#The link leads to a copy of the slide for you to view!

[johnnyshrine]

★ 039 // “Google Slide”

[blood-and-wine-ao3]

Chapter 7 link!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48321235/chapters/134798377

chapter text below vv

Tommy was standing on a narrow cliff edge, snow fresh fallen, taking in the view of the mountain pass around him. The air was crisp and clean, and the snow was a blank slate of pure white.

A screech of tires, Tommy turned, Tubbo was driving straight at him, he was powerless to-

BANG.

Blinding white, scrabbling for a hold, yanking out a rock, falling, down, endless white, so bright it hurt-

Tommy didn't hit the ground.

He landed on top of Wilbur, wings stretched out, motionless. Why wasn't he moving?

He tried to talk but his voice was failing him. He shook Wilbur. Nothing. He shook Wilbur. Nothing. He shook Wilbur. Nothing. He shook-

The earth rumbled deafeningly loud like the Gods were angry like the sky was crashing down the snow started to crumble Wilbur where was Wilbur the snow was sliding around them Tommy was ripped away Wilbur he needed to find Wilbur he saw a wing in the snow he tried to get to Wilbur but the snow dragged him down down down red crimson Wilbur falling falling together falling away Wilbur-

Tommy bolted upright, breathing hard, eyes darting around but not seeing. Where was he?

"Tom?"

He flinched, somewhat surprised when he felt water drip from his chin to his arm.

"Tom, it's okay. You're with me, you're with Tubbo, at my flat, remember?" A voice behind him. Sleepy and deep, but safe.

"I- it- Tubs-"

"I know, I know. But you're safe. You're with me. Whatever happens won't touch you until you leave this flat."

"Tubbo- I- he-"

Arms wrapped around him wordlessly, anchoring him to the present and the conscious. He shifted in Tubbo's arms, sitting down again, grabbing him and holding him for dear life. Tears kept stinging at his eyes, streaking down his face, forming damp dots on Tubbo's shirt.

"Can you breathe with me? Would that be useful?" Tubbo asked. Tommy silently nodded, breathing jagged and shallow. Tubbo exaggerated his breathing for Tommy to copy, and he did, the best he could.

Tubbo's hand wound into Tommy's hair, breathing deep and steady, and Tommy tried to copy and stay level.

"You're doing so well, Tom. I've got you. You're safe."

They gently rocked back and forth, and after some time Tommy steadied, the tears stopped flowing, and his back stopped shaking.

"We can talk about it when you're ready, if you like." Tommy shook his head. "Okay, not now. Does a blanket and some hot chocolate sound okay?"

Tommy nodded, taking Tubbo's hand as he stood up.

"You want to come with me?" Tommy nodded. "Okay, Tom."

They walked to the kitchen, Tubbo setting down two mugs, spooning the hot chocolate powder into them, flipping the switch on the kettle. While they waited, Tubbo gently lead Tommy to the door of the master bedroom, the shorter dipping into the bedroom quickly and grabbing another blanket from the foot of the bed. Within the bedroom, dipping out again and handing it to Tommy.

Tommy made a confused face, gesturing to the sofa, where a blanket already sat.

"This one's fluffy. And thinner, so we won't sweat buckets." Tubbo explained, tossing the new blanket to the sofa with the old one. They walked back into the kitchen, and the kettle clicked. Tubbo poured the scalding water into the mugs, stirring the steaming drinks with tired, routine ease.

"Tom, can you grab the milk?"

A few footsteps thudded across the kitchen before the fridge opened, something tink-ed in the fridge, footsteps again, and then the milk was placed on the counter. With a can of whipped cream.

Tubbo rolled his eyes, pouring the milk into the hot chocolates and squirting a swirl of whipped cream into one mug.

Tubbo put the milk and the whipped cream back into the fridge, shutting it with its signature thunk.

Drinks in hand and blankets over them, they curled up on the sofa again, this time on opposite ends as they sipped.

"Tubbo?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you about it?"

"Of course you can."

She saunters across the casino floor, approaching the employees-only door, and is stopped by a rough-looking guard.

"Come now, don't make this hard. I work here, y'know? Orders from the boss."

"Oh?"

"Yes, won't you let me through? I have important work to do."

"A false alarm, ma'am. Do no harm."

"Thank you, sir. I'll put in a good word for sure."

On she walked, honey in her voice as she talked, security helpless to stop her plan.

Until she came to the office of the head man.

"How did you get in here?" He barked, oily businessman voice full of snark.

"I have charms," she said, shrugging her bandaged arms.

"I demand you leave, take your charms out too."

"Please, sir, may I come in? I have a proposition for you."

"I'm so sorry, Tom." Tubbo hugged the sobbing human closely, gently rubbing his back. "You shouldn't have had to go through that."

"If not me, then who? He'll never hear Clem. Nobody else knew. You and Ran found out like 10 minutes before. It had to be me."

"You still deserve an apology."

"For letting my brother die?"

"For having to patch his wounds in the first place. That should never have happened to him. You may have been the only one able to deal with it, but that doesn't make it okay that it happened at all."

Tommy silently sobbed, shoulders shaking, breaths heaving and arms wrapped around himself helplessly. He dropped his face into his knees, trying to keep his gasps for air quiet. Tubbo knew that at this point it was useless to try and calm him, instead the best option was to comfort Tommy through it until he calmed on his own.

And so he did. A scarred hand wound into blonde curls, an arm wrapped around his shaking body, and they sat like that for minutes or years until Tommy's breathing evened out and he stopped shaking.

"Tom?"

Tubbo shifted a bit to be more comfortable, resting his head on top of Tommy's as he let sleep claim him.

•••

Tommy woke up with a sore back from how he'd slept, blinking open eyes crusted with sob-salt for the second day in a row. He moved the blanket off of him and rubbed a sore spot on his forehead, noting the ridged pattern of the imprint. Tubbo must have fallen asleep on him.

"Tubbo?"

"In the kitchen!"

"What time's it?"

"8:30,"

"Fuck! Tubbo I have an appointment at 9:30-"

"You sure you want to go to work today?"

"I'll be fine."

"Alright, freshen up and I'll grab you breakfast. Want me to call Ran?"

"Maybe. Give me a minute."

Tommy swung his legs to the floor, attempting to jump up, and then immediately falling back.

"You got any other appointments today?" Tubbo asked, walking in with two hot mugs of coffee and handing Tom's to him. He took a gulp of it before standing up again.

"One, half 3."

"Full offence, you look rough, bossman. You sure you're gonna be okay with the questions?"

"I'll be fine, Tubbo." The blonde affirmed, more confidently this time, walking across the living room to the bathroom door. "D'you remember where you put the concealer from Draggoween?"

"Tall cupboard, your stuff's on the third shelf, left side." Tubbo said, a look of confusion on his face, following Tommy as he went into the room and opened the cupboard. "You wear makeup?"

"Not really, but if I can hide my eyebags then I'll be fine, and I remember how, so." He produced a bright yellow, sequined makeup bag from the cupboard. "Swore mine was red-"

"Tom that's-"

He opened the bag and was only mildly surprised when he found red contacts and concealer that was a few shades too dark.

"-Wilbur's..."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Tommy put the makeup bag back, shoving it a bit too hard towards the back of the cupboard, before grabbing the red one.

"...Confused my lefts and rights again."

He grabbed his actual concealer, placing it and his makeup sponge on the sink, turning the tap on as Tubbo walked to the kitchen. Tommy splashed his face, rubbing the water around his eyes and wiping his face dry with a cloth.

He dabbed a few small dots of concealer under his eyes, and blended it out with the sponge before looking himself over. It wasn't the best, but it would do, and he blinked back tears as he put his yellow makeup bag back and it hit Wilbur's.

He went out into the living room, trying to straighten his clothes and drink the rest of his coffee. Tubbo walked into the room with two plates, two rounds of toast each - one plate buttered, the other smothered in blackcurrant jam. He set them down on the coffee table, before walking into the bedroom.

"Hey, where's Ran?" Tommy called.

"He had a 7-7 shift today."

"Oh. Do you have work?"

"I work on different time, I get paid a half day for an hour and a full day for 4. Plus we're still sitting on that court money, so. I don't really need to work that often, really." Tubbo returned with a blue plush shark in his arms, and placed it on the sofa before sitting down next to Tommy.

"Glasmorgi? Really?" Tommy grinned, grabbing the shark and hugging it with one arm, picking up a slice of toast with the other and crunching into it, ripping a bite off.

"It's your turn with him," Tubbo shrugged. "Thought he might help you out, too."

"Alright. Can I borrow the tote over there?"

"Sure,"

Tommy stood up, walking towards the stand by the shoe rack by the door, and slipping the shark into the bag before flumping into the sofa again and continuing to eat his toast.

•••

Footsteps pounded outside, a flash of red, the door to the parlor went, and in burst a very breathless Tommy. Crossing the parlor still running, he stopped at Fundy's office door, knocking three times.

"Tom, come in,"

Tommy opened the door, clutching his side and wheezing.

"Exdee, did you fucking run here or something?"

A wordless nod as Fundy squinted at his computer.

"Appointment's in 15 minutes."

".....Thanks," Tommy gasped, adjusting the tote bag on his shoulder.

"Why are you so pressed? It's literally your dad?"

He cringed, straightening up a bit.

"Oh my gods, are you pregnant?" Fundy joked, a wide grin on his fox-like face.

"No, no, it's just- news, and I wish this had all happened a couple days later so I could rant to him and he could tell me how to fix all of this and I should probably set up now anyway thanks Fundy," the blonde rushed out and to his chair, dumping the tote at his station.

"Oh my god, is that Glasmorgi I see?" Aimsey called from their chair, walking over. "How've you been, Tom? You left in a bit of a rush."

"I'm fine," Tommy said, continuing to set up his station. "Let's just say I have history with that hire."

"He left not long after you did, actually. Seemed like a nice enough guy-" Aimsey's brown eyes seemed to change as something clicked in their head. "If you don't like him I don't."

"It's not that, just- be careful what you say around him, okay?"

"Okay." Their brow furrowed, but straightened out again as they smoothed a placid smile onto their face. "What was the rush, anyway?"

"It's the annual ink-your-dad-at-work-day," Tommy explained.

"Ohhhh, Phil! Thought it was around that time of year." they smiled.

"Yeah! Also just need advice, y'know?"

"I get that. What do you think he's gonna get this year?"

"Maybe something for Mum, he already has the crow and rose, but he also has things for me, Wil, and Tech, so it makes sense to go back to the first."

"Maybe." The door went, and Aimsey spun around to see the person entering. "Oh, that's my appointment. Hello, Miss Mercer was it?"

Aimsey went back over to their chair, welcoming their client with the typical "Welcome to Lost Fox Ink, I'm your artist today, my name's Aimsey and my pronouns are they/them, what about you" introduction.

Having finished setting up his station, Tommy took the shark out of his bag and squeezed it to him, shrinking into the corner of his area. He sat there for he didn't know how long, but the door went again and he hastily stood up, shoving Glasmorgi back into the tote.

At the door of the parlor stood a man with long, braided blonde hair, kind blue eyes, giant grey wings, green priest's robes, and the most obnoxious hat on the planet.

"Finally, you're on time for one of th-" Phil was cut short with an "ouf" as a mass of Tommy hit him square in the chest and wrapped around. "Mate, is everything alright? You normally wait until we're done for the rib crusher." he joked, returning the hug.

"I- just- the past week has been hell. I'll explain when we're done, okay? But for now, what do you want inked?"

"I was thinking I'd get another one for you and Wil," he suggested, not missing the way Tommy tensed.

"Okay. I can- yeah. I can do that." Tommy let go of Phil, leading him to the chair. "What in specific?"

"Maybe a guitar, an acoustic, but the strings are all a bit fucked because there's a raccoon sleeping in it."

"Sounds good, where abouts?"

"Maybe my back? I've already got the crow and rose, but I was thinking more under my wing than central."

"S'gonna hurt to hold your wing like that for that long, depending on how realistic you want it."

"How you do your raccoons normally. And plus, I don't mind. If it gets too bad I'll ask for a break, and who are you to deny your old dad a break?" he grinned.

"I'm not allowed to deny anyone a break, Dad, I'd lose my job." Tommy rolled his eyes. He listened to the parlor for a minute to check there wasn't a tattoo gun going in Aimsey's stall. "Aims, d'you have any idea where the tablet is?"

"Bill's station, I think!" Aimsey replied, before returning to chattering with their client.

Tommy walked into Bill's empty station to find, sure enough, the drawing tablet, with its digital pencil clipped to the side of the case. He grabbed it and booted it up, walking back to his station where Phil sat on the chair.

"Tom, I know you said for me to wait until after the tattoo, but something seems to be seriously bothering you." The avian shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "We can always reschedule for a better time-"

"No, I...." Tommy trailed off, placing the tablet on his station.

A million thoughts raced through his head.

What if Phil reported them? What if he got scared? What if he disowned them? What if he-

"One second." Tommy stammered, walking across the parlor to Fundy's office.

"Come in,"

"Fundy, you know that family emergency I told you about? I kinda really need to tell Dad about it, and I can't do that here, so is it alright if we come back later?"

"Of course, I'll have to go work the chairs for a bit but if it makes it easier for you,"

"Thank you so much, you're the best fuckin boss on the planet."

Tommy rushed back to Phil, who by now had worry written into every crevice of his face. The tattooist drew a shaky breath, biting down his panic.

"It would be better if I just showed you." Phil tensed at this. "Walk with me, Dad."

[moss-sauce]

    HEY i really like northstars and, by default, this includes viper’s gal. so i wrote about him and her. this is pure angst :)

AO3 link

The Draconis collides with the ground in no gentle manner.

Metal screeches as it is rendered and wrenched out of position, bent in impossible ways. The sound of glass breaking. The hull collapses, letting out a groan as boulders and trees rip into it like paper. 

Viper does his best to hold on.

Holding on is hard to do with one arm and a damaged torso.

Finally, the Draconis rumbles to a stop. He’s thrown forward as inertia carries him, sliding off the ship’s top and landing hard and ungraciously onto the disturbed dirt below.

It takes him a moment to regain his senses. His feed is overwhelmed-- errors reporting his missing limb; multiple bullet wounds in his torso, shredding the delicate mechanics inside; severe trauma to his head. He tries to move, but his body refuses, at first. 

Viper is not going to lay here and die.

With renewed strength, he drags himself away from the fiery wreckage with his remaining arm. His legs, at least, seem to be intact, and he uses them to push himself forward as best he can. Once he deems himself safe a fair distance away from the downed ship, he rests.

The remnants of the Draconis remind him of a downed bird. No more wings to fly. Doomed to her end on the ground below. 

His mind snaps to his Titan.

He does not know where his Titan is. He hasn’t undergone the trauma of the Link breaking, so he knows his Northstar is still kicking in some manner. Like him, she is resilient. A force that will not be stopped so easily.

“Fang,” he coughs feebly. He hates how weak he sounds. “Fang, do you copy?”

Fang’s end of the comm link fizzes in his helmet. The HUD scrolls warnings and errors alike in an unending stream. TITAN - CRITICALLY DAMAGED. RECOMMEND STRATEGIC RETREAT. PROTOCOL 3.

“Fang!” he barks. “Report!”

Through the static, he vaguely hears her.

“-rror...critical d-damage…-ystems-s failing-g…”

She does not sound good, he decides.

“Protocol 3, Fang.” He hates to use the Protocol to force her into moving to find him, but it is necessary. “I am by the wreckage of the Draconis. Locate me.”

Trusting that the command had gone through, he slumps. The sudden weight of what has happened presses down on him. The other Apex Predators are dead. Any left alive probably think he’s dead. It’s a surprise he survived the landing. 

Nobody would come looking for a dead man.

Would he rather Blisk know he’s alive, after failing?

He decides against contacting the man.

All the fight ebbs out of his body. He wants to sleep for a decade. He wants Fang to be alright. He wants to forget today.

Would he have been better off dead?

He snaps his head, shaking the thought out. Viper is not one to give up. A bad day is nothing to lament over. There will be time to reunite and repair, then to go charging back in with the same prowess he knows he has.

And so, he waits.

The star illuminating Typhon starts to hide behind the horizon. The shadows grow longer, reaching and crawling across the landscape before him. The wreckage still crackles and pops, fires refusing to die out with such ample supply of fuel.

With the sinking of the star brings the rising of wildlife. He hears things in the forest behind him. Twigs breaking underfoot. The birds have gone eerily silent. His mind supplies him with an endless barrage of worst-case scenarios.

Maybe a Prowler finds you, and mauls you.

Perhaps a Flyer takes interest in you and carries you off.

He wishes he could quell it. It does no good to him to fret like this. 

He pointedly focuses on something else.

Something thumps on the other side of the wreckage. It startles him, making him jolt and whip his head around. Even through the cracked HUD, he can see things approaching on the radar. 

Viper would rather not be ultimately killed by wildlife. He deserves an honorable and proud death.

Slowly yet furiously, he drags himself back to the wreckage of the Draconis. Maybe the flames would startle off any curious eyes. If he hides, Prowlers surely wouldn’t expend the energy to dig him out. Flyers have to be afraid of fire, right? They wouldn’t attack an already-downed airship.

Whatever it may be, it lumbers closer. Heavy footsteps that rumble the ground as it nears. He tried to identify it as Fang, but her tracker systems have been shot offline. 

While he hopes it is Fang, he braces for the worst, hunkering back under twisted metal as the footsteps round the Draconis.

“Pilot?”

The relief slams through him harshly. It shuts down his thoughts. He stubbornly holds back a whimper.

“Fang,” he croaks. Her stark silhouette comes into view.

She is most certainly worse for wear.

She leans on one leg heavily. He can see the struts bent on the other. Her chassis is riddled with bullet holes from both the damned Pilot’s and their Titan’s guns. Her shoulders and optic spark erratically, spitting orange particles that hazily fall to the ground and die out. Her optic blinks, fritzing. Fang shakes her head to stop it, or to at least try. She is unarmed. 

“Oh, Fang…” he laments. 

“Pilot-t Viper. Sta-ate your c-condition.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he huffs. “I’ll be alright.”

“Protocol-col 3 demands th-that I ensure your s-safety, Pilot. That is-s my top priority r-right now.”

“Forget about the fuckin’ Protocol,” he spits.

“There is-s no Protocol-l for--”

“Fang!” he begs. “Take things seriously here. We’re both on our last legs.”

“Cor-r-rection,” she warbles. “I am techni-c-caly on both pedes.”

Viper lets out a delirious, frustrated sound. His Titan is barely standing and she is still quipping to him to keep him comforted.

“What do we do?” he mumbles quietly. “We’re left for dead. Nobody is going to come looking for us. We’re stranded. Abandoned.”

“Still, w-we are not hopeless-less, Pilot.”

Anger hits him like a punch. Would he rather Fang be as pessimistic as he? He holds back.

“Typhon is heav-vily populated by IMC b-bases,” Fang continues. “It is entirely-ly possible we c-could locate one.”

“Yeah? And what?” he says. “I highly doubt they’re going to take us in if we’ve already failed them.”

Fang is silent.

“What the everloving fuck can we possibly do, here?” he bellows. “We failed! We can’t even die when we’re supposed to! If Blisk finds out we didn’t die, he’s probably going to finish the job himself!”

“I have contacted-d Kuben Blisk-k, Pilot.”

His mind blanks. “You what?”

“I have acquired con-tact with th-the foreman of-f the Apex Predators-s.”

“Why?!” He can’t help but scream. “You gave him our location?”

“Af-f-firmativ-ve.”

He throws himself back against the jagged metal behind him in a fit of rage. His remaining fist balls up and slams into the dirt with a feeble, barely-audible thump. He kicks his legs angrily. “You fucker!” he snarls. “Protocol 3 includes not signaling the only motherfucker that would be the most enraged about our failure! And you’re leading him right to us!”

“Pilot,” Fang sounds reluctant, hurt. “I am doing-g what is b-best for you. Your survi-vial is my priority.”

“You just did the exact opposite of making sure I survive,” he growls. He rips the helmet off his head and throws it at the Northstar, missing by a great distance. Still, Fang flinches, accidentally leaning on the wrecked leg and nearly collapsing. “Leave.”

Fang recoils.

“Pilot--”

“You damn well heard me,” he says. He makes eye contact with her. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Hesitating, Fang shifts from foot to foot. She hangs her head sadly, optic locked on the ground in front of him. “That would-d be dis-disobeying Protocol 3.”

“You’ve already gone and done that,” he responds coldly. “You’ve basically killed us both. Go.”

Quietly, Fang gives him one last desperate glance, only to find that Viper is pointedly avoiding her gaze. He hears her vocalizer spit out some semblance of a whimper as she turns away. He listens as she stumbles to the other side of the ship’s wreckage, settling down as quietly as she can with a lame leg and off-kilter systems. 

Immediately, he deflates. His head thumps back against the metal. All the anger fizzles out and leaves him despaired and hopeless.

He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He should not have taken his anger and fear out on his Titan. As she said, she is acting in his best interest. She may not understand that Blisk would want him dead. To her, she is contacting an ally for rescue, even if it turns out to be the exact opposite.

Suddenly alone, he feels exposed, even hiding in the wreckage. He knows Fang’s coding would prevent her from going too far--she sounds like she stopped on the other side of the wreckage. 

The facade of bravado and skill falters, leaving behind a fearful, distraught husk of...something. 

He chooses to not name it.

    He has effectively clipped the wings of a once free-flying bird.

[coralstudiies]

How to take class notes

1. Figure out what ‘format’ of notes you want to take

Do you have PPT slides/notes already printed out for you??? If not, do you like your notes in point form? Cornell notes? Can you print out ppt

You can search up some common note taking methods online. Find one that works for you (it differs according to individual and subject). What works for me is point form with annotations & drawing boxes around main concepts and formulas.

When you find the ideal method, stick to it. Make sure it’s 1. Easy to make 2. Easy to refer to 3. Easy to add on 4. Easy to study from in a pinch

2. Choose the right stationery

Seems insignificant but as we all know, class notes get super messy. It’s important to get a pen that doesn’t smudge, choose quick-drying highlighters and paper that doesn’t have too much bleed-through or ghosting issues if you take notes from scratch.

For my class notes, I like using 0.3 pens (thinner pen makes your notes look neater) and pilot frixion highlighters (because they’re erasable).

3. Pre-read the lesson material (if possible)

Read the textbook/whatever material provided to you. Write down keywords/ key points on a post it and stick it somewhere you can easily refer to during the lesson.

As the teacher carries out the lesson, use these keywords to create more structure in the lesson so that you’re not lost/missing out important information.

This also helps with understanding the material quickly during the lesson so that you actually digest what you’re taking down instead of blindly copying whatever comes out of the lecturer’s mouth.

4. Use pencil to annotate your notes & add on extra info

These annotations can be explanations that your professor or teacher forgot to say initially and were added on later etc. or just how it links to another part of the chapter

If your teacher provides additional examples, case studies, links or just another insight into the chapter, scribble it down somewhere on your notes.

When you go home, figure out if these are important. If yes, write them in again using pen. Things like links are often ‘single-use’ so I don’t bother writing it after I’ve visited the page.

5. Pay attention

Engage with your material, even as you’re frantically copying down the info. I know it’s difficult and that’s why step 3 could be a life-saver. Ensure that you have your post-it note from step 3 ready.

Things that are repeatedly emphasised by the lecturer should be highlighted, underlined or circled.

Important formulas should be boxed up or circled for easy reference. Diagrams should be drawn after class because they're time-consuming.

Make links between one point and another if possible. This ensures that you’re listening actively instead of copying passively

If you find yourself encountering issues with understanding how one key point leads to another, quickly raise your hand and present your queries.

If you have no time to underline or circle or highlight during class, use a pencil to mark out the words you want to take note of.

To write faster, use abbreviations and short forms wherever possible. For example if the lecturer says calcium deficiency you could just write Ca -. Or Ca def. or whatever works for you!

6. Review

After taking your class notes, it’s time to review them. Read over the information and check if all key points have been covered. If not, ask about them the next lesson.

Note all the things written in pencil. Decide if they’re important. If not, erase them. If yes, write them in. View all ‘extra info’ that the teacher provides such as videos and webpages.

Highlight/circle/underline whatever necessary info that you didn’t have time to do during the lecture. Draw any undrawn diagrams.

Try to understand whatever was taught. Can you link the concepts and points together? Can you roughly explain it to someone in 5 mins? If yes, congratulations! If not, either review again, consult the textbook/lecturer/friend, or maybe just watch more videos on the internet to help you.

Try some practice problems if there are any.

7. Re-writing

Optional, but often times I write another set of notes which I take from all my class notes, worksheets, textbooks and ppt slides. This is rather time-consuming so it’s not for everyone. These are the slightly more ‘fancy’ notes that I post.

At this stage, it’s more of consolidating all your learning and materials.

After you’re done, keep these as well as your class notes in a folder/binder for easy reference. Never throw away your notes if you’re still taking the subject. You may need to refer to earlier content later on.

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

here's an example of how mine would look like (note: i do mine on paper but since i couldn't find any more of my own i decided to redo a digital one that looks as similar as possible)

[fandom-blackhole]

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely.  And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

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

Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone. 

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life. 

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves. 

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore. 

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe. 

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

Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores. 

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands. 

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us. 

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’. 

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose, 

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you  both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Honey Bee

Pairing: Jack Whiskey Daniels x Fem!Reader

Rating: PG

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, first date nervousness, mean waitress, judgmental people, that’s it

Word Count: 2,142 (longest Jack fic yet!)

Author’s Notes: HERE IT IS! This idea has been in my head for months now and I am so excited to finally have it out to the world! I hope you guys enjoy this overly cute Jack fic. Feedback is alway, ALWAYS welcome and I LOVE IT!!! (Also sorry if the formatting may be off this was all copied out of emails because I worked on half of this at work and my wonderful unofficial editor @clint-aww-no-barton​ looked over the first half for me.)

ao3 link for story

  It was the perfect day to set up which is why you chose it. The sun was shaded by clouds with no chance of rain and there was a breeze keeping the Kentucky heat at bay. You had just gotten to your stall to arrange all your fresh product for the day. Once everything was arranged neatly in rows with prices displayed you stopped to pull out a small woven basket. His name written boldly in your handwriting on a sticky note stuck to it. Jack. You knew he would be by today, at some point. He never ever failed to show up and brighten your day with his endless flirting and sweet nicknames. Claiming you had the best grown fruits and vegetables in the whole damn state along with the best pie he had ever had the pleasure of eating. Smiling you tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear remembering the first day you had encountered the sweet cowboy. 

  It had been a slow day that day when he first came by. He parked his Bronco down the street away before sliding out and swaggering over. He wore a suit and a cowboy hat which was almost funny to you but you had no idea where he worked. He was incredibly handsome and wore a smile that could reflect the sun and blind you.

  “How are you today darlin’?” His accent thicker than most.

  “I’m doing alright. How are you?”

  “Well I am doing a hell of a lot better now,” he leaned against the front of the stall looking down the rows of endless product.

  “Everything is home grown on my farm and I have fresh fruit pies if you want one of those as well,” you couldn't help the smile that graced your face when his head popped up at the mentions of pies.

  “Oh really? I will definitely take a blueberry pie,” he smiled wide at you.

  You walked to the bag you kept them in to keep them fresh while he picked more things out before returning to him pie in hand. You gazed over his pickings and then the man paid you.

  “Thank you very much for stopping by. Don’t be a stranger,” you smiled at him.

  “Oh I’ll be back honey bee.”

  You were pulled from your reminiscing by the slamming of a car door. Turning to look up the road you were greeted by the welcome sight of Jack heading your way in his usual get up. You had learned he worked in the corporate offices of Statesman which explained why, no matter the weather, he was in a suit.

  “Morning Jack,” your smile widened.

  “Good morning honey bee,” he grinned wide at you as he came to a stop in front of the stall looking over the selection for the day.

  “Don’t worry I already got your order set aside,” you turned and pulled up the basket and pie sitting it on the empty part you left for this.

  “You have learned me well,” he seemed to smile bigger.

  “Well you are my number one customer so I gotta take care of you.”

  Jack let out a chuckle as he looked down rubbing his neck softly. You knitted your brow together noticing he seemed a little off this morning.

  “How are you Jack?”

  “I’m doing good honey bee. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been good,” you couldn't help the blush that crossed your face at the nickname he all too often used.

   He pulled out his wallet and you frowned slightly with the thought of him coming and going so quickly today. He handed you his money.

  “Thank you as always,” you smiled softly as you tucked the bills away.

  “Thank you honey bee for taking care of me,” he gave you a smirk and a wink before he started to walk away.

  You watched him as he started to leave before freezing and seeming to battle himself for a second before turning around. He set the stuff back on your counter with a thud and leaned on the stall almost aggressively.

  “Dammit if I don’t get this out I will never grow the balls to do it again,” he shook his head before he looked up and meeting your questioning gaze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Will you go on a date with me?”

  You stood in shock for a moment. You knew you had been crushing on him and he had flirted with you but you knew his reputation around town. Jack was a flirt and a massive one at that. You had no idea the man had any feelings passed that for you.

  “Jack I…I would love to,” you stuttered a deep red growing on your face and a smile spreading across your lips.

  “Great! Okay! I can pick you up at 7 on Friday?” 

  “That sounds amazing. Um what should I wear?”

  “That floral sundress you wore a few weeks ago? Wear that,” he smiled wide at you and once again threw you a wink as he picked up his things again.

  “Okay yeah sounds good. I’ll see you then,” you blushed at the thought he remembered something you wore.

  “See you then honey bee.”

  You watched the man walk away all while butterflies were already fluttering around in your stomach.

You brushed your slightly shaking hands down the front of the floral dress trying to smooth an already smooth surface. You were nervous but how could you not be? You were going on your first date in months and with Jack Daniels on top of that. You kept eyeing yourself over and over again in the body mirror in front of you trying to make sure your makeup and hair were perfect for tonight. A sudden knock that echoed through your small home pulled you away. You took one final breathe before turning to go answer it. 

  When you opened the door Jack stood there in his usual get up, cowboy hat topping the look off and a massive smile. 

  “Hello honey bee. You look beautiful. You ready to go?” He asked as his eyes glanced over you. 

  “Thank you Jack. You look very handsome. Yeah let me just grab my purse,” you smiled as you turned and grabbed your purse off the table just inside and then walked out to join him. 

  The night was perfect. It was just enough of a breeze to not make it so hot and the stars and moon danced along the black sky. Jack took your hand and lead you to his Bronco and opening the door for you. 

  “Such a gentleman,” you smiled with a teasing tone as you climbed inside. 

  “Always for a beautiful lady.” Jack threw you a wink before moving around and climbing inside. 

  He set off for a destination you were incredibly unsure of and you couldn’t help but to fumble with your fingers. The radio played softly in the background adding just enough comfort to not make things weird with you two not speaking. You jumped when you suddenly felt Jack’s hand grasp yours and link his fingers within yours. You couldn’t help to smile and glance over at him. 

  “You know you don’t have to be nervous. It’s just me,” he gave you a smirk his eyes turning back to the road. 

  “Exactly it’s you.” 

  About that time Jack pulled up to a restaurant and you glanced at where you were and your eyes grew slightly. 

  “Jack this is the nicest restaurant in town. You don’t have to do this,” you were quick with your words. 

  “I want to though,” he climbed out and made his way over to your side and opening the door for you. 

  Your nerves only seemed to grow at the thought of stepping inside this place wearing what you were. This was not your typical scene and you looked over underdressed next to Jack. 

  “Is what I’m wearing okay?” You looked at him worried as you both stepped to the front door and seeing the dresses the other women were wearing. 

  “You look perfect honey bee. Stop your worrying,” Jack gave you a sweet smile as his thumb brushed across your hand trying to sooth you. 

  Jack told the host his name and the two of you followed him to a small table in a corner seating you. You glanced around overly uncomfortable at the atmosphere. You felt eyes on you and not in any good way. The waitress seemed to curl her nose up at you and did nothing but flirt with Jack all during the ordering process. You two had gotten your food a lot faster than you expected to. You picked at your food slightly your eyes still wondering around the place at the people. 

  “You want to go somewhere else? You don’t look like your having a good time and I want this to be a good night for you,” Jack’s voice pulled you back to the table and you looked up at him. 

  “I don’t want to ruin your plans you had for the night.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” he smirked with mischief dancing behind his brown eyes. 

  Jack waved your waitress down and asked for to go boxes and the check. As soon as those were brought he shoved the food inside the boxes and paid the girl before taking your hand and walking out. He once again opened your door for you and you offered to take the food. You say warmly in your lap and watched as he walked around and climbed inside. 

  “Where are we going?” 

  “You’ll see,” his smirk was wide and you couldn’t help but to let a smile grow across your face at his excitement. 

  The drive seemed longer and the city lights were slowly disappearing behind you. You could see him glancing between you and the road as he drove. 

  “You look mighty lonely all the way over there.” 

  You looked up and met his gaze, something new dancing there before you scooted enough to sit the food in your abandoned seat and then closer to him. Jack placed a hand on your knee and you wrapped your arms around it before placing your head on his shoulder a wide smile settling on your face. After several more minutes of driving Jack finally turned at a drop off where you could see the entire town. The view was beautiful and you looked up at Jack as he backed in so you two could sit in the back. He climbed out and followed behind him reaching in to get the food. You watched Jack as he dropped the tailgate a blanket in his arms. He spread it out and helped you up into the bed. You scooted back to sit against the back of the truck and watched as Jack climbed in after you. 

  “This any better honey bee?”

  “This is perfect Jack. Thank you and I’m sorry. The fancy restaurants are just not my thing.” 

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he threw you a wink before the both of you dig into your food. 

  The two of you ate in silence and after you were done Jack laid down across the blanket and opened an arm for you. You smiled down at him before you laid your head on his arm and looked up at the stars with him. The two of you started to talk about anything and everything. Laughing at stories the two of you told. Jack seemed to ask all the right questions doing everything he could to get to know you better. It was perfect and you honestly never wanted the night to end. 

  Comfortable silence feel between the two of you and you turned so that you faced down and looked over Jack’s face. He looked at you and seemed to search your face as well. His eyes then seemed to dart between your lips and your eyes. You gave him a slight nod for permission before his over hand came to rest on your cheek and he brought your face down to his. Your lips connected and the world around you feel away. Electricity coursed through you and you melted against him. Jack flipped the two of you so you were on top and deepened the kiss. You neither seemed to want to pull away, only doing so when air was purely needed. 

  “Whoa,” you looked up at his eyes. 

  “Whoa indeed honey bee,” Jack smirked as his eyes connected to yours. 

  You bit your lip and let your fingers brush over his face. A smirk grew across Jack’s face seeming to be thinking the same as you were. 

  “Should I take you home honey bee?”

  “Why take me home cowboy?” You smirked before you pulled Jack by the collar of his jacket to your lips.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @discogrrl​ @arcadianempress​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @talesfromtheguild​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @on-the-razor-crest​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @spookyold-saintjm​

[wayward-mikaelson]

Winter's Doll-Chapter Eleven

Word Count: 2988

About: Bucky find out about Nadia and Thor leading to bickering during a mission

Characters: Nadia, Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Tony (mentioned), and Thor (Mentioned)

Pairing: None

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Training, Mentions of one night stand, Bickering, Injury, Blood,

A/N: Getting closer to the end of Series One of this fic!!!! Yes there were be a sequel but I still need to plan it out before I can write it down.

This piece of work contains work made for the 18 and up crowd. Please read at your own discretion. Please do not copy and paste my work anywhere, you can reblog and share the links of my post. This work is cross posted onto WattPad and AO3 under the same title. Links to all my other social media can be found in the pinned post on my profile. Feedback is welcomed!

Forever Tags: @hobby27 @donnaintx @myinconnelly1 @elansaidaris @magssteenkamp @440mxs-wife

Marvel Tags: @soccer-100000

Winter's Doll Tags: @supernatural-love14 @loudlylovingalpaca @kingkhibas

Bucky/Sebastian Tags: These tags are open

Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Winter's Doll Masterlist

Chapter Ten

Favorite Fic Masterlist

By the time Nadia is healed from Bucky’s night terror attack, the team was preparing for a mission. A mission that didn't involve Nikola Alekiev, which for Nadia was a breath of fresh air. For the last few weeks, Nadia had been consumed with every little detail of her brother's last few years of life. She rewatched his vlogs, directing what she could. Seeing if there was something she had missed. Seeing if there could have been some sort of secret message hidden that only she could find.

But there had been nothing.

Nadia sat in the training room, her hands were wrapped and prepped for the punching bag before her. Bucky stood beside the bag watching Nadia. This was to see if she was fit to go on this mission. Both physically and mentally. Per Steve's orders and Bucky was there to help Nadia out.

"You're lost in thought," Bucky took a step towards her. "Wanna know how i can tell?" Bucky knelt down and fixed one of Nadia's wrapped up hands.

"Oh," Nadia simply said. She had even realized she drifted off and messed up her wrapping. She had been doing that a lot. Probably why Steve wanted to see if she was fit. "I'm sorry."

Bucky chuckled. "Don't be," he looked up at her and smiled. "You have a lot on your mind. There," Bucky stood up and looked behind him. "You sure you're up for this mission?"

Nadia huffed and glared at Bucky. "You too? Really? I thought you were on my side and helping me."

"Nadie," Bucky slowly said. "I am, but from an outsiders point of view, it looks like you aren't capable of handling a simple mission."

Nadia took a deep breath and stood up. Bucky was right, she really wasn't in the right mindset for any of this. But she also needed something to distract her from anything Nikola related. Nadia also knew she needed to put it aside for the time being.

"You're right," Nadia moved in front of the punching bag. "But, I need a distraction. Clear my mind of anything related to Niks last moments. Even my parents." Nadia took a firm swing at the bag.

Over the last couple weeks, Nadia's parents were non stop calling. They'd call any chance they'd get, at any given time of day. It was getting pretty annoying and Nadia had told her parents that when they call, they disrupt work but did they listen? Nope. They took advantage of the situation they were in. Which was a crappy situation.

“Mama,” Nadia told her mother that very morning. “You and Papa need to stop calling. I’m being serious. You’re disrupting work and training.”

Nadia’s mother huffed over the receiver. “Well, Nadia, there isn’t anything to do here. When will we get to leave and go back home? I miss my bed. I miss the little shrine area I made for your brother.”

“Mama! Stop,” Nadia was close to losing her shit. “If you don’t stop calling I will disconnect every wire in this compound to give my team some peace. Now will you please put Clint on the phone, I have to talk to him.”

Once Clint was on the phone, “I don’t know where she’s getting the idea that there isn’t anything to do here,” he joked. “She loves to be around the kids.”

“My mother is dramatic, Clint,” Nadia sighed and put her head on the counter. “If her or my dad give you any more issues or whatever, tranquilize them.”

Nadia hit and kicked the bag, while Bucky held it in place. He really didn’t need to, Naida really wasn’t beating the shit out of the bag, just enough to let out some steam and frustration. It was what she needed, and she didn’t know why she didn’t think of it before.

“Okay,” Bucky pulled away from the bag. “This isn’t going to help prove you're ready for the mission.”

“What?” Nadia was breathing hard.

Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he gripped Nadia’s arm tight and spun her around until she was flushed against his chest. Slowly, he brushed the hair from her face, not showing an ounce of emotion. Before Nadia could comprehend what had just happened, Bucky spun her back around until he had her in a choke hold, with both his arms. The hold wasn’t tight, but tight enough to keep Nadia in place.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” Nadia started trying to get out of his grip.

“Easy, Nadia,” Bucky’s voice was neutral and firm. “Do what you need to, to get out of this.”

Nadia stopped and thought about what she was going to do next. She knew she couldn’t throw her head back and hit Bucky’s face, his arm was protecting it while holding her in place. If only she was able to reach the bobby pin in her pocket. Why did she have a stray bobby pin? She didn’t know why, just that there was one in her pocket.

“Do I need to walk you through this?” Bucky asked after a moment.

“No,” Nadia grunted. “I got this.”

Nadia dived into her surroundings. She couldn’t use her upper body due to being held tightly. She really couldn’t use her hands cause they were pinned to her sides by Bucky’s arms. Which was smart honestly. Nadia was only left with her legs. She pictured the way Bucky was standing and found that his stance wasn’t the best.

With a small chuckle Nadia said, “Brace yourself.”

Before Bucky could say anything, Nadia kicked a leg towards his unstable one and pushed out from under him. The two of them fall backwards, causing Nadia’s head to smack right into Bucky’s face. Bucky groaned and let go of Nadia, giving Nadia enough time to roll off Bucky, only to turn around and straddle him and grip his neck.

Bucky stared at Nadia in surprise. “Wow, um, that was unexpected.” Bucky somewhat was expecting to be knocked down, but not Nadia sitting on top of him. Oh the times he’s imagined what it would look like and now, there she was with a grip on his neck and a firm look in her eyes.

“Next time give me a warning,” Nadia let go and got off Bucky. As much as she loved having her legs on either side of the man under her, she couldn’t stay much longer. The moment she felt the slightest bit of arousal, she had to get up. “So,” Nadia gave a smile and crossed her legs together, hoping to ward off the ache that was slowly creeping in. “Did I pass?”

Bucky sat up, trying to let go of the imagine that was now embedded in his mind. “Um,” Bucky started to say. “Yeah,” he shook his head and stood up. “That was good. Really good.”

Nadia noticed that Bucky was acting a bit weird. “Are you okay?”

Bucky turned towards Nadia. He knew he couldn’t tell her the truth, it’d probably freak or weird her out. “You have a hard head, kind of gave me whiplash or something.” Bucky smiled and winked at her. “I’m going to go let Steve know that you’re up for this.”

***

“Wait, wait,” Wanda sat down on the couch next to Nadia. “Back up.” She waved her hands around with her eyes closed. “You what?”

Nadia had quickly found Wanda to tell her what had happened. Wanda, knowing just about everything about her little crush on Bucky. When she told Wanda about what had happened in the training room she just about coughed on her drink.

“I sat on him,” Nadia felt her face burn up as she said the words. “Oh, God.” Nadia covered her face. “Of all the things I could have done! I straddle one of my good friends?! Why, why, why?”

Wanda scooted closer and took hold of Nadia’s hands. “Nadie,” Wanda’s calm voice had Nadia looking up. “One, it was a training exercise. Two, I can already see the things you wanted to do to him.”

Nadia groaned. “Wanda, no, please?”

When Bucky left Nadia in the training room, Nadia couldn’t help but think about the things that she could have done to him. Obviously, if he felt the same towards her. She wanted to slowly slide back until she felt his clothed cock pressing on her clothed and aching core. Nadia wanted to rock and grind her hips until she felt Bucky get hard enough to flip her around and pin to her training mats.

Evening thinking about again was making Nadia feral. She needed to get that feeling taken care of before she went on the mission. If Steve would let her, that is.

“So, are you going to admit it now?” Wanda reached over to pick up her glass of water. “Or do I need to drag it out of you by reminding you more.”

Nadia didn’t like the game Wanda was playing. “Fine,” Nadia stood up and put her hand on her hips. “You win.”

“Really?” Wanda cocked an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. “What did I win at?”

“I think I’ve fallen for my best guy friend and I don’t know if he feels the same,” Nadia waved a hand at Wanda.

“You think?” Wanda scrunched up her nose.

“Fine, then,” Nadia licked her lips and looked down at the floor. “I’m in love with Bucky.”

“Now, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Wanda smiled. “But.”

“But what?” Nadia asked, flopping back onto the couch. “There isn’t any buts except, does he like me? Only you would know.”

Wanda set her glass down. “I was talking about Thor. And I’m not sure, Bucky is pretty private in his mind. He knows how to keep things locked up.”

Nadia felt her breath get caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought about that night in almost a month. So much had happened after sleeping with Thor that she thought she forgot it. Nope, the memories of that night had started flooding her brian.

The Bar.

The table sex.

The sex on her desk. That still had nail marks on it.

The shower sex that was supposed to be a clean up session.

Then Thor held Nadia until she fell asleep.

“What about it?” Nadia asked slowly.

“Are you going to tell him about it?” Wanda was the only person who knew about Nadia and Thor.

“Should I tell him I slept with Thor?” Nadia asked softly.

“Thor’s practically a team member,” Wanda answered. “Wouldn’t want it to be awkward if..."

“You slept with Thor?”

The voice caused the color in Nadia's face to drain. It wasn’t who said it because Nadia knew who it was without turning around. It was how it was said. The sound of disbelief and hurt? Was that hurt Nadia heard in his voice? Everything in her body told Nadia not to turn around but she did anyway.

Bucky stood in the entryway of the living room. The look on his face was emotionless but Nadia saw the look in his eyes, those bright blue eyes, looked pained for a moment. When Bucky looked down, he shook his head and looked back up at Nadia. The slightest bit of emotion that Nadia saw, it was long gone now. Bucky’s eyes were just as emotionless as his face.

“”Bucky,” Nadia softly.

“Steve wants to see you,” Bucky turned on his heel and left the room.

Nadia turned back to Wanda whose lips were in a straight line. “You knew he was there, didn’t you?” Her voice was firm.

“I didn’t,” Wanda shook her head.

But it didn’t make the situation any better. Why did Bucky’s reaction bother her so much?

“What’s up with Bucky?” Sam came into the living room. “I said hi to him and he told me to fuck off.”

“He overheard me saying I slept with Thor,” Nadia started to make her way out.

“Ah,” Sam nodded his head. “I see now.”

“See what?’ Nadia asked.

“It’s still so funny that the two of you don’t see it.” Sam walked away, leaving Nadia even more confused than she was before.

***

“Nadia, Bucky,” Steve had just finished briefing everyone for the mission. “The two of you will walk the inside perimeter. Make sure none of Rumlows men gets through. Fire only if you’re being fired at. And for the sake of this mission, be cordial.”

Since Bucky found out that Nadia slept with Thor, the two of them have avoided each other like the plague. When other members of the team found out, it all made sense. But this mission they wouldn’t be able to avoid each other and Steve knew that. That’s why Steve paired them together. He had hoped that maybe they’d talk it through and put it behind them.

“At least Thor had the sense to shoot his shot,” Tony had said. “Barnes is too slow for this time.”

“At least Bucky’s a gentleman,” Steve had snapped at him. “Thor hasn’t been able to keep it in his pants since Jane dumped him.”

Now, while Nadia gears up next to Bucky, the two of them are dead silent. Nadia could feel the glare he was giving her the whole time. The tension between the two was going to get one of them hurt or killed.

Don’t speak unless it’s about the mission, Nadia thought as she strapped a thigh holster to herself. Her suit wasn’t her stealth suit, it was just a plain old suit similar to the one she trained in. According to Tony, he wanted to add something to it and it’s been in the shop since.

“Ready?” Bucky’s tone was neutral. “Or are you waiting for Thor to come so you can have more of him.”

Nadia never wanted to bitch slap someone in her whole life. “You know what Barnes,” she took a few steps towards Bucky. Bucky could see the anger steaming off her entire body. “You can go fuck yourself.” The venom in her words cut Bucky but part of him didn’t care.

“Bucky,” Steve’s cool tone was next. “Just focus on the mission.”

Nadia spun on her heels and made her way out of the quinjet. She didn’t have time for this and it was too late to drop this mission. She worked too hard to prove that she was capable of this. All she had to do was get through this mission and once they were back at the compound, she was going to pack a weekend bag and go see her parents.

The mission was going smoothly. Bucky and Nadia were quietly walking the inside perimeter, not talking to each other. The only time they spoke was if Steve checked in to see how they were doing. It was perfect until Bucky opened his mouth.

“Why him?” Bucky asked Nadia.

“What?” Nadia looked back at Bucky. He had been walking slow.

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb,” Bucky taunted.

“You know what,” Nadia spun around and stood chest to chest with Bucky. The look of surprise with a hint of ‘oh shit i messed up’ in his eyes, gave her some pleasure. “It doesn’t matter to you who I fuck. Okay?!”

“Nadia,” Natasha’s voice warned in the coms.

“You guys need to do this another time,” Steve also warned.

Nadia ignored. “So what, I slept with Thor. It was a one time thing. I was drunk. He’s the one who came and checked on me, not you. If it were you, well, it would be another story wouldn’t it. Now shut up, put your whatever this is aside, and let’s focus on this mission.”

Nadia turned around and the next thing she felt was something ripping through her suit at both her shoulder and stomach. The suit she wore wasn’t Tony’s fancy bullet proof fabric. This was just plain old spandex like fabric. The pain that followed made Nadia wish she passed out. But she didn’t, she felt the pain radiate through her whole body as she fell to her knees.

“Nadia,” Bucky yelled. He was right there pulling her out of the line of fire and into an empty room. Bucky knocked everything off the only table in the room and laid Nadia down. Soon he was pressing his metal hand firmly on the wounded stomach. Nadia could feel the blood slowly seeping out of her.

The pressure from Bucky’s hand was enough to make Nadia scream, but she couldn’t. The intense pain in her shoulder was keeping her from doing that. Only a few whimpers came out here and there and Bucky was there to give her calm and reassuring words.

“Nadia’s been hit,” there was panic in Bucky’s words. “Good news, bullet went clean through her shoulder, didn’t hit anything important. Bad news, the bullet that hit her stomach is still in there. I gotta get it out.”

“Do you know where it is?” Steve asked.

“Barnes, don’t do anything, I’m on my way,” Natasha said. “Sam, can you get a visual on where they’re at.”

“South part of the building,” Sam’s voice seemed to echo in Nadia’s ears. But the only thing that she could really focus on was the look on Bucky’s face. There was fear and worry written all over it.

“She’s right,” Nadia breathed out. “Better to get me back to the quinjet and out of here.” But Bucky just stared at her. He didn’t know how to tell her how sorry he was for being an asshole. He felt the same kind of guilt he felt when he discovered he hurt her during a nightmare.

Natasha showed up a few moments later. She was going to cover Bucky and Nadia while Bucky carried her back to the quinjet. “It’s okay,” Bucky whispered when Nadia groaned. “It’ll be okay.”

And that was the last thing Nadia heard before passing out.

[nautiscarader]

Kinkmas day 6 - Stuffed

Anonymous 25 days ago

do wendip stuffed 

Now, now, anon, learn your manners. You have to say “please” first.

(Ao3)

Also, if you enjoyed my work, here's Ko-fi link if you'd be so kind ❤️ .

=========================

- Now that's a Christmas present any girl would want...

Wendy tried to stifle her excitement, mixed with astonishment and sheer, unbridled, childish joy, even though there was nothing kid-friendly about her fantasies. She simply watched as Dipper joined his two doubles, all wearing elf costumes and frisky, knowing smiles. She most certainly didn't expect that to be her present when she awoke on boxing day, but played along, more than happy to see what will happen next. Wendy lifted her leg slightly, giving them a peek underneath her robe, and watched as their eyes and heads move in synchronisation, indicating they were perfect copies.

- I suppose that's what you've been building with Ford for the last month or so? Fixing the cloning photocopier?

All three nodded.

- Well then, as I've said, this is perfect. - she stood up and walked towards them, feeling their stares on her skin - One of you will do the cooking, the other one the dishes, and the OG one... - she lifted her finger and scratched the right-most Dipper - ...the laundry.

Her three husbands chuckled and in unison surrounded her. Two gently took her hands and kissed her, and then joined their arms as a portable chair, gently lifting her up to carry her.

- Although, now I think about - Wendy added, as the three lead her to their bedroom - Some of my ideas involve a lot of... fluids, and I think you guys weren't as compatible with those... - No worries. We're laminated. - the left clone replied - Oh. - Wendy let out a small hiccup, as she travelled up the stairs. - That... that solves that problem.

Though she was treated like a queen before, once the three reached their bed, she was promptly dethroned, and falling onto the delicate sheets, she found herself surrounded by her towering husbands. Three pairs of hazelnut eyes stared at her with love, hunger and a complex plan they have obviously been thinking for days. And something told Wendy that this time, they will stick to it.  

- Well, then, let's see if you boys got enough... ink in you.

Wendy jumped slightly in the air when three bodies joined her on the mattress, peppering every inch of her exposed skin with kisses, while simultaneously conquering more territory by slowly undoing her undergarments, though as usual with Wendy, they didn't have to do much. Wendy let out a prolonged, deep moan, when two pairs of lips moved up her arm to get rid of her nightgown and reveal her breasts, while third Dipper ventured between her legs, caressing her thighs with slow, meticulous kisses, until he reached her festive panties decorated with Christmas trees, in an almost prophetic manner.

The two Dippers on each side of Wendy helped him by gripping her legs and spreading them, restraining Wendy just enough so she could feel she is under their control, while they continued fanning the flame that has been burning in her loins.

the first lick against her wet folds caused her to shudder, but with three men holding her she was on their mercy, and in turn, they delivered more sensations. With her gown gone, they could concentrate on her breasts, finally not having to argue which one to start with. Two Dipper ensured that every single freckle on her skin was kissed and licked, until they moved to her nipples, listening to her moans and soft cries.

They knew that Wendy, the fierce lumberjane would love nothing more than jump straight into the passion that the image of her three husbands promised, but they were also well aware that heating her up to the boiling point would yield far better results. Two hands travelled to her buttocks and waist, caressing her posterior, while two others helped the Dipper trapped between her legs. In synchronised motion, they slid their fingers to her folds, causing another tremble of her hips, when they spread her lower lips, giving the original Dipper free reign with his tongue and his own fingers.

Throwing all pretence aside, Wendy let out a low moan when that happened. Her body, suspended between the three Dippers tried arching with each erratic breath, while her husbands caressed every possible erogenous zone they have discovered over the years. When they reached a small patch of skin underneath her breasts, especially susceptible to tickling, Wendy yelped, but that didn't stop them.

Meanwhile, Dipper licked the droplets of heat that Wendy has been producing, in turn causing her sex to become even damper. With his fingers, he could feel delicate trembling of her muscles, knowing they were on good path to her orgasm. Her short, quickened breaths started to contain mangled bits of Dipper's name, until finally, she threw her head back, and thrashed in place, letting Dippers absorb the raw, sexual energy she released when she came.

One by one, she thanked her lovers, kissing them, wondering if she would be able to tell which one is which. But unlike last time, the copies seemed to be far better, and for the first time she was overwhelmed and slightly dizzy from the sensations.

- Would you excuse me for a moment, boys? - Wendy spoke in ragged breath, trying to act poise - I need a moment... Especially if you guys want to do what I hope you want.

She cupped the face of Dipper behind her and pressed her naked bum against his erection, before she stood up and on somewhat wobbly legs went to the bathroom.

When she emerged from behind it a few minutes later, the elf costumes were gone, and she was presented with three copies of her naked husband, ready as ready they could be, waiting for her in a somewhat predictable positions. One Dipper laid on the bed, Another two knelt on the opposite ends, ready to mount all three of her holes.

- Let's make it more interesting.

Wendy spoke and jumped in between then, lading her head next to two phalluses, where they expected her ass would go. She eagerly gripped the two cocks and gave them each a lick, before addressing the Dipper underneath her.

- Come on, you've got some licking to do too.

Wendy closed her eyes and let the musky scent of her husband's cock fill her nostrils, as she closed her lips around one of the cocks, sliding her hand up and down the second one. Soon, it wasn't just her tongue and lips that caressed the delicate twitching tip, but also her voice, resonating with the actions of the two Dippers closer to her posterior.

Just like she commanded, Dipper underneath her dipped his nose in her sex, concentrating his actions on her clit, licking, suckling, and gently massaging it, while the one kneeling behind her opted to double the experience by filling her sex. Wendy moaned when her mind suffered a minor conflict of stimuli by feeling Dipper's cock and mouth at the same time. And with each combined lick and thrust, she moaned more, spreading her vibrations through the two cocks she has been taking care of.

She bobbed her head around the dick of Dipper lying underneath her, while she let the one kneeling in front of her use her face when she switched, making sure that each got equal amount of time. Though she has never thought of herself as proficient at oral sex, Dippers around her seemed to disagree, letting moan after moan with each second spent in her mouth. From time to time she looked up at the Dipper she was blowing and saw the pure bliss in his eyes and on his face, and in turn he could see something very familiar on hers.

After all, the two Dippers underneath and behind her were not idle. With each second, they worked tirelessly to bring her to her climax, combining brute strength of thrusts and delicate brushes against her clit. Dipper underneath Wendy could probably know the best how close she was to her climax, not just by copious amount of juices trickling from her pussy, but also her muscular abs and thighs twitching more and more frequently underneath their work.

But Wendy wasn't the first to come. Her eyes bulged when one of the Dipper she was sucking off blew his load in her mouth, filling her senses with strong, aggressive smell and salty taste that soon doubled when the second one did the same, this time covering much of her face. Only when the Dipper behind her grabbed her ass and hilted himself inside her a bit deeper, Wendy lost her control, and spilling some of Dippers' seed, she let out a powerful roar, flooding Dipper's face with her juices... and from the coughing sounds from underneath her, also some of the seed of his double.

With a loud sigh, Wendy rolled to her back, twitching and gasping for air, while her three lovers recovered from their climaxes. One of them handed her a towel, with which she cleaned up the rest of Dipper's seed clinging to her face, and eyed her three husbands.

- I still beat some of you. - she smiled - Pun very much intended

Despite her recent climax, she got onto her knees and stretched her arm to her ass, giving her lovers a full view of her creampied pussy, as well as pristine asshole.

- Okay, now take me they way you wanted to.

Before she knew it, her lovers were at it again. And this time, Wendy knew she will have harder time outrunning her boys, as two cocks lined up between her buttocks, while two strong hands pressed at the back of her head. And unlike their last time, this one was perfectly coordinated. Though she thought she has exhausted them, they were ready again, and at the same moment filled all three of her holes in a eerily synchronised motion. Wendy shuddered when she felt something cold on her asshole, and when it was stretched, while another cock spread her sex just a few inches next to it, using cum that rested in her as lube.

And finally, there was the cock diving into her mouth, far deeper than the previous one, and with more determination. Dipper was usually restrained when it came to love-making, and seeing the fire in his eyes as he drove himself into her was a refreshing and oddly exhilarating emotion.

With each triple thrust, Wendy's mind was slowly going blank, as every sense of her was filled with Dipper's smell, taste and touch. Six hands not only kept her in place, restraining her, but also strengthened the experience, caressing her thighs, ass and breasts, while boys worked her body, either slamming into her, or slamming her onto them. Though she loved Dipper's slow and meticulous foreplay, she was in need for raw treatment, and it would seem that the presence of his two copies finally awoken something in her husband.

Feeling the blanket underneath her won't do much to contain her passion, Wendy grabbed the as of Dipper in front of her, allowing his cock to reach even further into her throat. The strength of her grip gave it away how close she was to her edge, and how much was she enjoying the triple penetration, even if she couldn't verbalise her thoughts aside from grunts and moans that reverberated around the front-most Dipper's cock.

- You like that, Corduroy, don't you?

hearing Dipper's oddly assertive voice, Wendy looked up at her lover, only to hear the rest of the sentence from underneath her.

- To... to get...wrecked by... us... - You...you like to be on top, but-but you truly love when we pound you to-to the ground, don't you? - Ploughing your ass... - And pussy... - And using your mouth...

Wendy listened to Dippers' voice vocalising her thoughts and fantasies, and she only had one word to reply that rumbled around Dipper's cock, as he eyes slowly rolled to the back of her head. She proclaimed her defeat and love for her husbands, while her legs quivered and her body arched, only to be brought back between the relentless gears of the love machine. Wendy cried and moaned, as Dippers pounded her holes, and just when she thought her pleasure would cease, her lovers came in unison.

Her eyes widened and she took much needed breath through her nose a split of second before first jet of salty seed erupted in her mouth, this time going straight to her belly. And then her rear was set on fire when two streams of warmth were pumped into her ass and sex, with more of Dipper's baby batter coming in several short bursts that reignited the heat between her legs.

Wendy whimpered with each ounce of cum spilled inside her that painted her insides white and properly claimed her as Dippers', and when her husbands finally dismounted her, a last, high note of her wail filled the room before Wendy collapsed on top of one of her husbands, into his welcoming arms.

For the longest time, all she could hear were quickened ragged gasps, until she felt warm, damp towel around her posterior, together with two pairs of lips, kissing her reddened skin where Dippers claimed a bit too much of her.

- Are you okay, Wendy? - Mhmshyeeshess... - she babbled, gulping some lost strand of cum, in vain effort to get rid of his taste that would linger in there for hours.

But despite that, she kissed her husbands, one after another, as they gathered around her to worship her body and soothe her tired, still twitching body. Her mind was still filled with bliss, but now she was recognising words coming from mile away, as her dream slowly faded away.

- ...so I hope, I mean we hope, that you liked that-that talk, right? Cos we wrote down what are we gonna talk to you and... - Of course you did. - Wendy muttered and kissed one of the Dippers - I love how you have to plan the improvisation too.

She purred and cuddled between two Dippers, feeling the third one's hands caressing her to sleep.

- By the way, how long are you guys gonna stay? - Wendy suddenly opened eyes and asked her lovers - Because since water no longer dissolves you... - Oh, once you empty us, we're just gonna disappear - One of the Dippers explained - Yeah, you accidentally guessed right with the "ink" joke. Once you, uh, dry us out, we're gonna poof away.

And one of the Dippers lifted his limp cock, revealing what Wendy thought was a tattoo at first, until she realised how painful would that be. And she nearly choked on her own spit, when she saw the cum level indicator on each of Dipper's balls, showing around three-fourths full.

- So, we're gonna stay here for a while, until you are ready again. - one of them whispered into her ear and kissed her - And in the meantime...

The three Dippers exchanged awkward looks.

- Yeah, I'm gonna make breakfast. - And I'll change the sheets, if you could move aside...

[donavanhall]

Acts of Translation

Late in February 2021, I was walking through the Long Island Pine Barrens, along the beginning of the Paumanok Trail.  The snow-covered path was marked by the patterned boot tracks of other hikers (only two or three at the most) and the cloven hoof-marks of deer.  The sky above the trees was pale blue, tinged with gray.  The air was cool, crisp, dry.  With each step, my boots compacted the icy slush and sometimes my boot would shift, sliding on the heavy, dense snowpack so that I’d have to compensate with a movement of my upper body and arms to keep my balance and to prevent myself from slipping.

The fourth branch of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London”, a volume called Poésie: (récit) — I prefer the French title since Poetry: (a story) is less poetic and loses a sense of meaning that I think should be there, poésie to my ear implies a movement that is lost in the more static English word, poetry, and récit (and perhaps this is peculiar to me and has nothing to do with actual French) suggests narration closer to that when a storyteller speaks to a listener who receives the récit and so completes the action, a story doesn’t necessarily require a reader — begins with the Narrator (Roubaud) moving through space, in this case, the space is urban, the streets Paris.

Early in December 1994, I was walking in Paris.  The sky was gray, low, the air humid, warm.

For walking in Paris, I wear a blue K-way jacket, and a cap, also blue.  The K-way was a gift, not something I’d picked out.  It was light, blue, waterproof, costly.

For walking in the woods, I wear an olive green jacket made by Patagonia that zips up the front and has a little pocket over the left breast where I can store my phone for easy access.  Around my neck, I wear my “Doctor Who scarf” knitted by my mother.  (The scarf isn’t a replica of any of the long scarves worn by the Fourth Doctor, played by actor Tom Baker, but a spirited recreation of the sort that anyone familiar with the various scarves featured in Season 12 through 17 of the TV show would immediately recognize.)  On my head I wear a black bowler hat I purchased at the museum shop of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2018 when I took my mother and son to the Magritte exhibit. (The next summer, I would take my wife and son to Brussels to tour the permanent Magritte exhibit at the Musée de Beaux Arts.  The study of Magritte’s art and writing is a principal concern of my Project.)  The clerk at the shop said this style of bowler hat is the exact same one worn by René Magritte when he was alive.  So it should be no surprise that I’m pleased with it and wear it every opportunity I get, and especially when I’m out on my daily walk.

Before the pandemic, I walked every afternoon through the pine barrens.  This was easy enough since the office where I perform my paid work (not at all literary) is located in the middle of the pine barrens.  There are a network of trails that lead through the woods that are immediately accessible from the back door of the building where I work.  A year ago, my office was closed, so that I now work from home.  Now my afternoon walks (usually) are taken along the streets in the neighborhood where I live in the village of Long Neck.  I’ve become a familiar sight in the neighborhood as the man in the bowler hat.  My neighbors wave to me and sometimes will view my unusual headwear as an occasion for conversation.  What kind of hat is that? asked one neighbor.  Another fellow walker assumed I’m a fan of Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, a novel by Anthony Burgess.  I’m more a fan of the book than I am a fan of the movie, but my bowler hat is most deliberately a nod to Magritte and not to Alex and his three droogs.  Throughout the pandemic, Magritte and his art has been my life line.

On his walks in Paris, Roubaud doesn’t wear a bowler — his cap is of a different sort.

I bought the cap in New York, at J.J. Hat Center, at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street.  It’s a hat made in Scotland and the salesperson assured me that it was the same exact style of cap worn by Sean Connery in the film The Untouchables. It’s no surprise that I’m happy with it.

After I’m vaccinated and I feel like taking the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station again, maybe I’ll go to the J.J. Hat Center myself and shop for a hat.  Although according to “the internet” J.J. Hat Center is now located at 310 Fifth Ave (between 31st & 32nd), not far from Penn at all.  If/when I do go in to the city, I’ll want to pay a visit to the Fountain Pen Hospital.  A man can never have too many hats or too many fountain pens.

I could go along in this vein for quite some time, this leisurely stroll through Roubaud’s Poésie: (récit) allowing his text to guide my own thoughts, reveries, musings, etc.  The resulting text would function as a companion text.  I’m walking along with Roubaud in Paris as he moves from the National Library, past familiar restaurants, along familiar streets…

I passed between the tops or periscopes of the licorice icebergs of the Buren columns, making sure not to slip on their outgrowths/extensions [? the French word is excroissances, but it’s not obvious to me what these outgrowths or extensions might be], on the damp grills, slimy, soaped with crushed beige leaves.  And I made it through with no accidents to Place Colette, on the right side of the Théâtre-Français.  This route was well known to me.

...but Roubaud himself is not walking with me, only his text, or perhaps he is with me as an invented copy of an imaginary Roubaud that I carry within myself as I read and as I walk along the snow-covered Paumanok Trail thinking of his book, or books (one book in seven volumes called collectively “the great fire of London”).

I read the first two and a half branches (the first three volumes to be translated into English), starting with Branch One: Destruction in the fall of 2018.  Without really intending to, I wrote a little book of jottings while reading Roubaud’s novel.  I called my little book, In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths, since “the great fire of London” is “a story with interpolations and bifurcations” with actual links indicating different narrative paths the reader can take during their wandering reading.  I was reminded (though only a little) of the choose-your-own-adventure books (published by Bantam) I read when I was a kid.  One of my early attempts at writing fiction was a “literary” choose-your-own-adventure called (imaginatively enough) Into the Labyrinth (a slight variation on a title of one of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novels, Dans le labyrinthe, with whose hyper-descriptive nouveau roman style I’d become bewitched, a style ideally suited to such text adventures).  (I published my Into the Labyrinth as an interactive fiction designed for a media platform that worked only on those early generation iPods.  I have no idea if anyone ever read/played my interactive fiction even though according to the app, mine was the most downloaded story.  It was certainly the longest.)  I won’t claim that I have been waiting for the remaining four volumes to be translated into English.  In fact, I felt a certain level of contentment with the artificial truncation of the novel — I had read all that I could, all that was available in English, so now I could move on to other things, like reading the works of Miklós Szentkuthy.  Procuring and reading the rest of “the great fire of London” wasn’t a tempting prospect until Anthony, author of the blog, Time’s Flow, mentioned that he’d purchased the remaining volumes in French and would be making an attempt to read them.  That was all it took.  If Anthony was going to do it, then so would I.  I ordered copies from a bookseller in France and they arrived last Friday in the post.  So when did I get the idea to translate these remaining four volumes into English myself?  Was it a serious idea or just another of my fanciful projects?  Project 7139: translated two thousand pages of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London” into English.  (For the record, I’m currently working on Project 3 which I started twenty years ago.  Project 4 is “write a masterpiece that will establish my literary reputation.”  That one might take awhile.)  Certainly, I would read these other branches.  Or would I?  My track record for finishing big projects is not stellar.  (The first time I read Proust, it took me ten years.)

While walking in the snow in the pine barrens, I thought about why I was being pulled back into Roubaud’s book.  What was it about his very long prose that attracted me?  Was this a momentary literary crush or had I fallen for “the great fire of London”?  If this were a romance, you could say that Roubaud and I met in the fall of 2018 and spent some time together, mostly walking.  We shared our mutual interests, talking about poetry, literature, and mathematics.  I learned a great deal about haikai (haiku and haibun), gained a new appreciation of the works of Charles Dickens, and was introduced to Nicholas Bourbaki, and then resumed my own mathematical studies after a hiatus of twenty years, this time beginning with set theory and topology.  And then it was over.  He had to go.  We parted ways.

Then two and half years later, Roubaud pops up again at a party hosted by a friend, this time we’re speaking French — my French is better now, so it’s much easier for us to talk and now I feel something different than I did before.  We’re making a real connection.  I can feel it.  And Roubaud seems somehow changed.  When we first met, I was the one who was paying attention to Roubaud, accompanying a new master, and learning new things.  Now, this new Roubaud, this French-speaking Roubaud is interested in me, keeps asking me questions, asking for my opinion. Then it dawns on me.  Roubaud has chosen me.  You’re the one, he says.  I’ve picked you.

Of course, this isn’t an exclusive relationship.  Such is the way with authors and their books.  Readers must share the objects of their affection, but still it feels different when a book chooses you rather than you choosing it.

I’m choosing you.  I’m ready whenever you are.  Shall we begin?

[sirmcnasty]

Marketing with Drop Cards

One of my very favorite offline guerilla marketing tactics is advertising with money drop cards. At first I thought they would not help me grow my business, but I quickly realized I could use them in many different ways. I completely changed my way of thinking and decided drop cards marketing is a very effective, low cost, easy, and fun way to build my small business. 

At the end of this dropcards marketing article; I will show you how you can use these money business cards to get 1-2 new leads per week into your business.

What are Drop Cards?

Drop cards are business cards that look just like real money. Some people call them sizzle cards which are small money business cards that when folded look like a real $100, $50, $20, $10, $5 dollar bills. Dropcards are mainly used to drop on the ground giving off the impression that someone lost cash on the ground. Someone walks by and thinks they found money on the ground. That person then picks up the dropcard and your message will get revealed. 

This marketing article is going to talk about some creative and fun ways you can utilize drop cards.

What Should I Write On Drop Cards?

Indeed, in the event that you will utilize these in a littering kind of way, such as, tossing them on the ground wherever you go, you would prefer not to have your telephone number on them as you truly don't have any desire to invest your energy handling grievance calls.

I'm really not a devotee of tossing cash drop cards on the ground as they are really expected to be utilized, the explanation is, it makes a negative affiliation when the person understands they were tricked and needed to bend down to pick up your fake money business card.

7 Different ways I like to utilize Drop Cards Offline

#1 Air Travel

I attempt to get on the plane as right on time as could really be expected and place drop cards in the magazine opening before every single seat. In the magazines or whatever other writing they have. You have an enraptured crowd that is compelled to stay there for quite a long time and could actually get those magazines.

#2 In Book shops and Libraries

This is one of my top picks. I will save an hour and go to the nearby Barnes and Noble, books 1,000,000 or whatever and them select books I figure my possibilities would peruse. What sort of individual would you need to work with? I like individuals that read Ayn Rand, Robert Kiyosaki or truly anything that discussions about home business, digital marketing, or organization marketing are an ideal objective. 

I will put a couple of drop cards in each book. You can do this at neighborhood libraries too despite the fact that I trust you increment the odds of getting busted at a library. I had somebody inquire as to whether this was legitimate, I exceptionally question there is a law about converse shoplifting however the main concern is, I have selected individuals utilizing this strategy yet on the off chance that you're not comfortable with it, don't do it.

#3 Lounge areas

Somewhere else where you have an engaged crowd, lounge areas and boutiques. They generally have magazines there, take your drop cards and spot them in whatever number magazines as could be allowed.

#4 Cafés

At the point when you are finished eating at the eatery and placing in that tip (ensure it is a decent tip or this won't work by any means!) slide a drop card in there; I have supported many individuals that work in the café business. You may even introduce the drop card by asking this executioner inquiry to the server or server, 

"Would you be keen on a side venture in the event that it didn't meddle with your present place of employment?" Who the hell would not say yes to that?!?

#5 Tollgates

Presently you can likewise utilize Album's or DVD's for this strategy however the least expense path is to utilize a drop card. Whenever you are pulling up to a tollgate, look in your back view mirror and see what sort of vehicle is behind you, if its a fair vehicle, pay for their cost and have the administrator give the individual behind you a drop card! The administrator may even ask you for one!

#6 Paper Stands

Another fascinating one is purchasing a paper, pulling out all the papers and stuffing them with drop cards and returning them to the stand. This one makes me laugh out loud, consider this however, on the off chance that you were marketing for land, wouldn't it bode well to put drop cards in all the loft rental aides that are in these stands? Now and then you need to consider some fresh possibilities.

#7 Get Your Group to Copy

Doing drop cards is an extremely simple expertise to dominate. It doesn't expect conversing with anybody and is ease. Consider the possibility that you got your whole group to copy this cycle. I'm willing to wager that dependent on the outcomes I have seen that in the event that you get your group of 10-12 or more individuals doing this strategy, your business will experience the rooftop and afterward you get every single new individual to participate on the fun, recall, network marketing isn't just about your endeavors it is tied in with getting your group to deliver too!

Conclusion

In the event that you are wonder do drop cards work? I can disclose to you that they do, they will most likely never furnish you with enough individuals to converse with however I have enrolled a few people from advertising with drop cards and it's really darn simple. Drop cards marketing are really interesting to do and you just do it when you are all over town.

On the off chance that you don't have a spot to buy drop cards, you can order your realistic money business cards by clicking the link above. Make certain to impart this extremely basic idea to your partners and albeit this doesn't supplant customary prospecting, it sure is not difficult to rustle up 1-2 leads per week.

Did this marketing article provide you any value? Provided that this is true, I would enormously appreciate it if you would like and share this article on your social media accounts like Facebook and Twitter. Thank you!

[justauthoring]

No Reason To (28/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.” 

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: So, a special one might make a mini little appearance in this chapter, so look out for that!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 04x06 and 04x07

“It wasn’t even me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should’ve been here.”

“Honestly, it’s okay--”

“But I promised your mom--”

“Dad.”

Rafael halts, his eyes widening when what you’ve just said registers within him. You inhale deeply at the heavy stare Scott is sending your way, gently grabbing your dad’s wrist and pulling his hand away from your arm. You’re still not completely comfortable with him, let alone touching you, but you appreciate his concern.

Of course, it’s very rare that you call him dad. If you’re ever actually addressing him, he’s just ‘Rafael’ and it’s been like that for a long time now. Ever since everything came out, the truth of your past, you haven’t been able to muster up the courage to actually call him by anything other than his name.

So, it’s no wonder he’s surprised when the word ‘dad’ comes spilling past your lips.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head up at him. “I’m fine,” you assure, turning to Scott with a worried glance and a frown marring your lips. “Besides it was Scott that was here. That she went after.”

“I’m fine,” Scott urges, copying your previously said words as he nods at the two of you. “Honest.”

“It’s just,” your father stammers, shaking his head. “I said I would be at the game. I wasn’t. I-I should’ve been here.”

“Well, I mean,” Scott begins, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he tries to explain himself. “This was just a pre-season scrimmage. I didn’t even tell you about it.”

“Y/N was here,” Rafael reminds, his eyes falling on you as you frown. “And I promised your mom I would be around so she could pick up some double shifts at the hospital.” Pausing, he inhales deeply. “I should’ve been here.”

Biting your bottom lip, you shrug; “you’re here now.”

“And that’s all that matters,” Scott adds, nodding at your father.

Just then, as silence falls over the three of you, Deputy Parrish along with the Sheriff turn around the corner, with Violet. The same girl who’d just tried to kill your brother.

“Jordan Parrish?” She questions, pulling your eyes on her as she squints in thought at his name tag.

“Deputy Parrish,” Jordan corrects, narrowing his eyes at the back of her head, continuing to lead her through the hallway. As she passes by you and Scott, you watch her carefully as her hardened gaze falls on Scott, a smirk almost on her lips, before her gaze falters to you. You swallow thickly, shoulders tensing at the look she gives you, gaze never leaving her as she’s lead away.

“Sheriff,” Rafael calls, pulling you from your thoughts. “What is that? Is that the weapon?”

Glancing down at what your father refers to, your eyes fall on the bag Noah holds in his hands. “Yeah,” Noah confirms, flipping it over for a better view of the weapon. “It’s a thermo-cut wire.”

As you turn to look back up at your father, you notice a look crosses his face. Suddenly, and without warning, he’s turning, the speed in his step quickening slightly to catch up with Parrish. “Parrish,” he calls, “hold up.”

Just as you move to follow, you and Scott are both stopped by Liam rushing in before you.

“Where’s Kira?” Scott questions, brows furrowing.

“She took off,” Liam explains, “Stiles told her about Lydia cracking the second third of the deadpool.”

Your lips part with realization; “her mom’s on it.”

“Everyone’s on it,” Liam reminds, voice pitched with panic.

Shaking his head, Scott gestures to Liam; “you’re not.”

“Not yet,” Liam sighs, “there’s still another third, right?”

Setting your head in your hands, you let out a sigh, shaking your head. This was way beyond any of you. Werewolf or not. Banshee or not. Witch or not... this was incredibly dangerous.

Turning to Scott, your lips part to say something, but you hesitate the moment you see the look in his eyes. Turning to Liam, you watch as he turns his head over his shoulder. They’re listening into your father’s conversation with Violet.

After a few minutes, you let your hand fall on Scott’s arm. “What’re they saying?”

“Violet,” Scott begins, turning to look at you. “Her and her boyfriend, Garrett, they’re something called ‘The Orphans’.” As he explains himself, his eyes narrow slightly in thought, shaking his head. “Her thermo-cut wire, it’s a weapon similar to one in over a dozen murders.”

Eyes widening, your lips part; “a dozen murders?”

Nodding, Scott’s eyes meet your own; “a dozen.”

-

You step back, giving Scott room to break the lock on Garrett’s locker. The moment he has it broken, he turns to look at you, nodding at you as he pulls open the door. Your eyes flutter across the contents on the inside, lips parting slightly when they land on red duffel bag.

“I think someone’s coming,” Liam yells in a hushed whisper by the door, pulling both yours and Scott’s attention on him. “Hurry!”

Listening to his call, you lean forward, taking the zipper of the bag in your hands and tugging. When it’s completely at the end, you pull the flap of the bag open, your eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before you.

“You find anything?”

It’s money. Lots of it. More money then you think you’ve ever seen directly before you. 

As you turn to look at Scott, you find yourself bewildered when he shakes his head, lips parting to answer Liam. “No,” he says, voice slightly rough with uncertainty. “Nothing.”

Why was he lying?

“Scott,” you hiss, attempting to keep your voice as quite as possible. Grabbing him by the arm, you tug him towards you, wide, slightly angered eyes meeting his own as you shake your head in both disbelief and question. What was he thinking?

Scott only shakes his head at you, taking the flap of the bag out of your hands and closing up the bag once again.

-

“I know that look Scott.”

Your brother keeps his head tilted downwards, avoiding your gaze.

His silence causes you to shake your head, pacing slightly before him as your eyes fall on the red duffel bag shoved underneath of his bed. It’s like it’s taunting you, just like you know it’s taunting Scott. “We can’t,” you continue, your voice somewhat forced as you crouch down, maneuvering in a way so you’re in Scott’s line of shot. As he hesitantly raises his eyes to meet your own, you shake your head. “This is wrong.”

“But mom--”

“But mom, what, Scott?” You interrupt, voice sharp. “This is wrong.”

Scott’s face tenses and leaning forward, he grabs the duffel bag from underneath his bed, sliding it towards you. Your eyes follow it’s movement, landing on it as he slides to a stop before you. Before you know it, a shadow falls in front of you, and your eyes meet Scott’s. “Open it,” he pushes, nodding down at it.

“Scott...”

“Open it.”

With a shaky exhale, you reach forward, slowly and hesitantly, before flipping the flap over, revealing the contents inside. All the money inside.

“This money,” Scott continues, pointing at it, “this money can do so much good. We can pay off our bills, get the electricity back.” Shaking your head, you lean back, scoffing, but before you can make it very far, Scott reaches out for you, holding you in place as your eyes fall on his once again. “We can save mom so much stress. I know you’ve heard her, Y/N. At night, crying.”

Your eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply.

“Stiles and his dad can pay off their bills.”

Your eyes open just as quickly as they had fallen shut, and you stare back at Scott in surprise.

“We can do so much good with this,” Scott whispers.

“But it isn’t ours,” you argue, voice barely above a whisper. “This money, it’s not ours.”

“We found it.”

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head, pushing yourself up to your feet. You step back before Scott can stop you, turning towards his door as you repeatedly shake your head at him, holding your hand out before you in a warning to step back. “You don’t touch that money,” you warn, staring at him with a look he can’t argue against. “At least not for now. We don’t tell anyone about it either, okay? We keep this a secret, until we figure out what to do with it.”

Closing the flap, Scott pushes himself back up to his feet, sliding the bag back under his bed before turning back towards you.

“Okay?” You urge, raising a brow.

Nodding, Scott sighs; “okay.”

- 

You let out a small smile at the text sent your way.

It’s a picture of Isaac in his school uniform in front of his big fancy school, believe it or not with the caption ‘bet you wish you were here’. It causes a small giggle to leave your lips, a pause of happiness despite all the terrible things that have happened in the last few days, let alone past few hours. You two regularly text each other despite him being in an entirely different country. Mainly because you miss him and he misses you.

That, and just to keep each other updated on things.

And for a moment, you wonder if you should say something about the deadpool. If you should tell Isaac about Liam and what’s been happening. How Scott was nearly killed just last night... but you don’t. Because he went to France to get away from everything, and you still commend him on his bravery to do so. You don’t want to ruin the calm life he’s built for himself.

So, instead, you reply with a simple laughing emoji and a ‘beats Beacon Hills’.

As you move to set down your phone and grab your textbooks, a hand falls on your shoulders, causing you to jump. Your instincts kick in, and at the gasp that leaves your lips, you turn, ready to punch whoever decided to spring up beside you. But a hand catches your fist and your eyes land on that of your brothers.

“Jesus,” you breathe, setting a hand against your chest. “Don’t scare me like that, especially after...” Your words trail, however, the minute you notice the wild and panicked look in Scott’s eyes. Then, you finally notice it deep inside your chest. How you hadn’t noticed it before, you’re not sure. “What’s the matter?” You instantly ask, eyes widening in worry. “Scott, what’s--”

“It’s Liam,” he breathes, inhaling deeply. “Garrett has him.”

“What?” You screech, instantly shutting your locker door as you turn to Scott.

“I’m sorry,” Scott breathes, “but I need your help. I can’t do this without you.”

Setting your hand on Scott’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly in reassurance, you shake your head. “What do you need?”

-

“Okay, what do you want? You want me to go to Stilinski? I can do that. Or I can talk to my father. He’s an FBI agent.”

Smirking, Garrett’s eyes fall on you; “I thought we agreed to meet one on one.”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you raise a brow over at the younger boy. “Cut the crap,” you hiss, eyes narrowing darkly. “What do you want? Scott’s right, our father--”

Garrett’s chuckle causes you to pause, watching him carefully as he pushes off the side of the bus, turning to you and your brother. “You think I want to talk to anyone with a badge right now? I’m not talking to a werewolf,” he pauses, eyes sliding to you once again, “and a witch, because I want to talk to someone.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

Turning his head to the side, Garrett’s jaw clenches; “they’re transferring Violet to a federal facility. You’re not going to let that happen.” You let out a small growl as Garrett points his lacrosse stick at Scott’s stomach, the one you know has the knife built in.

Shaking his head, Scott raises his chin defiantly; “how?”

“They’re going to put her in a car,” Garrett begins. “we’re going to follow it. We get ahead of it. You stop it.”

“You want my brother to attack a car?” You hiss, “that’s your plan?”

“He’s an alpha,” Garrett growls, eyes sliding back towards Scott. “If you can’t stop one little car, then one little beta is going to die.” Raising his lacrosse stick, your jaw clenches at the knife that protrudes. “I stabbed your boy with a blade dipped in wolfsbane. Once it gets to the heart... bad things happen.”

-

“There’s a stop sign half a mile ahead.”

“So I take out the tires with my claws?”

“Teeth, claws, heat vision, whatever. Just stop them.”

Shaking your head, you inhale deeply. “Scott,” you call, leaning forward to pull your brothers attention on you. “I can stop them. You don’t have to--”

“No,” Scott interrupts without a second of hesitance. “You’re not doing that. I can’t risk you being caught.”

“But I can stop the car from far away, no one will even see--”

“No, okay?”

You pause, lips parting at Scott’s blatant interruption. You stare back at him for a moment longer, testing his determination. But, just as you open your mouth to speak again, Garrett interrupts you. “You ready?” 

Letting out a huff, you fall back against your seat, annoyed. If Scott would just let you help and stop trying to be such a brother, it could diminish the risk of him being caught by a long shot.

However, you can’t dwell on the issue for much longer before you suddenly feel the car screech to a stop as Scott bellows out; “stop! Stop the car!” You instantly straighten out, leaning forward to see what was wrong. That’s when your eyes land on the tipped over car, the same car you’d been following and the one that holds Violet, with two men out on the side of it.

You rush out behind your brother instantly, your eyes widening when you realize the two on the side of the road are Sheriff Stilinski and your father. You halt to a stop as Scott continues to run, suddenly frozen stiff with fear as your brother bellows out dad repeatedly, crouching before him to help both Rafael and Noah. But you can’t find the will within you to move. Seeing your father, despite everything, on the ground, passed out, it... it terrifies you.

“Y/N!”

Scott voice fades to the back of your mind, and it isn’t until you notice Garrett creeping up behind you do you move. Your head turns over your shoulder to look at him, body tensing in preparation, but it’s only a second later that you realize he isn’t even looking at you. And rather, something directly past you.

As you move your head to look, a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards as you stumble into your brothers arms. You meet his eyes for a brief second, before turning around to gaze back at Garrett and the large... creature stood directly next to him.

With his weapon out, what had originally been the lacrosse stick, Garrett begins to swing it rampantly. “Come on! Come on!” He bellows, chin raised in defiance as he tries to appear strong before the creature. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re not so big.”

Your attention, however, is soon stolen by another one of those things as they creep up behind Garrett, stabbing him directly in the chest. Your eyes widen, hands falling to your lips in bewilderment as Garrett’s weapon clatters to the ground uselessly.

Before you know it, Scott is leaving your side, rushing towards Garrett. His name leaves your lips in a shrill cry which then turns into an actual cry the moment your brother is knocked down by one of those things. You barely even register the pain that floods your own body, too worried about Scott as he falls to the ground with a thud. Without hesitation, you rush forward to help your brother, but a hand latches around your ankle, causing your eyes to fall on that of Noah.

“Don’t,” he rasps, shaking his head.

Turning around from Noah, you turn to one of the creatures, eyes falling shut for a moment as you let your power surge around you. “I have to,” you whisper, dismissing Noah’s warning as you run forward. You manage to knock one of them back before it can reach you, slamming it to the ground.

And for a while, you keep up your own, but the second your eyes land on that of Scott’s unconscious form, you feel a sharp pain radiate throughout your side. It causes you to lose balance, stumbling to the side slightly as you push back the thing. But, then, it’s friend comes lunging at you from the behind, knocking you to the ground with a hit that takes your breath away.

You want to get back up, keep fighting, but your vision darkens and you begin to feel light-headed. Before you know it, your eyes are falling shut and the world fades to black.

-

You wake with a gasp, your entire body lurching forward. A scream tears through your lips, unable to stop yourself as your entire body shakes with a fear. Your mind races to remember what events have just occurred, but you find it happens too fast, unable to keep up with it.

Then, there are hands on your shoulders, pulling you from your thoughts as your vision spins to focus on one thing.

“Y/N, Y/N,” the voice sounds familiar. “It’s me. It’s Scott.”

Blinking, you feel your body still, eyes finally focusing on that of your brother’s. He’s staring down at you with concern, and as you sit there, chest rising and falling, you let your eyes fall downwards, to your hip where blood has leaked through to your shirt. 

“You’re okay,” Scott whispers, pulling your eyes back on him as he nods down at you. You notice two figures stood behind him, Deaton and Chris, staring back at you with mild concern as you breathe heavily to catch your breath. Letting out a sigh, your hand moves to grasp Scott’s, holding onto him tightly as you stare up at him in wonder. “It’s okay.”

“Kate,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “And those things...” Then, your eyes widen. “Dad... and-and Noah, where--”

“They’re safe,” Deaton speaks up, pulling your eyes on him as he nods down at you, reassuringly. “They’re at the hospital.”

Letting out a breath of relief, you nod, your grip never loosening on Scott’s hand.

“Listen, Y/N,” Scott calls, pulling your focus back on him. “I might know how to find out where Liam is, but we have to go after Violet. If you want to stay back, I under--”

“No,” you interrupt without hesitation, moving to push yourself off the table. “I’m coming with you.” Once you’re on your feet, your hand having never left Scott’s you nod up at him. “Always.”

-

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Pausing, you feel your shoulders tense in anticipation, glancing around the warehouse for the owner of the voice. For Kate.

“Kate,” Scott calls out, “i’m here for Violet. I need to talk to her.”

You follow Chris’ lead as he takes a step forward, hands held out beside you in caution.

“I knew you’d find me,” Kate says eventually, her voice a distant echo. Then, her shadow appears on the sheet a few feet in front of the three of you, and once again, you all halt to a stop. Chris instantly raises the gun in his hand, pointing it towards the figure as you feel your body tense. “But... I was hoping we could do this later.”

Then, as her figure continues to grow closer, two more appear next to her -- the exact same shape as those creatures. As those beserkers as Scott had called them.

“I just... needed a little more time.”

“For what?”

“To learn control,” Kate answers, and your eyes widen when her hand presses against the sheet covering her figure. She has... claws. Then, she steps back from the sheets, still hidden in shadows. “Lower the gun,” she orders, “we walk away. And you don’t have to get hurt.”

“Where’s Violet?” You ask aloud.

“Put the gun down, Chris,” Kate whispers, ignoring you.

“Where is she?”

You turn to Chris, watching as his finger presses against the trigger of his gun. Kate lets out a low growl, and you shift on your feet in anticipation, waiting for Scott’s lead.

To your surprise, he calls out; “no, no!” But his heed isn’t listen to, and the beserkers soon started running forward, Chris instantly pressing against the trigger of his gun, gun shots ringing out in response.

“No, no, stop! No!” Scott continues to bellow, causing your brows to furrow in confusion.

Chris continues not to listen, a scream tearing through his lips as he mercilessly shoots at the creatures. Kate runs up to him soon however, knocking the gun out of his hands before punching him across the face. You finally let your power surge within you the second you’re forced back, separate from both Scott and Chris as a beserker lunges after you.

You dodge it’s hit, barely moving in time as you move to hold it back.

It doesn’t work, and soon you find yourself slammed against the floor on your back, shuffling backwards as the berserker stomps towards you. Before it can hit you however, something catches it’s attention. Your eyes widen when you notice Chris stood behind the thing, pulling it’s attention off of you and onto him. As it turns to hit Chris, you push yourself hastily up to your feet, taking a deep inhale before shooting your hands before you, fire bleeding from your fingers.

It causes the beserker to cry out in pain, turning towards you with haste as you dodge it’s hit. With a swipe of your hand, you send it to the ground, just as Chris follows up behind you, punching the thing harshly in the back right where you had burnt it seconds ago.

However, you’re soon distracted by a hit to the side, your attention turning to Kate. The berserker manages to land a hit across your thigh, a cry tearing past your lips as you fall to the ground. As you move to push yourself back up, the berserker slams it’s fist into your thigh, a scream tearing through your lips as your body falls against the ground, a exhausted huff leaving your lips.

It takes you a moment to gather your bearings, the pain in your leg too much to bare. But then, you hear Kate bellow out a scream of no and you raise your head to see Chris on his hands and knees, one of the berserker’s hovering above him.

However, Kate’s scream, followed by a roar, causes the thing to stop. She starts to walk away, the berserker, followed by the other one, following after her. You hear Chris rasp out your brother’s name, and with a soft groan, you push yourself up, ignoring the pain in your leg as you crawl over to the man. Your hand falls on his shoulder just as one appears before him, Scott’s hand.

Chris accepts it, Scott pulling him up to his feet before turning to you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Scott pulls you back up to your feet, you slightly limping in response, as you gaze back at him, eyes drifting between him and Chris.

“Scott,” Chris breathes, voice raspy, “i’m sorry.”

“I’m not going to find him,” your brother mumbles, frowning.

Shaking your head, you lean against Scott; “there’s still time. There’s always time.”

-

“I’m okay. I’m fine.”

You grip Stiles’ shoulder tightly as he sets you down Scott’s bed, trying to ignore the racing of your heart and the thin sheet of sweat that lines your forehead. Even though those four words leave your lips, you can’t ignore the exhaustion that floods your entire being or the pain in your thigh at the slightest movement.

The moment you’re settled, your eyes drift from Scott’s who stands a bit back to Stiles, who stares down at you with deep concern. Hands slipping from his shoulders, you let one clasp his hand tightly and the other fall to your stomach, shaking your head. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Stiles only stares back in disbelief, shaking his head as his eyes fall to the wound on your thigh. Deaton wrapped it back at the vet office after he’d helped get the wolfsbane out of Liam, but it still hurt like hell and Deaton had said that it might take a while to heal.

“Stiles,” you call, squeezing his hand as your gaze remains unwavering. “I’m fine.” Then, your shoulders fall and you turn to the red duffel bag sat on Scott’s floor. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

Stiles seems doubtful, concerned, so he stays close to you as he lets his eyes fall on the red duffel bag. Biting his bottom lip, Stiles turns to Scott; “you counted it yet?”

Letting out a shaky sigh, Scott shakes his head; “no.”

“We should probably count it.”

As they turn the duffel bag over, the contents of money spilling out, something else follows. Your eyes widen when the land on a cassette tape. As Scott picks it up, further confusion floods you at the words written over it.

PLAY ME

-

“After entering the IP address, you will be connected through a Darknet portal to an untraceable bank. Once logged in, enter your account number to receive wire transfers. The IP address will deactivate with each transfer. You will be assigned a new IP address if you choose to continue down the list. Remember, visual confirmation is always required for payment.”

Leaning forward, Stiles presses the stop button on the tape. “You guys ever make a wire transfer?”

Turning to Scott, you shrug; “never had enough money.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, “so you didn’t understand a word of that either?”

“I don’t understand any of this. Why would someone use all this money just to kill us?”

“Someone want you dead, dude,” Stiles sighs, shoulders tensing. You frown when his eyes land on you. “Both of you. All of you. Badly.”

There’s a moment of just silence, neither of you sure what to say. Then, suddenly, Scott begins to pack up all the money, causing your brows to furrow and Stiles to jump to alert. “Woah, woah, what are you doing?”

“It’s late,” Scott says bluntly, “we’ve got the PSATs in the morning.”

“He’s right,” you nod over at Stiles who just shakes his head.

“No, I-I meant the money,” he stammers, “five hundred thousand. You know how much money that is?”

Pausing a moment, Scott’s eyes narrow in confusion; “it’s five hundred thousand...--”

“It’s half a million dollars, Scott,” Stiles reminds and your shoulders fall. Part of you already knows where this is going. “What are you going to do, just slide it under your mattress?”

“What we need to do,” you cut in, “is talk to Derek. The money’s his.”

“You mean his and Peter’s,” Stiles corrects, causing you to frown.

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe we should proceed with caution.”

Brows twitching, Scott shakes his head; “you don’t think we should tell Derek?”

“No,” Stiles says bluntly, causing you to turn to him with narrowed eyes. Shaking his head, he pushes himself up to his feet. “No,” he repeats, “no, of course we have to tell him. I’m just... I’m just saying some of that money’s Peter’s, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right? Peter,” Stiles repeats, putting emphases on Peter’s name. “Homicidal killer? Remember? You want to give five hundred thousand to him.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, shaking your head. “So, we should give Derek his money back. But not Peter?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Turning to Scott, you frown; “Stiles, what are you saying?”

Before Stiles can explain himself, there’s sudden footsteps, nearing Scott’s room. Eyes widening, you hold your hands out before you urgently, reaching for the bag as you help but Stiles and Scott shove it underneath the latter’s bed. Just as Stiles helps you up to your feet, Malia bursts through the door, soaked from the rain.

“We found Satomi’s pack,” she explains, “Derek and I. But they’re dead.”

“All of them?”

“All the ones we found,” she sighs.

“Then where’s Derek?”

-

“How’s your leg?”

Glancing down at your wrapped leg, you send a small smile Kira’s way. “It’s good,” you encourage with a nod, padding the injured spot lightly. “I can walk on it better now. But this doofus refuses to let me walk on me own.” You turn to Stiles at your words, sending him a slight glare as you gesture to the tight arm he has wrapped around your waist.

“Hey,” Stiles calls offending, turning to you with wide eyes. “Can’t I be considered about my girlfriend?”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head.

Kira chuckles slightly, mimicking your grin before her gaze wonders elsewhere. “Where’s Lydia?”

“She took it her freshman year.”

Upon your words, Malia’s eyes widen; “does that mean I could’ve taken it some other time?”

“Malia,” your brother calls softly, “you’ve studied harder for this than any of us.”

Leaning against the locker, Malia frowns; “doesn’t mean i’m gonna do good.”

“Well,” Stiles corrects, though Malia only stares back at him in confusion.

“Well, what?” She repeats slowly, shaking her head with furrowed brows.

“It’s do well, not do good.”

“God!”

“Okay, okay.”

“Malia,” you call, setting your hand on her shoulder as you smile down at her. “You’ll do fine. I know you will.”

“And you’re doing this,” Scott adds on, causing your eyes to fall on him. “Because while we’re trying not to die, we still need to live. If I survive high school, i’d like to go to college. A good college.”

“It’s only three hours,” Kira reminds, smiling reassuringly. “We can survive three hours.”

-

You jump at the sudden thud that echoes from beside you.

Turning your head to the right, your eyes widen in concern when you notice the girl who’d been setting next to you on the ground, unconscious. “Sydney!” You hear Mrs. Martin call out in concern, rushing forward and crouching before the girl as you turn to her in surprise.

Slowly gaining conscious, the girl, Sydney, sits up with the help of Mrs. Martin.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” the girl breathes, standing up to her feet. “I just got kind of dizzy.”

You turn to go back to your test, but Mrs. Martin calling out Sydney’s name once again followed by a ‘how long have you had this?’ causes you to pause, turning back around. Your eyes fall to Sydney’s wrist, catching sight of the reddish veins that have appeared there.

“I don’t know,” Sydney breathes, voice shaky.

“Ms. Martin,” the instructor calls out, “do I need to stop the test?”

“Uh, no,” Ms. Martin shakes her head, gently pushing the girl back into her seat. “It’s fine.”

But something about the look in her eyes tells you it isn’t.

“Everybody stay in your seats,” she instructs once she’s at the front of the classroom. “I’ll, um, be back in a minute.”

Grabbing her phone off the counter, she turns to the instructor, and her words cause you to frown with concern.

“Nobody leaves the room.”

-

“Bet they’re thinking small pox.”

“Not likely.”

Blinking, you turn from your spot next to Stiles, glancing back at the instructor with a raised brow.

“Smallpox was eradicated worldwide in nineteen-seventy-nine,” he continues, “we’ve only managed to completely eradicate two viruses in history. The other was rinderpest. It killed cows.”

“So we should be comforted by that, right?”

“Unless it’s something worse.”

Pausing, you frown. Great comfort....

“Whatever it is,” Malia speaks up, pulling your eyes on her. “They’re taking it pretty seriously. They’re a lot of cars and trucks out there.” Pausing a moment, she turns to Stiles; “your dads with them.”

“Hey,” Stiles calls, standing up as he moves towards the bin of phones. “I should probably call him.”

“Don’t bother,” the instructor interrupts once again, “they would have shut off any access to all outside communication by now. No cell service, no WiFi. No one starting to panic. Looks like we’re all just going to have to wait here and see what happens.”

Leaning into Malia, you frown; “is it just me, or is he kinda creepy?”

-

You shake your head as Scott’s eyes continue to flash red.

“It’s still happening.”

Sighing, you set your head in the palm of your hand, shaking it.

Turning to Malia, your eyes fall on her claws as she holds them up, shaking her head. “I can’t make them go back,” she sighs, turning to you as you give her a pitiful look in response.

“Obviously the virus is affecting the two of you in a way it won’t hit any human being,” Mr. Yukimaru explains, nodding over at Malia and Scott.

“You guys have to stay out of sight,” Stiles advises, “we have to quarantine you from the quarantine.”

“Yeah, but where?” You question with a shake of their head. “I mean, what if they get violent? Like on a full moon.”

“We shouldn’t stay in here,” Scott rasps, still bent over and out of breath. “Not in the locker room.”

“A classroom is not going to hold us,” Malia stammers, shaking her head.

“What about the basement?”

“Too many ways out.”

“We need something secure,” Scott explains, nodding his head. “Somewhere nobody can find us.”

You turn to Stiles the moment you notice him pause, meeting his eyes briefly as they light up with realization. “The vault,” he calls out, turning to Scott. “The Hale vault.”

“The Hales always have an escape route. Like their house,” Scott reminds, nodding at Stiles’ suggestion. “There has to be another way in.”

-

“Okay. This is where the school sign is, so the vault’s got to be right about here.”

“I suppose if there’s a second entrance, it would probably be accessible from the basement.”

Leaning back, Stiles extends his hand out. “It’s probably somewhere in this hallway. Or this corridor.” Though, as his words finish, you notice him wobble on his feet slightly. Your eyes widen, instantly reaching out to catch just before he clatters to the floor. He blinks the moment he’s in your hands, shaking his head. “Whoa.”

Pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie, you frown when you notice the red veinish details across his wrist -- exactly like that girl.

“It’s happening to you too,” Mr. Yukimura sighs, “you’re getting sick. You all are.”

Your brows furrow at his words, about to question them but before you can, Kira speaks up, shaking her head up at her father. “I don’t feel sick,” she shrugs.

“I think it’s affecting you differently, neurologically,” Mr. Yukimura explains, reaching into his back pocket for something. “I found your test answers her in a pile with the others.” Laying the test on the desk, your eyes widen when you realized every circled answer that Kira had filled it, is off to the left, out of place.

“But how does that explain me?” You question after a moment, frowning as you turn to Mr. Yukimura. “I feel fine.”

Sighing, Mr. Yukimura shakes his head. “That I can’t explain,” he says honestly. “I don’t know much about witches.”

Frowning, you let out a huff; “you and me both.”

-

“There’s got to be more to this.”

“That doesn’t mean... I mean, it’s dangerous, Y/N.”

Biting your lip, you hesitate on a reply. Your eyes falter on Stiles’ own for a second before glancing past him, falling on that of Kira and how weak she is. Then Malia who lays in her lap barely able to sit up on her own. And then you turn to Scott, your brother, who’s hands are shaking uncontrollably in his lap and the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, without stop.

And then finally, your gaze falls back on Stiles and the exhaustion in his eyes, the sweat that clings to his skin. And you think back to how you are the only not effected, not sick, and that must mean something, right? It has to mean something.

So, with a small, sad smile, you let your hand fall on Stiles’ cheek, cupping it. “I have to go,” you repeat, voice soft so only he can hear. “I have to.”

But Stiles only shakes his head, taking a step towards you as one hand falls on your waist, pulling you close and the other cups the back of your head, pulling you closer. He doesn’t argue, because he knows his argument will only fall on deaf ears. But his hands shake as he holds you close, and it’s not because of the sickness that affects him.

“I have to,” you murmur once again, head buried into the crook of his neck. “I have to save you and everyone else.”

And then Stiles leans back, cupping your cheek. His eyes stare deep into your own, flooded with worry and concern but when he parts his lips, he doesn’t disagree. Instead, his thumb strokes across your cheek as he frowns; “you’re gonna come back, right?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling softly up at him as you lean into his touch. “I’ll always come back. I promise.”

Stiles nods, finally, and he steps back, letting go of you but his gaze never leaves your own.

You return his nodding, move to step out of the vault. The moment you’re outside, you hesitate by the door just for another moment, glancing back at Stiles one final time as you send him a small smile. Then, with a nod, he moves to shut the vault door and slowly, he disappears from your view.

And the moment the door is fully shut, you turn, heading down the hallway you’d just gone down moments before with everyone else. Your steps are quick, heart pounding against your chest as you keep a careful eye out for anything. As much as you hate the idea of it, it’s obvious that this isn’t just any outbreak.

Violet and Garrett, or The Orphan’s as they were more commonly known as, aren’t the only professional hunters after you and your friends. And you know it.

As soon as you reach the top of the steps, you move to step towards where the quarantine zone is, hoping to find Ms. Martin. But, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s the door to the boys locker-room, and for some reason, it’s open. Your brows furrow, eyes narrowing in thought. It shouldn’t be open.

Taking a step forward, you hesitantly set your hand on the door knob, pushing it open. Something feels wrong, but your heart tells you to continue. You promised Stiles that you would find the cause of this all, and you were determined to. For his sake, for Scott’s, Malia’s and Kira’s. For your friends sake.

But just as you step into the room, the lights suddenly switch off, enveloping you in darkness. It causes you to gasp, your body tensing as you instantly turn towards the door, sensing the danger. But, just as you reach for the door knob, it slams shut, leaving no light to bleed into the room. You can’t see a single thing.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The voice frightens you, your body jumping slightly in response. But even so, your brows furrow when you realize the voice sounds slightly familiar -- you just can’t exactly place it.

“Who are you?”

You hear footsteps, echoing around you. You try to follow them, but in complete darkness, it’s nearly impossible.

“We’ve only met once,” the voice continues, and your lips curve down into a deep frown, trying to recognize the voice. “But I was so sure I made a lasting impression.”

The instructor for the PSATs.

“You,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper.

“I do believe you called me creepy.”

Eyes narrowing, you let your eyes fall shut, your powers surging through you. But, even with the extra light glowing from your body, you can’t find him. His footsteps echoing around you continue to taunt you, hidden in the shadows, out of view.

“You’re doing this?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Feeling anger surge through you, you swipe your hand out, intent on hitting the man. But nothing ever echoes, except a faint thud, causing you to frown in confusion. Once again, your hand swipes out before you, and nothing.

“If you can’t see me,” the man’s voice echoes, taunting. “You can’t hit me.”

You feel your shoulders tense, fear flooding through you as his words register within you.

Biting back the fear, you let out a growl, holding your hands out before you protectively. “I can try,” you snap, swiping your hand across yourself once more. As before, it does nothing.

“You won’t hit me, because you can’t see me,” the man speaks once again, continuing to taunt you. Then, his footsteps halt, and so do you, fearing the worst. Your head spins every which way, eyes squinting to catch just the slightest sight of him, It’s useless. “But,” and suddenly, his figure appears before you, a pain radiating throughout your stomach. “I can see you.”

You curl into yourself, your hands falling to the knife lodged into your stomach as your eyes register on the man before you. He smirks down at you, twisting the knife inside of you before slamming you up against one of the lockers. A cry leaves your lips in response, head bouncing off of the locker as your entire body tenses, jaw clenching at the feeling of the knife still lodged into your stomach.

“You witches are hard to catch,” the man smirks down at you sickly, watching as you swallow thickly, your skin growing clammy as you try to breathe through the pain. “You aren’t affected by the virus, so I had to find a different means of catching you. Thirty million is a lot of money to pass up.”

You growl at his teasing’s, struggling within his grip only to instantly regret it the moment a sharp pain radiates through out of your body.

Then, the man steps back, knowing you can’t do much with the knife pressed into his stomach. He doesn’t grow that far, just creating enough distance between the two of you so he can pull something out of his back pocket. Your eyes watch his movements closely, watching as he pulls out of a blindfold, holding it out before you with a proud smile.

“You can’t hurt me if you can’t see me.”

-

“I was wondering how that idiot got sick.”

Letting out a whimper, you try to peer through your blind at who the instructor speaks to. You can barely see a thing, just make out a faint outline. However, you do notice the hitch in the persons breath the minute you’re shoved forward, the instructor holding onto your arm tightly, your hands tied behind you.

You try to struggle, but it’s useless, because every bit you move sends a bout of pain throughout your entire body that blinds you with excruciating agony. The knife was pulled out, shortly after the man had bound and blindfolded you, but it wasn’t healing because despite being a witch, you didn’t have Scott’s and Malia’s healing abilities. Instead, you were left to bleed out.

Though, originally, it had looked like the man just intended to kill you. He’d been about to before something had caught his attention. What, you weren’t sure, but you assumed it to be whoever was stood in front of you. Whoever you couldn’t see.

Then, he had grabbed you by the arm, yanked you up to your feet despite your yelp of pain and dragged you unceremoniously forward. Without a care for your well being. Though, you guessed a man trying to kill you wouldn’t care all that much.

“I’m also wondering where you’re friends are,” the man continues, his voice sending a shiver through your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “Since in order to be paid by the benefactor, I need to have proof they’re dead.”

You’re not unaware of the gun the man holds in his free hand, nor of the fact that it’s point directly at your right side.

“Visual conformation.”

And just like that, you feel your heart plummet.

“Stiles...”

Even though you can’t see Stiles, you can now feel his heavy gaze on you. And it fills you with nothing but dread.

Dread that only intensifies when you feel the gun leave your side and point at, only who you can assume, Stiles.

“Exactly.”

-

You let out a groan as you’re tossed to the ground, your head falling back against the wall as you let out a small whimper of pain. Your entire body shakes in response, fighting the restraints wrapped tightly around your wrists. You can’t see a thing, but you can imagine that the man’s gun is still pointed at Stiles who you can’t help but worry for, even more than yourself.

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” the man whispers down at you, before you hear his footsteps fleeting.

Your heart drops when you hear another pair follow his own. 

You want to help, but with your hands tied behind your back, you can’t pull off the blindfold. And your powers are useless if you can’t see, just like the man had said. And with the nasty wound in your stomach, moving is just as impossible because every slight movement causes your body to tense with blinding and unfathomable pain. You can feel your energy slipping by every passing moment and you so badly want to close your eyes and fall asleep, but you fight the urge for Stiles.

“Stiles!” You call out, voice pitching in panic as it echoes across the otherwise silent room. “Just let him go,” you cry, knowing that you’re most likely speaking to the wall. “Please!”

“Y/N,” you hear Stiles call, causing you to freeze. “It’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”

Letting out a cry, you shake your head. But before you can say anything more, there’s a shuffle and a grunt, and the two pairs of footsteps are in the faint background.

“Still a bit feverish, Mr. Stilinski.”

You listen closely to their conversation, trying to ignore the way your heart pounds against your chest.

“But you should know something,” the instructor continues, “the virus doesn’t kill humans, you’ll get better. So don’t you think you should tell me where they are?”

Your breath hitches when you hear their footsteps stop.

“Shouldn’t one of you get to live?”

“I think I saw them in the library. Or it might’ve been the cafeteria. It was definitely one of those two.”

“If you don’t tell me,” the instructor begins, his voice having lost some of it’s humor. “I’m going to back into that office and kill your pretty little friend.”

You hear a shuffle of footsteps before; “you’re already going to kill her. At least this way, she has a chance.”

“With a bleeding wound in her stomach?” The man questions, “I think not. But nonetheless, you are correct. So how about this, I’m going to count to three and then i’m going to kill you.”

Swallowing thickly, you bite your bottom lip.

“Think you can scare me?”

“No, I think I can kill you. I just thought the countdown would make it more exciting. So...” There’s a moment of pause before, “one...” The minute he starts counting, you move to scoot forward, best you can. You need to try. You can’t... You can’t lose Stiles.

“Two...”

Falling against the ground with a whimper, you halt to a stop when you hear approaching footsteps. You squint once again, trying to peer through your blindfold, but all you see is a fleeting figure before a gun shot rings throughout the area.

Your breath halts, and you feel your eyes water, fearing the worst. He can’t... He can’t be dead...

But then you hear almost a spitting sound, and the figure in front of you moves. You let out a shaky breath, listening closely, and then, before you know it, you hear Stiles call out; “where the hell did you come from?”

“Stiles, listen.”

Dad?

“I got a call from Melissa. I don’t know what it means. She said there’s an antidote. It’s in a vault, reishi mushrooms.”

“Wait, what in a vault?”

“It’s in a jar on one of the shelves. She said to tell Scott, it’s in the vault.”

There’s a moment of silence before, “Y/N...”

“What?”

“Y/N, Y/N! She’s...”

There’s approaching footsteps, fast, fleeting footsteps and then suddenly there are hands on your face, pulling the blindfold off. You see Stiles before you, face covered in blood that nearly causes your breath to stop. Then you see Rafael take a step towards you, but you can barely focus on him, wide eyes on Stiles. Your mind is reeling, fast, too fast to process.

“You’re okay,” he breathes, hands falling on your cheeks before lowering to your wound. His hand hovers over the wound, becoming covered in blood just like it stains his cheeks. You’ve never seen Stiles so frightened in his life and it crushes you that it’s because of you. It looks like he can barely think straight and everything is a jumbled mess, and yet, you’re still the first one on his mind. “Oh, God... Y/N...”

You move to reply, but then you remember... An antidote.

Shaking your head up at Stiles, you shrug his hands away. “Stiles,” you breathe, eyes wide. “Scott, Malia, Kira,” their names come pouring from your lips in a fast sputter, continuously shaking your head. “You need to go. Get to them. Please!”

Stiles only pauses a moment, eyes scanning across you one final time before nodding, standing up to his feet. He wobbles for a second, turning to Rafael who’s already rushing towards you, eyes wide as they fall on your wound. And yet, your eyes never leave Stiles, nodding at him, until he’s gone.

“Y/N...”

Teeth grinding together, you tilt your chin up as Rafael begins to apply pressure to your wound.

“Not how you expected to find your daughter, huh, dad?”

Even though it’s a joke, no laughter leaves both your father’s or your lips. Instead a moan of pain leaves your lips and Rafael stares down at you in disbelief for a moment before he shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor. “We need to get you to a hospital,” he breathes, voice pitched in panic as his arms move to slide underneath your back and knees. “Now.”

Oddly enough, his touch doesn’t bother you. Doesn’t frighten you. It shouldn’t, like it had before because whenever your dad used to touch you, as simple as setting his hand on your shoulder, you’d flinch away. But in this moment, maybe because of how tired you are, you just lean into the warmth.

You let out a groan as he lifts you upward, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, holding onto him. You’re still worried for Stiles and Scott and all your friends, but the exhaustion is too much at this point and you can’t keep your eyes open for much longer. So, letting your head fall against Rafael’s chest, you let out a sigh.

“You’re okay,” Rafael whispers, “i’m not gonna let you die.” His thumb strokes against your chin, hands brushing back your unkempt hair as you stare back at him through heavy eyelids. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you again, okay? I promise.”

You don’t completely register his words. Don’t completely register the meaning behind them either. But still, as your eyes finally fall shut, you can’t help but whisper.

“Thanks dad...”

-

Part 29?

Let me know what you thought?

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[raendown]

The next chapter of my Amends to the Dead series, commissioned by the wonderful @birkastan2018 who has been amazingly supporting of my works and provided so much inspiration. 

Pairing: None Word count: 4239 Chapter: 1/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don't get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama's obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 1

Grey clouds and a dreary sky greet him when Izuna leaves the administration tower this afternoon, a dour forecast for the evening’s weather. Determined to keep a positive attitude, he tells himself that at least it is holding off for now, will hopefully keep itself in check until after he finishes his inspection. That massive dream-headed idiot of a Senju wants a wall around their settlement but as much as Izuna freely agrees with the tactical benefits of such a barrier he is glad Madara has managed to talk the man in to waiting rather than just springing something up out of the ground willy-nilly. Although several clans and minor villages have already emigrated to join them there are still others they hope to bring in to the fold as well. If Hashirama grows a wall around them at their current size it will ostracize any new districts built in the future – not to mention that such a short-sighted buffoon will almost definitely forget to leave room for population growth as the years go on.

Hence why Izuna has saddled himself with the boring task of trudging his way around the outskirts to scope out where they can expand, how far, whether some portions of the surrounding terrain should be left available to grow crops, that sort of thing. Trying to keep his thoughts grand scale, the first thing he does is make the long climb up the mountain face overlooking them all. From there he is granted a wonderful view of all they have built so far and all the space they have to build upon in the future. Izuna does his best to sketch what he sees on several different pieces of paper and includes the surrounding terrain as little symbols. Later he can use these sketches to create different proposals for wall construction.

Considering how often he changes his mind he intends to make at least five copies. He only gets halfway through the fourth before his hand freezes in place and his eyes slowly roll to one side, looking around without actually turning his head. It’s a useless endeavor anyway. Even if he turns all the way around and carefully inspects every inch of the space behind him Izuna knows he will see absolutely nothing.

Tobirama is better than that.

Weirder than the fact that his counterpart has been following him around like a lagging shadow for weeks now is the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a reason for it. The man hasn’t even gone to the trouble of suppressing his chakra. Izuna might not be a sensor type like his brother is but he isn’t so chakra-blind that he can’t tell when someone he’s spent years on the other side of a war from is nearby. He might be tempted to think the other man is mocking him somehow if not for the fact that Tobirama never once alludes to his little stalker habit when they are forced to interact in the tower. If anything his habit worsens during work hours. Very few days go by when Izuna does not turn around to find Tobirama hovering over him or staring intently from across the room.

Knowing that his old rival has been up to the same idiocies all day – just as every other day – is not very comforting but it makes his movements a little less awkward as he decides that he’s taken up enough time loitering here at the top of the cliff. It’s odd, the things one can get used to after being exposed for long enough. Having someone follow him around isn’t exactly comfortable but it’s something he learned to live with as soon as he concluded that it isn’t a statement of the Senju’s lack of trust. Not the clan as a whole, at least.

If there were anyone they don’t trust it would be Madara and no one follows him around. Izuna cannot imagine them wasting their best on him while assigning someone lesser to tailing his more dangerous older brother. The Senju have never been a stupid enemy.

Almost worse than the strangeness of knowing that he is being followed is trying to decide how to act. Izuna packs his sketches away and does everything he can to resist the urge to turn around and search for the face he knows is watching, reflecting that he isn’t actually sure what Tobirama will do if he confronts the man. When this first started Izuna hadn’t really known what to think of it, held off on reacting in any way in case he was misinterpreting something, and now that he knows for sure that the other is following him he realizes he’s let it go on for so long that bringing it up now will only be more awkward. They need to talk about it at some point, obviously. Just maybe not right this second.

Using that excuse only gets less and less valid with every day.

With a grand overview of the village fresh in his mind Izuna refocuses himself on the task at hand and begins drafting a few tentative blueprints in his mind while he scales his way back down the cliff. Halfway down he makes a mental note to suggest they install an easier way to get up here somehow. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that any tourists or visitors will be very interested in the view of a village so important to the history of the five great nations, the first of its kind. Then he pushes the thought away in to the corner of his mind for ‘things to deal with later’; he has much more important business at hand. Before they can welcome any tourism they need to be more solid in their defense of the people already here.

Senju Touka stands in the center of the road leading in to their settlement from the north when he arrives. Izuna is quick to hide the grimace that appears as soon as he catches sight of her. Enemies they might not be any longer but Touka is not likely to ever be his favorite person. Too brash, too hard, and too focused on being a warrior without ever allowing herself to still be a woman. Izuna enjoys a tough skin as much as the next shinobi but he needs friends and lovers who allow themselves to unclench at least once in a while. The woman before him carries a look on her face even when making no expression which tells him she probably hasn’t unclenched since the first time she learned to wield her body as a weapon.

“Nothing to report,” Touka’s voice rings out sharp even when she speaks quietly. He nods once to show that he understands.

“Border inspection,” he grunts back.

“Already? With all the paperwork that goes through the Tower I had guessed it would take at least another week for anyone to even think about doing something useful about their own ideas.” She snorts and this time Izuna allows the grimace that slides back over his face.

With a rueful sigh he shakes his head. “I gave myself the job for just that reason. This needs to get done.”

“Lots of things need to get done,” Touka mumbles dryly. Her eyes flick back down the path and her chin dips to signal someone else. “The others can walk the road; if I’m going to guard the wall when it goes up I’d like to hear your thoughts on where it’s to be built.”

Since there is really no polite way to refuse her Izuna shrugs and turns away without waiting to see if she follows. If she can’t keep up that’s her own problem. He isn’t the one who invited her along. Just as he finishes the thought her footsteps come from behind and her severe face returns to his peripherals with the blank expression of someone waiting to form an opinion.

That gives him an idea, actually, speaking of opinions. As the two of them travel in silence he lets his eyes roam around the terrain on all sides, mentally comparing it to the visual he remembers from above even as another part of his mind races trying to find the wording for how to broach a subject that many still consider sensitive.

“If I may, I’d like to ask about the climate in your clan,” he says eventually. Touka gives no physical reaction, betrayed only by the caution in her tone as she replies.

“You may ask your questions.” He notices that she has promised him no answers.

“Tensions were high for a while after we first merged our territories. Obviously it’s going to take a number of years before our people can coexist with true ease but – for my own clan at least – I’ve noticed massive improvements. What I mean to ask is: what of your own clan?”

“What of them?” Touka grunts.

Careful not to show his temper, Izuna keeps his voice low so it will not carry to other ears following along behind them. “Have the tensions eased in your people? Or do they still fear mine like enemies?”

“Fear isn’t exactly how I would describe it,” his unwanted companion muses. “Caution would be more accurate.”

“Do they distrust us so much?” he presses.

To his utter lack of surprise Touka turns to give him a sharp warning look. “Don’t go looking for trouble where there is none, Uchiha. Our people distrust yours no less than yours return in kind. Like you said yourself, it’s going to take years to erase the effects leftover from generations of war. Those of us who lived through it may never recover entirely. But”-from the corner of one eye he watches her move both hands away from her weapons in a deliberate motion-“we recognize and accept that the Uchiha want this peace to work. “

“Ah. Thank you for your input, Touka-san. I had thought that was how things stand but at this stage assumptions aren’t safe to be relied upon. Let’s change the subject. We’re thinking of building out from the current settlement to allow for growth but I don’t think this particular area would be good for that. Doesn’t the ground here turn in to swamp a few miles out?”

While she does allow him to change topics without comment Izuna notes the lingering gaze from the corner of her eyes to the corners of his own. He lets her stare. If they truly are allies then he has nothing to fear from a couple of eyes that don’t even have the advantage of a Sharingan. Rumor says this woman is nearly as good with genjutsu as any Uchiha but it would need to be some kind of skill indeed to trap him in an illusion he can’t escape – and besides that there is really no reason for her to do any such thing unless she wants to start another war.

Instead the two of them trade mild opinions on the surrounding land and discuss construction plans all while pretending they don’t notice the acid undertones or the barbs hidden in their words. Much as he is loathe to admit it, by the time they make a half circuit around the village and Touka declares it time for her to turn back he almost finds himself reluctant to see her go. Almost. Sometimes it’s nice to find someone who can withstand the worst of his vitriol. He is still firm on his belief that Touka will never be one of his favorite people but perhaps they can stand each other a little better than he first imagined.

The rest of his patrol around the perimeter is done in silence with no one to talk to but the thoughts inside his own mind, probably the most intelligent conversation he is likely to have all day. Rather than give that Senju woman any reason to look at him funny again Izuna ends his inspection by ducking in between some of the housing built on the fringes like afterthoughts.

He could have done without some of the man’s habits and opinions but if there is one thing Izuna wishes their brothers had actually listened to Tobirama about it’s the road planning. Caught up in their dream as they had been, Madara hadn’t so much held Hashirama back as he had egged the man on to raise frames and rooves without a single thought for the carefully drawn street maps Tobirama had been trying to present them with. Now everyone else pays the price for it as they wind their way through crisscrossing streets that often follow no logical direction whatsoever, haring off towards wherever Hashirama had raised the next home. Surely it can only be the mercy of the kami that made him finally stop and listen to his sibling before he made a similar mess of the village center.

Finding his way through the busy foot traffic is infinitely easier once he reaching the districts where the streets are wider than his own wingspan, leaving plenty of room for Izuna to duck and weave around the gaggle of children chasing each other, wild laughter ringing over the crowds with no regard for the different clans they each belong to.

This, he has come to understand, is the peace that Madara has been dreaming of since they were young boys clinging to each other with all their strength, the last of their siblings and so desperate not to lose any more. In some ways he wishes he had understood earlier. He also hopes that the idiot following along behind him on a nearby rooftop understands the same.

When he reaches the tower Izuna heads straight for his office and rather pointedly shuts the door behind him, relieved to note Tobirama’s distinctive chakra moving off to hopefully be productive somewhere else. How the man gets anything done when he’s following other people around all day is a mystery but Izuna is just as glad to finally be alone. It’s much easier to concentrate on drawing up a few difference proposals for wall construction when he doesn’t have some part of his concentration occupied with the ever-watching eyes over his shoulder.

Unfortunately for all that he’s always been fast at coming up with plans he is also, given the time, a perfectionist. What should only take him a mere twenty minutes to sketch some rough blueprints turns in to nearly two hours of meticulous lines and painstaking notes along the edges of every paper to list the benefits of each different proposal. Izuna is already rolling his eyes at himself by the time he finally drags his body up out of the chair with a firm mental declaration that any further additions will be a waste of time. Only one of these proposals can be chosen as the final plan and the entire council will be looking over it to add their suggestions. No one expects him to think of everything himself.

Seeing Madara roll his eyes as well when he lets himself in to his brother’s office makes him stick out his tongue, a gesture the man returns without pause. Dignity isn’t exactly a concern when they are alone.

“Took you long enough,” is his greeting. “Didn’t you leave to do that just after noon? It shouldn’t have taken you that long just to walk in a big circle and doodle a couple outlines. What did you do, take a nap in a tree somewhere?” Madara tuts and shakes the handle of a brush at him, then he frowns and looks down at the parchment he’s just splattered with ink.

“Pardon me for doing my job well,” Izuna grumbles.

“Well give them here then. Looks like you have several ideas. That’s good, actually. I know it sounds counterintuitive but the bloody elders actually decide faster if we give them more options.”

The two of them share a tired look and Izuna nods understandingly as he tosses his papers on the desk. “Fewer options always means one person picks a favorite right away and another person takes exception to that. Best to let them talk it all out first, I get it.”

Madara spreads the sketches out and fiddles with the end of one, lifting it only to turn his eyes to another.

“Do you have any you’re particularly attached to before I look them over?” he asks.

“No.”

He should know to watch his tone. It’s only a single word but the moment it leaves his mouth Izuna winces, pinned in place under the sudden scrutiny of dark eyes that know him just a little too well.

“You sound upset by something,” Madara notes. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say wrong, precisely. I’m being followed around again and I still don’t like it.” It’s gratifying to see the other man scrunch his face up with distaste. At least he isn’t the only one who finds this situation endlessly odd.

“Still not talking to you about it, I suppose?”

“Not a damn word. Any time I bring it up he just stares at me with these…empty eyes. Honestly sometimes I’m tempted to worry that he’s been possessed by some demon with a grudge against me. Somehow that would make more sense!” Izuna shakes his head, stepping around to slump his body in to the single visitor chair available. Then he squirms uncomfortably as a floral scent wafts up his nose. It’s easy to tell who usually sits in this chair.

Fingers twiddling absently at the edges of the papers spread out on his desk, Madara rolls his eyes at such dramatics but makes no comment on them, which Izuna takes to mean that his sibling agrees in his own way. He wishes he could say he is only being silly and dramatic but deep down he truly believes that Tobirama being possessed by a vengeful spirit would make more sense than for the man to follow him around as though suspicious of his intentions. Still ridiculous, of course, but somehow more plausible.

He hadn’t been stupid enough to believe Hashirama's vague words about recovery during the first few meetings of peace between their people. The longer time went on without the Senju second heir appearing the less anyone had been willing to believe such nonsense but it was the look in Hashirama's eyes which stilled their tongues as the months stretched out in to a full year. Not anger or exasperation, no nervousness that they might be taking offense. What earned their silence both then and now had been the worry in his eyes, the fear for another which he tried so desperately not to let them see, the flash of uncertain terror that shadowed his eyes with every mention of his brother. Izuna has seen that look in the eyes of those who worry for their loved ones even when there is no wound to worry over.

“And he’s not…aggressive?” Madara asks.

“No!” Izuna throws his hands in the air and slumps further in his seat. “At least if he was angry or something I would understand that but this silence and following me around, it’s just weird! I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to it.”

“You could, oh I don’t know, ask him to stop?”

With the bitchiest look he can summon Izuna nods exaggeratedly. “Oh of course, why didn’t I think of that? Ah right. Because I did. And all that accomplished was a big fat load of nothing.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic,” his brother grumbles. When Madara turns away to pout Izuna rubs at the space between his brows.

“Do you have any idea what his problem is? Serious question, any idea at all? Has your best friend for life not said anything or dropped any hints? I’m at my wits end here.” What small hope he has is dashed by the shaking of the other man’s head.

Madara shrugs as he says, “Not a clue. It’s weird but Hashirama doesn’t actually talk about his brother very much.”

“You mean they don’t like each other?”

“No, not like that. But every time Tobirama comes up in conversation, if it’s not work related Hashirama will get this really weird look on his face and change the subject. Usually in such a way that I don’t think about it till later. You know how he is, all loud and distracting.”

“He’s certainly not as dumb as he pretends to be,” Izuna agrees.

The two of them sit in silence for a minute or two, thinking of the all the unexpected similarities between the Senju siblings and all the ways they’re still so different. For all that they are both unexpectedly intelligent it seems to be only in their own respective fields. Where Tobirama’s intelligence is nearly unparalleled when it comes to science and political machinations he seems to be quite useless when it comes to human interactions and yet that is where Hashirama shines – earnest Hashirama who can only stare with a blank smile whenever his beloved sibling goes off on some in-depth explanation of a new tax code proposal.

Shaking his head to clear it, Izuna takes a deep breath and decides that sitting around moaning about his own confusion isn’t getting much done. There are still other things he needs to do that day and he can’t do anything of them while staring across the desk at Madara.

Leaving the man to his work is as easy as reminding him that he has a lot of it and suddenly Izuna finds there is no more attention on him, the perfect time to slip out the door and wander slowly back to his own office. It is only his perfectionist nature which leads him to hearing what he does then. Were he anyone else he might shrug it off when he notices the wrappings around his left ankle coming loose, something that can certainly wait until he sits down to be fixed, but he stops instead and leans against the wall just before a turn in the corridor to bend down and fiddle with his ankle. Not until he is already busy unwrapping and retucking does he realize he is in the perfect spot to overhear two people just around the corner.

“Tetsuo thinks maybe they’re having an affair of some kind,” the first voice says, full of scorn for their own words.

“Ridiculous. That icicle and Izuna-sama? Not a chance. They were rivals for years, they’re not going to fall in to bed only a few months after peace was made!” The second voice sounds vaguely familiar, probably a member of his own clan though he can’t quite identify them.

“I never said I believed it!” the first objects. “But it’s weird, right? The way Tobirama-sama just…hovers around him. If they weren’t enemies for years I would say he’s acting like a nervous parent or something with how he watches Izuna-sama’s every move and how he glares at anyone who says something bad about the man.”

To Izuna’s annoyance his possible clan member feels the need to waste time defending his honor with a sharp, “Who’s saying bad things about him?”

“Oh for kami’s sake, that’s not the point.”

“Hmph.”

“But you get what I’m saying, yeah? I know Tetsuo think they’re rolling around together but my theory is a blood oath or something. Maybe Hashirama-sama set him this duty as penance. I heard one of them almost died in the final battle between your clans and everyone knows Tobirama-sama is too fast to go down easy.”

Much as it hurts Izuna’s pride a little to have someone believe him the weaker in any battle, he forces himself to remain still and continue listening. It takes a moment for his prideful clansman to get past the spluttering and rage over the same issue but eventually it fades in to senseless grumbling and a solid declaration that Tobirama was in fact been the one injured during their final clash. Clearly this person hadn’t been present or else they might not so casually reference that moment.

Very few had known how to process the sight of an elder version of his rival appearing only to turn and slaughter his own younger self.

As the two strangers continue to speculate Izuna swallows thickly and turns away to take another route back to his office, finding suddenly that listening in on a conversation he isn’t supposed to hear has lost its appeal. More than ever his curiosity has been peaked, however. He needs to figure this situation out.

Why does Tobirama follow him?

That will have to be dealt with on his own time, however. Later he will pass on what he heard to his brother and they can speculate to their hearts’ content over dinner. For now he has work to do. Work that, so long as he remains shut away within his own office, he can trust that he will be able to do in the silence of solitary.

Only when the work is done will he turn his mind to the problems that he has already let go too far. Surely one more day of ignoring it all cannot hurt anything. He’ll deal with it eventually, of course, but until then Izuna supposes he can hope that ignoring his problems might, by some miracle, simply make them go away.

[dxxrs-xpen]

Double Solo Para: Partner in Crime

Sammy walks into the garage with lunch. She hasn’t heard from Lily in a while and it’s actually pretty worrisome. Finding her friend pouring over a scattered mess of paperwork on her workbench, she laughs. “Save me a seat there?”

Lily’s head shoots up in surprise, looking at her. “Sam! You startled me.” She walks over to meet her halfway. “What’s this?”

“Lunch. Y’know, that meal that happens around the middle of the day? Food? Important things for life?” Sammy chuckles as she hands Lily a bag from a local fast food place. “Got you chicken, hope that’s good.”

“Sounds great,” Lily answers. “Anything else?”

“...what are you doing?” Sammy’s eyebrows furrow. “I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

Lily chuckles. “Well, not intentionally. I just don’t know if you should be wrapped up in what I’m doing right now.”

“Whatever it is, I wanna help,” Sammy answers, walking around the other to go take a look at the papers and what looks to a casual observer like the scribblings of a madwoman.

“No, you shouldn’t--” Lily starts to rush over when some words catch Sammy’s attention.

Sammy lets out a low whistle. “I didn’t think you hated her that much.”

Lily sighs. “Sam, you should’t have seen any of this--”

“Are you planning to do this on your own?” Sammy whirls on her heel to look at her friend curiously. Neither one seeming to pay any mind to the music they can both hear.

“Aye?” Lily looks confused. “I mean, I don’t want things to get out of hand, besides, I guess... I’ve always done things on my own. It’s just what I’m used to.”

Sammy thinks, snapping her fingers. “Lily, I’ve got it!”

Lily cocks her head slightly as Sammy continues.

“You need a partner in crime Someone to share in the view Why see all of the world and all of its glories Without a friend to tell your stories to?“

Lily pauses, raising an eyebrow a bit as she thinks over the offer. After all, she’s gonna have to get out of Auradon for a bit when this is over, and she... was planning on going alone.

“Someone to stand at my side Two extra fists in a fight! Why should the road be long and lonely?”

Sammy adds, gently pointing in her face with a sparkle in her eyes, “Why not team up?” And Lily joins her on the next line, “We’ve only got tonight!”

Sammy walks over to Lily’s car and leans back against the hood as Lily continues thinking the idea over. Lily shrugs.

“If no one’s around to hear it, Does a falling tree make sound?”

“Are we heard or seen or anything Without a friend around?” Sammy meets, crossing her arms.

“The old Great Wall, the Taj Mahal, Yes, they all have merit,” Lily muses, getting into their bags of food on her workbench now.

Sammy is practically bubbling, “But this traveling fair could take the cake Because you get to share it!”

Lily pauses, pulling out one of the side carrots with Sammy’s meal and holding it up. “Carrot?”

Tossing it to her, Sammy catches it and carries on her train of thinking.

“You need a partner in crime,” “I need a partner in crime,” Lily agrees in response.

“Someone to share in a laugh!” “Someone to share in a laugh...”

Sammy stands upright now, starting over. “Running a race without a pace setter?”

“I’m out of place...” Lily nods as she walks over, meeting the other halfway as they sing together, crossing their arms and standing back to back, “Without my better half!”

Sammy slides out away from her but turns back and points to Lily. “With you--”

“The fun is two-for-one,” Lily finish as she herself spins out away from Sammy, also turning back and pointing to her.

“And choc full of surprises!” Sammy agrees and then continues, “With you the line moves twice as fast--”

“And no one realizes!” Lily sings with her before continuing on her own momentarily. “To do whatever we do now will merit reminiscing.”

She and Sammy join back in together as Lily reaches out an arm and Sammy spins to join her.

“With two I finally feel somehow That something isn’t missing! I have a partner in crime-- Someone to share in the view! Why see the world and all of its glories Without a friend to tell your stories to?”

As Sammy spins, she takes Lily’s outstretched hand but carries on past her, Lily swinging her over to her other arm. As their arms stretch out, Sammy finally comes to a stop, both of them giggling now.

The two slide apart as they let go, the slide turning into a quick chassé and spinning out till they’re on opposite sides of the garage with Lily back beside her car.

Now that they’re on opposite sides of the garage though, Lily starts move in towards center with a few graceful ballet steps that Sammy mimics staying in place.

Once Lily reaches center, Sammy takes a breath before make a graceful run towards her. When Sammy reaches her the two move fluidly to allow Sammy to roll across Lily’s back, landing on her feet and both of them do one spin to get out of their positions before launching into an extremely elaborate handshake.

As they finish, clasping both arms across each other in the end, they break away and turn, leading Sammy to do a simple kick ball change, which Lily then copies, before Lily herself meets it with a single flap.

Sammy copies that and the two carry on with the back and forth steps for several minutes, each getting more difficult with each other before with a shared grin the song changes pace again.

The two now hop into a short set of jazz squares and slide in together. Lily spins away and high kicks, bouncing her hips with a point as Sammy does the same in the opposite direction. As they both land in the pose Lily was in for bouncing they slowly turn away from each other, swinging their arms across in front of themselves as a circle outstretch and slide into perfect splits that they hold for a beat.

Then they swing their legs both in front of them and jump to their feet with their arms outstretched, backing up into each other intentionally and jumping, turning to face each other and beaming.

Reaching, they both take each other’s hands and push them out till they are their full arms’ length apart, bringing their feet in and swinging each other in a circle. Once they have momentum going they break away, spinning out in opposite directions and landing with their arms in third (per ballet standards, anyways).

Lowering their arms, the two run wide but loop back to be on opposite sides of Lily’s workbench, face to face, they both hit their arms neatly across from each other onto said workbench and do a shortened version of the handshake from earlier, the entire time bouncing their feet back and forth between crossed and uncrossed.

Then they swing out away from the workbench, looping back around it and crossing each other’s paths away from each other., stopping not long after they crossed, however, and grapevining first to their rights and then to their lefts.

With a quick spin they land into a short series of hand motions and spin right back together, back to back, every action now mirrored by each other as they first do a short series of kicks and then take a few steps forward and back back into each other, raising their back arms up and out momentarily,, then their other hands clasp and Lily spins Sammy who swings out wide before coming around to face her.

As quickly as they’d come together they again pull apart, no more than their arms’ length allows, keeping their hands clasped. both of them lean their bodies out somewhat diagonally and pull themselves back up together, still mirroring each other’s steps.

Sammy suddenly jerks Lily around in front of her and Lily spins out, taking Sammy’s other hand as she lets go of their initial grasp. They have a quick almost “tug of war” at their linked hands and pull apart, turning away from each other and crossing their arms.

Sammy first almost skips backwards a step. Then Lily. Then Sammy. Then Lily, and so on until they’re back to back again and they turn around and hug each other.

Lily uses the hug to lift Sammy and turn her to her other side. Sammy does the same, slowly moving them back over to Lily’s car when Lily repeats it again.

As they reach Lily’s car they pull apart, Sammy sliding across the hood to the passenger side. Both open their doors at the same time and slide into their seats. They then look at each other, lean said seats back as far as they can and kick up their feet on the dashboard. They rest there a moment before mockingly punching the air like they’re hitting a fake drumset and pull themselves back up, setting the seats back up and turning to point to each other again, singing together.

“You need a partner, a partner in crime Two extra fists in a fight!”

The two pop their legs back out the car doors but lean back and turn their heads to look at each other.

“Stuck in a sticky situation? Lucky the trick's collaboration Why should the road be long and lonely?”

With that, Lily kicks her left leg and pulls herself up and out of her car as Sammy does the same with her right. “We’ve only got tonight!”

Closing their doors they both walk around to the front of the car. “A partner in crime!”

Looking at each other they pause and take hands, raising their free hands as they hold out the very last note. “My partner in crime!”

Sighing, Sammy leans back slowly as she lets go of Lily’s hand. “So?”

Lily thinks. “I could use the help, sure.”

“Yes!” Sammy grins. “Let’s get to work, then.”

(Song: “Partner in Crime”, Tuck Everlasting OBC)

[glamrockmonarch]

Can i please request young reader dating 2019!Roger and reader is jealous when someone her age is being too friendly with roger? Thanks :)

A/N: Although I saw the chance, I did not want to make this into a smut one (like I don’t know the request did not say smut anywhere, sorry!). Also, I don’t know man, this is maybe funny and a bit fluffy, did not make it too angsty.

You were invited to yet another party. It was funny, you did not imagine your life going down like this a couple of years ago. In truth, playing with Brian May had been an incredible part of your career that ended up shaping the rest of your life.

You had decided on risking doing a cover of “driven by you”, it had to be one of the best moments of your life when your manager called and said that Dr. Brian May himself wanted to meet up with you when you were in town. Next thing you knew, you were playing live with him on a stage in front of millions of people.

Unlike his project with Kerry, you two clicked almost right away and went on to work together for what was supposed to be your next album, which instead turned out to be your first record as a duo. It was amazing getting all the recognition this project brought you, especially since people all over the world started recognising your talents as a singer and songwriter. It also ignited knew creative fire in Brian, which resulted in another Queen tour.

Your collaboration got you a spot opening a few of Queen + Adam Lambert concerts in the US until then you had not met Adam or Roger, but it was the tour that got you to this day.

Meeting Roger you felt as if you were speaking to a friend. It was obvious that Brian had been putting a good word in for you, but it was also clear that Mr. Taylor was still a lady killer. You giggled, touched his arm, insisted on having a drink with him. And eventually, after the tour was done you went out.

Who would have thought that all that would lead to you being his “plus one” at this fancy party - a big one too! For a fashion magazine, you were not posh enough to even flip over while getting your hair done at the salon. For this one night, you did get yourself a copy of the latest edition and read the whole thing.

“Kitten, are you done?” Roger wondered once you ran downstairs putting on an earring and holding the other one inside your fist.

“I am almost done, Rog!” You rushed to say, feeling overwhelmed and incredibly overdressed next to him. “What are you wearing?”

Roger’s sense of style had always been something else, but of course, he played it safe and wore a black suit with a dark blue velvet jacket that did wonders for his gorgeous eyes. You did not hide this from him, kissing his cheek as you stepped into his arms.

“You look beautiful!” You complimented him, fixing his collar and smiling up at him.

Through the wrinkles you could see his wonderful features, a life spent smiling, joking, drinking, being himself with his own permission to do so.

“Thanks, Y/N, you look stunning yourself ‘ere,” he commented, his hand pulled your arm up and he spun you around to have a look at the delicate little piece you were wearing.

It was a Gucci dress with long skirt and a large black bow around your neck, although it was flowy around your figure and quite see-through there was a black piece underneath that was fitted perfectly on your body.

You gave him a large smile and after a minute more you left the house.

Now, tonight seemed to be entirely off, with your pictures being taken left and right, you were feeling comfortable in your dress and makeup, but Roger seemed nervous, a bit off too. Apparently, you reckoned, there were a lot of younger people around you tonight. Some even younger than you!

Tigerlily was on the guest list for tonight and once you went up to her to express your concerns things took a slightly funny turn - that is, funny to everyone else but you.

“Hey, Tigs?” You held your glass of wine away from your dress and looked at the blonde. “You see anything funny going on with your dad?”

Tigerlily looked around for a moment before focusing back on you. A little side smile had crept up on her face and you looked back at her, quizzical.

“Nothing out of the ordinary!” She chuckled and clung her glass of vodka tonic with your glass of red wine before taking a sip.

As you waved your hair back behind your shoulder, you saw the one thing you were not expecting. Roger surrounded by young beautiful women. Your heart started racing and you felt blood boil in your veins as you stared. Lily put her hand on your shoulder and laughed.

“Don’t worry about it, Papi's always been like that.” She assured you.

“Yeah…” You had to agree that this might be true because otherwise, you wouldn’t have been there that night. After all, you too fell for Roger’s charms.

The problem? One of the young little women, a redhead with legs for days and pouty lips, was talking into Rogers's ear. Was the music too loud? Well, yeah...but did she also have to give your boyfriend such a great view of her cleavage?

You flipped your hair off your shoulders and gave Tigs a bright smile, one that felt painful in your pink-painted cheeks.

“I’ll see you later!” You strutted back over to her father.

Of course, the room was filled with people, and cameras; but you had to go there and wrap your arm around your man’s arm. That was exactly what you did!

As soon as Roger could see you a large smile spread across his face, he knew you too well not to see that this was something he had never seen before on you. Oh, how good did the colour of jealousy suited you!

Shoulders were thrown back, a wonderful smile adorning your glossy lips. Your eyes looked dark too, dark and fierce. You meant business when you said hello to all the women surrounding him. Roger watched happily as you introduced yourself and repeated each of the girls’ names so you tried to learn them, as you did so, you extended your arm towards him, making a grabby hand at him, the bright diamond ring on your finger shining under the dim lights.

“Oh, are you engaged!” One of the beautiful women said and her attention as caught between staring at your face and admiring the rock on your finger.

Nodding, you giggled. Roger held your hand and a moment later you squeezed yourself between him and the redhead to link your arm to his and kiss him right on the lips regardless of the spectacle this might seem like.

“When did it happen?” One of the girls asked.

“Congratulations! When are you having the wedding?” Another one chimed in with both of her hands around a glass of white wine.

After a light conversation, you were left at last and in a petty act, you waved at the redhead as she walked away with her friends offering Roger nothing more than a smile as she left.

Your boyfriend - and soon to be husband - Roger wrapped his arms around your middle, staring into your eyes he raised his brow and tilted his chin down.

“What?” You shrugged, catching on to his suspiciousness.

Roger laughed, knowing you, he did not need to ask. Although knowing him, he did need to tease.

“If I did not know you any better, love, I’d say you are jealous.”

“I am not.” You replied a little bit too soon and too quickly.

“Oh, of course, you are not…” Rog’s eyes wandered to the side and he eyed the group of girls from before.

You would not accept it tonight, but you did not care what he thought about it as you grabbed his chin between your index and thumb and pulled him into a kiss. Sliding your arms around his neck you brushed your lips against his in a rather harsh fashion. You only pulled away when oxygen was much needed and the shallow breaths you were taking between shorter kisses were no longer enough.

Roger knew exactly was he was doing when he pushed your hair behind your shoulder and brushed his lips on your ear, his beard tickling you a little.

“What would you do if I tell you some of them gave me their phone numbers?” He teased.

With a grunt you turned your head to look him in the eyes, searching for a clue of whether or not this was only a joke or a truth. His blue eyes gave nothing away but the wrinkles around them showed you how amused he was at your current mood.

“Stop that!” You warned him, “Stop it, Rog! ...That is it, sir!” You pointed an accusing finger at him.

“I’m not doing anything!” Roger laughed, he ignored your obvious bad mood.

His hands slid to your sides and he squeezed you gently, his thumbs tickling your ribs.

“Jesus, you look so beautiful when you’re jealous…” he kissed your cheek. Before you could complain again, Roger kissed your lips too. “I’m so lucky to be yours and only yours, Kitten.”

“Damn right you are!” You fixed his collar for the second time this evening.

[mythopoeticreality]

Summoning

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22817314/chapters/54992881

Chapter 3: Handsel

It was not in his habit to go about in the middle of the night, trudging over rough, forgotten country roads (that was to say, when there were any roads about to begin with) with only a lantern, a map and a vague idea to guide him. That first should be made clear, above all other things. Gilbert Norrell was, upon the whole, an entirely respectable young man. There were times, however, when in order to advance the greater knowledge of mankind, the question of one’s respectability must be put aside. (Later in his life he would deny, vehemently, ever being a man capable of such thoughts -- and the idea that he had ever been one was never something to have crossed the minds of those who had met him anyway.)

It was cold. Not the bone-gnawing cold of deep winter, the sort that numbed one’s fingers and made the tips of his ears throb just to think of, but instead that damp chill that early spring often carries about with it. It made his nose run, and for possibly the thousandth time that night, Gilbert took out his handkerchief. The mud (for of course there was mud, there was always mud, wasn’t there?) sucked at his feet, and he stumbled over the rutted, pathless place, relying more on his own young man’s faith in the idea that he was right as much as anything else to bring him to the spot.

He would be glad when this was done, when the journey back home was ended, and once more he was back in the warmth and light of his Uncle’s --

Wait. No.

If he were successful he would be somewhere far better. Somewhere where he would be respected, not seen as a madman or a vagabond or a fool. And that was reason enough for him to keep going.

The place was difficult to find if you did not know what you were looking for. It was difficult to find if you did know what you were looking for, and were searching in full daylight (which Gilbert was most assuredly not). Really, as he groped through the grasping shadow-shapes of he trees crowding all about him, plucking and snagging at his coat and wig he was beginning to rethink this entire venture --or atleast beginning to consider returning to the inn he was staying at, settling himself in for the night with a hot cup of tea, and coming back in the morning when he could see. So absorbed was he in this pleasant thought -- or rather it should be said, the fact that he was not currently experiencing the pleasantness of this thought right then -- that he suddenly found himself lurching forward, the ground flying out from beneath his feet before the inevitable crash. Earth and undergrowth scraped against his hands and knees, his mouth filled with loam. A long groan escaped the young man, and slowly, shakily, painfully, he pushed himself to his knees once more.

Every inch of him was throbbing. Gilbert cast a glance back over his shoulder, and found himself glowering at a particularly twisted tree root that had the temerity to be growing at just the right angle and placement to have tripped him.

With an affronted snort, Gilbert snatched his gaze away, giving his head a sharp shake as he rose back to his feet and dusted himself off.

As he snatched up his lantern, the young man finally saw what it was that stood before him, and in that moment, it seemed all of the tension, all of the nervous energy, all of his frustration and out-of-place-ness left him at once. A new sense of purpose had dawned in his stance and he stood a bit straighter, held his ground a bit more firmly, swinging his pack down from his shoulders and pulling out a candle and a silver basin.

Gilbert lowered himself right back to the ground, setting the basin before him and pouring water from a flask into it. He lit the candle, and there, sitting on a road of cracked cobbles, half-reclaimed by the forest and cutting through an unruly hedge, he began his work.

The King had always been there, of course. As much as the darkness had always been there, or the stars. Gilbert remembered the first time he had learned of Dr. Martin Pale, sitting there in the quiet of his Uncle’s library, behind a wall of books piled high enough to hide his face from view. He remembered opening Belasis’ Instructions for the first time, and reading about Thomas Godbless’ gift to the Raven King. But the King himself? That was like asking him about the first time he’d learned what rain was, or when he’d discovered magic was no longer done in England.

As for that last question, he could more rightly tell you when he’d begun to question why that must be so. Especially when he had proven himself a rather capable magician.

It had been an accident when first he’d discovered the talent. Again, another day spent in his Uncle’s library, a pile of books scattered about him. Pen and ink to one side, so foolishly, carelessly placed too near. A stray movement of his arm had sent the ink well tumbling, pouring wet and black over the open pages of that copy of The Instructions, just as Godbless arrived late to the King’s celebrations. He didn't know how he’d done it. His breath had just caught. The world had just stopped.

No, Gilbert remembered thinking, No, no, no,no,no…. The silent wish to go back to undo the last few moments of time.

And then, a change came over the room, one he couldn’t quite explain. It was as though all of the books on their shelves had been taken out and rearranged in an instant. And the ink retreated, flowing back off of the paper and retreating back into it’s well, which righted itself as though nothing had happened at all.

For a moment, Gilbert could only stare.

When he came back to himself, of course his first concern was to banish the inkwell to the other side of the room entirely. He told no one about the magic, but from there on he threw himself into his studies.

Magic had been gone for hundreds of years. The King had been gone for hundreds of years. And here Gilbert stood, England’s first Magician in all of that time.

He couldn’t have told you when it was he first conceived of the idea, to find the King himself. Only that each time he’d heard passing gossip about street-magicians in their yellow-curtained tents, or that every time a well meaning bookseller would catch the title of his latest purchase and sigh wistfully about real magic no longer being done, then the conviction would only grow stronger.

“I name the darkness that surrounds me, that has ever been friend and ally to the Raven King as my Envoy and ask that it seek him out.”

He had researched the question of how to do so for weeks. Months? Perhaps years --since first he had begun his studies in earnest -- if he were to tell the truth. He had feared the Raven King as a child, avoiding the darkness where he was said to dwell, sliding deep and buried under his blankets at night that he might stay safe.

Yet in reading about magic, the King was impossible to ignore.

He was the greatest of all English Magicians, after all. The First of all English Magicians, was it any surprise? He was the root of it all, connected to it all and yet still so strangely separate from it. Separate, somehow, from all of those that surrounded him.

Yes, perhaps it was just part of the nature of the calling, Gilbert supposed.

Isolation, that was.

In any case, though books could teach him so much, to be apprentice to a real Magician...oh he could just imagine the things he could learn then. Perhaps that was where the plans began to form. Not seriously at first, but when it began to look like he might have discovered a way…

“I name this Road, the Road said to be he one walked by the Raven King when he came first to England, as my Path, and ask that it lead the King to me.”

Gilbert’s hand hovered just over the candle now.

“And I name as Handsel, Myself. The First True Magician in three hundred years of English history, to act as servant and apprentice to you, oh King, if you Arrive and show yourself before me. At the Dousing of this candle I enact this summoning!"

Gilbert pinched the candle out. The forest fell to silence, waiting, it almost seemed to him.

Yet no one came.

He waited all night, fell asleep at some point and only realized it when he found himself blinking blearily at the sky, his bones aching and his mouth coated in a thick film.

Gilbert pushed himself up, first to his elbows, and then slowly into a sitting position, glancing about, as if looking for any sign that some other life had been here in the passage of the night.

The wind howled through the trees, a groaning, empty sound without any newly budded leaves to clatter against themselves.

No one had come.

[kisskissbanggang]

As If

[~10 minute read, 2.3k Words -- College!Doyoung x Female Reader -- 4:1 Fluff, Smut -- Pretty vanilla tbh, whoops this turned out cuter than expected]

You checked your watch, anxious to end your shift so you wouldn't keep Michelle waiting, as she was supposed to meet you at the internet cafe after her club meeting. Suddenly, you perked up as you saw a familiar head of curly hair bob into view from behind a display at the front of the store.

"Hey!" Michelle beamed at you, hopping up to the counter. "I got out early, so I thought I'd meet you here and we can go to Byte together. And I brought you a surprise!" Michelle produced two coffees from behind her back.

"Coffee?" You inquired, holding back a giggle. Michelle was easily entertained.

"That new Starbucks Coffee across the street! I've been hearing they're good, so I got us a couple lattes. You know they have a weird size system?"

You sipped at the drink, nodding as Michelle rambled. "It tastes like coffee," you marveled, making your friend punch you in the shoulder. You checked your watch again, excited, "and you helped pass enough time for me to clock off! I'll be right back."

You ran into the backroom, punched your time card, grabbed your backpack, and ran back to meet Michelle at the front of the store. "Can we stop by the music store?" She asked, sipping at the straw she had shoved in the lid of her hot coffee. "I wanted to look for something." You agreed and you both made the short trek from KB Toys to Sam Goody.

You had been working at the mall for the past couple semesters. It wasn't the best job, but it paid enough and Michelle worked at the Limited Too downstairs. You walked into the neon store, music reverberating off the walls, and you noticed a new face behind the counter -- tall, slim, gorgeous. You made eye contact with the beautiful stranger and looked away shyly, following behind Michelle as she looked for whatever it was she was searching for. You peeked over the shelves, accidentally making eye contact again. You ducked, knowing you were just seeing things. Having located the mysterious CD she had been hunting for, Michelle linked arms with you and hauled you up front to the counter, bringing you right back in front of the stranger.

Michelle nodded hello to the clerk and pulled off her little fuzzy backpack to dig through it, searching for her wallet. "Do you guys take AmEx?" She asked, not really listening for an answer while she excavated.

His nametag said "Doyoung". You nervously sipped at your latte. You decided to be brave. Worst case scenario, you could never shop here again. "Doyoung, huh? I work a few stores down and never saw you before. Did you just start here?" You asked. Fair opening line, you figured.

He smiled, nodding. "Just moved here, actually," he said. His prolonged eye contact made you suspicious.

Michelle finally found her wallet and snapped it open to root around for her credit card. She nodded conversationally. "Oh, cool," she said, barely paying attention, "from overseas?"

You spit up your latte as your horrified gaze fell on your friend.

"Uh," Doyoung blinked hard, "from Inglewood. I just transferred from USC."

"Oh, awesome! Good for you," Michelle said, beaming her radiant smile at him. "I'm sure you'll love it here. I can show you around. Maybe give me your beeper number and we can hang out?" It astounded you how Michelle refused to let things phase her.

"Thanks," Doyoung said, "but I don't have a beeper." He nonchalantly rang her up. Michelle expectantly waited for an offer of a phone number or something, but never got one. You stood idly by in mortified silence, dying of the awkward brazenness of your friend. Michelle breezily thanked him and grabbed her small shopping bag, pulling you after her.

You wanted to do something, anything. As you stepped out of the store, you stopped in your tracks. "Wait," you paused, pretending to search your pockets, "I think I dropped my, uh, new scrunchie I bought at Claire's last week. It's either in the store or back at work. I'll catch up to you in a second." Michelle shrugged and said she'd be browsing in Old Navy.

You nearly sprinted back to the store, your chunky Skechers slapping the floor as you ran back up to the counter. "Hey!" You said, almost too enthusiastically. Doyoung smiled genuinely at you. He hadn't done that for Michelle. "I'm so sorry about my friend," you panted, almost out of breath from your burst of energy, "she's amazing but she's sort of..."

"Dumb?"

"Functional but without a filter, is how I politely say it."

"I don't know about your friend, but maybe we can hang out?"

"Uh," you paused, failing to hold back a smitten giggle. This never happened to you. "Of course. I can beep yo-- Oh! Duh, you said you don't have one."

"I do have a PDA, though." His gummy smile was infectious. "What's your AIM? I can IM you when I get off today."

You cracked a grin, grabbing the proffered PDA and stylus and tapping in your screen name.

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You lounged at Byte as Michelle finished her paper, drumming your fingers on the desk between you. You knew it was reckless to schedule a date with Doyoung immediately after hanging out with your friend, but you knew everything would be fine once she left for her evening class.

"Yes!" Michelle exclaimed as she finished her paper. She popped her floppy disk out of the computer. "If I hurry I can make it to Kinko's on the way to school for my copies. Thanks for all your help!" She kissed the top of your head and sprinted out the door.

Right on time, Doyoung stepped in five minutes later. You lit up, nearly tempted to get up and run over. However, you kept it locked down, instead waiting for him to approach. He waved, smiling as he sat next to you where Michelle had once occupied. You were about to offer to order some food when suddenly Doyoung slapped his hands on the table. "Let's go out."

You panicked. "Out?"

He nodded. "It's a gorgeous day outside. Let's go to the boardwalk or something." Doyoung grabbed your hand and helped you up, making a show of admiring how you looked in your outfit. You blushed as he led you outside to his Civic parked in the back lot.

You made small talk on your way to the boardwalk. His major was computer science, he hadn't found a good place for tacos yet since moving here. You admired him and the attention he gave you, perking up as his hand moved from the clutch to gently play with your fingers.

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Soon enough, Doyoung excitedly trotted up to you where you were waiting and handed you the smoothie he bought for you. It'd been so long since you had been to the boardwalk, and the Sun just beginning to set was painting the prettiest backdrop.

"So," you prodded, "it is me you're interested in, not Michelle, right?"

Doyoung nearly spit out his own smoothie from laughing. "Oh my god, as if! You're kidding, right?"

You sighed, unable to hold back a small smile. "It's just, it's happened before," you explained, "I look like me, and she looks like she could be Aaliyah's sister, and guys think it's easier to get to know her through me."

Doyoung looked shocked, even hurt. "That's awful," he consoled, "especially when I was only interested in you in the first place."

He truly did make you feel bolder. You leaned forward, offering a chaste kiss on his lips. Before you could pull away, Doyoung's hands were there, circling your hips and holding you close to kiss you deeper.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you felt the tension rise between you both. No matter what you were doing, whether it was just window shopping or playing an arcade game or even now as you strolled on the beach, you were regularly interrupted by the need to kiss each other. This was the most smitten you'd been since even starting college.

You made more small talk. You had a couple close friends, including Michelle who was mostly around now because she always was. You doubted your major but were sure you'd be more content if you saw it through to the end. Doyoung listened intently, truly enjoying your company. He sat on a bench under one of the boardwalk's streetlamps. He patted his knee, offering you a seat. You bashfully agreed, not exactly used to treatment like this.

"So," he asked, "are you having a good time?"

"I'm having a great time. This has been the best date I've been on in a while, you're very handsome, and I'm very smitten."

"I feel the same," Doyoung agreed, kissing your cheek as he wrapped his arms around you, "you know, the other day at the store when we kept looking at each other I was just surprised by how hot you are."

You laughed and punched him in the shoulder, "Shut up! No way," you insisted.

"Yes!" Doyoung nodded. "I like your hair, and your earrings, and these mini-skirts you insist on wearing." He absent-mindedly patted your thigh before be realized he was practically sliding his hand up your skirt. You reeled off his lap in surprise, a blush crawling over both your faces. "Sorry!" He offered weakly, and you mustered enough confidence to dust yourself off and resume your seat on his lap.

"It's okay," you reassured him, "I think I even liked it." You jokingly winked for him but still found yourself kissing him once again, surprising you both. More surprising was his tongue parting your lips, cautiously testing the waters and lightly massaging your tongue with his. You moaned softly into the kiss, aware of any tourists still milling about the boardwalk. Your grip on each other had tightened and eventually you had to force yourself off of his lap, only to grab his hand and hurriedly lead him away.

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The drive back to campus had been grueling, still attempting to make small talk as you rubbed his thigh. The mood had elevated so fast that there was no way you wanted to lose it. Doyoung groaned as you playfully, bravely teased your fingers against his clothed cock. He thrust up, ever so slightly, against your hand, and you couldn't resist stroking him through his jeans as he pulled into the dorm parking lot. He swung the Civic into the closest spot he could, far in the back of the lot and away from most of the lights.

Practically in sync, you reached for each other once he turned the ignition off. You slipped off his baseball cap and ran your fingers through his hair, clutching onto him as he pulled the lever to recline his seat. He accidentally pulled too hard, sending him flying backwards and pulling you on top of him. You found yourselves laughing despite not pausing your kissing. You grabbed your bag as he sat up, his lips finding and nibbling on the pulse of your neck as you rifled through your purse for the emergency condom you kept in there. He plucked it from your hands and shoved it in the cupholder for now as he was much more concerned with feeling you at the moment. Softly, he pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your thighs and you let out a breathy exhale at the feel of his cool fingers against your panties. You sat up more, lifting slightly off of him in the driver seat as he let his fingers sink under the thin material and into your wetness. You moaned, your hips hungrily rolling against his fingers as he felt you. You couldn't stop begging, "Doyoung, more," and, "Doyoung, please." He looked so pleased with you. Frantic, you unzipped his pants and freed his hard length, getting as good a look at him as you could in the dim light. You felt each other, touching each other and moaning, your hips fighting to actually meet.

Finally, you'd had enough. "I need it," you moaned into Doyoung's ear, earning a moan in return. You grabbed the condom and fumbled, trying to get the rubber on him as soon as possible. Once you finally rolled it down onto him, you pulled your panties aside and began to ease him into you. Doyoung fell back against the reclined seat, gripping your hips hard in his desperation to have you. You bobbed up and down on his cock a few times, allowing yourself to open up to him all the way. Leaning down, you gave him a slight nod as you kissed him, squealing against his lips as he took the signal to thrust up into you. He bounced you hard on his cock, moaning your name against your neck as he held you down against him. Eventually, he let his hands roam, his long fingers groping your breasts as you rode him. You sat up, giving him a better view as you braced yourself against the ceiling of the hatchback and riding him harder, your hips rolling and thrusting wantonly against each other. You took his hand from your breast and slowly led him down to your pussy, placing his thumb right up against your clit. He took the cue right away, his thumb circling the nub as he resumed groping your breasts with his other hand. It wasn't long before you came, writhing and nearly screaming under his touch as your walls shuddered around him. Emboldened, he pulled you down to kiss him as he chased his orgasm, clapping you down against his cock as you ground out your climax, your overstimulated and exhausted whimpers filling the car. Doyoung's hands gripped your thighs, cursing and clenching his jaw as he came, his hips stuttering under you. You collapsed on him, and he collapsed into the seat. You kissed his brow, admiring the flush in his face before kissing his lips.

Doyoung invited you to his room that night.

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