples.

“Fuck!” August pants and swallows hard, as the battle over his self-control drains him. Patience has always been his virtue in bed, his power over women. Release in control by sodomy that inflicted true pleasure. 

But not with her. She strings different tunes, singing seductive hymns to the animal in him. 

He wants her. He needs her. He must have all of her.  

‘I deserve her.’

Drawing back against the headboard, his hands snap at her hip, lifting her with ease to stand on her knees right above his cock. Ingvild nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes falling onto his hardened shaft which lies heavily against his abs. 

If not for all the injuries she caused him, the large man’s Adonis-like form would have looked like a renaissance statue cut out of marble. 

“Come here,” he commands, removing one hand from her to seize the base of his huge cock which towers with glory amidst the dark bundles of curls. “Take me in”

A stream of arousal rushes inside her, making her quiver as she lowers her soaked crease onto his erection ever so gingerly. Cries of overwhelm break from her lips. His girth splits her apart, whilst his wolf-like glares bore into hers with the triumph of conquest. 

Every push stretches her wider, forcing her body to succumb and accept him despite the painful effort. August is too big, his vastness tears whatever innocence is left to her, and he is not even fully within.

Shivering, she halts, hearing August’s snarl of protest when realizing she has her nails cleaving crescent-marks on his pumped shoulders.  

“All the way in, angel,” he commands, and then bucks his hips into her and snaps her down onto his pulsating shaft, giving no notice to the scream she lets out as he sears her. 

He drives himself in until her ass slams onto his thick thighs. She can feel his hot flinching cock buried within the dark pit of her gut while his sack strains against her clenched cavern. 

“Good girl.” August praises, pressing her against his chest as they both pant and groan in harmony. Calls of pleasure and cries of pain mingle into a sinful symphony.

But suddenly he stills, and his hand snaps at her neck. Thumb pressing at her artery, he makes a small thrust, causing her to whine as little sparks kindle in her cunt. 

“August, please.” she whimpers, trying to ride him to ease the aching despair that boils in her cunt. He fills her to the hilt yet gives no friction but the thundering throb of his thick veins. 

“Devotion.” he replies, his free arm fishing for the leather belt perched on the floor. With one determined wring of his wrist,he wraps it around her neck, giving her a nice little collar with a leash made of the thick strap. 

His finger brushes up and down the leather erotically, staring at the girl’s hazy grey orbs to see if he can find a drop of protest.   

Instead, she presses her hands on his furry torso and desperately begins to mount him with teetering gasps. The noose tightens with the sway of her body yet the tension and the grind within is far too agonizing to stay still; the need to have him sunken in her depth of her soul defies any will to breathe.

August gapes his mouth with awe, groaning loudly as he feels her drenched cunt gripping around. She’s impossibly tight, his fresh little flower, crying out so hopelessly as if it hurts, as if being fucked by his large cock is so pleasurably unbearable yet her life depends on it.

“Poor little tight cunt,” he taunts, urging her to fall faster back on his thighs while bucking his hips into her with deep slams. “you missed this?” he asks with a groan, tying the strap around his fist and pulling her closer to meet his hooded gaze, “You missed me fucking you, angel?”

Unable to make more than strangled sobs, she nods with glassy eyes, feeling the squeeze around her arteries while her cunt convulses and blazes with ecstasy. Flames bloom in the pit of her womb, every assault of his cock inside her pushes the heat further through her nerves. Desperate, she is reduced to nothing but her pursuit of forgotten euphoria. 

The fervent flames lick up her spine, darkness whispering in her mind. Yet she leans back, letting the noose devoid the oxygen to her heart and brain as her body falls lost into a delirium.

August feels her pussy tensing around his cock as the belt halts her airflow; through the heated waves of pleasure, an alarm blares. “Careful,” he rasps, reaching his fist to her throat to replace the belt and pulling her until her chest grinds into his own. “Don’t damage what’s mine!”

Her reply is a cracked wheeze, her body jolting as he fucks her into a punishing rhythm. Hot and burning, stoking inside her, balls thudding and battering her hole, the chant of their wet skin colliding in a violent dance accompanies the chaotic symphony of their moans. His angel latches onto him, wrapping tighter and tighter as her body accepts his offering of rage, sucking and milking him dry.

August pulls her face against his, fingers flexing around her jugular, lips grazing her own and then hovering to rob her of her feeble exhales. 

“You want to breathe?” he snarls.

Ingvild nods, feeling the storm of fire about to erupt inside her. Her canal gripping him so tightly she can feel every tendon and ridges of him grazing her walls. Tears well in her raincloud eyes, her heart shrinking as she feels him, all of him, consuming her with his existence.

“Then come for me, angel.” 

With his words, she arches back, letting the fire implode in her loins and sweep her into a rapture so intense her entire body shakes around him. All she can feel is August, filing her soul, seeping in deeper than her thoughts. 

Tears spring down her cheeks, emotions and pleasure whirl at her heart at once.

“August!”

Hearing his name on her lips spikes the savage spirits within. Reduced to a beast, he takes hold of her hips, flipping her over and riding between her thighs. His hands pin her down by the neck and he ravages her through her climax. He can feel the flinch of his cock, swelling larger inside her narrow space. The innocence of her essence devours him. All the hate and pain diminishes and for a brief moment, he is allowed into heaven, feeling nothing but bliss in his chest. His shouts of pleasure echo into the room, his body jerking into her as the hot, white ribbons of his thick seed sprout into her womb.

Falling down to earth is always the hardest part.

Taking a hard swallow, he leans his sweaty forehead against hers, rolling it slowly and listening to the silent hisses from her mouth. Still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm, he pulls himself to his elbows fighting the spasm in his muscles and their will to collapse. His brow suddenly crumples at her sight: her eyes shine with a wide spectrum of emotions that glisten sadly down her temples. Shivering sobs escape from quivering lips, trying to find words that never make it to her tongue. 

August observes her carefully, removing his grip from her neck gingerly and reaching out a thumb to dry her tears. The crystals in her eyes were broken to dozens of many pieces that reflected the light back in various shades. A look of a lost child that carries an oddly familiar sensation, something that makes him cold and warm, as if Ingvild is inside his blood and he is inside hers. 

They had killed each other after all and then brought one another’s hearts to beat again. In his twisted mind, it made for a more profound intimacy than sex.

“Easy, babygirl.” he speaks unusually compassionate, dipping a finger in the wetness beneath her eyes and then slips it into his mouth, tasting the salt onto his tongue. “That was intense for you, wasn’t it?”

She nods silently, the emotional release tingling through her aortae, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. She never felt like this: whole, vulnerable, and belonging. She never felt anything at all, all her life. Her body tries to control the jitters in her muscles yet her body seems suddenly inexplicably cold.   

“Sh... it’s okay,” August whispers, capturing her lips into a chaste comforting kiss. “I’ve got you.” he murmurs and allows his lips to trail lower, pressing soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin and bone, descending through the plains of her naked flesh, tasting the mixture of their sweat. His fingers find the large crescent scar in her lower abdomen, tracing the withering stitches in a sick memory of their first night together.

He feels no remorse. Had he changed his action, she wouldn’t have been his right now.  

Ingvild finally manages to release a sound, moaning with exhaustion as she eases into his care, her lungs and heart catching up when her body begins to float. With whatever strength left in him, August holds her the way a groom holds his bride, and carries her in his firm arms. 

~*~

The bath is filled hot near to the brim. Mountains of foam edge onto the water, looking like fluffy little clouds. This bathroom is not as nearly as luxurious as the one he had in Bergen. It’s painfully plain, like something out of an 80’s film, yet right now it looks like the most outrageous, spoiling delight. 

Sitting on the stone, his hand whirls the water, testing the heat before stepping in.   

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching toward Ingvild to join him as he sits down, releasing a deep sigh of relief as the hot water soothes the pain. The bath is hardly big enough for a man of his size, his knees buck up, peeking above the water. 

Ingvild takes his hand, stepping to sit at the spot between his thighs, making sure not to wet the bandages on her wrists. August’s arms guide her to melt back against his broad chest carefully, avoiding friction with the gunshot wound that begins to ache more and more as the last of the endorphins dwindle. He breaks into a small groan and lands his chin atop her head while glaring into the water with rising concern.  

“They will come for us.” Ingvild finally manages to find words, her voice still husky as her jugular strains. “Once they know you’re not dead, they’ll hunt us. We need to move, fast.”

August weighs her words. He muses over the sacrifice she made, and for whom? The man who stabbed her and nearly left her to float in a frozen lake? ‘She chose, you didn’t force her.’

 Indeed, it was her free will that brought her to him.  

“We should,” he answers, rinsing some water onto her torso and rubbing her forearms clean. “Just relax now, you won’t do me good all broken.”

“You care about me,” she teases, a small smile creeping on her lips.

“We will make for my safe house from here, and then we can take the train to Manchester,” he answers, ignoring her comment.

Ingvild catches some foam in her palm, squeezing the dissolving material between her fingers lightly and then blows it with the weak airflow that comes from her lungs. Little specks of bubbles fly into the bath. August watches them with her silently.    

“For the plutonium,” she utters.

“Yes.”

Tilting his head slightly, he looks down to see if there is any disgust or fear shadowing her face, yet finds none. The girl continues forming little abstract shapes in the dwindling white hills, twirling her fingernails on the tiny bubbles. The edge of her spine peeks between the thick strands of her hair, while hues of purple, nearly black, hug her nape. The girl is forbearing, enduring as she was taught; he wonders if it’s to please him, or if it pleases her as well.

Cupping water in his hands, he begins to wash her skin, pouring onto the back of her neck and her shoulders. He brushes his fingers through the brown waves of her hair while she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

It’s as if years of tension peel off from her, uncovering truths she fought to hide. August was right, and so was Liam; no one ever loved her. But now in the arms of a monster, she suddenly senses what she imagines would be care and affection. His touch is no longer clinical and it feels as if vines are growing onto her limbs, twirling around her and pulling her to become one with him. 

In her mind, she can’t help but start picking into the not-so-distant past, recalling being his hostage and the conversations they had when they still hated one another. The anguish that resonates in his eyes didn’t speak of hatred individually toward the world, the specks of brown held a fair amount toward himself as well.

“What did Sloane do?” she asks curiously. “In Bergen, you mentioned she did something to you.” 

She feels August’s sudden halt, his long digits entangled in her hair, pulling slightly while his chest sinks inward. His inhale takes into a heavy suction and his nostrils flare. He didn’t think of Lacey since he woke in Ingvild’s arms. 

“She tricked me.” his eyes focus onto nothing and his fingers resume their course through Ingvild’s wet strands. He becomes slightly agitated, unlacing the small knots that formed at the edge with force. “She suspected me and never liked me- for a reason, of course. She knew someone was distributing secrets and weapons beneath her nose, so she sent a spy. In my case, it was my partner.”

“A woman,” Ingvild continues, the realization hitting her softly. “Lacey.”

Her name on Ingvild’s tongue sends a shiver creeping from the base of his spine. 

“Yes,” he answers dryly and clenches his jaw. “We were partners for months. She got close. She... was loyal, she understood me or so I thought, but then I found out, she wasn’t.”

Ingvild hears the shift in his tone again, in their reflection on the water she sees him staring forward with grim shades painting his eyes. The corners of his lips tugged down as he broods.

“It sounds like you loved her.”

August remains silent, giving no answer. It resonates in her right away - betrayal burnt hotter than the wound itself. In their carnal twist, August burned her, but it wasn’t her carnal devotion he sought for. 

“Where is she now?” 

“Dead.” he answers, releasing a deep sigh of silent rage, not even bothering to shy from the truth this time. Ingvild was bred into a world of monsters; she breathed them, she killed them and he was just another beast for her to slay. Yet she chose to stroke her hand on his snout regardless of what she knew.

“I killed her.” 

In his mind Lacey walks away, her blue heels tapping on the floor, echoing before she gives him one last glance. She turns away, her golden curls dulled by the lack of light as she vanishes into a mist of smoke and shadow. 

Ingvild feels a slight relief at the thought of Lacey being dead, for some reason she can’t explain to herself.  August returns his gaze to her again, removing his hands from her hair. His hand wraps around her jaw, pressing her head to look into his piercing glare. He looks for fear but finds none.

“Try to rest,” he commands and then wraps his arms around her possessively. “Long days are ahead.”  

“Will you read me your manifesto?”

August looks down on her face once more, wondering for a moment if this is another hallucination. A terrible thought crosses his mind and his heart flinches; what if in these moments he’s actually bleeding to his death in the pit, his mind playing tricks as he breathes his last breath?

But the softness and warmth of her body feels more vivid than ever. Stronger than the doubt that creeps into his mind. 

“There has never been peace without first a great suffering. The greater the suffering, the greater the peace. As mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle...” he chants, accompanied by Ingvild who also recites his words in her gentle voice. 

_________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Various Storms and Saints Review

I’m alive! As per usual here is my disclaimer. I’m a fan in every sense, though I write fanfiction, and even some personal stories in my free time, I am in no way qualified to actually judge or critique anyones writing. Therefore, this is just a fun way for me to express what I liked about my most recent reads. Without further adieu lets get started.

This story is by @viridianatnight and can be found on AO3. 

This is going to be long, so pack in, I’ve got a lot of thoughts. First and foremost, I’m a summary kind of gal. I like to know what I’m getting into, I analyze the tags, fully digest the summary down to the punctuation. VSAS lacked a summary but the reviews were raving so I went ahead and dove head first. Man oh fucking man did she nail it. Maybe our dear author isn’t one for summaries or maybe she planned it. Every chapter had me on the edge of my seat, waiting for that final reveal, the big drop in plot, the crescendo. It was worth it. Through every guess and shot it the dark it was worth it. She delivered.

Every so often you read a story where there isn't a syllable wasted. This is one of those. From that damn pebble in a box all the way to Narcissa’s nickname for her son. My dragon? Are you joking me. 

Never before have I felt I have known Hermione. You love her, always, she's a star. But here she is human. Here she is a woman. Here is a character who I know, who I have met, who I will meet again in life. She is drowning and swimming, lost and found. She is me. She is all of us. Self loathing is so deeply tragic and for the first time that I have read, Hermione is tragic. This story is as much a romance as it is a tragedy for the ages. You watch the little girl you loved as a child, who’s character came alive on paper, start to die in front of you. Without becoming to much of a sap, the simple fact is this, if you as a woman want to feel seen go open your web browser and get to reading.

And Draco. What a man. Tall and handsome is to be expected, but multifaceted and palatable is another beast entirely--and yet here he is on screen, all of those things. His relationship with Theo is (I hate to overuse the word) human. They’re boys still, really, who love one another deeply but will never admit it without a fight. They’ll defend one another fearlessly and bite hard when confronted about it. Draco often has passion in the stories I’ve read but not like this. He has a fire inside him that burns for Hermione, for his best friend, for his mother, and even for his enemies. He is completely consumed by his love and his anger. He is almost nothing outside of those feelings. They make him as a man, good and bad. Sure he might be a touch scary but boy oh boy is he the kind of partner (and lover) we all long for. 

Before we get into the little things I want to talk about Ginny. What a star. What a friend. In most stories Hermione is cut away from the group, relegated to Slytherins almost entirely. Its wonderful to see her friendship with Ginny thrive, and even more to see it be genuine. There is sisterly love sure but Ginny puts up a fight, as every good friend has. 

Molly. You bastard. Her letter to Hermione left me gutted. Especially when she’d been so great at holding Ron accountable in the past. 

The cellphone was truly something special. The way it allowed Theo to step further into the light as a main character was brilliant. Speaking of his role, theres a happy ending! Our comic relief and great logician (seriously his wisdom is what held this all together) finally gets an ending he deserves. 

That of course launches me into another ramble. Queerness is so rarely written without angst. Seamus and Dean are just in love. There is no hardship or pain written about. They are two young men and they are in love and there isn't anything else to say about it. And the way that Theo feels no shame about being in love with a man, rather just shame that he can’t have him, its just beautiful. It’s simple and plain and perfect. 

Okay okay I know I said this was going to be long and I promise I’m wrapping up. Heres a rapid fire round before I sign off entirely. Lavenders death? Crippled me. She is a virtue? I squealed. Peace and love, I’m so sick of having to google French. So sick. So tired. I’ll keep doing it though, till the day a man calls me mon coer.

Honestly my joy is too much for words. This is one of the greats, without a doubt. Viridian, you have a gift, and I pray that you never stop wanting to share it with us. 

If you liked this review you can find my others here TRTTD | Manacled | Remain Nameless | Apple Pie and Other Amends Sorry if the links are funny, I completed traded places with my secondary blog a while back and its been weird :/

[stark-tony]

most recent bookmarks (6/18/21)

mcu

you game? cake time? by iron_spider (3k, T, pepperony) Peter stares at him.“I’d like your help,” Tony says, gesturing towards the ton of cakes. “Your refined palette.”Peter snorts. He can’t lie, excitement is rising in his throat and in his stomach, and he barely ate at lunch today because he was trying to finish up the book report before sixth period. “Does Miss Potts know you picked me?”“You can call her Pepper.”Peter cocks his head. “Does Pepper know you picked me to help you?”

The Dangers of Sleeping on the Upside of the Bed by Honorable_mention (1.1k, G, gen, quarantine) Midtown High School’s Academic Decathlon team had moved online. Once a week, even during the summer, everyone would log on and chat for a few minutes before trying to beat each other on Protobowl while hurling barely school appropriate threats at each other. It was really quite a lot of fun.Through these online meetings Cindy Moon had gotten the opportunity to intimately learn about her teammates in a way she hadn’t been able to when they were in-person. A person’s room and the way they talked to their family told you a lot about them.In which the members of the Academic Decathlon team get the chance to meet Peter's roommates

something bright coming his way by iron_spider (6.5k, T, gen, hurt peter) “Pete,” Tony’s voice says. “I’m heading to your location.”Peter narrows his eyes. Karen’s colors turn from dark red to a softer blue, which he takes as her celebrating Tony’s imminent arrival. How imminent? What?“What?” Peter says again. Like an idiot.“Your numbers aren’t what I like to see and you stopped moving and I was in the area, anyway. You know. Doing Iron Man things. You okay?”Peter blinks. He sees some more lights out ahead of him that he thinks are headlights, and he feels like Karen is trying to even out his vision by changing how things come across on the HUD. She’s failing, but he won’t say that. Can she read his brainwaves? No. Definitely not. Maybe. Either way he doesn’t wanna be mean to her, so he stops thinking.Ugh, his side hurts.

Of All the Nurses’ Offices in All the High Schools... by sahiya (7k, T, gen, outsiders pov, identity reveal, hurt peter) Peter Parker has his own gravitational orbit, and it tends to suck in the people around him. Including burned out school nurses who were just minding their own business.Or: Patrick Carmichael meets Spider-Man (and Tony Stark), adopts a cat, and gets just a little bit better.

a first time for everything by crowkag (7.7k, pepperony, sick peter)  “Why are you whispering?” Pepper was asking, and the other noises were receding away behind the creak of a door and click of a lock.“Because I’m hosting a vigilante super-teen with enhanced hearing this weekend.” He slumped back into the couch cushions. “Or did you forget?”There was a sharp intake of breath.“Peter? Oh god, what did you—”“Nothing,” Tony rushed out, scrambling. “He’s fine. The kid’s fine, honey.”A beat of silence.“Okay, well, he’s not fine, but—”“Tony Stark—”

Is he or Is he not? by Omenthia_Arc (43.2k, G, pepperony, 5 + 1, people think peter is tony’s kid) Five times someone thought that Peter was Tony's biological son and one time everyone thought it.

hp

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy (35.7k, M, drarry, post-hogwarts, domestic) When Harry moves into the damp and empty Black house, it doesn’t quite feel like home. And then the first owl moves in. After that, it’s a steep slope leading to bed-sharing, more owls, assorted housemates, strange potions experiments, and terrible cooking. And a bit of waltzing, too.

The Wrong Sort by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle (289.5k, T, drarry, romione, gryffindor draco, canon divergence, torture)  In which Draco Malfoy is sorted into Gryffindor and everything kind of goes to Hell from there… but hey. At least there’s a chance he won’t grow up to be an awful person. Alternatively titled ‘Draco Malfoy and the Worst Goddamn Seven Years of His Life’

The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (998.6k, E, drarry, wolfstar, romione, neville/ luna, grindeldore, lockhart/snape, time travel, fix it, abuse) All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.Suddenly, Draco has an unwanted second chance, with a Sorting Hat that doesn't know what to do with him, a certain Muggleborn who won't leave his study table alone, and green eyes he just can't get out of his head. And then there's his new wand, whose choice of him could just mark him as every bit as dark a wizard as his name means he should be.

more than getting by by sarewolf (34.4k, M, wolfstar, wolfstar raises harry) “What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry.“Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.”A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

How Like Home by waitingondaisies (63.5k, T, jily, dimension travel) When Sirius falls through the veil, Harry chases after him, determined to find him on the other side. Instead, he finds nothing at all. When he wakes up, he is informed by Unspeakables that he is from an alternate universe.Thanks to his uncanny resemblance to his counterpart, Harry is readily recognized as a duplicate of Harry Potter, a normal fifteen year old boy, and is entrusted to the care of Lily and James Potter. From them, Harry discovers that Voldemort is not, and never was, a threat in this universe.Now, Harry must adapt to life with loving parents in a peaceful world.

Professor Black by Haunted_Frost (29k, T, wolfstar, professor regulus black) Kreacher's unending loyalty has allowed Regulus to survive the Inferi. In order to destroy the horcrux and ensure Voldemort's death, he goes back to Hogwarts, this time as a Potions professor. Years at this position give him new insights, even as the papers rave about how both the Blacks were traitors to their sides.When Sirius gets loose from Azkaban, Regulus knows one thing: he is not going to let his lunatic brother hurt his students.Inspired entirely by this tumblr post.

atla

(let me be) there for you by lesmiserablol (8.5k, T, zukka, post-war, bodyguard sokka, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers) Sokka pulls out a clean piece of parchment and starts to write:Reasons Why Sokka Would Be A Great Bodyguard for Lord ZukoHe smiles in satisfaction at the title. Seeing it in writing only makes him feel more confident in this brilliant, two-minute-old idea of his. Zuko is one of his closest friends, and Sokka is a great fighter, he would be the perfect bodyguard! He has the entirety of his trip in the Fire Nation to prove it to Zuko. This is going to be a piece of cake.(or, Sokka mistakes his crush for just a strong desire to be a guard for Zuko, and Suki is amused)

boy problems by burnt_oranges (22.2k, zukka, mailee, friends to lover, post-war, arranged marriage) “I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed."In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

we really should google these things first by Bundibird (3k, G, gen, modern) Sokka's aloe vera plant is in need of a good pruning, and what's Sokka gonna do, just throw out all the pruned leaves? When instead he can make aloe vera juice? Come on. (Only - maybe he should have googled this beforehand. Because it turns out there's an edible kind of aloe, and a toxic kind. Guess what kind Sokka has. Go on, guess.)(Or: the modern AU based on the time I nearly poisoned myself with a non-edible succulent.)

spn

Checked Out by whelvenwings (27.1k, G, destiel, dreamhunter, library au, librarian castiel, writer dean, openly bi dean, misunderstandings)  Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

Aim and Ignite by wincechesters (10.3k, M, destiel, cas in the bunker)  After the angels fall and Cas loses his grace, and with Sam still recovering from the toll taken on his body by the trials, Dean starts a prank war as a way to lighten the mood in the bunker and alleviate his boredom. It might just have some unexpected consequences. --- A post-S8 canon AU.

bnha

Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains (among other things) by ADyingFlower (54.2k, T, gen, quirkless midoriya, villain deku) Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains, denies being a villain, has his beloved animal crossing file threatened, kicks ass with a shotgun, is proposed to, learns to deal with his depression, and accidentally kidnaps the son of the number two hero. In that order.Or: Five times Izuku played online with his friends, and one time he played with them in personThen Himiko screams.“CAPTAIN!” “Y-yeah?” Tomura asks almost hesitantly. “LOOK!!” All four of them spin around, right as a cannonball comes soaring inches from Izuku’s head from the Galleon less than a three feet away from them. They scream. “OH FUCK NO NO NO NO! NO!” Dabi yells, running to load the cannons. “DUDE WE HAVE SO MUCH SHIT! NO! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”“Hey guys, guys! Hey, chill!” Izuku shrieks frantically, right as one of the players boards their ship and starts shooting. “CHILL THE FUCK OUT!”

our trust shot full of holes by nolov (louscr) (25.9k, T, gen) When he's twelve, Izuku meets his best friend. Neither of them are especially good at having friends, but they make do.The other shoe drops less than a week into his first year at U.A.

Are You Valued? by cyber_phobia (9.2k, T, dad for one)  "What are you drawing, Izuku?" Hisashi asks with adoration dripping in his voice. "It's Uncle!" Izuku shouts, smacking his dad's arm for daring to ask once more. All the air leaves Hisashi's lungs in one fell swoop.

To Spark A Smile by awefull (1.1k, G, gen, dadzawa) A six-year-old. Aizawa was the guardian of a six-year-old. Aizawa, a pro-hero, who had poor eating habits, and no sleep schedule, was in charge of raising a little girl.He, reasonably, had some concerns.

Long Night in the Valley by Marsalias (53.7k, T, gen, suspected traitor, dad might, dad for one) On paper, the Hero Commission's plan to investigate Midoriya Izuku under the guise of a training course for combating mental quirks is solid, almost foolproof, even. If Midoriya turns out to be innocent, they can pass everything off as part of the training exercise, assuming he even remembered any of it. Otherwise, they could beg forgiveness after the traitor was securely imprisoned in Tartarus.The paper plan failed to take into account the feral ghosts living in Midoriya Izuku's head, or his equally feral living friends.Time to bring on the chaos.

i gave the voices in my head a megaphone by hannahbal (17.3k, todoroki/midoriya/shinsou) ...and they started singing Megan Thee Stallion.(Hitoshi, like any good friend, brainwashes Izuku’s anxiety away for a day so he can know some peace. The problem? Izuku has no fear of god or consequences.Izuku also has no goddamn filter.)

Nothing Could Be More Worthwhile by Krisington (3.5k, G, gen, dad might) Toshinori Yagi wouldn’t say he had let his guard down in retirement, not exactly. It was more accurate to say that he had let his guard down in his true form. He didn’t notice others, and others didn’t notice him. It had become a small pleasure, he realized, one he was reluctant to let go.He should have known better.The man managed to reach All Might’s forehead a split second before All Might grabbed the man’s arm. But a second was just enough.A villain showed All Might a vision of Izuku. Bloodied. Broken. Fading. Was that some future that would come to pass? Toshinori needed to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn't.

everything i wanted by raindrops_0 (9k, T, gen, 5 + 1) Izuku turns to face Hitoshi and flashes a bright smile, eyes folding into crescent moons.Bright like the afternoon sun swallowing Hitoshi whole, bright like All Might’s fucking perfect grin, bright like he’s already a hero.Bright like everything Hitoshi has ever wanted and then more.(Hitoshi can’t help it, but he hates. Of course Izuku can smile as if the whole world is in his hands. He’s never had to fight for every little thing and be hated for it.)Or 5 times Hitoshi misjudged the golden boy of UA, and 1 time he finally understood.

hp/bnha 

Bend Before You Break by orkestrations (16.2k, T, gen) When Izuku set out for his morning run, the last thing he was expecting was to be plucked from his own world by magic and thrown into another universe entirely.Removed from his own conflict and with no way back, he sets himself to figuring out this world and its own incipient war while searching for a way to possibly reverse the spell that brought him here.It's just his luck that the year he arrives is the same year the government decides it's a great idea to bring back the potentially-deadly tournament.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hey...I am AN ABSOLUTE jercy TRASH like A HUGE JERCY FAN and I was wondering if you could like a one shot of jealous percy...I have seen a lot of jealous jason fanfics but never really saw a jealous percy!!! Thank you and I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUCH...

Hello darling Anon!! Adore that you're #jercytrash (is there really any other way to be????) and I'm so happy you enjoy the mess of content i have🥺💙all the heart eyes

Anyway I loooovvveeeeeddddd this prompt and this is evident by the very many words I couldn't help but write! I do hope you love it as much as I loved writing it☀️please excuse any mistakes it's like 3am here and Ciara be tired as hell

Masterlist

"Are you coming to the party tonight?"

"Gods no," Percy shivers, face pulling into a look of distaste.

"Why not I heard Annabeth is gonna be there," Leo's eyebrows waggle, earth eyes sparkling.

He wants to laugh, to cry a little too. If only that is the blonde he is so infatuated with.

"Nah bro those parties always end up much wilder than they need to be and nine times out of ten they're shut down by the cops."

"That's half the fun Jackson!" Leo's smile widens.

"I'm good thanks, my idea of fun is sitting here playing Playstation and gorging myself on M&Ms."

"Will you at least promise to come on the trip this weekend?"

"I don't know man," He shakes his head, "I've got a psych test to study for and there's like three assignments due by the end—"

"Oh excuses, excuses Jackson you haven't gone out once since we started. It's gonna be winter break soon and we won't see each other for at least a month." Those brown eyes are puppy wide.

He sighs, half-ready to give in, "Who's gonna be there?"

"The usual gang. And Jason finally gets to come this year! His dad is on a business trip so he isn't spending the weekend for once."

Percy's ears get hot and he hopes they don't look flushed, "Oh that's nice I guess. If you leave me alone tonight I'll come on the trip."

Leo's answering whoop is enough to make him laugh. When he collapses on the couch, after waving goodbye to his friend, there is a warmth blooming in his chest.

Three hours, five packets of M&Ms and a stream of curse words at the TV later, he finally decides to head to bed. But as he's shoving on a pair of sleep shorts there's a knock at his door. He frowns, considers ignoring it but his mind whirls with all the possibilities.

What if someone got hurt? What if someone needs his help? What if someone is....oh gods he doesn't want to think about it. He brushes his fingers against the wooden headboard, rubs at his head, grabs his elbow and then he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

"Peerrccccyyy," A slurring, smiling Jason Grace stumbles into him.

"Jason?" He grabs hold of the blonde's arms and pulls them both into his apartment, "What are you doing here?"

"I came over because–" Pearl white teeth flash, "Wow you're so pretty." Those golden hands grab Percy's chin, pulling their faces together until there is nothing but tension and breath between them.

"What are you doing?" He swallows.

"Has anyone ever told you your eyes look like emeralds glistening at the bottom of a river?"

"Uh no can't say they have," He wants to laugh but Jason's lips are so close and his hand is still on Percy's face and oh gods he needs to move before he does something he shouldn't.

"Have we kissed before? No I'd remember that." Eyebrows scrunch, "I think you have a beautiful mouth."

"I think—" He inhales sharply as Jason's fingers dance along his collar bone, "I think we should get you to bed."

"Aw," Full pink lips pout, "But we are having so much fun."

"I think we'll have more fun when you're sober."

The blonde giggles, "I'm not drunk silly. I only had like... fifteen shots of vodka."

"Jesus Grace how are you even standing?"

"When you're this tall it takes forever for the liquor to do its thing and you need a lot of it otherwise it all goes to your toes and you never get drunk."

Jason is frowning again and all Percy wants to do is kiss the crease in his forehead and pull him closer. Instead he tugs him by the hand and guides him to the bed.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the couch." He pushes the blanket aside and let's the blonde fall into the sheets.

"Are you sure? You can always stay with me?" Those blue eyes are bright and big and so full of, of, of... "I promise I won't kick you. I stopped doing that in first grade."

He can't hold in his laugh this time but when he recovers enough to reassure his friend he'll be fine he is greeted by the peaceful sight of a sleeping blonde. He shakes his head softly, allowing himself a moment to take in the scene. Tangled white sheets, golden hair, soft deep breathing, a tiny splattering of freckles, and the wonder of tomorrow carried on the wind that stirs the chiffon curtains. This moment will live within his soul for the rest of his life. Of this, he is certain.

***

The treadmill beeps incessantly indicating the end of the session and the end of Percy's day. He's about ready to pass out from exhaustion and he couldn't be happier. The days are long and blurry and he would do anything to escape the weight on his chest. A blue-eyed, golden-haired weight. He snorts at the innuendo. If only the actual person was sitting on his chest, entertaining each other. But no it's just the feeling, the emptiness, the lack of anything weighted. His eyes shudder closed as he steps into a red-hot shower and let's the memories of his last meeting with the blonde wash over him. There is a time, mere months ago, where Percy would have scoffed at these feelings. Would have told himself it was ridiculous and stupid and there were much more important things to be focusing on than some boy. But every interaction with Jason Grace feels like the middle of a fireworks display, feels like crawling into the sun, or falling off a cliff only for the water to catch you. Every interaction feels electric. And he cannot help but overanalyse each touch, smile, lingering look. Are they for him, or for the world? Jason had always been easy. He could make you feel like the most important person in the world just by glancing at you. It was beautiful, magnetic, but it also meant Percy never really knew if anything they did was genuine. If the extra squeeze when they hugged was as a friend or something more. If those blazing eyes over the campfire was a trick of the light or... But tomorrow it's their annual WastedWinter trip and at the very least he can look forward to a few nights of bad decisions and sinful delights.

The day dawns bright, cloudless, and icy cold. He breathes in the fresh winter air and lets the sting travel through his lungs. There are few things as lively as the winter morning air. With a look through his apartment window to see the birds flying and the wind shaking the trees awake he ducks into the shower and gets ready for the trip.

At exactly eleven a knock echoes through his apartment. He clicks submit on his assignment and races over to throw the door open.

"Good morning Jackson! You're looking especially radiant this find day."

"Must be the seaweed face mask I put on last night."

"Oh," Annabeth Chase frowns, "And here I thought you got down and dirty with someone."

He snorts, stepping aside to let her in. "No such luck Princess, I'm down and out on laundry."

She smacks his arm, grey eyes sparkling, "I hope you know you're driving for most of this."

"Is this because I'm the only one who can be trusted to get us there in one piece,"

She gives him an incredulous look and then turns her nose up, "No Jackson it's because the rest of us want to get wasted and you don't drink."

"Ah, glad to know I'm of some use to the group."

"Oh you're plenty useful," She winks.

He laughs at that, mind flashing to the fling they had at the start of their undergraduate years. Both had realized pretty early that life was leading them in different directions and it would be better to stay friends. But tumbling in the sheets with her had been fun while it lasted.

"Alright who's in our car?"

"We got me, you," She starts tapping her fingers, "Leo, Jase and Rey,"

"Great so I'll be talking to myself for most of this trip." He rolls his eyes.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well Leo and Reyna will fall asleep about five seconds after we start driving and you and Jason will talk incessantly about gods knows what, which leaves poor old me."

"We will not!" Annabeth's ears go pink as she glares at him.

"Mhmm okay Princess."

"Shut it." She grumbles, shoving him.

Some minutes later they're all piling into the car: Percy driving, Reyna in the front, Leo at the back on the left, Annabeth in the middle and Jason on the right.

"Hello everyone ready to roll?"

"I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night," Leo mumbles and then he's fluffing his pillow against the door and closing his eyes.

"What was he doing?"

"Engineering project," Jason grins, "He forgot and had to sit up all night to submit before we left."

"I'm also out," Reyna throws up an uncharacteristic peace sign and settles into her seat, eyes already shut.

"And her?" He asks, a little sore his right-hand passenger is ditching him for dreamland.

"No idea," The two blondes shrug.

Percy refrains from rolling his eyes and puts the car in gear. With a final check to make sure everything is in its place he pulls onto the road and starts the long journey to Lakeside Lodges.

The music is soft, some pop song that everyone is raving about, and the city is alive with the lunch hour rush.

"Jason," Annabeth starts, "What are you doing for the structural—"

Percy tunes them out, content to let their university talk become background noise. He glances at the rear-view mirror and sees shining blue eyes staring intently into serious gray ones. He looks away, focuses his attention on the road.

Sometime later they leave the city behind, the sound of cars and sirens and endless people fading into calmer, more lilting noises. The quiet of the empty road, and the crackle of the radio, and the soft chatter from the backseat. He cannot help but feel at peace, feel as if the world is balanced just right.

Annabeth giggles, catching his attention and he watches in the mirror as Jason lays a hand on her thigh and laughs into her shoulder. Quickly he adverts his eyes, swallowing the sinking feeling and turns the music up to distract his thoughts.

"Percy," At tap on his shoulder. "Pers?"

"Yea what's up?" He smiles and it feels like surgery with no anaesthetic.

"Did you hear what Jase said? It was such a stupid joke I said you'd appreciate it."

He shakes his head, "Wanna tell it again?"

"Nah," Jason mumbles, "Won't be as funny the second time."

"Aw come on Jase," Annabeth pouts, "For me?"

He watches from the mirror as those blue eyes light up, "What do you mean for you? I thought I was telling the joke for Mr Driver?"

She giggles, shoving at his arm, "That's what I mean."

Percy isn't sure he can't take anymore of their whatever it is so he clears his throat and asks them for a pack of Sour Patch Kids.

"Oo I love those!" Jason gasps, rummaging around in their snack bag. A packet drops into the cup holder and he thanks the blonde.

"Jase throw them at me, let's see if I can catch!"

The six gummies shoved in his mouth turn bitter as he watches the two giggle and joke and share space. By the time Jason throws the last gummy Annabeth is practically in his lap to catch it. Percy wants nothing more than to get out of this damn car. His skin is hot and he's sure his blood is about two degrees away from boiling. The stones in his stomach are stacking up like rock scultputres. Pretty but destructive. Nothing can get passed but nothing can leave either. And the heavy, sinking feeling certainly doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Finally though they arrive at the lodges and after check in he practically vaults himself out of the car and disappears into a bathroom.

There staring in the mirror he can see his misery reflected back at him. His green eyes are stormy, and there seems to be a permanent crease in his forehead. His mouth is down turned and his hair is in a state of complete disarray. Tugging at it when he's frustrated is an unbreakable habit.

He stays in the little bathroom for longer than he thought because he is sharply pulled to the present by a rap on the door.

"Percy?"

"Coming," He sighs. He straightens his back, attempts to tame his hair, and plasters a smile on his face.

"You good?" Frank frowns when he walks out.

"Yea sorry, drank one too many slushies."

His friend laughs, "Tell me about it. I think my tongue is going to be stained red for a month."

"I mean that's your fault. Blue is clearly the superior slush."

"Blue is the worst flavor," He scrunched his nose, "It isn't even a flavor. They somehow managed to give colour a taste."

"Well red is nothing but iced medicine."

"Hey guys," Frank waves their friends over, "Percy thinks blue slushies are the best flavour, care to tell him he's wrong?"

There is a pause amongst them and then everyone is talking at once.

"No,"

"I mean I kind of agree."

"Green is obviously the best."

"There is no way, it's red all the way."

"What about-"

"Okay!" Annabeth shouts, "Let's settle this WinterWasted style,"

Leo rubs his palms together, a gleam in his eyes.

"Everyone who says red stand on one leg, everyone who says blue stand on anything but the floor."

They all shuffle around, pushing each other over and generally causing chaos but soon they're in their spaces. Everyone observes the room.

"That's four to red and three to blue." Leo announces.

Jason, Percy and Hazel are standing on the couches and counters. Piper, Annabeth, Leo and Frank are on one leg in the middle of the lounge.

"Yes! We won." Frank smirks, "Alright losers you know the drill."

"No!" Percy yells, "We're missing a person. If Reyna joins us then we're even and we go into death round."

"Okay Jackson, I see you can't take the loser title sitting down so we'll get Reyna's opinion. But if she chooses us you guys have to drink and jump." Frank's black eyes sparkle with mischief.

Percy narrows his own, pinning his gaze on his friend, "Deal Zhang."

Just then Reyna walks in and seeing the odd scene sighs heavily. "What are we trying to settle? We haven't even had lunch yet."

"First of all it's six o clock so it's a little late for lunch and secondly are you Team Red Slush or Team Blue Slush?"

She scoffs, looks over them and grins, "I'm Team Purple because grape is obviously the only valid flavour."

Everybody groans, cursing her.

"Grape is the absolute worst Arellano." Leo gives her a look of disgust.

"Mhmm," She simply smiles.

"Well if you had to choose between blue and red which one?" Percy asks.

She taps her head for a moment and then looks to the ceiling in exasperation, "Guess I'll choose Red."

"Hell yes!" Frank whoops, laughing as the blue team groans. "Guess who's doing the BigFalls jump tonight!"

Percy grumbles but there is a light in his eyes and as he swats away a hand ruffling his curls he decides it was worth it, even if his friends are wrong.

That night they all stumble to the GreatCliff, an area that had witnessed many a fall, kiss, and confession. Most importantly a place that held some of their favourite memories.

Percy, being the only fully sober one, constantly counts his friends, making sure none of them have gone over-cliff or landed in a ditch somewhere. Soon enough they make it to the clearing and lay down the picnic basket and their towels.

"Alright losers," Piper smirks, "You ready for this?"

Hazel pouts, "Do we have to?"

"Yes!" Annabeth exclaims, blonde curls bouncing as she jumps up and down in excitement.

Jason whispers something in her ear and she dissolves into giggles. Percy looks away, refuses to let their closeness ruin his night, weekend, forever.

"On the count of three," Frank starts.

Reyna takes off her sarong and settles down on the blanket with a smirk.

"One..."

Hazel bounces nervously.

"Two..."

"Don't get hypothermia," Piper laughs.

"Three!"

Jason, Hazel and Percy are sprinting, racing for open air. With a yell they jump and then they're free falling, flying, screaming.

Percy hits the water in a neat dive, barely flinching at the icy temperatures. When he comes up for air the world is noisy with laughter and cheering. He waves to his friends at the top of the cliff and checks to make sure his fellow jumpers are okay.

Hazel is grumbling about being fully sober again and Jason's teeth are chattering but there are smiles on their faces and stars in their eyes and Percy knows the weekend has just begun.

They all swim up the stream and climb all the way back to the cliff where a small fire is crackling and their friends are dancing sporadically to a bawdy ukelele tune being played by Leo.

"Oh gods," Jason groans, "How are we already at this stage of the night."

"Whatever Pipes put in the punch is going straight to our lungs," Annabeth giggles.

Reyna shakes her empty glass in confirmation and request. Soon everyone is hopping and bouncing and singing badly around the fire. Percy settles into the blanket and watches his friends. They are full of life and magic and he can't help but tear up at the love he has for them. Even Reyna is joining the revelry, laughing bright and beautiful at something Hazel says.

His attention catches on the twirling figure of Annabeth. And then Jason grabs her mid spin and pulls her to him.

"Dance with me,"

"Of course Mr Grace," She bows.

They draw together, his hands on her hips, her head on his chest, swaying slowly. Annabeth mumbles something and Jason's shoulders shake with laughter. She looks up, their eyes meeting. Percy can't stand to watch anymore. Abruptly he gets up, throws the blanket aside and stalks into the trees.

"Pers?" Someone calls. He doesn't bother to respond.

He hears scattered conversation and then footsteps are running towards his retreating figure.

"Percy wait!"

He manages to hold in a groan as he realizes who followed him.

"Pers slow down, what's going on?"

"Nothing," He grits, "I just needed some air."

Jason laughs, "We are literally in the middle of a forest how much more air do you need?"

They're still stalking through the woods, dead leaves cruching under their feet.

"Come on, what the hell happened? You just up and left?"

Percy stops in his tracks, whips around to face the blonde, "I'm surprised you noticed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been so wrapped up in Annabeth all day I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot to breathe unless she told you to." He spits.

Jason's face crumples, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Percy instantly regrets his words but he can't take them back, "Just nevermind. I'm going to the cabin. Be careful walking back." He turns to walk away but a golden hand on his arm yanks him back

"Um no, you're going to explain right the fuck now because this isn't like you at all."

"Isnt like me?" He laughs sharply, "What isn't like me?"

"This," Jason motions up and down, "You walking away, being angry with us? What is going on?"

"I'm just tired," He sighs, "Can we drop this?"

"No Percy. I've seen you tired. I've seen you so exhausted you couldn't even see straight. I've seen you sad and angry and frustrated and happy and excited and calm but I have never seen you so... volatile. So just tell me—"

"I'M JEALOUS OKAY!" He yells, "I. Am. Jealous."

Jason reels back, lightning eyes blinking, once, twice, widening, "You're jealous?"

"Yes," He breathes, "And I'd appreciate it if we stopped talking about this."

"Oh," Is the blonde's intelligent reply.

"Yea oh," He scrubs at his face, running a hand through his hair.

"You're jealous of me? If you liked Annabeth why didn't you just say so? I wasn't flirting with her, we were just being dumb. I've had a few too many tequilas and she's hilarious and gods I'll back off I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll even hype you up to her if you—"

"You are such an idiot," Percy growls and then he grabs the blonde by the t-shirt, pulls him in and sears their lips.

Jason tastes like the sky, like winter breezes and lightning storms and home. He tastes like home.

When they break apart Jason is gasping, mouth opening and closing.

"Do you get it now?"

"You- and I- and we- and Anna- and just- and-"

"Are you speechless because you don't know how to let me down easy or because I took your breath away?" Percy winces.

He needs to know. Needs to understand if this is a one-sided thing, if he's been dreaming up their dynamic all these months.

"Do that again," The blonde breathes.

A slow smile spreads across his face and then Percy Jackson cups Jason Grace's cheek and comes home at last.