#I usually just see all the mistakes in them and recoil

[canisalbus]

i would like to formally apologize for going through your blog and reblogging so much of your art, i just really like the silly gay dogs. and just all of your art in general. very shaped 👍

You never have to apologise for digging through my blog and liking/reblogging a bunch of stuff! I'm flattered to hear that you find my work interesting enough to warrant a deeper dive like that.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Called to Duty 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Another shift. Another new ache. It's not just your feet or hips anymore. There's a tugging in the back of your neck that tweaks each time you turn tour head a bit to far left. 

You lean on the counter. You don't care about Daye's warnings. She can stand on the hard floor while pregnant and see how she feels after a single hour. They haven't even bothered to get a standing mat. 

A few customers pass through. The usual stunted small talk passes between you, the intentional avoidance of the obvious. They'll stare at your stomach but they surely won't mention it. 

Funny, you saw a bunch of old ladies fawning over Molly, swollen with her fifth? Maybe sixth? You don't know how she keeps track. It stings a little to see them treat her like some saint while you've been tainted by the very same condition. 

You sigh and try not to think of it as you sort the novelty keychains by colour. They'll be messed up again by your next shift but it keeps your mind busy. Lately, you found your thoughts run off into the void never to be seen again. It's frustrating but a little bit scary too. 

A box lands on the counter and slides toward you as it's tossed carelessly beside the till. You grab it before it can slip over the edge and nearly recoil as you recognise the brand. You set the large box of condoms straight as a rolling chuckle greets you from the other side. 

You look up as Thor smirks and reaches into his back pocket, "having a party." 

You stare at him then scan the box. You don't say a word as your face sears. He takes out his wallet and searches lazily. 

"Wouldn't want any mistakes," he taunts as he looks through the slots. "Hm, credit." 

You hit the button and gesture bluntly to the machine. He taps without a second thought. You're riled by the sight of him so easily spending his money. Money he should be using for the child in your belly. The fact that he gets to keep living his life without a single consequence has you almost shaking. 

You tear off his receipt and nearly slam it on the box, shoving it towards him. The door rings with the arrival of another customer. You don't greet them as you're trapped in a tunnel. Your rage is centered on that big blond doofus. 

"Ah," he leans over and puts his elbows on the counter, a smug curve in his lips, "jealous, are we?" 

You don't acknowledge his taunt as you go back to pick at the keyrings. 

"Well, I've never fucked a pregnant woman," he muses, "wouldn't need these, would we?" He chortles as he taps the box with his knuckle, "how about one last go? For old times' sake. You get a break--" 

"Disgusting," a growl undercuts Thor's gross proposition. 

You flinch and look up. Sy stands with his arms crossed over his burly chest as he scoffs. Thor tilts his head and pushes himself straight. He face the other man with a cluck. 

"There you are, buddy," Thor booms, "I heard you've been sniffing around my leftovers." 

"Don't call her that," Sy sneers. "What're you doin' bugging her?" 

"I should ask you the same," Thor postures at the other man, a good few inches taller yet it hardly seems to matter. "You like sloppy seconds? Guess you're used to taking whatever you can get after all those field rations, huh?" 

"Don't," Sy grits as tension ripple in the air. 

Their voice carry through the sleep pharmacy and you notice how the white coats behind the far counter shift to see. Oh no. 

"Hey, guys, it's fine, let's not--" 

"Don't what?" Thor pokes Sy's shoulder. The other man drops his arms straight and balls his fists. "She's a slut. Look at her. She begged me to fill her up--" 

"I'm warning you," Sy snarls. 

"Look, I don't even know if it was me who did that. The way she was dancing up on everyone," Thor snickers, "you don't really think it's an immaculate conception or something." 

"I'm telling ya to leave and to leave her alone," Sy steps closer, undetered by the difference in height. He's just as thick, if not a little thicker, than his foe.  

Thor looks at you over his shoulder and makes a face, "you really fucking this mad dog--" 

Sy tackles Thor before he can finish his sentence. The wraps his arms around him as he charges and they hit the counter with a startling slam. You cry out and back up, the keychains scattering at the force of their impact. 

Thor and Sy latch onto each other and roll against the counter, shifting the till as the condoms teeter on the edge. Mints rain down onto the tile as they grunt and grapple.  

Thor pushes off and holds Sy at arm's length. The latter hurls a fist into the former's cheek and gets one on the jaw in return. They dodge and punch, latching back into each other as they collide with the rack of greeting cards. 

"Enough!" Daye shrieks as she runs up the center aisle, "I've called the police so you both better stop!" 

The men ignore her as you watch in horror. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  

You come around the counter, shaking as you approach the men feuding like vicious cats. You dodge away as you're nearly bowled over in their chaos and hold your stomach. Daye continues to yowl helplessly. 

"Sy, Sy, please, stop! Thor! Sy! Syverson!" You holler, "Saul!" 

His birth name catches him off guard and he stops. Thor lands a crunch blow in his nose but is quickly warded off with a forearm. Syverson keeps him at bay as he covers his nose and snorts. 

"Hey!" Daye bats them with a broom, "enough! Enough!" 

Thor detaches, shoving the other man one last time, and spits blood towards your feet. 

"You two," she huffs as he pulls the hanging tie from his hair, "deserve each other. Couple of fucking strays." 

He grabs the broom from day and flings it, stomping over the mess and out the door as he mutters about his family. You frown and look down at the trampled cards and mints. Daye sniffs and shakes her head as she frames her hips. 

"I think it goes without me saying," she snips, "you're fired and sir," she turns to Sy, "you better leave before the sheriff gets here. Oh, and don't come back.” 

You look up from the ruin at Sy and he gives a fluttery blink, “I’m sorry--” 

“Go, please,” you croak as you move your hand to your lower back. 

“I didn’t--” 

“Go,” you snap and turn your attention to your manager, “Daye, please, I didn’t do this.” 

“She’s telling the truth, was all me,” Sy backs up. 

“I’m not hearing it. None of it,” Daye spits, “you’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here. And you, sir, should be ashamed.” She spins and marches off, “if you don’t clean that up before you go, I will have the sheriff charge you with destruction of property.” 

[maldaptivedreamer]

A NEW SIDE

You discover a new side to Tyler.

content: Errors and mistakes, not entirely accurate to alien universe, maybe ooc, guns (idk anything about them), military (idk anything about it), and fighting (only ever fought my brother)

wc: ~2.6

a/n: This may be the only thing I write for Tyler. With that being said, there are theories about Tyler having been in the military or Weyand-Yutani security. That theory inspired me to write this story so… petitioning for more fics about Tyler in military or something.

The room is stark and sterile, lacking any trace of warmth or life. The blinding white walls seem to amplify the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, creating an almost unbearable brightness. The lack of color or character only adds to the feeling of emptiness and isolation.

Outside, the dreary browns and dark oranges of Jackson’s star and its’ crumbling buildings are a stark contrast to this clinical environment. The air here is heavy with the scent of cleaning chemicals, masking any natural scents that might have existed before. It's suffocating, as if all living organisms have been wiped clean from this space.

The weight of the gun in your hands is a constant reminder of your purpose here. The cold metal seems to bite into your skin, grounding you in this sterile reality.

Despite the assistance of modern technology, there's a certain satisfaction in manually aiming at a target. You anchor the gun to your shoulder, feeling the weight and balance of it as you line up your sights with the distant bullseye. With steady focus, you release a few rounds, feeling the satisfying kickback of the powerful weapon.

The recoil of the gun jolts through your body, causing it to dig into your shoulder. As you release a breath and lower the gun, you hear the gruff voice of the old general calling out for everyone to return their firearms and check them in. After that, he instructs everyone to meet in Room A-5 for sparring with their assigned partners.

Letting out a sigh, you glance to your side and spot your partner, Tyler.

He fits the cliché description of tall, dark, and handsome perfectly. Standing at least six feet tall, his broad shoulders and lean muscles are evident even beneath the layers of Weyland-Yutani uniform.

Your eyes linger on Tyler for a moment, taking in his imposing figure as he stands a few lanes from you. His gaze is focused and alert, scanning the area with practiced precision.

As if sensing your attention, Tyler's eyes flick to meet yours. He nods slightly, acknowledging your presence before returning his gaze to scan the others as they move to check in their firearms.

Rolling your shoulder to ease the ache from the recoil, you follow the others and can sense Tyler falling into step behind you.

His deep accented voice breaks through the sound of shuffling feet and hushed conversations, "You're a good shot."

You scoff lightly and raise an eyebrow at him in amusement, “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. But I s’pose that doesn’t mean much when aiming is automatic.”

Tyler chuckles softly at your response.

A comfortable silence falls between you as you both continue progressing in line.

As the silence stretches on, Tyler finally breaks it with a playful tone. "Looking at each of their targets, seems like they paired together the best of the class."

The comment catches you off guard. Tyler is not known for being talkative, to you at least, instead preferring to stay professional and quiet. Any attempts at humor or conversation from you are usually met with a few polite chuckles.

Biting your lip, you steal a glance at him and quietly reply, "Ah yes, because we are the best of the best. The rest of ‘em don’t stand a chance."

Tyler's lips quirk up in a rare smile at your response. "Modest."

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Just stating facts. Though I suppose we'll see who's really the best once we get to sparring."

"Is that a challenge?" Tyler asks, his voice low and teasing.

You quickly shoot back, "Only if you're up for it."

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. "Oh, I'm always up for a challenge."

As you reach the front of the line, you hand over your firearm to be checked in. Tyler does the same, his movements efficient and practiced. Tyler's fingers brush against yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt of electricity through your arm. You quickly pull your hand away, hoping he didn't notice your reaction.

The two of you make your way towards Room A-5, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Carefully unzipping your bulky coat, you remove it and your shoes before stepping onto the mat. Tyler does the same, his movements smooth and practiced.

Both of you settle into fighting stances, playfully swiping at each other as you warm up on the mat. A sense of friendly competition fills the air between you.

Circling each other with fluid movements, Tyler lets out a playful click of his tongue before speaking with teasing undertones, “Y’know, heard someone say the general’s got a hard-on for you."

You can't help but scoff in amusement, firing back with a smile, "Really? Well, I've always been a sucker for mean old men. Guess that explains why he feels the need to torture me so often… What about you? Anyone caught your eye?"

A grin creeps into his voice as he answers, "I don't know, I've had my eye on that sandwich in the lunchroom."

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of food, and you can't help but let out a quiet groan. Absentmindedly shuffling your feet, you comment, "I am starving. Maybe I'll have to actually fight you for that sandwich."

Tyler's low chuckle crackles through your earpiece. "I'd like to see you try."

Rolling your eyes with a smirk, you speak, "Don't underestimate me. I'm scrappy when I'm hungry."

"Is that so?" There's a hint of challenge in his voice now. "Maybe we should test that. Or I could be persuaded to share."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by this playful side of Tyler you've never seen. "Oh? And what exactly would that persuasion entail?"

Your eyes lock with Tyler's, a charged moment of tension hanging between you. His gaze is intense, a mix of challenge and something else you can't quite place. He’s about to respond when the general's gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Alright, lovebirds. Less talking, more sparring."

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at the general's words, but quickly push the embarrassment aside. Refocusing on Tyler, you see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Grinning, he raises his eyebrows and silently mouths the word jealous.

Releasing a giggle, you watch as his expression turns serious.

Without warning, Tyler lunges forward, aiming a swift jab at your stomach. You dodge just in time, pivoting on your heel to avoid the blow. Your training kicks in as you counter with a quick strike of your own, which Tyler easily deflects.

The two of you fall into a fierce rhythm, trading powerful hits back and forth. The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoes off the bare walls, creating a cacophony of grunts and thuds.

Drawing back with raised arms, you gasp for air as sweat rolls down your face. Tyler takes this opportunity to catch his own breath, but he recovers much quicker than you do. He advances towards you, his movements fluid and calculated.

In one swift motion, he lunges at you and twists your body around. With your back pressed against his chest, he wraps an arm tightly around your neck while attempting to wrap the other around your head. You struggle against him, trying to break free from his hold.

You throw your head back, stunning him, and swing your legs up. Using every ounce of strength in your body, you plant them firmly into the ground and shove him over your shoulder. His body slams into the ground with a loud thud that reverberates through the room.

Everyone turns to watch as Tyler groans on the ground, clearly winded from the impact. You wince at the sight, feeling slightly guilty for using such force. With a hint of amusement in your voice, you apologize to Tyler, "Sorry, didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Your intense training session comes to a brief pause as Tyler struggles. He forces himself to sit up, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You extend a hand to help him up, and he gratefully accepts it. You both groan with effort as he gets to his feet.

As he wipes a finger across his lip, you notice a few drops of blood staining his skin. His face contorts in pain, and you speak in a hushed voice, “You okay?”

Tyler nods, grimacing as he licks his split lip. His voice is strained as he responds with a small groan, “Remind me to never get in the way of your food.”

You release a light laugh before taking your positions on opposite sides of the mat once again. With renewed energy, you resume sparring with each other.

The spar continues without any more incidents until the general calls for a break and dismisses everyone.

As you make your way to the cafeteria, you sneak a few glances at Tyler, silently admiring him. His muscular frame radiates heat, and a thin sheen of sweat glistens on his tanned skin.

The cafeteria is just as uninviting as the rest of the facility. The stark white walls and fluorescent lights mimicking the rest of the sterile facility. The smell of strong disinfectant lingers in the air, mixing with the low hum of chatter from other trainees. You grab your trays and fall into line behind Tyler, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours as you shuffle forward.

"So," Tyler says, his voice pitched low so only you can hear, "about that sandwich..."

You pause briefly to meet his gaze, noticing how his brown eyes seem to dance with mischief. Smirking, you reply in an equally hushed tone. "If you think that those puppy eyes of yours are gonna work, you’re wrong."

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes his lips. You can't help but shiver as he clicks his tongue and speaks in a sarcastic tone. "Damn. Figured you could throw me a bone after kicking my ass."

As you approach the front of the line, your eyes catch sight of the last sandwich sitting on the counter.

With a groan, you roll your head back and curse under your breath. From the corner of your eye, you can see Tyler's brown eyes twinkling with amusement.

Silently, you grab the sandwich and wait for him to join you, balancing the tray in your hands.

Tyler motions towards an empty table tucked away in the corner, a playful smile tugging at his lips. You nod and follow him through the bustling crowd.

As you take your seats, you lean in close to him with a playful scowl adorning your face. Raising one finger for emphasis, you speak sternly. "Once. I'm only going to do this once. So don't expect any more favors from me. I don't like sharing… Being an only child, I never had to."

Squinting playfully at him as he grins back at you, you add, “Also… I stand by what I said. Those puppy eyes of yours… useless.”

Tyler's eyes light up with amusement as you slide half the sandwich across the table to him. "I'll take it," he says, his voice warm with gratitude.

As he takes a bite, his lips curve into a small smile. "And for the record," he continues, "I wasn't trying to use puppy eyes. That's just my face."

You snort, taking a bite of your half. "Sure, it is. I bet that face gets you out of a lot of trouble."

He shrugs casually, but there's a hint of playfulness in his gesture. "Maybe. But it clearly doesn't work on you." His tone is very obviously sarcastic.

Taking another mouthful, you give him a small glare. You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile tugging at your lips. "Don't let it go to your head. This is a one-time deal, remember?"

"Of course," he nods solemnly, but there's a glint in his eye that suggests he doesn't believe you for a second. "I'll treasure this moment forever."

You snort, taking a bite of your half. The sandwich isn't anything special - standard cafeteria fare - but after the intense sparring session, it tastes like heaven. You both eat in companionable silence for a few moments, the buzz of conversation from the other tables washing over you.

He breaks the silence after swallowing a mouthful. "Only child, huh? That explains a lot," he teases.

Humming past a mouthful, you ignore his teasing and curiously ask, “What about you? You give off the vibe of protective brother. In a healthy and very not weird, incesty, misogynistic way… If that makes sense.”

Letting out a confused and shocked laugh, he runs a hand through his hair and nods. His voice is soft, “Yeah, got ‘a kid sister. Her name’s Kay.”

As he talks about her, you can see the fondness and love in his expression. A small grin forms on his face at the thought of her. Tilting your head, you speak past a cheekful of food, “What’s she like? What’s having a sister like?”

Tyler's eyes soften as he thinks about his sister. "Kay's... she's something else. She’s kind. Smarter than me, stubborn as hell. Accidently finding trouble, and somehow fumbling her way out of it." He chuckles, shaking his head fondly. "Having a sister is... it's complicated. One minute you're fighting, the next you're schemin' together. We always watch out for each other, whether we’re fightin' or not."

You nod as he finishes. Part of you can't help but feel envious of the bond they share. It's clear that having a sister has been a source of joy and strength for him. "Sounds nice," you muse. "Though I can't imagine sharing my stuff all the time."

"Oh, sharing isn't optional," Tyler laughs. "It's more like... strategic borrowing without permission."

You raise an eyebrow. "You mean stealing?"

"I prefer 'liberating,'" he grins.

Giggling, you lightly tap his foot under the table with your own, “I’m so fucking glad I didn’t have to deal with that. That sounds annoying.”

He shrugs and takes a final bite of his sandwich, finishing it off quickly. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he rubs his hands together. Without saying a word, he points silently to it, and you realize you don’t have much time left. Time isn’t exactly something that Weyland-Yutani is generous with.

Standing up quickly, you shove the rest of your sandwich into your mouth in a rush. Ignoring his surprised and slightly amused expression, you brush crumbs off of your clothes.

As you both stand to leave, Tyler's eyes linger on you for a moment. There's a softness in his gaze that wasn't there before, a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Thanks for the sandwich," he says, his voice low. "And for not completely destroying me during sparring."

You grin, playfully bumping his shoulder with yours. "Don't get used to it. Next time, kiddie gloves are off."

He chuckles, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "I look forward to it."

As you walk back to the training area, a sense of unease settles in your stomach. There's a subtle shift between you and Tyler - the usual professional distance has dissolved into something more personal. The easy banter and shared meal have created a new dynamic, one that both excites and unnerves you.

Despite the physically demanding drills and exercises, your mind feels light and carefree. The glances and looks exchanged between you and Tyler throughout the day make your heart race with anticipation.

When you lay down in your bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you, your mind buzzes with thoughts of him. The fluttering sensation in your gut is a mix of nervousness and excitement.

[nyctophicbtch]

Should’ve Saved Me Sooner- Ao’nung

[ Ao’nung x Metkayina!reader ]

Request: Do you take requests? If so can you please do a Aonung x metkayina reader. The reader does something dangerous/gets attacked and nearly gets hurt/worse but he saves her?

Warnings: injury, mentions of blood, slight angst

Word count: 1,706

Your parents were gone. They’d been the one to drag you here in the first place and now they were nowhere in sight, most likely mingling with the Olo’eyktan and Tsahik.

It wasn’t as if you couldn’t talk to Ao’nung and Tsireya. You’d been friends since you could barely walk, given your parents’ friendship, but you wouldn’t say you were that close.

And at this point, Tsireya had wandered off on her own, leaving Ao’nung to lean against a mangrove a good distance away from you with his arms crossed over his chest.

He didn’t necessarily look displeased with the situation, but he was just casually standing there doing nothing, keeping his watchful gaze on the kids running around the sand and the adults throwing nets into the water.

“I had it first!” you hear a kid argue with his sibling.

“No! I was there before you took it!”

“No-“ he grunted, pulling on a shimmering rock. “Give it back, Lìo!”

You’d only looked away for a couple of seconds, but when you looked back, they were already out in the open waters.

“This is your fault!” You heard the kid shout and you took notice of how his foot was trapped between two huge rocks.

You ran towards them when you spotted waves headed their way in the distance, your sudden movements catching Ao’nung’s attention. They weren’t supposed to be outside the seawall terraces for a reason.

“Hurry!” Lìo shouted after realizing that a wave could hit them any moment.

“Lift the rock!” you hurriedly instructed once you reached them.

The rock was barely moving an inch and waves were quickly rushing towards you. Despite your apparent struggle, Lìo had only managed to remove a tiny bit of his leg.

“We’re going to die!”

“No you’re not.” You heard Ao’nung’s familiar voice as he appeared beside you.

“What were you thinking?” The olo’eyktan’s son turned to you, almost seething. He did not wait for your answer before shifting his concern to the boy stuck between the rocks. “Lift it now!”

All three of you did as he said, the rock slowly lifting off the ground as you poured all your strength into holding it up. Lìo quickly dragged himself away from under the rock, but his brother hesitated until he realized his strength wasn’t doing much to hold up the rock.

“Go! Go run!”

The two boys disappeared as they did as Ao’nung said and jumped in the water.

You made the mistake of looking back at the wave that was not far behind and felt a sudden sting on your arm, causing you to immediately drop the rock.

“Careful-“ Ao’nung warned a little too late after hearing the wince you let out, blood already trickling down your arm from where the rock scratched your skin.

There were too many things happening all at once for you to properly think, which led Ao’nung taking matters into his own hands.

He shoved you into the water and followed behind seconds before a wave came crashing on the rocks.

‘Go back’ he signed, nodding towards the village.

As much as you hated swimming with a bleeding arm, you pushed through until you reached safer shores.

You weren’t usually a slow swimmer, but with the pace you were in, Ao’nung had to stop to wait for you multiple times, occasionally leading you with a hand to your back in encouragement.

“What were you thinking?” He questioned angrily once you got out of the water. “You nearly got yourself killed!”

From the way Ao’nung’s regret was written all over his face after he had said the words, you could tell that your recoil at his tone hurted him.

“Let me see that.”

“It’s fine.”

Ao’nung was not having it.

Even though you weren’t the closest of friends, he’d always have a sense of protectiveness over you especially when you were children. He and Tsireya used to stick to your side whenever your parents met, and the boy slowly developed the dire need to look after you.

“Blood is still flowing out. It is not fine.”

“It’ll heal.” You weren’t getting it. It was terrifying him how you’d so easily put yourself in the face of danger, but most of all it was frustrating how you never acknowledged his concern and care for you.

He knew if he were to attempt anything towards you, his parents would have his head, and even with all the subtle signs he’d shown, you still never seemed to turn your head his way.

“I’ll come with you.” Your protest dissipated when you saw the almost pleading glint in his eyes, and as if realizing he’d sounded so vulnerable, he added, “I’m in trouble too if your parents see you injured.”

You didn’t think much of his reason, allowing him to follow behind you into your Marui and tend to your injury. It was surprising how gentle he was with your arm, making sure to ease the stinging pain as much as possible.

“Try not to move.”

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to knock some sense into him because you were trying not to move. The cut wasn’t necessarily small and you couldn’t help flinching with how much it was stinging.

Ao’nung seemed to get the hint from the scowl on your face and silenced himself from saying anything that will annoy you further.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but after growing slightly distant through time, moments alone with him felt tense and awkward.

Maybe it was just time, or maybe it was the way he’d grown up to be mean to others. Whatever had caused this left a wall between your once carefree and genuine friendship.

You’d always assure yourself that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but for Ao’nung, it left him absolutely devastated most of the time. But it never stopped him from silently observing and looking out for you.

“Stop-“ you hissed and flinched back when he pressed on a sore spot.

“Just a little more,” he urged, letting go of your arm. “I’m being gentle.”

“That is not gentle.”

“It’s as gentle as I can be.” You had to admit that it was amusing seeing Ao’nung getting worked up and flustered just from trying to be unusually gentle with you.

Tsireya would often comment on how soft he became whenever he was with you, but you brushed her off, saying it wasn’t a big of a deal.

“You are not a very gentle person.” Ao’nung chose to ignore your taunts until he was able to finish wrapping your injured arm.

“You need to be more careful. This was the least that could happen.”

“I couldn’t just leave them,” you argued, starting to get annoyed with his antics.

“Then you should’ve called for me.”

“Why do you always insist I stay back as if I can’t take care of myself?” At this point, you were both breathing heavily from the irritation that came with the argument.

Ao’nung was aggravated and uneasy from your recklessness, but most of all, he was hurt with how distant you’ve been growing up when all he wanted to do was stick by your side.

“Because I care about you!” Ao’nung said almost pleadingly, averting his eyes and breathing out a frustrated sigh. “I care about you, okay? And you can’t keep putting yourself in danger. It scares me.”

You knew the silence must’ve felt deafening to him, but your thoughts were too conflicted to think of anything to say.

It wasn’t as if he’d confess his undying love for you, but just caring for you was not something you had expected from him. With how mean and different he’d grown to be, you knew his exterior was a facade. But you still allowed it to part your bond and distance your relationship.

“Say something,” Ao’nung almost begged, frowning at your lack of response.

When he found you silent for another few seconds, he decided it was best to give you some space and leave until you were ready to talk.

The further he walked away, the more his heart sunk, and he was far too certain that you were uncomfortable with him.

“I care about you too.” The gentle hand on his arm made him halt his movements, pulling him back towards you. “I see you.”

Those simple words held more explanation than you could ever give him through long sentences. For years he had thought you disliked him and distanced yourself, unable to see past his rough exterior. Every time you avoided him felt like needles pricking at his heart.

He surely looked like an idiot with how big his smile was growing at your words’ sincerity.

“I see you.”

Ao’nung was hesitant. He leaned the slightest bit forward only to stop himself. But the assuring hand on his arm washed away his doubts and told him that you wanted this too.

Ignoring the way your heart was about to leap out of your chest, you lightly tugged on his arm as you leaned your head closer to press your lips against his.

The tension visibly slipped away from his body when he felt the soft touch of your hand cupping the side of his face as your lips languidly moved against his.

It was overwhelming. The long-anticipated feeling made his head spin in ways that had him lightheaded, throwing out any rational thought from his mind.

His hand wrapped around your waist to pull you in as he pressed his lips even harder against yours to deepen the kiss, and the soft moan you let out in response drove him crazy.

The fact that he was running out of breath irritated him in the worst ways possible. It forced him to reluctantly pull away with a groan, keeping his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours whilst his thumb made gentle strokes to your side.

You were trying to catch your breath, but the close proximity and the movements of his fingers weren’t helping, and it seemed like Ao’nung was fighting with all his self-control to not take it any further.

“Skxawng. I thought you hated me,” he whispered against your lips, a smile betraying his accusing words.

“You should’ve saved me sooner.”

[saltydumplings]

Just noticed requests are open, with your ever-growing talent for writing amazing and insanely horny work, could I request a powerless scientist type Villain who's newest gadget backfires on them during a fight, much to the Hero's amusement, and pretty please a bottom Villain 😁

Request #27

Happy Monday y'all, come get your spice!

Cw: suggestive.

What the villain may have lacked in powers, they more than made up for with their mind. They were cunning; deadly so. There wasn't a single thing they'd dreamt that they hadn't been able to build, not even when they'd been limited to mere scraps and throwaways - their recent defeat a gutting wrench within their plans but they were steadily building their way back up. Victory was already safely within their hands, the villain was certain of it, although their devices were admittedly a little more...testy than usual.

They studied the grappling hook they were working on with annoyance, the rope they'd compiled just barely squeezing into its frame. Damn the hero and their stupid persistence in seeing them caught. Damn them for confiscating over half of the villain's artillery and leaving them with practically nothing--

"Am I interrupting something?"

The villain jumped a mile, oblivious to the fact they'd been rambling aloud and too caught up in their thoughts to hear the other entering. They spun about quickly though, lips drawing up in a sneer.

"You," they spat.

The hero smiled. "Me," they agreed.

Their smugness only infuriated the villain further. Fortunately, their homing laser device was close at hand...

They reached back and pulled the gadget off the table, eager to wipe that grin from their nemesis' face. "You made a mistake coming here, Hero. I lost to you once, I refuse to lose again!"

With that, they directed their weapon upwards - pulling the trigger to activate the detector grid and frowning when all they heard was a sharp thwip.

And then the device in their hands exploded.

Or rather, more accurately, burst - rope breaking free from the metal frame and tangling around their wrists, the villain looking up in bewilderment to see the grappling hook imbedded in the ceiling.

Oh sh--

The gun recoiled sharply, yanking the villain up about eight feet before the gadget suddenly jammed. It left them dangling just above the floor, legs kicking out in a wild panic as they tried to get down.

This could not be happening to them right now.

"W-Wait," they said, face flushing as they started to spin. "Wait!"

"Oh, I'm waiting," the hero said. Honestly, they looked more impressed than anything else.

"Just...just give me a minute. I-I'm almost out." No they weren't. In fact, the device had reeled them up just a little bit higher.

"Uh huh," the hero said. "Sure looks that way..."

"Of course it looks that way!" the villain snapped. "It looks that way because it is tha--"

They cut off with a squeak as the grappling hook made a horrible clunking sound, the reel inside breaking slightly and causing them to fall - grunting when the mechanism suddenly locked again just before they could reach the ground.

And now they were spinning twice as fast...

They stretched their legs out as far as they could, the tip of their boots just barely scraping the ground. They groaned and tried again, not even wanting to so much as think about how pathetic they must look in that moment. This was not how they got caught, it - it couldn't be.

"Wow."

Their spinning came to a halt.

The hero turned them around slowly, the villain quickly casting their gaze down to the side as the other's hands came to rest at their waist. "You really have no powers, do you?"

It truly was a pity that the villain had never managed to vaporize the other before now...

"Shut up, I - I grabbed the wrong weapon," they muttered, one final attempt at scavenging what was left of their dignity.

When they heard nothing in reply they made the mistake of glancing up, the hero's grin wide enough to tell the villain that they would milk this moment for everything it was worth.

"What was that?" the hero asked. Teasing.

The villain flushed. "I said that I- I chose the wrong weapon..."

"Oh? And what were you meant to choose?"

It wasn't fair that the villain's feet weren't currently touching the ground and still their opponent was taller than them. That the other could still talk down to them metaphorically as well as literally.

The villain felt a little of their earlier anger bubble back up. "Something that could have put you in the ground," they growled out.

The hero blinked at them. "Right..." they said. "So you were planning on putting me in the ground by aiming at the ceiling?"

A red tint caught onto the villain's cheeks once more and they kicked out with their legs, throwing a small tantrum over the hero's taunts. "I was doing that to initiate the grid matrix! The second that came on there wouldn't have been a-anywhere in this room that you could have hidden that - that I couldn't have shot you from! Anywhere!" the villain cried, voice dripping with their rage.

Though, from the look the hero gave them, the threat might as well have fallen on deaf ears. "You're an angry little thing, aren't you?" they commented.

The villain was just about ready to explode. "I am not little!"

"Littler than me."

"That's because you're a freak!"

"Or you're just short."

"I am average height!" The villain kicked their right leg out with as much force as they could muster, aiming to at least knee the hero where it would hurt but their plans were almost instantly foiled by a single movement - the hero dodging the attack and pinning the villain's leg to their side quicker than they could blink.

The villain froze. Their gaze turned downwards, mouth gaping open slightly as they stared at the point where the hero was holding them, the other's hand practically groping at their thigh. Slowly, the hero brought the villain's left leg up as well, encouraging their nemesis to hook their knees around their waist and let the hero take their weight - giving their wrists the small reprieve they hadn't realised they'd needed.

"Huh...maybe not so angry after all," the hero mused.

The comment snapped the villain out of whatever daze they'd gone into, their frown returning within seconds as they wriggled in their enemy's grasp. "Get. Off."

The hero cocked their head to the side. "Why?"

"Because," the villain said.

"But it feels good, doesn't it?" The hero's hands shifted down slightly, mere centimetres away from cupping the villain's ass. "Better than just hanging there - that's for sure."

The villain could feel their face burning again. And this time it wasn't purely from the embarrassment. "M-Maybe I like hanging," they said. "You don't - you don't know..."

Of all the comebacks they'd ever said, that had to be the worst of them. Worst and stupidest.

Surprisingly, the hero didn't tease them over it though. In fact, their nemesis took it in their stride - leaning in closer as they tightened their grip, infuriating smirk wider than the villain had ever seen it.

"You're right," the hero said. "I don't know."

Their thumbs stroked at the villain's thighs suggestively, the other suddenly all too aware of just how compromising their position was. They squirmed at the attention, shuddering when the hero's breath ghosted across their neck.

"But I think I have a pretty reliable way of finding out..."

The hero was pulling them closer. Reeling them in like a fish on a line and the villain didn't know what to do about it - was even starting to question if they wanted to do anything about it when the hero's lips brushed gently against their cheek.

The last time the villain had been this close to someone was so distant now...the sensation of intimacy was almost forgotten to them.

"What do you say, Villain?" the hero whispered, their breath hot against the shell of their ear. Somehow, they managed to drop their voice even lower before asking their next question: "Want to find out how quickly I can make that big brain of yours go dumb?"

A beat.

"F-Fuck, yes," the villain said breathlessly. Then their own words registered in their mind. "I-I mean no, I...I didn't, y-you didn't- I WOULD N-NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS--"

A pair of lips pressed against their own. And, in the villain's initial shock, the hero's tongue entered their mouth seamlessly.

The kiss was, much to their annoyance, the best they'd ever had.

The villain stuttered as the other paused, some smart retort in the makings of their scrambled mind but they didn't get a chance to piece it together before the hero's lips were on theirs again. And again. And again, and again, and again, the hero didn't stop. The villain kept waiting for their chance to speak - to think - but they weren't given it, and before they could stop themself their body was relaxing against the hero's own. Their struggling ceased altogether - hands that had been desperate to pull free now only giving the occasional tug against their confines, not in any attempt to get away but instead to get closer.

And, just like that, the hero had done what no one else ever could; what no one else had ever had the patience or the persistence to truly do, let alone the expertise to: the hero kissed the villain stupid.

By the time they finally relented, their nemesis was a panting mess. Their lips were kiss-swollen and shiny, their eyes half-lidded as if in some kind of daze. They made a small confused sound when the hero leant back a little, their pretty mouth drawing down into a pout that had the hero grinning even wider than before.

"So, that was definitely a 'yes', right?" they said.

The villain blinked at them, mind momentarily too slow to understand what was being asked. When it did click though, some flash of their dwindling rebellion must have shown in their eyes because the hero shifted their position so they could capture the villain's chin with one hand, thumb brushing over their lower lip before the villain could speak.

"Right?"

The villain gulped. Shuddered. Then they nodded their head.

"Good," the hero said, moving their hand back down to where it belonged, "because, with the trouble you've been giving me lately, I honestly have no intention of stopping until you forget your own name...If that's alright with you, of course?"

As someone who'd always been an over-thinker, it was the best proposition the villain had ever heard.

[ghostchems]

the sads

you've fallen behind on your classes at the ministry because of an episode of the sads.

notes: some hurt/comfort with our favorite popia. gn! reader. references to depression. 1k words. tbh i wrote this for myself bc i needed it, haha. ao3 link.

You are curled up in your bed underneath a mountain of covers and pillows. You hadn’t left your room for about a week and a half except to sneak to the cafeteria to grab some food and to get some fresh air in the garden every so often. It was a hard time of year for you, the cold seeping into your bones and your brain, leaving you without any motivation to do much of anything.

You had reached out to your teachers multiple times to apologize for your absence and to submit some half-assed assignments. During the good times, the times where you felt like you were in control made classes a piece of cake. The class topics were interesting (rituals, summoning, potions, etc.) and you had a deep interest in becoming a key member of the ministry.

During the good times. When you had the case of the sads, nothing mattered. All that progress was out the door, all that inspiration gone. You felt crippling fear that you were screwing up your time at the ministry but you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You stay under your covers, drifting in and out of sleep, scrolling endlessly on your phone.

There’s a knock at your door and you freeze, then peek out from underneath your cocoon. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you were hearing things. There’s another knock and you recoil. Nope. Someone was here. 

You climb out of bed and adjust your oversized sweatshirt to cover yourself (you are wearing nothing underneath). You kick some of the dirty clothes on your floor out of the way as you mosey on over to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. 

A quickly hands you a note and immediately leaves. You are in a daze, clutching the note in your hand as you watch them leave. You unfold the note and you feel a pang of fear jolt through you.

Papa’s office. Fifteen minutes.

You scramble, throwing on a pair of underwear and pants. The fear is only growing stronger within you. You know you’ve fucked up now and you were about to face the consequences of your actions. Mental preparations were running through your mind and you uncrumpled yourself, smoothing out your appearance so you can look semi-presentable for Papa.

The walk to his office felt like an eternity as your mind continued to spiral. You are expecting the absolute worst: being expelled from the ministry – get your shit and get out. It was a good run. You could say your goodbyes to your friends, or just pack up and go. Move back home and be miserable.

Your hand is shaking as you knock lightly on Papa’s door.

“Vieni, per favore.”

You open the door and walk in, fidgeting with your hands as your eyes settle on him.

He’s scribbling something down, glasses on his nose, brows furrowed in thought. Once he’s done, he looks up at you brightly, removing his glasses with a smile. Papa is dressed in his black poet shirt and his tattered, tight black pants. His paint is immaculate; he looks fresh-faced and completely put together - the complete opposite of how you were looking and feeling.

“Ah!” He claps his hands together. “I am very glad you are here, tesoro. Please, have a seat.” Papa gestures to the seat across this desk. You immediately do as you’re told, sinking as far into the chair as you can. 

“I am sure you know why you are here.” Copia is still smiling and you can see the kindness in his eyes. It doesn’t make you feel any better, though.

“First, I want you to know that you are not in trouble, tesoro.” Papa looks at some of his notes on your desk as your eyebrows quirk. “Your teachers reached out to me because they’re a bit concerned about you. You are usually one of their top performers and they greatly enjoy your work.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, your mouth hanging open. But, there is a sense of calmness that falls over you. It is a relief that no one is upset with you and that you haven’t disappointed anyone. 

“Do you want to tell Papa what’s going on?” His voice is soft and he looks at you with such care. “If you are comfortable with that?”

“I-it’s just hard right now” You croak, a bit surprised by how your voice sounds after hardly using it for the last few days. 

“Is it the sads?” He leans forward in his chair and reaches a hand out for yours.

“The big sads.” You take his hand and he squeezes you, his eyes crinkling as he gives you a sad look.

“I understand, tesoro.” 

You can see in his eyes that he truly understands how you feel, perhaps more than you could know. Copia had been through a lot in his time in the ministry, having worked tirelessly to climb the ranks in order to become Papa. But with all that time spent, with all that sacrifice, there were moments where the exhaustion peeked through. 

There were times when he felt nothing he did mattered; that he was just controlled by the leaders, that he was just destined to follow their orders. He disappeared at times to be alone, to turn himself off. It could be suffocating. 

“You take all the time you need.” His voice is a mere whisper. Papa squeezes your hand again, with a smile. “I am here if you need support or, ehm, just someone to talk to about the sads. I was also thinking, perhaps coming up with a special curriculum for you when you’re, eh, ready for it.” 

You notice he’s less confident than he had been moments ago, as if something you said struck a chord with him. It makes you even more comfortable with him because you feel like you can see the vulnerability that not very many get a glimpse of.

“Papa, that would be amazing.” Your lips pull into a miniscule smile, the first time you had smiled since feeling this way. “T-this means a lot.” As your voice cracks, you start to get the feeling you’re about to cry. Somehow, you manage to hold the tears in but barely.

“Of course, tesoro. We take care of our own here.” He smiles again and the vulnerability is gone. “Ehm, would you like to circle back here in a few days for a check-in?” Papa lets go of your hand and shifts his eyes to his calendar. You nod slowly, shifting in your seat. He pencils something in.

“I won’t keep you any longer.” Copia leans back in his seat as you stand, your legs feeling a bit shaky from the whole interaction. Still, you felt lighter as you walked to the door, the weight of royally screwing things up off of your shoulders.

“Tesoro?” He calls for you just before you leave his office. You turn to look at him and he looks so soft, so gentle.

“It will get better. Prometto.”

[sociallyanxiouscryptid-writings]

All eyes on me

Supervillain thought they could rule the world forever, they were wrong

CW: needles, medical procedure, restraints

Supervillain opened their eyes. It was funny because they don’t really remember closing them. Their vision blurred in front of them, sending their head into a dangerous spin. The nausea felt far away, so did the rest of them, their fingers a faint tingle in the vacuum. But slowly it was coming back to them, the cool air against their skin, the ache in their neck, even the sour taste in their mouth.

Then the tightness around their wrists

Rope was a familiar sensation against their skin, however usually it’s the other way around. The rope in their hands, around someone else’s wrists. They were tight, well done. Supervillain couldn’t move, not even a little. It made their hands tingle, but not enough to cut off circulation entirely, just enough to be deeply uncomfortable.

The room kept spinning as Supervillain tried looking up, the lights too bright, colours too muted. A light shifted, their eyes springing with tears that they tried to blink through. Someone shifted, a body near them, their heat startling against the cold.

“Maybe I gave you too much,” a voice muttered. The light shifted further, got closer. Supervillain recoiled.

“Wh-” their tongue was cotton, thick and tangled. They flinched, head lolling to the side, but a hand caught their skin.

“You don’t recognise me, do you?”

Supervillain still couldn’t see let alone recognise an asshole with a torch. They tried saying as much but all that tumbled out were half baked consonants.

The light vanished and so did the body, a whisp of a sigh falling from Supervillain’s lips. They weren’t sure where the fucker went but they took the time to breath, sucking in slow and measured breaths that filled their body.

Water poured over them, icy and biting and the slow measured breath turned into a gasp, followed by splashes of liquid that caught in Supervillain’s throat. They coughed, the thing shaking through their whole body as it quickly turned into a fit.

The hand came back, another rubbing their shoulder as the fit eased. Supervillain coughed up the last of the water, blinking into clearer vision.

A person stepped in front of them, smiling.

“Is that better?” They said. “Head a little clearer?”

“Le-”

“Ah,” they said, hand snaking out, pressing against Supervillain’s mouth. “I want you to recognise me first. I want you to remember.”

Supervillain stared into their face, their eyes. Nothing. Just another person for them to use, another person for them to control like everyone else. Something in the back of their mind shifted. Their eyes were pretty they guess, had they dated them? Rejected them? Were they about to be bested by a miffed ex?

You’re cute.

The memory came back all at once.

Too bad you’re in my way.

Supervillain’s eyes widened, but not nearly as much as Villain’s grin.

“Surprise.”

Villain stepped back, removing their hand but Supervillain was too shocked to speak.

“Wow,” Villain breathed. “You really thought you’d never see me again. That you could just lock me up and throw away the key.”

Supervillain truly had. Why wouldn’t they? It had never happened before, was supposed to never happen at all. Villain was barely recognisable now, worn, their body tired but eyes glistening with a mad delight.

“How?” It was the only think Supervillain could think, the only thing that mattered.

Villain delighted in the question, picking at the long sleeve of their shirt before beginning to roll it up.

“It took a lot of time,” they said, the scars on their arm slowly revealing. “A lot of experimentations and even more mistakes.” They rolled the sleeve up above their elbow, began on the other. “Do you know how hard it is to experiment on yourself? To cut into your own bone marrow?”

“Impossible,” Supervillain said.

“It should be, yes,” Villain nodded finishing the other sleeve. “But when you have time and immortality on your side you can get very creative.”

Supervillain just stared.

“Its understandable, why you were so cocky. Why you thought you could win,” Villain said, now pacing around Supervillain. “You have this power at your fingertips, one so strong and seemingly so reliable. You had no reason to think it would fail. No one can fault you on that.”

Villain stood somewhere behind Supervillain and it made the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. A shiver ran through them and suddenly a true sense of danger sunk into their gut.

“Let me go,” Supervillain demanded, strong and powerful.

Nothing. Supervillain’s ears rung as they waited, skin itched ready for the ropes to come undone.

Villain laughed, a mad and joyous thing.

“I wasn’t entirely certain it would work,” they beamed, walking back to the front. “Sure, I could break your old demand, but would my alterations hold up to new ones? Could I disobey you?” Villain grinned ear to ear like a giddy child. “Oh I have waited so, so long for this day, to see that look in your eyes. Does it make you feel helpless? Feel weak?”

“Let me go,” Supervillain said again, firmer, pushing more intent into their words. Nothing.

Villain cackled.

“How did you enjoy the spotlight hey? The title world’s most dangerous villain?”

“Let me go.” Supervillain yelled, chest tightening.

Villain was on them, hands pressed against their wrist, face millimetres away.

“Oh but sweetie I am having so much fun. You had the arrogance to think you could take my spotlight, but now it’s my turn, and I am hungry for that light on my face.”

“This is impossible.”

“It was inevitable,” Villain stepped back. They wondered across the room, somewhere behind Supervillain.  

“Even if I can’t control you,” Supervillain said, “I still control everyone else. You won’t be able to move in this world without me knowing about it.”

Villain hummed, “oh you will know about every move I make, right up to your last breath.”

Supervillain tugged against their restraints.

Villain came back around with a needle in their hand, and without a word they grabbed Supervillain’s bicep, steadying the arm as they slipped it into the vein, precise and practiced.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m solving the problem you presented,” Villain said.

Villain carefully drew the blood, Supervillain watched it spill into the vial, head getting light. Villain filled four vials before removing the needle, not gentle in the slightest.

Supervillain arched themself, straining their neck as much as possible to see where Villain went, and as they did, they caught a glimpse of the entire room behind them. They were in a laboratory, Supervillain positioned over near a wall, everything around them pushed back.

Villain came back, still behind them though, something else in their hand.

“What is this?” Supervillain said.

Villain looked back around the room.

“Don’t you recognise it?”

Supervillain didn’t.

“This is the hole you tried to bury me in.”

Some sharp went into Supervillain’s back and the pain was blinding.

“Hold still,” Villain said, “I don’t want to damage anything.”

Supervillain did, only because every move brought more agony. Their nails dug into the chair, teeth about to shatter as they felt something move about, before being withdrawn. Supervillain gasped, choked on their spit.

“You’re doing so good,” Villain purred.

“They will come find me,” Supervillain growled. “And when they do, I will cut you up into tiny pieces and-”

Villain snatched their hair and wrenched their head back.

“No one is coming. No one cares about you,” Villain hissed. “That’s the thing about your power, no one is loyal to you, and because of your arrogance you had no safety measures in places. No one will come for you because they are all too busy carrying out your demands and will continue to do so until you issue new ones.”

Supervillain stared, the words sitting heavy on their chest, sinking deep into their stomach. There had to at least be someone, right? They hadn’t controlled everyone…

They had, they truly had. Everyone who worked under them, every enemy who encountered them, they were all under Supervillain’s control. Supervillain never gave anyone the chance to come in willingly, they didn’t need to. It was why they were the world’s most feared villain.

“You have come so far, and yet you’re still so ignorant, a baby in this world.” Villain tapped Supervillain’s cheek, letting go of their hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you what a real villain is.”

They came back around the front.

“I will remind the whole world what a real villain is,” Villain grinned.

[nhasablogg]

The platonic ways of yearning

Fandom: The Raven Cycle

Characters: Adam, Gansey, Ronan

Summary: Adam keeps walking in on tickle fights between Gansey and Ronan and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

A/N: Commission for @happyandticklish! Thank you, I hope you like this!

Words: 2.6k

Part 2 here.

Monmouth Manufacturing was dark when Adam entered that cold December afternoon, the snow that was sprinkled over his hair a grave reminder of the hat he’d left there the previous night. He’d dropped it on the radiator to dry and had promptly forgotten about it, only realizing his mistake when he’d gotten home and had instinctively tried to shove it off his head.

He paused in the doorway, the spare key in his hand like a spear. “Am I interrupting?” he asked the outline of people - Gansey hunched over? - on the couch.

“No, no,” Gansey said hurriedly, voice low. Adam could see him look up, his knees sticking out on either side of him and melting into the shadow of the armrest and something else that Adam couldn’t make sense of. “Come in, I’m not doing anything.”

“I can see that.” He reached for the light switch. “Should I turn it on?”

“No, no,” Gansey said again, even quicker this time. “I, uh, don’t want to wake him.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Adam could see it now, his eyes getting more used to the darkness. Ronan was leaning against him, arms crossed as if to maintain some sort of control of the situation, but he was truly and fully asleep. Adam could now make out his head leaning against Gansey’s shoulder, their arms pressed together, as if one was an extension of the other. He might’ve been frowning, but Adam couldn’t tell.

“He fell asleep,” Gansey explained, the smile audible in his voice. That one Adam could picture. Small. Fond.

“So you just-” Adam gestured to the vicinity of the couch. “-stayed there.”

“Yes.”

Adam could picture that, too. The falling darkness and Gansey not wanting to be a bother. Gansey sitting still and staring at nothing - or perhaps his book - until he couldn’t see anything anymore. Adam did lots of picturing nowadays. He had a hard time figuring their relationship out. He felt there was a version of it he hadn’t been allowed to see yet, and yet he kept hearing about it in the way that the past and words were usually attached to the hip. And now this, a glimpse of it, presented so innocently before him. He did know exactly what he was feeling and he refused to baptize it.

“I see,” he said, wondering if they used to do this when Ronan had longer hair, curls fluttering over Gansey’s ear when he moved and Gansey scrunching up his shoulder ever so slightly. “I came for my hat.”

He could see enough now to see how Gansey’s smile grew. “Just your hat?”

Adam flicked the keys between his hands. “Uh huh.”

Gansey pointed with his other hand. “It’s on my bed. I wanted to remember to return it. But Adam?”

Adam, who had started walking into the room, the door finally closing and shutting out the little amount of light outside, paused in his steps. “Hm?”

He couldn’t see Gansey at all now. “You can stay. You don’t have to leave just because you got what you came for.”

“Oh.” He flicked the keys between his hands again, aware of how the sound was louder than their breathing. “Okay. But we might wake him.”

Ronan made a sound, words forming at the end of it. “‘ready did.”

Gansey let out a laugh and Adam reached for the light switch only because he’d never seen Ronan Lynch awaken before.

Ronan blinked, whining in protest and covering his eyes with his palm as light washed over them. He was still leaning his head on Gansey, who was squinting up at Adam and looking like he’d never wanted to be anywhere but there. What Adam had missed in the dark was the fuzzy blanket sloppily slung over Ronan’s lap.

“Sorry,” Adam said, and Ronan waved his other hand at him.

“It was probably time to wake up anyway,” Gansey said and reached over to poke the side of Ronan’s neck which wasn’t pressed up against his sweater.

Ronan recoiled at the touch, groaning into his hand and swatting the other one around as if Gansey was a fly. “Fuck off.”

Gansey’s smile transformed. Adam had seen it before, but only on special occasions. Only when he felt like acting like the teenage boy he was. He’d never seen it aimed at himself, but sometimes Ronan and Noah managed to drag Gansey into their antics, and Adam would see a glimpse of it before Gansey joined in, even if only for a moment. Something playful. Something mischievous.

Ronan caught his eye through his fingers. “No.”

Three things happened when Gansey lunged for Ronan: Ronan screamed when the hand returned to his neck and didn’t retreat, Gansey laughed in delight before Ronan had even started laughing himself, and Adam felt so flustered that he didn’t know what to do with himself. It was more than just witnessing Gansey be his playful self - all laughter lines, all glittering eyes and oh reallys and is that sos at Ronan’s cursing - but to see him be like this while Ronan Lynch was giggling was turning Adam into a stammering mess, even though he was purely an audience member.

He dropped his keys, the sound melting into Ronan’s laughter, but when Adam, feeling his body turning hot, emerged back up from picking them up Gansey was looking at him anyway.

“Sorry,” he said to Adam. “I got carried away.”

“Why are you apologizing to him- fuckin’ stop.” Ronan grabbed his forearms, groaning as he tried to twist Gansey’s hands away from his body, but Gansey was stronger than he looked. All it did was make Ronan squeal when fingers collided with skin once more, and Adam had to excuse himself only because what the fuck does one do when Ronan Lynch squeals.

*

He noticed it more after that. The touches he never imagined either of them extending, and partly receiving. Which wasn’t fair. Despite his strange idealization they were both simply human, and humans had needs and weaknesses. Even Ronan Lynch. He wouldn’t say he’d seen each part of them anyway. His hubris didn’t reach that far. Not even close. And yet-

And yet.

It wasn’t necessarily all revolving around Ronan being able to laugh - Ronan being ticklish - as much as it revolved around Gansey being the one to make him laugh, which meant he had at one point realized he was ticklish, and Adam couldn’t determine how he thought that had played out. Something playful, or something quiet? A sudden discovery, or something slow?

It was less surprising when he caught Ronan tickling Gansey back, maybe because this wasn’t something new and unassociated anymore. Gansey’s laugh surprised him though. Loud. Panicked.

“That’s what you get,” Ronan said with a smirk, although Adam caught something timid behind his actions too. The way he smiled when he stopped to let Gansey breathe and he kept giggling. The way he maneuvered his sensitive spots, seemingly knowing them all.

Adam watched, fully aware he probably seemed like a creep. Gansey on the floor, Ronan hovering over him and clawing his fingers over his ribs. It was interesting how different their reactions were in relation to their personalities. Ronan squirmed like crazy, sure, but Gansey was nearly violent with how uncontrollably his limbs were flailing, no composure to be found. Adam found it mesmerizing, along with something he refused to acknowledge loudly, but it was there, quietly festering in the back of his mind.

“Ronan!” The way Gansey called out his name, breaking it up into two words separated with laughter, was enough to send a flutter of nerves through Adam’s body. He could nearly feel how ticklish it was, only because Ronan had done it once to him. Once and only once. He wasn’t sure what it was about him that had made it less likely for him to ever repeat it, but it stung a little, especially as he watched him obliterate Gansey’s ounce of self-respect just by sticking his hand beneath his arms.

He was jealous. He didn’t know how to handle it.

“Adam!” Two words, laughter to part them. “Adam, help- no!”

Adam felt like a deer caught in headlights at being addressed, and he met Ronan’s amused gaze before he could even open his mouth. “Oh, don’t,” he said, his grin lethal. “Unless you want to join him, that is.”

And Adam had the humiliating realization that, yes, he did.

He left, refusing to say he was fleeing.

*

Adam walked in on Ronan lifting Gansey, cradling him carefully in his arms like a bride or a baby. “What the hell?”

“Oh, hey.” Gansey waved at him as if this was just something they did. “Don’t ask. I’m not entirely sure either.”

Ronan, keeping entirely still as if Gansey weighed nothing, hummed. “I’m not sure either, to be fair.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, making Gansey sway along to the movement. “Why not?”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up Adam’s throat and he wasn’t quick enough to stop it from pouring out. “This- I- I have so many questions.”

Gansey beamed at him, something fond in his smile. It almost embarrassed him, the way he sometimes looked at him. “Oh, trust me, so do I.”

Ronan suddenly started squeezing at Gansey’s side, which was dangerous considering he was literally holding him, although he didn’t have to move his hand much from the way he’d positioned him in his grip. “I feel very questioned here.”

Gansey spluttered out something incoherent, trying to twist in Ronan’s arms to get away from the tickling. “Don’t!”

Ronan hummed. “Fine. But I’m not putting you down.”

“But why- oh, Adam, don’t go.”

Adam stopped in his tracks at Gansey’s pleading voice, turning back toward them sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“He’s scared he’s gonna be next,” Ronan said with an eyeroll and Adam cursed his very being for blushing.

Gansey, ever the innocent one, said, “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“Oh, he is,” Ronan said nonchalantly, although his grin was lethal. “I tickled his knee once and he nearly kicked my nose in. But I’m sure there are many more spots I don’t know about.”

It had been so casual Adam was certain Ronan hadn’t really been aware of what he was doing. Having brothers - as well as this more playful relationship with Gansey and Noah which Adam had slowly been seeing glimpses of - it probably wasn’t an unfamiliar action, but Adam wasn’t used to touches to his person not carrying any malice, so his kick had been partly due to a brief moment of surprise and partly due to it being ticklish. Ronan hadn’t done it again, although his smirk and the spidering fingers over Adam’s knee had stayed with him for longer than Adam was willing to admit.

He huffed now, trying to keep his cool while wondering why he was so reluctant to join in if he also felt jealous each time he saw it. Maybe there was more beneath the surface which he wasn’t ready to acknowledge yet. Maybe he really was just a selfish asshole.

Gansey was humming. “I think his ribs are bad.”

Adam’s head snapped up. “No.”

“No?”

“Agreed. He’s definitely a lower body type of ticklish,” Ronan said, nodding.

Adam took a step back. “No.”

Gansey’s face softened. “Don’t worry, we won’t tickle you if you don’t want us to.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Ronan.”

“Sorry, I-” Adam ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta go.”

Adam left. Maybe the worst part had been that Ronan had been holding Gansey throughout the whole conversation.

*

Adam avoided them. He wasn’t sure why.

(Except he was.)

(He refused to think about it.)

(Except it filled all his undistracted waking moments.)

(Typical.)

It genuinely wasn’t difficult to stay away from them, blaming his job and whatever else, only Gansey showcased his disappointment more and more clearly each time he declined coming with them on Glendower related trips. It made him feel guilty.

“You should talk to them,” Blue said one afternoon. Adam hadn’t told her why he was avoiding them, or even that he was doing it, but she’d noticed. Of course she had.

Adam sighed. “I can’t.”

Noah tilted his head at him. “Why not?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“All the more reason to explain yourself then,” Blue said sensibly. Adam hated that she was right.

It was only a matter of time before they confronted him, Adam knew, and when they finally cornered him one day, not letting him leave Monmouth Manufacturing even though he said he was in a nonexistent hurry after once again picking up an article of clothing that had somehow ended up there, Adam wasn’t really sure what to say.

“Talk to us,” Gansey pleaded. “I don’t understand what we’ve done wrong.” He was standing by the front door, all but blocking it.

“You’ve not done anything,” Adam mumbled, unable to maintain eye contact and feeling incredibly silly because of it.

“Then why do you quite literally run away when you see us?”

“I don’t-”

Ronan snorted. “We have eyes, believe it or not.”

Adam snapped his mouth shut, feeling the recently all too familiar burn of his face.

Gansey took a step closer. “You’re getting embarrassed. Why? You’re not usually shy.”

Adam shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”

“Please try.”

All his reluctance suddenly melted away, leaving him bare, vulnerable, terrified even though it made no sense. He couldn’t understand this yearning, only that he yearned, yearned for something he felt he didn’t deserve.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, voice embarrassingly thick. “Well, not exactly watching you. I keep running into situations that I feel I shouldn’t. That I feel aren’t mine.”

“Parrish, you make no sense right now.” When Adam met Ronan’s gaze he found nothing malicious in it.

He swallowed. “You have tickle fights.” For some reason Gansey started blushing as much as he did. “I’ve not really seen you have those before.”

“Oh, that,” Gansey said, eyes darting from Adam to the floor and back to Adam. Adorable, Adam briefly thought. Rare and unusually vulnerable. Ronan seemed just as stoic as ever, which might’ve been the first hint at his own embarrassment because Ronan’s eyes showed his emotions more than anything. “It’s something we did sometimes. You know. Before we met you. I don’t know why it’s started again, but. Well.” He shrugged. “It’s fun, I guess.”

Adam tried to keep the words from spilling out and failed spectacularly. “I wish you’d include me.” It sounded fucking pathetic. “I mean. I don’t know what I mean.” He rubbed at his temples. “I just- It’s like a car crash. Maybe. I can’t stop looking but I also want to run away each time I see it.”

“And still you want to join.” Ronan’s smirk wasn’t lethal, but it scared him anyway. It seemed… kind. “Doesn’t sound like a car crash to me.”

“Adam.” Gansey had stopped blushing. His smile was also kind. “If you want to join in you have to stop running away.”

“Unless the whole point is for us to catch you, that is.”

Adam positively wanted to fall through the floor. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay. We can figure it out. Just stop running away.”

Adam covered his face. “I’m sorry.”

A hand was on him, gently touching his shoulder. He expected it to be Gansey, but when he looked up he was met with Ronan. “Don’t be. I’ll tickle you, don’t worry.” The laugh that left his mouth sounded slightly hysterical, but Adam felt calmer despite it. “I trust that you will,” he said, looking away.

Ronan snorted. “I need to figure out if Gansey was right about your ribs or not, after all.”

“And I need to see if you’re actually a kicker like Ronan said,” Gansey added, taking a step closer to them, suddenly grinning mischievously at him.

Adam gulped. “I change my mind.”

“Oh, no, Parish. You better take the heat now.”

“I’ll run.”

Gansey let out a laugh. “We’ll catch you.”

Adam - heart skipping a beat, smile fighting to emerge - had no doubt they would.

[hopelessromantic5]

Merthur Canon Era Drabble

The First Time They Met

It started that first day.

At least, for Merlin it did.

After he’d introduced himself to a pompous bully harassing another boy, he’d found himself in a bit of trouble.

The first was that this blonde, blue eyed arse claims to be trained in the art of murder, so that doesn’t bode well.

Another was that he turned out to be the Prince of the bloody kingdom. So that got Merlin thrown in the dungeons rather quickly that first day.

But the second day they met, that’s when the real trouble began for poor Merlin.

They’d danced their way through the street, swinging maces around, like either of them actually knew what to do with them.

And instead of being thrown in the dungeons for a second time, Merlin experiences something he hasn’t yet experienced from this boy; empathy.

And then the strangest thing happens.

After telling the guards to release him, he turns and rakes his eyes over the peasant boy’s face (peasant boy to him anyway).

“There’s something about you, Merlin, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

To which Merlin stands dumbfounded, long after the Prince had vanished from sight.

It wasn’t just the fact that his royal pratness, had let him go, or that he didn’t seem to recoil in disgust when Merlin got near him, like most nobles Merlin encountered had done.

It also wasn’t just the fact that Arthur seemed to see past it all. The torn, threadbare clothes, and the dirt and the scrawny arms accompanied by large ears and pale skin. Arthur seemed to look into Merlin’s eyes and see something Merlin had never been able to show anyone.

And then Arthur said his name.

For the first time. Without a gawking audience.

And it was so…different.

Over the course of one’s life, they hear their name often and with many different pronunciations and inflections. Merlin had heard his in jest, in anger and belittlement, from his mother in gentle, fond, loving.

Arthur really hadn’t enunciated the word any differently than everyone else, but the way his voice pushed itself through his lungs and over his teeth and tongue and declared it so…confident but curious. But also low and vibrating, like the hum of bees, or the way the sun will sing if you listen close enough.

It felt like Merlin had been riding a horse for several hours and now his feet and fingers were buzzing and numb.

No one had ever said his name and Merlin actually stop to admire how they did it.

The poor young warlock had tried (with all his might) to overlook how beautiful Arthur was. Because he was a cruel arrogant man like his father…probably.

But he can’t really make that judgment can he? Certainly not with the evidence he has so far. He can admit, that first meeting was not a good indication of character. (He’s thought about that fateful day many many times over the years, playing it over and over in his head.)

Merlin’s theory is that, in that moment, when Merlin told him he’d had enough, Arthur knew it. He realized he had made a mistake in humiliating a servant who was just doing as he was bid.

Instead of continuing to harass said servant, and feel even more guilty, Arthur turned his ire towards the instigator. Merlin was more than happy to take the brunt of whatever punishment was coming.

Merlin has met nobles. He can usually tell the type just by the clothes and the way they walk, head held high above the scurrying peasants in Ealdor. The rich and beautiful weren’t always around, but many families passed through often enough on their travels, Merlin was almost forced to interact with them. Helping Will’s mother at the inn or at the cart where his own mother sells her sweetmeats and fruit pies.

Nobles didn’t want to do anything they could pay someone else to do. Cook and serve the food, refill the wine, rid themselves of clothing, bathe, all the way down to blow out the bloody candles.

Merlin could see where having that amount of power could be useful, like for protection. Having armed guards surrounding you in the face of attack must put your mind at ease. Especially when powerful people are such a devious breed.

Perhaps, this is why Merlin did not clock Arthur right away. Yes he was entitled, Merlin had assumed at first glance that it was because he was handsome, young, and good with a sword. Just wanted to pick fights with anyone who was willing. Noblemen didn’t ‘pick fights’, they have their men cut someone down in their sleep. Certainly not little Princelings, how was Merlin to know? Prince’s don’t fight with their own fists, surely.

Realistically, Arthur could’ve thrown him in the dungeon just for questioning his authority.

This is where Arthur strays, as he always has. Because Arthur has never felt like a Prince. Or a King, for that matter. Though, that is his destiny, as the fates have decided, and he will always do the right thing.

Arthur, in his heart of hearts, is a knight. Trained with every weapon they could find, naturally skilled with a sword, infamous across the land as ‘unbeatable in combat’.

That’s why he fought Merlin with no hesitation and the knight’s heart is also why, upon winning the second round, he let Merlin go free.

Unknowingly, saving his own life. If Merlin had been put in the dungeons a second time, he wouldn’t have been there in time to stop that silly little dagger from piercing the Prince’s heart.

And then maybe Merlin wouldn’t be in love with his master, future King, and best friend, all in one unfairly gorgeous human being.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Don't Speak 49

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber, Steve Kemp

Note: mondays are for pain.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

“What’s wrong with her?” Ann’s sharp tone is dulled behind the dim blur all around you. 

“She... she’ll be fine. She’s... adjusting,” Steve explains hesitantly. 

A heavy sigh makes your shiver, an echo of another monster. You sink further down into the bed, eyes shut, body locked up. You couldn’t move if you tried. 

“You had to get her? She’s stupid. Maria wasn’t--” 

“Shut up about Maria,” Steve barks at Ann. “She’s gone. You want a kid, this is what we do.” 

“Should we... should we talk about this here?” She asks. 

“You’re the one who brought it up, Ann,” he retorts. “Besides, she’s dissociating. She probably thinks she’s at home. It’s better she’s like this. Easier.” 

“It won’t be when--” 

“Shut up,” he snarls again. “Go.” 

Silence. Tense and thick. Finally, a set of footfalls depart and another come closer. You don’t react as the figure sits on the edge of the bed, not even as they touch your shoulder through the layers of blankets. 

“Sweetie, how are you doing?” Steve coos. “You wanna get up? You must be hungry.” 

You don’t answer him. You can’t. You’re embarrassed. He’s right about you. Ann is right about you. You’re broken. That fact doesn’t hurt as much as another epiphany; he chose you because of that. You’re not special, you’re not pretty, he doesn’t want you. They want what you can give them. Just like Andy. 

“Can I bring you some food? You have to eat, sweetie,” rubs your shoulder. “Not just for you.” 

You want to scream. Just the very thought of having a baby makes your skins crawl. Your muscles constrict to the point of agony every time you try to imagine it. To you, the very idea is a like a parasite invading your body. 

Just like they did. 

Andy. Ann. Steve. 

She’s right. You are stupid. You made the same mistake twice. Worse, you betrayed and abandoned the only person who every cared about you. The person who would never violate you or call you dumb and useless. You left Amber behind but you think it’s better that you did. Better for her. 

You have no where to go. You’re trapped. This is how it’s going to be. You’re going to keep letting them use you and then you’re going to have a baby. A baby! A baby? No, no, no. 

“Sweetie,” Steve pulls down the blanket to caress your face, “you wanna come to the office today? We can talk. Maybe after, we can go shopping. We’ll need to start getting stuff for the nursery.” You shudder as he strokes along your cheek, “you know, me and Ann, we never thought we could have another. You’re... you’re giving us an amazing gift. You’re making our dreams come true.” 

You stay as you are. He takes a deep breath and spreads his hand over your head. He bends over you and brushes his lips along your temple and to your ear. 

“Get the fuck up.” 

His voice makes you squeak and recoil. As you try to pull away, he catches the back of your head and keeps you there. Your eyes flick open and you gape up at him. He makes you sit up as he grips your skull between his large hands. 

“You’re not going to do this. Not to my baby,” he snarls, “so get up, get dressed, and be a good girl, dove.” 

You pout and your eyes wet, “Steve, please--” 

“You keep this up, and I’ll have to go see how your sister’s doing...” he intones. “Living all alone, she must miss you.” 

“What?” You croak. 

“Someone has to keep an eye on her,” he says. 

“What do you mean?” You whine. 

“You really want me to say it?” He snarls. 

“No, why? Why? You know—I t-t-told you—Andy--” 

He shoves you back down, so hard your neck snaps back and you bite your tongue, “don’t say his fucking name to me. Don't even breathe him in the same sentence as me. I’m not like him and you know that, sweetie. Look how much I’ve helped you. How much I’ve actually helped you.”

He stands and kicks the bed. “I’m giving you a purpose. Something you never had before.” He scoffs and paces around as you rub your neck, “you were nothing before. No one wanted you, no one needed you.” 

“Stop, please. That’s mean--” 

“The truth hurts, baby,” he growls. “So let’s get the fuck up and go.” 

You sniffle and shakily push yourself up. Your heart races and the rampant beat pounds in your ears. You push yourself to the edge of the bed and the blankets slip away from your body. As you stand, his eyes flash at you. 

You’re still naked. They just leave you like that when they’re done. You cross the room but don’t make it to the dresser. He catches you by your arm and drags you back. 

“Not so fast,” he shoves you towards the bed. “Just to make sure,” he forces you onto the bed. “Open up, baby,” he climbs over you, pinning you as his hand creeps between your legs. 

You close your eyes again. You recede back into the shell hewn form years of self-hatred and fear. The cocoon that never let you free. You would never fly free and be a butterfly. You would only ever be this. A burden. Nothing. 

He ruts into you but you don’t feel it. You can’t. His intrusion doesn’t hurt anywhere as bad as the truth. And you can’t blame anyone but yourself. You chose this. 

🕊️

It happens all at once. One moment, you’re sitting there, watching Avery and Harper run in circles around the front room, and the next, you’re keeled over, hurling onto the carpet. You don’t think much of it. Most days, you feel sick. You don’t have an appetite but they make you eat. You still have scratches around your lips from Ann’s manicure. 

You stay bent over the carpet, panting. Avery squeals, “Moooom!” and Harper snickers and adds a draw out, “ewwwwwwwww”. 

You’re pushed back against the couch. You’re breathless and dizzy. You gulp down the bile and watch Ann grimace down at the puddle between your feet. She puts her hands on her hips. 

“Steve,” she rings out. 

Another shadow appears. The adults are quiet as the kids loom behind, “is she sick?” Avery asks. 

“Go. Take your brother to his room.” Ann snips. 

The girl retreats as if away from a lash. You stare up at them. Steve bends and picks you up off the couch. You refuse to set your feet so he carries you away. 

“I’m not cleaning this up,” Ann snarls. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, “did you check the calendar?” 

Footsteps follow him as you hang limp in his arms. He takes you into the bedroom, the dark cell where you languish between their grabbing hands, where you wallow in despair and defeat. He lays you down. 

“Makes sense,” Ann drones. “She’s about on track.” 

He hums and nods. “I’ll clean up. We need to be sure.” 

“I’ll need help,” she sniffs. “Just look at her.” 

You stare at the ceiling. The world fades behind the ring of light in your vision as the light bulbs sears into your retina. You close your eyes and everything moves around you as you stay still. 

It’s quiet when you rise from the depths. Out of the void of your own mind and the prison of your body. The lamp next to the bed is on and you’re wearing a shirt you’ve never seen before. There’s a faint scent of urine in the air. You’re all alone. 

Your stomach turns, mulching in on itself, but you ignore it. You just can’t be bothered. The swell of sickness chokes you and you just wallow it back down. Your body spasms with the effort. 

You roll onto your stomach and close your eyes. When you open them again, you’re spewing puke down the bed spread, watching it pool on the hardwood. You wipe your mouth with the back of your head and groan. 

An inch away is the bin from the bathroom. If you’d been awake, you might have been able to reach it. You stretch out your arm and drag it closer. There's a rattle in the bottom. 

You stare down at the white and blue plastic stick. Without fear, you grab it and bring it up to read the little window. Pregnant. That’s it. That's the end. You drop the test into your own puke and roll onto your other side. You dive back into the despondency of sleep. 

You’re woken again by an angry voice. Then a swat on the back of your head, “disgusting, aren’t you?” Ann chides.  

You can hear her scrubbing the floor as the smell of puke hangs in the air. Puke and piss. Filthy, like you. 

When the room is silent and still, you lay on your back. You’re still nauseous. Weak and tired. Everything is so much more intense than it’s ever been. 

The door opens. You don’t react. Steve calls your name and you still don’t answer. He drags you up the bed and makes you sit against the pillows, placed against the headboard. Then he puts the little folding table over your lap. The scent of food makes you grumble. 

“You have to eat,” he says. “It’s not just about you anymore, dove.” 

His timbre is harsh, hateful almost. He holds up the spoon and you stare it down. You keep your lips sealed. 

“Open your damn mouth or I’ll do it for you.” 

You wince and obey. You don’t understand why he changed. He used to be nice. He used to be patient and gentle. He said he was going to fix you. You take the mouthful of porridge and swallow without tasting. 

“You’re... a doctor,” you squeak. 

“Hmm?” He scoops up more of the oats. 

“You’re a doctor... you’re supposed to help me--” 

“I have helped,” he rams the spoon in your mouth again. “You think it would be any different with him? He wouldn’t want you the minute you got knocked up.” He stirs the bowl as he speaks, “but if you give us a healthy baby, we’ll keep you.” 

If. 

You open your mouth again. You stay quiet. You don’t like talking to him. Not anymore. It's always about the baby. It’s always spiteful. He hates you. 

“You get it?” He sneers. “You are carrying our child, that means you have to take care of yourself,” he grabs your hand and wraps it around the spoon, “you need to grow up.” He guides the spoon into the bowl with a clink. “Because if you don’t start taking care of my baby, then I will make sure you fucking suffer. I’ve lost too much already.” 

You whimper and he lets you go. You raise the spoon and lean forward to put the heap of steaming oats between your lips. His eyes are as icy as his words. You’re scared. You’re even more terrified of him than you ever were of Andy. 

“Good girl,” he says but it doesn’t make you feel good. Not anymore. 

You finish the whole bowl, and the fruit on the side, and the orange juice. He gathers up the tray and leaves you. You slump against the pillows and rub your stomach, trying to calm the storm inside. 

It’s more than the latent tide of nausea that makes you restless. You’re head pounds. You can’t even close your eyes. If you sleep any longer, your skull might just split. Your body is achy and your heart feels as if its always racing. You sit up and look around the room. 

Nine months. You know that’s how long it takes. You’ll have less than that by now. You’re not sure how long it would be. 

You turn and shimmy to the edge of the bed. You slide open the night table drawer and take out your journal. You search through the pages. Steve told you to right down your cycle... 

Hm, you can’t figure it out. Probably two months? Maybe less? It doesn't feel like that long.

You put the journal back and your knuckles brush on the smooth cover of your tablet. You pause and lean forward to look into the drawer. You stopped using it because you didn’t want to be reminded of Andy. You couldn’t draw because your hand wouldn’t listen to your brain. 

You glance at the door then take out the tablet. You push back into bed and put your knees up, draping the blankets over them so if anyone walks in, you can hide the screen. You press the button on the side. It takes a moment but it lights up. 

You wait until the homescreen appears. Thirty percent. You can’t remember where the charger went. 

You pull down the notifications. There are a lot. Automatic alerts from the camera at Andy’s house, messages from a strange account that can only be him, and several app updates. 

You swipe them all away. You flick over the menu, back and forth, back and forth. You tap on Insta and wait for it to load. Your last post was a year ago; a drawing of a dove... 

You go to your followers. You don’t have many but you’re only looking for one. You tap Amber’s picture. Her profile opens and your fingers twitch in surprise. Your fingertip taps the little heart and it blooms red. You quickly press again to undo the like. 

Her last post is from a week ago. It’s her and a man. He doesn’t seem to want to be on camera as she kisses his cheek. Oh. You can’t bother her. She’s moved on. She’s happy and you’re going to ruin her life all over again. You’re not her responsibility. 

Your eyes fill with tears as you stare at her picture. A red dot appears at the bottom over the chat icon. It blinks as several messages flow in. It's Amber. 

‘Hey!’ 

‘Are u there?’ 

‘Says ur online. Pls answer me.’ 

You watch her messages pop up. Your lip trembles. What can you do? What can you say? You wipe your tears and snivel. Hey, sis, got myself knocked up and now I’m scared. No, that’s not it. 

You hover your hands over the keyboard and steady them. You blow out between your lips and sort out the words in your head. You tap the letters slowly, taking your time. 

‘I just want to say goodbye. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused. I’m glad to see that you’re happy. Love you.’ 

You read and reread. Over and over. Then you make yourself send it. You don’t wait for her response. What she says, doesn’t matter. She’s free from you. She doesn’t need to worry. You’re not worried either. This is just how it is.  

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette hummed to herself, scribbling as she laid on top of the fountain's edge at the park. The stone wasn't great to lay her papers on, but her crayons did well enough at letting her draw. Her parents were busy in the bakery as usual, so as long as she didn't go too far, she was allowed to come to the park as she pleased.

It was times like these where she let her imagination run. She was still a child, after all, so wherever she couldn't go, she could simply draw whilst daydreaming about it. Her papa told her that it was important to cook up all the ideas in her head, or else they'd be raw and gooey when they came out of the oven. She didn't really know what that meant, but it sounded scary enough that she wasn't going to take any chances.

As she looked around, she spotted a boy who was just walking into the park. He didn't have any parents with him despite looking to be around her age, so she naturally wondered if they were nearby like hers.

He had messy black hair that was almost long enough to cover his eyes, and she couldn't help staring at his blue highlights. Were they natural, or did his parents let him get them? Maybe he had a special ability that changed the color of his highlights with his mood? What did the blue mean then?

She wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to open her mouth and call out to him. That tended to be the norm for her, wanting to make friends but also not wanting to make a fool of herself. Thus, she reached for her crayons instead, fumbling a bit with pulling out the blue one as she got to drawing. She drew herself first, then followed up with the boy she'd seen.

After coloring in his hair, she went to do his jacket but stalled, unable to remember what color it was. She looked up, searching the area for the "magic highlights boy," but she couldn't see him anymore. Frowning, she wondered if maybe he'd already left, a thought that saddened her even though their theoretical friendship was only in her head.

She'd been so invested in drawing that she hadn't sensed a presence coming up behind her, at least not until said presence spoke up.

"I like your drawing."

"wAH—!"

Surprised, Marinette recoiled from the voice, not realizing her mistake until she stopped feeling the stone underneath her. She saw a flash of blue and black just before her body hit the water, her limbs flailing in a panic whilst she tried to reorient herself. Water seeped into her hair and clothing, making for a thoroughly unpleasant experience as she attempted to reach for the stone edge again to pull herself up.

However, she grasped a hand instead, which tugged and helped her up into a sitting position. She blinked rapidly, rubbing at her eyes to get rid of all of the water messing with her vision, then noted the pretty highlights boy standing there. It was his hand that was grasping hers.

Her face flushed in embarrassment. She was known for her clumsiness and was all too familiar with this situation; she fell or dumped food on herself, and then everyone would immediately start laughing at her. She didn't doubt that this would be the same either, and the boy she'd been imagining as her friend would—

"I-I'm sorry!" he cried out, horrified. "Sorry, I didn't wanna scare you!"

Marinette's trepidation turned to confusion in an instant, especially as the boy continued pulling her and his other hand went to her side to help her out. She looked downwards and noticed that his leg was up on the stone, like he'd hurried up onto it after she'd fallen in. The faint laughter of other kids off in the distance didn't even register with her, too taken by the boy who looked anything but amused by her fall.

"You looked like you were havin' fun drawing," he explained once she was safe and standing back on the ground, "so I waited for you to stop, but..."

She imagined that, and it made a little bit of sense to her; she probably would've been more surprised if he started talking while she was still drawing him. Maybe she would've jumped the entire fountain in surprise then?

"Um, here—" the boy fretted, hurriedly removing his jacket. He tried using it to dry her and Marinette found it oddly charming.

Noting that she hadn't spoken the whole time he'd been talking, she said, "I-it's okay. You didn't mean it." When he continued trying to dry her anyway, she reached for the jacket to still his hands, adding, "My house is really close, and this isn't that bad."

He frowned at her, not looking convinced. She smiled to get her point across, taking the offered jacket to fiddle with and dry her skin.

"T-thank you," she said sweetly. Then, remembering his comment before she'd ungracefully fallen into the water, she asked, "You really like my drawing?"

He blinked, looking surprised that she'd brought the conversation back around, but nodded. "Mhm. I did." He glanced at the paper, which had droplets of water on it from her earlier splash. "Is that me?"

She thought it was cute that he didn't assume it was him despite it being obvious. Still, feeling shy, she hugged the jacket to her chest. "Y-yeah. Sorry if it's not okay."

He shook his head. "I like it. I mean it." Though, he paused, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. "What made you draw me?"

Marinette blushed. She'd already embarrassed herself in front of him, though she couldn't tell whether that was a good thing because it meant that there was no reason to worry about it now, or a bad thing because she was just stacking more embarrassment on top of herself. Settling somewhere in the middle, she admitted, "I like to draw my dreams. You looked fun and in'testing, so I wanted to be friends?"

He breathed up, his soft eyes opening wide. "I'll be your friend?"

"Huh?" she squeaked out, squeezing his jacket in her hands. "N-no, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"'Cause—'cause I'm not cool!" she explained like it was obvious. "T-there's a girl. She told me that I'm not cool 'cause I don't have friends, so I can't be friends with you 'cause I'm not cool!"

His brows furrowed in concern, then confusion. "Uh, but then I'm not cool, 'cause I don't have friends too, so then we're the same."

"Whaa?" That baffled her. "But you are cool!" She gestured at him with a hand for emphasis. "You dress cool and have cool hair!"

"You make cool drawings," he argued, hands on his hips.

Marinette paused, mind whirling. Perhaps it was a belated realization, but maybe what that girl had told her was a trap to trick her. Well, she wasn't going to be tricked!

"Then—then I guess we're friends!" she decided, but hesitated after a moment. "I mean, if that's not bad?"

"Why would it be bad?"

"It's a lot of work!" She waved an arm wildly, then pointed at him. "I never had one, but I watch them on TV! They have to meet a lot and play together, then they hug and have a lot of sleepovers! It's super duper serious!"

She also saw two boys who kissed once and her grandfather called them very good friends, but maybe that was only older friends, so it wasn't a worry yet.

"That..." The boy pouted. "But I like how that sounds?"

"Hu—Really?"

He nodded insistently.

"Oh." She shuddered at the realization; did she truly just make a friend? "Oh! But I didn't say hello even though you're my friend, and you don't know my name!" She held her hand out, waggling her fingers encouragingly. "Hello, I'm Marinette!"

He grinned, reaching his hand out too to shake hers. "I didn't either. Hi, I'm Luka."

Luka! She could finally put a name to her new friend!

She giggled excitedly, putting his jacket down on the stone and grabbing up one of her drawings to show him: it was her as a fairy in a pink dress. "Since we're friends now, I'll make you an even better jacket when I grow up, 'cause I'm gonna become the knitting fairy!" She wiggled her hips, still feeling the water from the fountain in her clothes. "And then I'll make water proved clothes so it won't be bad if you accident'ly scare me again!"

Luka took the picture in hand, listening intently in some sort of awe. "I bet you could." Though, he paused, considering her words. "I don't know what I wanna be yet. Everyone thinks I'm gonna be a rock star like my dad."

"That's okay!" She pumped her fist up proudly, puffing out her chest. "I'm your friend now, so what I say means more than everyone else, and I say it's okay so it's okay!"

He giggled, which only further excited her. A friend of hers should have a cute giggle and he did.

"Thanks," he said with an equally cute smile.

Marinette beamed at him, then turned to pick up her things when something registered with her. While holding Luka's jacket, it was difficult to hold her drawings and crayons as well. Luka apparently noticed as well, walking over to offer to help carry them.

"I got it!" she insisted, feeling it rude to make her new friend help out. Thinking fast for a solution, she stared at the jacket and turned it around in her hands. It was a little damp from drying her but she was already wet anyway, so she opened and slipped on his jacket. With that, she was able to easily pick up her things and turn to Luka.

"Now I can show you to my parents!" she exclaimed. Then, remembering that permission between friends was important, she added, "Can I?"

"Mhm~"

And then they were walking back to the bakery together. It was only on the way where Marinette remembered something important, turning to look at him while they walked to point out, "Oh, I forgot! Since we're friends, we have to trust each other too, and make sure we don't forget our birthday! And talk to each other when we feel sad!"

She'd said it as another warning, but he tilted his head at her as if he didn't get it. "But I'd still like that?"

At that, she understood the true appeal of having a friend, and silently hoped her parents would be proud of her for finding such a great one.

[fizzyxcustard]

Betrayal

Masterlist of all fanfiction

Masterlist of Betrayal

AO3 link to all my fan fictions

Fandom: Crossover of Spooks and Pilgrimage (Modern AU)

Pairings: Lucas North x OC/Raymond de Merville x OC

Warnings: Love triangle. Angst. Language. Smut. Cheating.

Summary: Amy Holland is Lucas North’s girlfriend of six months. Amy is aware of his job as an MI-5 agent and supports him. However, Lucas’ cousin, Raymond de Merville, has always loved Amy and uses their one night stand together as leverage for something more.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

I'm reposting this because for some reason the chapter 1 link has stopped working - I think I may have accidentally deleted chapter 1 at some point. So I'm re-posting and updating onto my masterlist. I won't tag anyone.

Raymond watched Lucas and Amy from across the room. They were happy, content. But all he could see was something he wanted. He wanted to be Lucas; holding Amy tight, having her look at him with such devotion in her eyes.

Amy’s gaze drifted from Lucas as he pulled himself away from her and got up to get more drinks from the kitchen. She nervously looked across at Raymond, noticing that his eyes were on her. Those eyes were so much like Lucas’, only angrier.

“If you don’t tell him then I will,” Raymond snarled.

“About what?” Amy asked, being taken off guard by Raymond’s fierce tone.

“Us.”

“What do you mean ‘us’? There is no 'us’, Raymond. There never was. It was a stupid mistake,” Amy hissed, her eyes darting towards the door to make sure that Lucas was definitely out of earshot.

“You tease me when you’re together,” Raymond replied. He slipped closer to her, pushing himself to the edge of the armchair. “I see you look at me, wanting to have an audience.”

“Fuck off!” Amy growled. “This is in your head. If it bothers you that much then you don’t have to come round as often as you do.”

“I see you blush when I walk past you,” Raymond purred. He got up and leaned down towards Amy’s ear. “I can almost hear you groan like you did when I fucked you. You break it off with him, or I’ll tell him every minute detail of what we did. That was definitely my name you moaned in my ear, not his. You want me.”

Amy shivered, and shifted away.

Lucas came back into the room and put the open bottles of lager and cider on the coffee table. He sat back down beside Amy, curling his arm around her shoulder.

Raymond’s eyes grew dark and Amy watched his jaw clench. The frustration was building, and Amy was sure that he would blow any second. It never took much to cause a volatile Raymond de Merville to explode.

Half hour later, Amy told Lucas that she had a headache and wanted to leave. “Give me a second and I’ll grab my coat and walk you home,” Lucas said, getting to his feet.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll walk her back,” Raymond offered.

“No, it’s alright. Lucas can take me,” Amy demanded.

“You live closer to me. It’s not fair making him go out when you’re on the way back to mine,” Raymond grinned.

“Thanks, mate,” Lucas replied. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Raymond’s eyes sparkled in wicked delight as he escorted Amy out of Lucas’ flat. Just as the door closed behind them and Amy had given her boyfriend their usual goodnight kiss, Raymond placed his hand on the small of her back.

Immediately Amy recoiled. “Don’t touch me, Raymond,” she grimaced. “You’re fucking enjoying this too much. Why would you want to do this to your cousin? Lucas is a good man.”

Raymond chuckled as they walked. “Come on, you haven’t exactly been an angel, have you? Only a month into your relationship with him, and you were shagging me.”

“It was once!”

“I didn’t tie your hands behind your back and force you to do it. Although I can imagine that would have been quite fun.”

“You’re absolutely disgusting.”

Amy and Raymond walked the dark London street, passing shops that were just beginning to close. There was still plenty of traffic around, mainly taxis escorting inebriated customers back home after a night of alcohol consumption.

“Please, Raymond. Don’t tell Lucas. I love him,” Amy begged. She looked at Raymond, seeing so much of Lucas in his face, considering they were only cousins. Was that why she had slept with him? She wanted to taste that man who seemed to be a physical representation of a darker Lucas North.

Raymond stopped suddenly and looked at her. “I have to see that bastard live the life I want whenever he’s with you.” His words were cold, full of venom.

“Raymond…” Amy began. “Don’t. You’re pinning everything on me…”

“I fucking love you, Amy.”

Amy felt those shivers race up her spine again and she closed her eyes, allowing one tear to drip down her cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You can’t stop that,” Raymond said. “That pain is my own doing.”

The two of them stopped under a streetlamp, illuminated. There was no one else around as they looked at each other, their bodies shifting closer like magnets. Raymond leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, his stubble tickling her.

“Please, don’t…” she whispered.

“Break up with him, or I tell him everything that happened between us.”

Amy knew he was serious. His eyes were hard with resolve, icy. “And what have you got to offer that’s better than what Lucas has? I’m assuming that you want to take over from where he left off if I break up with him.”

“I wouldn’t keep putting my job before you. His dedication to duty is admirable, but you should come first. I imagine you get lonely at night. I’d make sure you were looked after…and, of course, completely satisfied. I know you enjoyed that night. I felt you shake. How often does he make you come like that?”

Amy looked away, feeling those waves of arousal wash over her again. It was all building, exactly like it had done when she gave in to her primal need and let him have her. Truth be told, Amy had never orgasmed as hard as she did when with Raymond. It literally took her breath away, rendering her speechless for a few seconds afterwards. Her whole body had become weak in the quake, her nerve endings in shreds. Her body was left warm, filled with those wonderful endorphins.

Raymond also recollected that night. Something had snapped in Amy, an inhibition that had always been in place when with Lucas. Not that he was at their window when they made love. But Raymond could sense it. Amy had reacted so naturally to Raymond’s roughness, welcoming it. Ever since she had left his flat that night, he had yearned for more of her. Taking her, with him behind, her bent over the sofa, hard and fierce, had not been enough. Taking her, positioned against the wall, him pounding in with sharp, angled thrusts, was not enough. Then taking her again, this time with her on top, her hips bobbing back and forth so rhythmically and him fondling her breasts, was not enough. The blow job she had later given him, with him holding her head in place, had not been enough.

Once at Amy’s flat and she let the floodgates open. She asked him in, knowing full well what his answer would be. Now that the floodgates were open, would she be able to close them again?

[allisonslover]

chapter two: the dead parent club!

word count: 2.5k

content warnings: language, slight references to nightmares and a car crash but nothing too graphic

It was late in the night, an alarmed Max after bursting into his cousin's room to see if they had both heard the ear-splitting noise from outside. They could rule Melissa out as the culprit, the nurse after leaving for a late night shift not too long ago.

That was what led the pair to creep into Jade's room, grimacing as she stirred, the light from the hallway shining into her room. They were most definitely going to have a riot on their hands in the morning, the girl always being moody until she got a coffee in her at the best of times. They were already mentally preparing for the scolding they were about to get for waking her up but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Max and Scott squabbled silently, both backing away from the bed as they fought over who would wake her. Max smiled triumphantly, tilting his head after shoving his cousin ahead of him. If someone was going to be beaten with a pillow, it wasn't going to be him. He had learnt that lesson too many times to make the same mistake.

Jade woke with a jolt, scream muffled by her pillow as she screwed her body in on itself, trying to make a shield to protect her from the splinters of glass that were flying through the car.

"Calm down, it's just me!" Scott whispered gently, flicking on the lamp on her bedside table in hopes of bringing her back to her senses. To be fair, that was their fault; they should have known not to wake her so suddenly, especially when she was suffering from nightmares so frequently.

"Sorry," Max muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously as he flopped onto the bottom of the bed, getting a light kick as he sat on her feet. Yeah, thinking back on it, it wasn’t a great idea.

"What the hell is wrong with you two? What time is it?" she asked groggily, burying her head back into her pillow as her heart rate eventually slowed to a normal place. God, what was it with people sneaking up on her? It seemed to happen too often, making her on edge even when she was asleep. It was like the twins couldn't catch a break recently. Well, they could never really catch a break to begin with, it was just getting worse lately.

"It's only twelve," Scott shrugged nonchalantly as if he was usually up at this time on the first day back to school. He had tried to get to sleep, honestly he had, but the nerves and excitement made him restless, no matter how many meditation podcasts he listened to (and trust him, he had listened to a lot of those, even the ones with white noise, brown noise, pink noise, the whole shebang).

"You better have a good reason for waking me up at this godforsaken hour, or I swear, I’m gonna crack up," she hissed furiously, voice muffled from her face still being delved into the pillow. She refused to move from the warmth and comfort of her bed until she was given an explanation she deemed compulsory, although she could gradually feel the sleep start to slip from her body.

"I think there's someone outside, we heard a bang," Scott rambled, eyes widening for emphasis. If she could hurry up and come with them before an intruder broke in, stabbing them all in the process, it would be a great help. "We want you to come with us."

"Remind me, how does this affect me again?" she queried, recoiling away from the bright flashlight that was being shone directly in her eyes. She was seriously going to kick them down the stairs one of these days. The four walls of her jail cell would finally give her some peace. Hey, she might even be able to get some sleep!

"Because it could be a murderer. And if I died you would miss me so much because I'm your favourite cousin," Scott argued his point, nodding along, giving Max a high-five behind his back when she sat up.

His short speech seemed to have worked, the girl begrudgingly forcing herself to her feet, slipping on a pair of trainers, glaring daggers over her shoulder all the same. The string of curse words she muttered under her breath showed she wasn't happy, yet she was coming with them, which was the main thing. "Scott, you're my only cousin," she sighed, throwing on a flannel shirt over her pyjamas. It was destined to be cold outside; spring in California was never the warmest.

Max shared a short-lived glance with his sister as she passed, discreetly nodding as he followed the pair out onto the landing. He wouldn't have woken her up unless he was genuinely worried that someone was outside.

"That's why you'd miss me the most, right, Max?" Scott slammed the door closed behind him. God, the twins wondered if sometimes he momentarily forgot that he had neighbours. What they were more surprised about was that the McCalls hadn't gotten a noise complaint yet. Hey, there was still plenty of time left for that.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night," he rolled his eyes playfully, cracking his knuckles anxiously. He could already tell that Scott was about to quip back a sarcastic joke, their teasing cut short when another crash sounded from outside— this time a lot closer than the last.

The teenagers' eyes shifted nervously between the three of them, wondering who was going to be the sacrifice if it came down to it. Logically, it would have been Jade, considering she was the slowest when it came to running. Although, if she pushed one of the others back— every man for themselves and all that jazz—, she would probably have a higher chance of getting out alive.

Scott motioned for the others to follow him down the stairs, running a hand down the banister to maintain his balance. Jade shoved her phone into her jacket pocket, after grabbing it off her nightstand. She had seen too many horror movies to leave it behind; that was a rookie mistake that the characters made. What if they got kidnapped and needed to send someone their location? Okay, they would kinda be fucked, considering Melissa was the only other phone number that she had from this stupid town. Although she loved her aunt dearly, god the woman didn't have a clue how to use technology.

"Are you seriously going towards the noise?” Max hissed, mouth agape as he waved his hands about. See, this was a prime example of why he was going to start forcing Scott to watch horror movies. Whenever someone went to investigate, they always died, and that was a fact. In his opinion, he'd much rather hide under the covers and pretend he'd never heard anything until it went away. It seemed like the safer option— the less stupider one, anyway.

Scott shushed his cousin, tightening his hold on the wooden banister. He had to know what— or who— was outside, otherwise he had no chance of getting to sleep tonight. Grabbing the baseball bat that he kept beside his back door, he raised it up as if prepared for battle. He knew it wasn’t a weapon that would do the most damage, but a quick swing to the face or the groin and they’d go down like a sack of potatoes.

Jade held her hand out slightly beside her, ignoring the look that she received from her brother. It was merely an instinct by now, magic being a part of her since she was born. Even though her powers weren't working how she wanted right now, that didn't mean she wasn't going to try to help. Besides, it was only a backup plan, in case they really were being attacked. If all came to all, she could just fire as many spells as she could and hope for the best. It would be hard to explain that away, but it was the best plan she had right now.

The McCall boy and Pierce twins stampeded onto the patio, screaming as something fell from the oak tree that resided just outside of the patio, swinging in front of them. Hanging upside down from the tree was the one and only Stiles Stilinski.

Max and Jade hadn't seen him in roughly a year, the same amount of time they hadn't seen Scott in. After arriving at Beacon Hills, there hadn't been a lot of spare time to visit friends they hadn't seen in a while. There were more important things to do, such as planning a funeral for two thirty-four-year-olds.

Stiles had changed a lot, one of the only noticeable consistency’s being his terrible sense of fashion (which wasn't that big of a shocker.) Since his mom had died, he had kept his hair at a short-ish length because she adored it like that, but now he had a buzzcut, something that took it to a whole new level of commitment.

"What the hell are you doing!" Scott screamed at his best friend, firing the baseball bat to the ground in a temper. Thank the heavens his mom was at work or they would have been grounded before the spring semester had even begun.

"You weren't answering your phone!" Stiles shouted back, voice cracking halfway through his sentence. It took a second for it to register that there were other people with Scott, eyes finding the twins, who were awkwardly standing by the back door. "I completely forgot you were here, sorry!" he was fighting a losing battle by trying to untie himself from the tree, after getting his leg caught in a rope of some kind,. "Jade! Max! Long time no see, how have you been!"

He fell with a painful grunt, landing flat on his back like a starfish. Jade covered her mouth, pressing her lips together in an attempt not to laugh, while Max winced and held his back in pain. Apparently, he had an empath connection with Stiles, which was just his luck, considering the hyperactive boy was a walking ambulance.

Stiles continued to ramble on excitedly, brushing the leaves off his jacket. "I'm fine, totally didn't hurt, not at all. That was a stupid question, sorry, you’re obviously not gonna be fine. Hey, at least you're both members of the dead parent club now!"

They'd forgotten the boy had no filter and was as blunt as a pencil, but they knew he meant no harm. Scott kicked him in the shin, trying to communicate with his eyes that were dangerously dark.

Stiles hissed away from his best friend in pain, confused as to why he had gotten brutally attacked before realisation finally dawned. His hand flew up to cover his mouth, trying to take back what he had just said. It hadn't been done out of spite, he just sometimes started talking and didn't know how to stop the words from spewing out. "Oh my god, I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"It's okay. What are you doing here, anyway? It's really early in the morning," Jade pointed out, laughing lightly in an attempt to diffuse the tension that was strangling her like a blanket. There was a knife that seemed to be reserved for especially slicing through their hearts every time someone brought up Sean and Elizabeth.

"Oh, yeah! We need to go to the woods," Stiles tried to stay on topic for what he had originally drove over for, ignoring the bump in the road as his voice filled with excitement, eyes lighting up with devilment— something they had learnt was never a good sign, as it usually ended with them sitting in the sheriffs station.

"Why?" Max questioned sceptically, not wanting to be dragged into a dark forest the night before school. Their eyes met, a blush dusting both their faces. Jade and Scott both had razor-sharp eyes when it came to romantic gestures, not missing the small movement even in the darkness. They knowingly glanced at each other, taunting smiles tugging at their lips.

When they were younger, Stiles and Max had a thing for each other, and both Jade and Scott knew it. In fact, pretty much everyone knew it. Thinking back on it, she was ninety-nine percent sure she had heard Melissa and Noah betting on the kids love lives. Scott used to always tease Stiles over it— he still did, even to this day. Jade used to tease her brother, until one day he said he'd had a seer vision of her falling into a ditch and he was going to let the monster drown her. It had soon shut her up and kept her quiet from mentioning it again— until now. In her defence, she had only been nine!

"Ditch," Max whispered, lips barely moving as he hissed the singular word to his sister, who merely snickered.

"There's a body in the woods," Stiles averted his eyes from the boy's as he rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet.

"A dead body?" Scott scoffed, confused about what was so special. Stiles’ father was the sheriff— they saw dead bodies all the time. Besides, if he wanted to see a dead body so desperately, he could pay a visit to the hospital morgue.

"No, a body of water. Yes, a dead body!" Stiles spat impatiently, already itching to get going. It was good to see that he hadn't lost his signature personality trait— sarcasm.

"Seriously? Screw this, I'm going back to bed," Jade groaned, head already starting to pulse with pain, a sign that a migraine was surfacing. This was too much thinking, too early in the morning.

"I'm getting to that, hold your horses. They only found half of the body," Stiles paused for dramatic effect, nodding reassuringly when their eyes widened in disbelief. They didn't know what on earth they had been expecting, it most definitely hadn't been that.

Max caved, hands on hips as he rushed forward to the baby blue jeep, Stiles following close behind him. "I'm in. This, I wanna see. Dibs on passenger seat!"

Sighing, Jade ran a hand through her hair, turning to her cousin tiredly. "We better make sure they don't get themselves killed."

"Yup," he chuckled, kicking a stray stone out of his path. "You trying out for the lacrosse team in school?"

During the summer, when the Pierces used to visit the McCalls, Scott and Jade used to love playing lacrosse together. Max, on the other hand, stood on the side, on his iPad or phone and screamed when a ball came within an inch of hitting him.

"I think I might, but I don't have any equipment or a kit," Jade trailed off, the two cousins' steps falling in line as they walked down the pebbly driveway. It was pitch black outside, the street lamps and stars in the sky being the only guiding light. It was surprisingly quiet; considering they were on the main road, there was only a rare car that passed by during the night.

"Coach usually has some spare," Scott waved a hand about, stopping to tie his shoelace that had come undone.

"Is Stiles coming to wake us up to go find dead bodies gonna become a regular thing?" Jade sighed, waiting for him to finish the double knot.

"Probably."

"Of course it is."

[thebahwrites]

For the “an ask game ft niche questions i don’t see very often” I would like your thoughts on my all time favorite: Iceman!!!! I just love him so much

have I said today yet I love you? ❤️❤️❤️here are my objectively correct personal opinions on Iceman no one COME FOR ME

an ask game ft niche questions i don’t see v often (send me a character)

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky (more under the cut so I don't bother anyone)

a song that reminds me of them the REASON it took me so long to answer this one is precisely because I am so picky with songs and it took me FOREVER to get to this one but I finally got the right one: Be Yourself - Audioslave Even when you've paid enough Been pulled apart Or been held up Every single memory of The good or bad, faces of love Don't lose any sleep tonight I'm sure everything will end up alright You may win or lose But to be yourself is all that you can do I actually love this song so much and the entire Out Of Exile album reads Iceman to me in different ways but this one? It's this one.

what they smell like I think it's a common kinda-canon/fanon thing with the coconut scented stuff because it shows up in the movie??? Won't say I don't subscribe to it but I'll add further: I think once my mans gets over smelling axe bodyspray or some random tropical shit because it was the easiest, closest available thing, I'll just say he favors the sweet-scented stuff. Coconut, pineapple, cinnamo, cardamom, orange if we go further but mostly remaining on the sweeter side of the aisle.

an otp Yeah we all know I'm down that IceMav train but I WILL say Iceman/Slider is almost right up there for me. Almost, though. Because I just love Icemav way too much. They're meant to be, your honor. They're rivals, they're insane, they're at each other's throats 36 years down the line and love each other so much. I WILL write about it.

a notp Don't think I've read anything with Ice that physically made me recoil but as per usual: Ice with the younger folks just is a no for me because ~I don't see it~. I've recently been presented with a couple of those possibilities and it wasn't for me!

favorite platonic/familial relationships Ice/Slider (when not a ship) OBVIOUSLY, that's his brother, that's his best buddy aside from Maverick, that's his sweet cheese, that's HIS BOY. Also Ice and Goose!!!! Everyone forgets they went to school together!!! They were friends!!!! And yet again I'll die on the Iceman/Hangman hill that no one want to hear from me but I WILL die on it.

a headcanon that is popular in the fandom but that i disagree with oh boy. There's quite the handful of them but I think the most... like, how do I put it, it's just sort of a fanon consensus thing that Iceman is a full rule-abiding stickler/is somehow detached from things and I just. Disagree. I think Ice to ME reads as truly 'lawful neutral' - he follows codes and abides to things such as honor and respect but by HIS OWN STANDARDS. He also happens to have goals (i.e. rank climbing, etc) and knows what he needs to do to get there, so of course he's 'ice cold, no mistakes' when it comes to flying, because it makes him good. And he needles Maverick about being dangerous and leaving people behind but doesn't actually calls him out on his rule-following issues, he calls him out on behavior. I think people confuse those. So much so that in TGM Cyclone says Maverick wasn't even originally CONSIDERED for the list of whoever would teach the squad but Ice dragged him there because they needed someone who could: think outside the box & believe themselves able to pull off impossible features. No one, not even Ice, who flies within a strict ruleset could do it and that to me is the greatest strength between Iceman and Maverick. You've got Ice as a guy who allows himself to be limited by rules and regulations in a way because he has a goal and you got a guy who doesn't have the same goal so those same rules would limit him. And yes I rambled I THINK ABOUT THIS A LOT OKAY.

the position they sleep in On his stomach, a little curved, either hugging a pillow or someone. I will not elaborate. <3

a crossover au i’d love to see them in bro, SO MANY and I think I've cited them all already but I'll say it again: PACIFIC RIM. A PACIFIC RIM THING WITH THE '86 FOLKS, on my desk, RIGHT NOW. Though maybe some kind of western too because young Val as a cowboy has me-[GUNSHOT]

my favorite outfit they’ve ever worn Ngl, the beach getup is slutty enough. But also he looked so damn good in the dress whites so, take ya pick.

[autumnalwalker]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sam-glade.

My words to find are sun, people, stone, fly.

Passing the tag to @void-botanist, @skyderman, @avocado-frog, @oh-no-another-idea, and the usual open tag.

Your words shall be moon, alone, shout, & sway.

Sun: Empty Names Side Story - There Are No Dogs At The Dog Park

“Well, I know that sometimes you can see the moon during the daytime and I didn’t know if that would…” Sarah trails off in a mixture of nerves and embarrassment, “do things to me?”

Eris nods, understanding.  “Yeah, I get that.  But nah, from what I’m told as long as the sun’s up the most the moon’s gonna do to ya is make you a bit restless.  Maybe amp up your hearing and smell a little bit while making colors weird if you’re real sensitive to it.”

“From what you hear?” Sarah starts at the realization.  “You mean you’re not… not a…”

“Werewolf?” Eris finishes her question with a grin.  “You’re allowed to say it, you know.  But nah, I just show up once a month to provide a pair of opposable thumbs while you all have fun running around under the moon.  My job’s mostly to drive you all out to the middle of the Sanctuary just before sundown, help steer anyone that wanders off away from the fences, and pick you all up in the morning with a change of clothes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.  I just -” Sarah cuts herself off, realizing there’s no good way to end that sentence.

To her relief, Eris just laughs.  “It’s fine.  You’re not the first to make that mistake and I doubt you’ll be the last.  And honestly, it’s far from the worst thing I’ve been called.” 

People: The Archivist's Journal, Day 240

In Maiko’s case, this was the most excited I’d ever seen her.  As she was guiding us along, pointing out the past few day’s observations she was actually grinning, smirking even at times with the anticipation of revealing a great surprise.  And as I put the pieces together she even joined me in a rapid back and forth of what all this could mean.

She took it as proof that there really had been other people living here once besides the Village we all knew.  Possibly her people.  She was finally, finally on the right track.  Now she just needed to figure out where they went from here.  

She really might not be alone.

It was the look on Lin’s and Cass’s faces behind her that made me trail off mid-sentence from talk of planning future return visits and further searching for former inhabitants or, more likely, their descendants.

None of us voiced it, but once I stopped and took a few seconds to think about it, it was obvious.  The unspoken question that cast a shadow over our walk back to Iole’s hut and the evening’s dinner.  The implication that Maiko seemed oblivious to in her renewed hope.

The Village has been around forever and seems to be eternal.  But there was once another Village, and now there isn’t.

Could the same thing, whatever it was, happen again, this time to ours?

Stone: Empty Names - 3 - Dance Partners

The girl did not think about what she was doing when she called out.  Not the first time to get the couple’s attention, and not the second time to warn them of the unnatural thing coming from the water.  Nor did the ramifications on her own safety cross her mind when she picked up a stone and threw it at the creature that was coming faster now toward the couple who was too busy screaming to run.

Such thoughts came after the stone collided with the creature’s head, causing it to recoil momentarily before turning to set its sights on her.  The moment between realizing what she’d just brought upon herself and turning to flee was the first time the girl ever swore aloud.

Fly: The Archivist's Journal, Day 262

It felt good.  There’s something mundanely magical about how gravity slackens its grip on you in the water.  Well, of course that’s not what’s actually happening, but buoyancy can make it feel that way.  The closest one can typically get to flying.  And even when you’re not truly swimming, but just standing in water up to your chest or shoulders it’s easy to imagine that you’ve temporarily gained a heretofore unpossessed grace and poise, now able to balance on a single toe as you strike poses you’d be unable to hold on dry ground.  “Jumping” and delaying your “landing” simply by pulling your legs up under you.  Even the resistance of water to your movements can contribute to the feeling if you work with it instead of against it.  Make your movements even and deliberate and the enforced slowness takes on a quality between performative and meditative.

On the other hand, trying all that in the ocean with waves instead of a still body like a pool or lake rather detracts from the mystique.  Hard to be graceful when every few seconds you get pushed about and dunked with salt water.  Still, I made a sort of game of it, searching for a rhythm by which to move my body and adjust my stance to sway with the waves.  I wasn’t particularly successful and I’m sure to any outside observer I would have looked ridiculous, but I enjoyed getting lost in the moment.  That joyful focus on and union with my own body that let me forget the sorrows of the mind for a time.

[axvwriter]

Here's two characters I've made to be just Twisted Wonderland fan characters. Lance is basically a background character of whom I made just to supply MC with clothes. Paulie is a troublemaker who is a bit unaware of how powerful his magic is. Based him off Peter Pan, though perhaps too much... but he's another excuse character, instead of giving clothes, he causes silly odd things to happen.

Such as, gifting MC a cursed swimsuit that transforms them into a mermaid. Since he thinks it's an easy curse to figure out and break, he doesn't even give a hint on how to deal with it.

I don't mind if anyone else wants to use these scenario-excuse characters, but please tag me. I would like to see what's done with them.

Image Text and some extra details about them under the cut/keep reading.

Lance Potsnuis, twist of a loom if there was to be one in Beauty and the Beast. (I figure I should give him a last name, but I just kinda threw one together. So I'm willing to change it if anyone has any better ideas.)

Dorm: Pomefiore

Grade: Sophomore

Age: 17

Height: 167 cm (6'5")

Dominant Hand: both/ambidextrous

Club: Film Research Club (Has no interest in acting himself, he just likes making the costumes.)

Hobbies: Weaving (He likes trying to make different types of fabrics that could then potentially be used to make clothes.)

Pet Peeves: indecisiveness

Talent: speed sewing

Unique Magic: Quick, Fix It!

His unique magic lets him make fast edits to clothes, including changing the colors. How much blot that occurs is based on how many changes and the level of difficulty of making such changes. Thus he prefers to use it for small, quick changes and if the color of the shade isn't right.

Always been a "workaholic". He quite enjoys working with clothes and making them, so it seems like it barely ever takes a break. His magestone seems to always have quite a bit of blot.

Lance has deuteranomaly red-green color blindness (which makes green look more red). Has ended up being quite good friends with his roommate as he relies on him to help fix any mistakes he makes in regards to his color blindness.

Part of a family of fashion designers.

Embarrassed by his own short and stocky body, but has resigned to the idea of being unable to change that.

Always willing to help out with outfits, as long as one knows what they want. He may have to postpone depending on the stat of blot on his magestone. Uses his unique magic more often then he should and more often then he means to.

A bit careless with his wealth, often giving away outfits that he's made.

For any MCs that like wearing dresses and skirts, they may find themselves drowning in clothes gifted from Lance. Being in an all boys school has made it so it's a bit rare for him to work on dresses and the like. Always making pants gets boring, so he'll gladly accept any excuse to make anything he doesn't usually get to do. Lance has no need to keep these clothes for himself, so he usually gives his models the clothes he's made. It's already made to their size anyway.

He's a bit more lax about appearances compared to most of Pomefiore. That doesn't mean he will slouch though. He just won't recoil in disgust if someone accidentally drinks the hand-washing water. Lance could potentially be a friend of Epel's, but I don't think they'd be very close. Lance refuses to help Epel hide from Rook as he doesn't want to get on his housewarden and vice housewarden's bad side. Though if Epel needs a breather, he's welcome to join him for a run to the store.

Now for Paulie

Paulie is the twist version of Peter Pan. Paulie may just be a nickname, who knows his real name? (I don't have enough examples for me to really think of good fae names and I wanted to call him Paulie.)

School: RSA

Grade: Freshman

Age: ???

Height: 174 cm (5'8")

Dominant Hand: left (This is simply so I can make a reference to the Princess Bride.)

Club: Fencing (Regarding that reference, he fences with his right hand. Plus I figure this is close to sword fighting which is what Peter Pan does with Captain Hook.)

Hobbies: Pranking

Pet Peeves: stifling maturity

Unique Magic: Never Growing Up!

His unique magic turns a person into a child. During this period, said affected person's memory is reverted back to that time. Age and how long it lasts depends on how much magic he uses when casting. After his unique magic wears off, person will regain their memory along with retaining memory of their time of being turned into a kid. Age that they revert to ranges from five to ten years old. Time of how long it lasts ranges from half a day to three days.

This idiot nearly overblots every time he casts his unique magic and takes an entire day for his magestone to recover. I figure such a spell would be quite powerful and assuming students aren't allowed or can't just grab a new magestone, he ends up skipping any classes he has left for the day. Doesn't matter if it's a class that doesn't require him using magic, it's time to goof about.

One of RSA's very few troublemakers.

Known to not take things seriously and to be very childish.

Due to being a fae, he doesn't realize his pranks can be hard to dispel.

Best friend is a craft fairy named Thimblina. (Yes this is basically Tinker Bell.)

I figure he grew up on a seashore where he gets to interact with several merpeople. I also think it would be a bit funny if he was a bit of a foil to Malleus when it comes to invitations. People tend to generally forget or are too fearful to invite Malleus to things. It doesn't help that Malleus doesn't seem too great with time. For Paulie, he's not very observant of time either, but people purposefully don't invite him to things. Since he's known to cause trouble, RSA could find it better to make sure Paulie doesn't know when things are happening. You would think he might suspect something when most students are walking around in robes, but he's not paying attention. The campus is unusually empty? Everyone must be in classes.

He tends to direct most of his pranks onto NRC as he views the students there to be hostile and needing to lighten up. He's unaware of when he goes to far with some pranks. He probably respects Malleus, but will totally cast his unique magic on Malleus if he thinks the prince is being a stick in the mud and needs to escape all the pressures of being royalty. This does mean he has to walk back to RSA though.

Oh, he tends to cast his unique magic on those he feels have forgotten what it's like to be a kid and on those that he thinks could use a break from all this adult responsibility. Has probably also tried to form a group of freshmen to follow him about, even has the idea to call them the Lost Boys, but I don't think he caught anyone's interest in that.

I didn't list all of the things that are listed on the games student records like favourite foods as I don't feel it's necessary to give them that much detail. At least, not right now as I don't know if I'll grow a bond to them or not. So far to me, they're characters I can only use for this game.