#This was a three sentence ''what if'' post and then my spite kicked in

[shikai-the-storyteller]

There's no doubt in my mind that Madagio will use that energy to destroy the Federation. But today's Tazercraft tweet made me remember an old thought I had. I know the white figure in that photo is probably Cucurucho, but wouldn't it be interesting if it was Madagio who saves Pac?

[ Also on Ao3 ]

—

Madagio felt empathy for Fit, in the end.

They understood what it meant to be robbed of purpose because of factors outside of their control. Although they felt remorse for leaving Fit in the dark (figuratively and literally) for so long, they finally had what they needed, and Fit was no longer a required part of their plan. Success demanded sacrifice, and it was one only Madagio could pay.

The power of Vacuus Island surpassed that of Quesadilla Island's, and once Madagio was willing to utilize it, it was easier to jump Islands than they'd anticipated. The Federation was weaker than before, based on their observations, and the slowly fraying defenses against outsiders only confirmed their suspicions. Infighting and Islander revolts both had a hand in it, but like a cockroach, the Federation always found ways to survive. It was only a matter of time before its leaders stepped in and restored order — through any means necessary.

Madagio planned to deliver the final blow before they could recover.

The sterile white halls were sickeningly familiar. Even after all this time, the Federation's concept of "perfection" remained as stagnant as it ever was. Only a faint beeping and a blip of blue and green on a small heart monitor spoiled the monotonous tour of the Federation's labyrinthine base.

The sight of a familiar figure lying in a hospital bed made Madagio pause as they passed the Federation's hospital ward. Although they'd never stepped foot on Quesadilla Island before now (at least, not in their current form), they'd spent months watching Fit and the other Islanders. They could easily recognize Pac, after so many weeks spent by Fit's side.

(And it was hard to forget the way he'd seen Pac treat his cats with such gentle loving care. It was hard to forget the way his voice sounded when he cooed sweetly at them, or the way he lay still for hours whenever one fell asleep on his chest or lap, purring contentedly. It was hard to forget, because Madagio knew what that love felt like, once. They outlived all others on Vacuus Island, but Madagio could never forget the love that bound them there, or the grief which bound them to their mission.)

—

The reason for Pac's hospitalization was clear: a failed respawn. It happened sometimes, even on Federation-controlled Islands like this. One could even argue accidents like that happened especially on Federation-controlled Islands.

Sometimes residents died, and they didn't come back.

Sometimes they didn't want to come back.

Madagio's mission required speed and stealth, but time is a funny thing when one has lived as long as they have, and they found themself in the hospital room before the impulse could even fully form in their mind.

It was funny – or maybe not funny, but ironic – how Pac looked almost as bad-off as Fit after Madagio freed him. Old bruises and poorly-treated injuries littered almost every square inch of bare skin, and likely didn't stop there. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes, and he looked skinnier than the last time Madagio saw him. He was lacking his usual vibrant blue hoodie, instead sporting black clothes which made him look even more desaturated, as though he hadn't seen the sun in weeks.

Technically, Pac was still alive.

A failed respawn just meant something was preventing his consciousness – or "soul" as some people called it; Madagio wasn't one to ponder the metaphysical – from returning to his body.

But Madagio had seen corpses better off than Pac.

The reason for his soul's reluctance to return was hardly a mystery. Even without their surveillance, Madagio knew first-hand the kind of suffering the Federation inflicted on those under their control. The loss, the grief, the brief hope followed by crushing anguish. Madagio knew that.

And they'd watched history repeat itself as Fit searched vacant houses where familiar faces once resided, desperation bleeding into dread before he found something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

Madagio granted him 24 hours to say his goodbyes.

They sent him back to his world after 5.

It was the only mercy they could offer.

But standing there in that sterile white hospital room in front of the cot that would surely become Pac's deathbed, Madagio realized there was one final act of mercy within their power.

Pac's hair had grown in the last two months. Madagio was careful not to let their claws snag the unkempt tangles as they brushed it out of his face. His skin was cooler than it should be. Madagio could hardly remember the last time they came into physical contact with a person, but they remembered that much.

(They remembered lying with someone they loved, curled tight into a ball on their chest and slowly feeling their heartbeats fade and their skin grow cold. No matter how desperately Madagio tried to warm them, they never woke up).

But that was not the memory they were searching for.

They sorted through nearly a year's worth of memories – memories of others' lives seen through Madagio's eyes. Birthday parties, festivals, a summer wedding under cherry blossom trees, hugs from children and friends tight enough to steal one's breath away, gifts that spoke feelings people couldn't give voice to, confessions over coffee, and promises made were speakers thought no one else could hear. Madagio condensed all these memories and emotions into their purest form as though polishing a gem; hope, joy, compassion, and above all else: love.

...And one final memory of a man standing before five graves (empty graves, though Madagio hadn't known it at the time), enveloped by a grief so powerful it was burned into Madagio's own memory.

And now, it was burned into Pac's memory too.

A long-forgotten instinct prompted Madagio to gently nuzzle against Pac's forehead, barely brushing against the skin as they felt Pac's consciousness return, and with it, his grief. They continued passing memories to him, and although Pac didn't stir, a tear slowly rolled down his cheek and onto the pillow beneath his head.

Pac was a man who loved so dearly and deeply that losses hurt him as severely as a physical wound. Madagio could feel that, and felt Pac's exhaustion as acutely as if it were their own. But they could also feel the hope beneath that grief, the hand reaching up out of the darkness, the desire to live as he clung to the lifeline of memories Madagio offered him. Pac still had a family left. He still had children and friends, loved ones and people who loved him in turn. He still had a reason to live.

The next tear fell from Madagio's own eyes. It rolled from Pac's temple to his cheek, gravity dragging it down until it was indistinguishable from Pac's tear tracks. Memory sharing was a two-way road, though Madagio had hoped Pac's lack of consciousness might mitigate that.

They refused to acknowledge any other explanation for their lapse of composure.

Madagio brushed the evidence away, straightening up as color slowly returned to Pac's face and his breathing became more consistent. He'd likely sleep a while longer, but Madagio had no plans to linger. They'd delayed the inevitable for far too long.

As Madagio stalked the Federation halls, they found their thoughts being drawn back to Fit and Pac. With the Federation weakened as it was, and soon to be destroyed, Madagio had no doubt Pac and his little son and partner would be able to leave the Island. The Tazercraft pair were clever – maybe even clever enough to track down Fit and escape to a different world altogether with him.

Madagio almost smiled at the thought.

Almost.

They would never see a resolution to Pac and Fit's story, for Madagio had their own ending to write, and each step through the marble white halls brought them closer to their finale.

Perhaps there was no ending for Fit and Pac; only new chapters waiting to be told.

And maybe, just maybe, their future could be a happy one.

[ratralsis]

More is more

I'm spending the next three months reading about writing. I was hoping to spend it writing. I'd still like to spend some of it writing.

Truthfully, a fair bit will be spent playing Zelda. I'm weak like that. I'm going to limit myself. I have to. Otherwise, I'll spend all day and night playing that game. It's a compelling game.

I don't know if it's a good game or not yet. But it's compelling, that's for damn sure. I do think that fusing items to your weapons is awfully tedious, though. I honestly don't find that nearly as enjoyable as I think I'm supposed to. Maybe I will like it more later, once I start plumbing the depths and finding non-decayed weapons and so forth.

I could, and likely will, write an entire post about how I think the fetishization of the Master Sword has become a problem that I don't think the series has figured out how to handle. But that's for another time.

I've been reading about writing.

I understand most of the ideas in the books. What I need are examples. One of my favorites is this one from "Techniques of the Selling Writer:"

Here's an example from a student manuscript: "The girl, in spite of her confusion and the hazard offered by the razor-edged shards of glass from the shattered window, somehow broke free."

Girl is the subject in the above sentence; broke the verb. Yet they're separated by twenty words of modification, and the separation renders the sentence distracting and confusing.

Is the separation needed? Or could our reader perhaps survive a different version: "Confusion seemed to overwhelm her in that moment. The razor-edged shards of glass from the shattered window offered an added hazard. Yet somehow, the girl broke free."

Fuck, I love that example. Break down that sentence! Show me what's wrong with that sentence, word daddy! I crave those sweet, sweet lessons! I need them!

I've gotten pretty good at writing stuff like this, this thing that you're reading here, over the last twenty-one years. That's how long ago it was when I first took up the name "Ratralsis" and began writing under it, on a site called "Conniving Pete" that hasn't existed in many years and never paid me a dime for anything I wrote.

I don't mind mentioning the name of the site, because you'd have to do a lot of work to find anything I wrote there. The site's gone! Good luck! It might be doable! I used to be able to do it! Haven't tried in a while!

I've been reading about writing fiction.

I want to get good at writing fiction. I don't want to take a reader by the hand and gently guide him through my world. I want to grab the reader by the collar and drag them, kicking and screaming, through it. I want them to hate how much they want to know what's going to happen next. I want them to hang on every word, wishing they already had answers to the questions I'm making them ask me, questions I'm not even asking, I'm just implying.

And I think that the worst lesson I've learned is that "less is more."

The idea is sound. It makes sense on paper, which is, incidentally, where I also want my stories to go. I wrote about it at length in my 14,000-word essay on Death Stranding, where I said this about Kojima's writing style:

…Kojima’s work is not a shoe with a narrow heel or a broad heel. It is a steamroller. It is gigantic and broad to the point of absurdity, but it is so heavy and so powerful that it will crush your entire body into a smear on the pavement if it rolls over you. It’s the difference between stabbing someone with a knife or stabbing them with a baseball bat: the knife, having a narrower point, is going to penetrate their body more easily. Kojima stabs with a high-powered cannon. The projectile is bigger, blunter, and heavier than either, but its sheer power makes up for it.

Less is more? No, says Kojima. More is more. Think about it. It just makes sense. This, I believe, is the great lesson that Kojima wished to impart with his game Death Stranding.

That's, and I'm being serious here, the way that I want to write. And I've been reading Discworld, as I've said, and I recently read a passage from my favorite standalone novel, The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle:

“I dreamed about her last night,” he said.

Molly cried, “So did I!” and Schmendrick opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

King Lír said hoarsely, “By our friendship, I beg you—tell me what she said to you.” His hands gripped one hand each of theirs, and his clutch was cold and painful.

Schmendrick gave him a weak smile. “My lord, I so rarely remember my dreams. It seems to me that we spoke solemnly of silly things, as one does—grave nonsense, empty and evanescent—” The king let go of his hand and turned his half-mad gaze on Molly Grue.

“I’ll never tell,” she said, a little frightened, but flushing oddly. “I remember, but I’ll never tell anyone, if I die for it—not even you, my lord.” She was not looking at him as she spoke, but at Schmendrick.

King Lír let her hand fall as well, and he swung himself into the saddle so fiercely that his horse reared up across the sunrise, bugling like a stag. But Lír kept his seat and glared down at Molly and Schmendrick with a face so grim and scored and sunken that he might well have been king as long as Haggard before him.

“She said nothing to me,” he whispered. “Do you understand? She said nothing to me, nothing at all.”

Then his face softened, as even King Haggard’s face had gone a little gentle when he watched the unicorns in the sea. For that moment he was again the young prince who had liked to sit with Molly in the scullery. He said, “She looked at me. In my dream, she looked at me and never spoke.”

He rode away without good-by, and they watched after him until the hills hid him: a straight, sad horseman, going home to be king. Molly said at last, “Oh, the poor man. Poor Lír.”

“He has not fared so badly,” the magician answered. “Great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half their greatness goes unnoticed. It is all part of the fairy tale.” But his voice was a little doubtful, and he laid his arm softly around Molly’s shoulders. “It cannot be an ill fortune to have loved a unicorn,” he said. “Surely it must be the dearest luck of all, though the hardest earned.”

This is one of my favorite passages, and here is another, because FUCK IT, THAT'S FUCKING WHY, MORE IS MORE:

Schmendrick must have carried her for a time, because she was definitely not walking and his green eyes were ringing in her head. “That’s right. Nothing but magic matters to me. I would round up unicorns for Haggard myself if it would heighten my power by half a hair. It’s true. I have no preferences and no loyalties. I have only magic.” His voice was hard and sad.

“Really?” she asked, rocking dreamily in her terror, watching the brightness flowing by. “That’s awful.” She was very impressed. “Are you really like that?”

“No,” he said, then or later. “No, it’s not true. How could I be like that, and still have all these troubles?” Then he said, “Molly, you have to walk now. He’s there. He’s there.”

These passages, long as the first one is and nonsensical as the second one is, are perfect examples of my love of "more is more" and when it's appropriate to "tell, don't show."

"A straight, sad horseman, going home to be king."

"Oh, the poor man. Poor Lír."

"His voice was a little doubtful, and he laid his arm softly around Molly's shoulders."

"That's right.[…]It's true.[…]No, it's not true."

Sometimes, you have to tell the reader things. Important things. Things they can't be trusted to deduce on their own. To piece together like detectives. Sometimes, the reader needs to put on their deerhunter cap and put their pipe in their mouth and raise their magnifying glass to their eye and examine the text for clues, but that is not the way I ever want to write and it is not the kind of thing that I ever want to read.

Spell it out for me.

Here is a passage from Discworld's eleventh book, Reaper Man, another of the Death books:

And it suddenly dawned on the late Windle Poons that there was no such thing as somebody else’s problem, and that just when you thought the world had pushed you aside it turned out to be full of strangeness. He knew from experience that the living never found out half of what was really happening, because they were too busy being the living. The onlooker sees most of the game, he told himself.

And another:

BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL YOU’VE GOT, said Death.

So.

What do I do with this dark and secret knowledge? The idea that it's okay to say things outright? That if what you're saying is worth something, then it's worth saying it?

I guess I'll have to say things, too.

I need to learn how to write like that. To hit hard.

Sometimes you have to use adverbs, even though you shouldn't use adverbs. You shouldn't say that "he laid his arm softly around Molly's shoulders" like that, what are you DOING, Beagle? He can place his arm around her shoulders the way you'd place a priceless antique onto a silken pillow, maybe. That way the reader knows he's doing it softly without you going and saying he does it "softly." Drop those "-ly" words, you fool!

Or… don't, actually. Keep it. It's perfect the way it is, and no other word than "softly" will work as well.

Use a metaphor! Use an image! Describe the man as something the reader can understand, not as a "straight, sad horseman," Beagle! What are you THINKING, just coming out and throwing a string of adjectives at me like that? You stupid, stupid man!

Or… leave it just like that. No metaphor is necessary. Hitting us with adjectives like that is, in fact, hitting us. It's swinging a baseball bat directly into our skulls, hammering home the truth of the moment: a man is sad that the woman he loves is gone forever and she left him without even saying goodbye, though she could have. Though she did say goodbye to Molly and to Schmendrick, and neither of them can help him. He is a straight, sad horseman. He is strong. He is a hero. He is injured. He will never feel the love of that unicorn ever again, and he knows it, and that is the saddest thing.

Even calling it "the saddest thing" is bad writing, isn't it? Shouldn't I use some flowery metaphor? "It will hurt him more than any physical injury," perhaps?

No. It is the saddest thing. The hero's reward at the end of The Last Unicorn is that he goes home to be king, and to be the saddest man.

Windle Poons's reward (yes, that is the name of the main character of the secondary plot of Reaper Man, who, I would argue, is the main character of Reaper Man) is to die. But he dies well, doesn't he?

And, with great relief, and general optimism, and a feeling that on the whole everything could have been much worse, Windle Poons died.

A 130-year-old wizard who needed to fail to die and return to life as a zombie to learn that, in this life, we're all we've got. And he learned it, and then he died.

What do I do with this? What do I say in my story?

That's the question.

For one thing, I think I need to get over any foolish notions of "less is more" and "show, don't tell." There's a time and a place for those things. There is. There absolutely is. Here is a passage, the opening passage, from "The Legend of the 10 Elemental Masters" by Nick Smith (aka ulillillia):

Knuckles glides north 1500 feet above Lake Sakakawea at 800 mph following Highway 83. A small thunderstorm is somewhat visible to the south. The sky is 3/8 scattered with cirrus clouds and 1/8 scattered with altostratus clouds. The wind is 15 mph with gusts to 20 mph. A few small patches of snow in ditches, some with water, are visible but hard to see due to the speed. A 40-second pause in speech occurs while credits display on screen.

Knuckles resembles a human, but with differences. Knuckles is neither male nor female, though referred to as a “he”. Three-quarter-inch-thick dark-violet-colored (FFA000E0) fur covers his entire body. He is only 25 1/3 inches tall, 4 inches wide, and 2.5 inches deep. Knuckles gets his name from his large hands, 40% bigger than a human his size would have. A reflective, glittery, greenish (FFA0FF00) haze a half millimeter across borders his pupil. Knuckles has no nose and a mouth 2/3 as big. Every other aspect of his is that of what a human would have for his size. For details on the numerical colors (in parentheses), see appendix 5.

I will never, and I emphasize this as strongly as I can, NEVER say a single bad word about ulillillia. That man deserves nothing but kindness and respect.

But his writing? By his own admission: not great. The man is not a fiction writer. At the time he wrote this book, he wasn't much of a fiction reader. So he wrote the way he wanted things to be written. With extreme detail. It wasn't enough to tell us that Knuckles was a bit over two feet tall. He needed to know his precise dimensions. ALL of them.

That's too far for me, I think. There's a happy medium between Hemingway and Nick Smith, I think.

But I'd like to do more of my main character's inner thoughts in the third draft of my novel. I'd like to reference the physical descriptions of him and of the other characters more than I do now. Talk about the architecture of the buildings they see in the towns that they visit. The food that they eat. That kind of thing. I think it can be done.

If nothing else, I think I learned from Wyrd Sisters that I can hammer home the idea that Katia, the main heroine and an orc woman and a veteran of a major war from ten years before the story takes place, is big and muscular and has blue-gray skin with orange eyes and numerous disfiguring scars. Yet, by the end of the book, our hero William still thinks she is as beautiful as she considers herself to be, and he is right. She is. When he confesses his love to her and hugs her close to him, he rests his head under her chin, because she's so much taller than him. He feels her familiar warmth and smells the smell of her leather armor and her sweat, because she's not exactly showering every day and putting on perfume. When she smiles at him, her tusks glint in the light, and she has a stump for a left ear from where half of it was torn off in a fight.

But that doesn't matter.

As for him, he doesn't have as many obvious physical characteristics I can point out, but he's still a wiry guy who wears a lot of furs that he acquired himself the hard way, and he carries around a massively heavy backpack with things like a tightly-rolled up canvas tent, a bedroll, and a cooking pot so that they can sleep at night in relative comfort. He also has his longbow and his broadsword and his knife, and he looks like a patchwork packmule on two legs with all of his burdens. He slowly grows a beard over the course of the story and he hates how it itches. His eyes dart around a lot, and he stalks instead of walks, out of habit. He stammers and pauses mid-sentence to gather his thoughts because he's spent the last ten years living by himself in the middle of the woods and has gotten worse at talking to other people. Yet, by the end of the story, he's a hero who's willing to put his life on the line to protect someone else, a thing that he was never willing to do before then. He was well-known for his self-preservation skills. They're how he managed to self-preserve for so long.

Are they the same? No, not really. But they're what I've got, for now, at least.

These are just some thoughts.

I'll keep on reading. I don't know what else I can do.

[rpd-rookie]

The One Who Runs Away, The One Who Runs Back (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Author’s note: This is a sequel to “A PAST WITH HER, A FUTURE WITH YOU” and the end of my three-parts fan fiction "I TRUSTED YOU WITH MY HEART" I decided to write after so many of you asked for it. Sorry it took so long but I was navigating from one fandom to another. (BTW, if there are any Devil May Cry fans up here, you can read my DMC fan fictions here) PS: Even if I said it before, I have no hate whatsoever towards Ada or Aeon.

Tagged: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Post-Break up, Sexual Content 

Part 1 / Part 2

***

Do you remember? We started this story by quoting some sitcom character that was clueless about love. Well, here’s a suggestion. Why not ending it by quoting someone who knew a little more on such matter.

William Shakespeare - you know that English dude expert on tragic ‘drink this poison, stab yourself’ kind of love - apparently once said ‘Love runs away from those chasing her, and those who run away, she throws herself on his neck’. I say ‘apparently’ cause, even though I have a master in English lit, this quote is from the internet, and also … who knows what the guy truly said?

But it’s the quote that’s important. Not the author. The quote it’s important because it sums up perfectly how this story is gonna end. However, before starting, let me tell you this quote is going to be the only Shakespeare-worthy sentence in this final chapter. You’ve been warned.

Love runs away from those chasing her.          Well, this part was definitely written for someone like Ada Wong. Owner of countless gold medals and possibly a world record at this point, that woman is basically the Usain Bolt of the ‘Running from Leon S. Kennedy’ competition. Unchallenged winner since the creation of this sultry version of cat and mouse game, it’s better not to think about the number of times she successfully ran away from her favourite agent.  But this year, this formidable titleholder in a gorgeous red dress will have to face her Nemesis in the championship. You. Though the comparison to the hideous bio-organic killing machine might not be very complimentary to you but you get the idea.  This year you enter the Kennedy Olympics. And this year you run like Sonic the Hedgehog and you win the damn competition (screw you Usain Bold!). And you do this with your head high and without an ounce of regret. Ignore all the texts and flowers Leon might send on your track Mario Kart style. His gifts are not as slippery as banana peels and they can easily be dodged, I promise. Well, most of the time, when you’re not lying on your bed in the middle of the night crying and sobbing while reading his messages or playing his voice in your voicemail again and again until you’re nothing more but a giant mess with puffy red eyes drowning in a puddle of your own tears.        Screw those messages too! And screw his broken yet terribly sexy voice as well!

Being a man of word, Leon kept his promise. And for months you kept on running peacefully, marathoning away from this past relationship that had destroyed you like no other before while tranquilly fixing your broken heart on the way. That run was a good cardio.

But sometimes, cardio is not enough, and even just the small sight of an overpriced whisky bottle or the smell of Leon’s perfume on some guy’s clothes is enough to reopen your wounds.           And when it happens, you always do the same thing, you break the damn bottle - and run cause damn! it’s expensive! -  or you tell the guy his perfume smells like cheap cologne and that he should definitely change it, which is an improvement on your past destructive behaviour, since there was a time shortly after the break up when you would have simply dragged the guy to your place to let him fuck you senseless while imagining he was Leon. All that just for the illusion to feel him again and for the sake to kick him out the next morning, screaming like a hysterical psycho.

So imagine, for a small second, the wave of intense feelings surging out of your healing heart when, in the middle of a cafe, you hear some dude sitting behind you ordering Leon’s favourite whisky while wearing the same bloody perfume. “It’s got to be relentless persecution at that point!” You sigh, already annoyed, closing your book more violently than intended. Hope you’re ready, stranger! Because you’re not in the mood to deal with this right now.            You turn around with a fake smile that reflects perfectly your irritation, ready to give him hell, your sharpest riposte already burning your tongue. After all, he deserves it and you can’t help it.         But when you meet familiar – and freaking gorgeous - baby blue eyes you freeze and stare, suddenly confused and lost and refusing to believe that in spite of the intense running, love just jumped at your neck after all and it was sitting there, taking the shape of Leon S(tupid) Kennedy.

You should have stood up and left, run for your life, run for your heart. And yet, you didn’t.    You stayed there staring at him looking at you, allowing all your memories, the good ones and the bad ones, all your buried feelings to come back from the dead, embracing them as if you had missed them, which, let’s be honest, you probably had.            You tried to scream to yourself “Come on, Y/N! Shake a leg!” but it seemed that what you brain understood was something like “Cum on him! Open your legs!” as a couple of blurry hours later, you were on Leon’s bed, legs wide open, screaming his name and begging him not to stop his amazing thrusts.

Six months, you ran for six months … Well, looks like the run ends here and now. After a minute-long deep stare, an afternoon of amazing sex and two hours long of something blurry in between.

“I missed you.” And there you were! The moment all couples that broke up have after one of them (in this case Leon with the infamous ‘I missed you line’) starts to believe they miraculously rekindled their love. The fatal post-coital cuddling session that you don’t know how to react to, as you think of all the possibilities before you.      Possibility Number 1) You tell Leon you missed him too and cuddle, enjoying that embrace you secretly yearned for months. But that includes forgetting what he has done or pretending that nothing happened.     Possibility Number 2) You push him away, get dressed, leave again and act as if this afternoon never happened. But if Leon doesn’t remind you of it, the ache between your legs will, that’s for sure!   Possibility Number 3) You jump him again until you sore even more and hope that you’ll be able to leave afterwards.         Frankly, all possibilities suck because, in all cases, it seems like you lose. Since,       with Possibility Number 1) you lose the run forever, with Possibility Number 2) you lose him again and with Possibility Number 3) well it’s result 1 or 2 + your body aching like crazy for days. I suck at math but no need to be Einstein to know the result of this calculation looks unpleasant.    So what do you choose?

You see a triangular dice rolling in your head, showing a never-ending succession of 1, 2 and 3 that doesn’t make any sense and that confuse you even more than you already are. 1, 2, 3, 2, 1, 3, 2 ! Oh for fuck’s sake!

You grimace, angry and pissed at Leon and probably even more at yourself, and finally leaves his bed and his strong warm arms, feeling the tears furiously forming in your eyes. “I can’t” You can’t look at him in the eyes. You don’t want to see his confusion, don’t want to see his pain as he witnesses all his hopes shatter to pieces.         “ What do you mean?” You can hear the sheets crease behind you, alerting you of Leon’s agitation, so you hurry and pick up all your clothes scattered in his room. You must leave, now. 2! 2 it is!  “This! All This! This afternoon never happened.” You tell him, putting on your clothes with sudden clumsy and trembling hands, not caring if your bra is correctly hooked or if you put your shirt on back to front. Your heart. You have to think of your poor heart first.          “Hey, hey, hey.” You feel Leon’s hand softly grabbing your arms and you let go of whatever you were holding right now. His voice is sweet and trying to be comforting. Don’t look at him Y/N! Don’t look at him! “Look at me.” You do. Damn it! And you see his gorgeous blue eyes staring at you, studying your flustered face and the tears slowly drowning your (colour) look. You missed those eyes. You missed them so.damn.much ! As much as you missed his hands cupping your face and his thumbs wiping up your tears. God! How many tears those thumbs have missed recently. “It’s alright.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But there is this voice screaming in your head and very clearly this time. A voice shouting, forcing you to remember that night, that awful nightmarish night, the one when you felt your heart break and your dreams turn to ashes. All that because of him and his obsession for her.

“No, it’s not alright, Leon.” You shake your head and miraculously manage to take a small step back. You never thought you could. But you had to. You can’t stay close to him. You can’t let him touch you, feel you. Not if you want to run away. And you have to run away. Like her! Like Ada. Ada! “I told you. For as long as you have feelings for Ada, I can’t … we can’t…”     “Please don’t talk about her.” He begs and rubs his hand over his face. Is he trying to chase her away from his mind? Is she still in here? Please, let her not be in here.    “But she’s the reason we’re in this situation now. She’s the reason why we’re in this mess.” You insist only for the sake to see his reaction when you mention Ada, to see if she’s still under his skin, somewhere. “Ada is not the reason. I am!” Leon corrects you, a finger directed at his heavy chest as he is putting the full blame on himself for the first time since that night. “I am the one who went after Ada when I shouldn’t have! I am the reason why we broke up! I am the reason why we are so miserable!”         “But I was fine!” You shouted back in an attempt to show him he was wrong refusing to listen to that part of you who knew he was completely right. You were miserable without him. “I was doing fine until you came back and fucked everything up! I was healing goddamnit!”             You felt new tears rolling along your red cheeks and quickly wipe them off with the back of your hand that felt so callous and rough in comparison to Leon’s gentle touch. “You can’t just jump back into my life like this and expect me to forget!”

Leon nods, agreeing with you in a certain way. But the truth is, he doesn’t want you to forget. He doesn’t expect you to erase his mistake. He just wants you to forgive him … No, he just wants you to come back to him. Period. And that’s got to be what you want to. It has to!   “So why did you have sex with me, huh?” He finally asks even though he already knows your answer. “Tell me!” You’re not the kind of person who has meaningless sex, not the kind of person who worships one’s body with divine kisses and devoted caresses if they mean nothing. “Why did you have sex with me?” And yet the answer he wishes to hear doesn’t come out. “For fuck’s sake Y/N! Answer me! Why?” He shouts making you shiver and cry even more.    “Because I LOVE YOU!” You finally scream. And it hurts. It hurts but it feels good too. Like a weight lifted off your chest. “Because I missed you too! Because those months without you have been terrible! Because I don’t know how to handle even just the thought of you or the sound of your voice in my voicemail. Because each time I see something that makes me think of you, I’m a mess and I do things that normal me would never do! You fucked me up, Leon! You fucked me up but I love you! And I hate to love you!” You grunt in pain and relief, enraged but happy that you finally let everything out. And Leon listens in silence, frozen by your powerful honest confession. But he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know what to say. Part of him is overjoyed, ecstatic that you still love him but there is another part that just feels terrible, sorry for the pain your love for him caused you even in his absence.   “But you see—“ You continue “That’s the problem in our relationship, Leon! I love you in ways that are so intense, that go beyond sanity. And you love me by half.”    You see him crumple, his horrified face looking suddenly very pale as if he had just heard some dreadful news. Is that really how you feel? Is that how you see his love for you? Is that what he has made you believe?         “Goodbye Leon.”

With the full intention to leave Leon’s place for good and never come back, you grab you bag on your way out of the bedroom while carelessly shoving your underwear inside of it since you forgot to put them on in the midst of panic and precipitation. Get out of here, Y/N! Now! A reasonable voice encourages you. Listen to me!    But this not what Leon wants.

“I never loved you by half.” He declares and you abruptly stop, asking God if he’s some kind of sadist that loves seeing you in pain from the comfort of his divine sofa somewhere in heaven. “Never.” But it’s not God and his sadism that makes you turn around. It’s you, and your masochist love for that blue-eyed man before you.     “I don’t believe you” Your voice almost doesn’t leave your throat as you try not to sob.           “But it’s the truth.” He says with a calm soothing voice as he slowly approaches you. “I never imagined my future with Ada. I never wished to grow old with her or build a home with her.” You want to tell Leon to stop talking, to stay where he is but your body doesn’t seem to respond. And when you feel him grabbing your hands in his and the comforting warmth that goes with that simple touch, you know that leaving is now an almost impossible task. “Yes. I admit it. My feelings for her were real.” Even when his honesty hurts you, you don’t know how to leave anymore. “But they were nothing in comparison to what I feel for you.”     You try to let go, pulling your hands away from his loving grip but he holds you back. And you’re not strong enough. Or maybe, you just don’t want to be strong. Everything is so confusing. Everything is tearing you apart.     “But they’re still here, aren’t they?” You question, hoping his answer might give you a clue, might give you the strength to make the correct decision. Do you leave? Or do you stay? “And they’ll keep coming back each she goes back into your life. You can’t let go of her.”    “You’re maybe right.” His words hurt you more than you thought they would. They hurt like hell because you realise there are not the ones you wanted to hear. You wanted to hear him say that he would let go of Ada, for good, for you. You wanted to hear that because deep down … YOU WANTED TO FUCKING STAY! “But can you let go of your past?” He continues and you shake your head refusing to hear any other word coming out of Leon’s mouth.       “Don’t!” You beg, weary.           “No! Listen to me this time. Ada is my past, Y/N. She’s my past. And you … you’re my future. You’re my life, damn it!” He doesn’t cry but you don’t need his tears to sense how emotional and how honest he is. And suddenly, you just want to listen to him. “And I was a fool not to see it sooner. When you left me, I felt a void I had never felt in my entire life. I felt like a part of me was missing. And then, the bombing in Washington happened, and it was like I had nothing left. I needed you. I wanted you. You. Not Ada.”      “Leon” You whisper and he cups your face again, blue eyes staring deep into yours, allowing you to see everything in him, his strong love for you and all the weaknesses he hated to admit. “It was you in my mind. Only you. And it will always be you. Because I love you. Now. Today. And I will always love you.”

You cry even more, uncertain if those tears are tears of sorrow, tears of joy or a mix of both. God, how can your emotions be such a mess right now? How can you be wishing to shout at him with all the anger you’ve accumulated and, at the same time, willing to kiss him with all love you’ve got?

“If you got to believe something. Believe that. And if that’s not enough and you think you can be happy with someone else. Then go. I won’t hold you back.” You frown. He is fucking lying. You’re sure of it. “You can’t stop running after me and you know it.” He smiles and scoffs, sensing that hint of sudden defiance in your tone he enjoys a lot.  “True. I can’t sop running after you. But I’ll do my best not to catch you if that’s what you want. But you got to tell me. Is that what you truly want?” You don’t reply. Truth is, you’re not sure what to say not because you’re not sure that’s what you want but because you’re not sure you can trust him if you let him in again.                        “No.” You whisper. “No, that’s not what I want. I want you. All of you.” You can see Leon struggle to contain his growing joy as it starts to glimmer brighter and brighter in his irises. He doesn’t want to cry victory just yet. He is cautious and rightfully so. “But can I?”        “Want me?” He smiles. “ Have you completely?” You correct, searching for a promise in his eyes, one you hope, you wish he would not break this time.     “Trust me with your heart again and find out.”

This better not hurt this time…

[adorethedistance]

City Slicker, Cowboyfriend - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Swearing, nerves, mentions of covid.

Words: 2163

Summary: You’re starting to have doubts about moving all the way to Norman until a shopping trip to Ikea turns into the meet-cute you’ve been waiting for.

A/n: This isn’t a request or one of my Valentines day fics, this is just something that I have had stuck in my head ever since Owen posted this on IG and bc I’m facing total writers block with my other pieces I cranked this one out in a few hours to get the ball rolling again. Hopefully. Enjoy this totally unproofed, fluffy madness!! (Because who doesn’t need more Owen content in their life?)

There are perks to moving and one of them is undoubtedly: shopping. For furniture, home decor, kitchen utensils, whatever! Granted, shopping alone can be tedious and, for some, like pulling teeth, thus, I’ve enlisted the help of my best friends Leila and Chelsea. I didn’t even have to bribe them to come because everyone loves getting lost in Ikea. It’s one of the best things about the human experience.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been in an Ikea,” Leila says to no one in particular as we walk through the onslaught of staged bedrooms.

“What?! Are you telling me you don’t get meatballs and lawn chairs on a weekly basis?” My exaggeration makes Leila laugh as she steps into one of the display kitchens. Looking between me and Chelsea she asks,

“What would you do if I turned the handle then a jet of water sprayed out?”

“Die, I guess.”

The three of us continue through the faux house displays and past the mattresses despite Leila’s urge to jump on every single one. As we walk through the section of different lighting features, I sigh with a frown as I think about college. I changed my bachelor’s to an associate’s so I could graduate in two years. Chelsea’s parents moved out here at the end of our senior year in high school, and she moved with them to study in Norman. Leila in turn went to Arizona for an athletic physical therapy gig, leaving me to face college alone in L.A.. In the two years the three of us were apart, we missed each other more and more, and after determining which of the three states we lived in was cheapest, we packed up and headed East. Covid kind of delayed our plans. But after a few months, I picked Leila up from Arizona and together we chased open job opportunities into Norman, Oklahoma. The three of us found an apartment space to live in together and thus, we ended up in Ikea on this fine Sunday afternoon.

Snapping back into reality I see Leila standing directly under a light that’s hanging very low from the ceiling. Once standing directly underneath it, she pulls down her mask and opens her mouth, rising to her toes to eat the fixture.

“Leila, don’t you dare fellate that light bulb! You’re gonna get us kicked out.”

I swear I’m practically their mom when it comes to behaving in public. Figuring they can’t hurt themselves in the college dorm section, I lead them quickly through it and into the giant furniture warehouse section. On the far wall, I see a large poster of a couple smiling brightly behind Chelsea, but I don’t bother to read the text. Leila and I spot the poster at the same time, and the imagery jogs her memory.

“Chelsea, how’s Hunter? Haven’t heard from him slash about him in like a week,” she asks about Chelsea’s boyfriend of a year.

“Oh, yeah, he tore a ligament in his wrist.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, I guess he moved it wrong or something and put too much stress on the area that it just tore. He was moving hay bales into the horse stables.”

“As opposed to the chicken stables,” Leila judges under her breath, which makes me snicker as a result.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating a literal cowboy,” I interject, “Like, I know we’re in Oklahoma, and he’s from Tennessee, but we saw Texas on the way out here and that’s cowboy country. Norman seems more...” I trail off in search of delicate phrasing.

“Just barely marry your cousin territory, but still downing chewing tobacco whilst driving a lifted truck?” Leila hits the nail squarely on the head.

“Yeah, that sounds about right-” Before I can continue giving my thoughts on Norman, I cut myself off at the sound of laughter behind me.

“Sorry. We weren’t trying to eavesdrop, that was just really funny.” When I turn around, I see a guy roughly our age dressed in all black with bleach-blonde hair, speaking through light, broken laughter.

“No worries,” I dismiss the apology as we pass by one another, and out from the dressers section. The three of us continue into the different sections, and come to a stop once I see we’re exactly where we need to be: dining room shit!

“Cowboy boyfriends aside- oh my gosh: cowboy boyfriends. Cowboyfriends,” I say getting lost in my new terminology. Both of my friends share a mix of laughter and gasps and my ingeniousness. “Anyway. Cowboyfriends aside, how is Avery?” I ask Leila who begins blushing madly.

“She’s really good. We were just making plans for our three year anniversary, which reminds me to tell y’all I’m flying back to Phoenix to surprise her.”

“Awwww,” I nearly tear up and the sweet image of Leila and her girlfriend reuniting, “Y’all are so cute. Both of you and your partners. You know, being the only single friend in this group has made life suck a lot. Y’all are so happy and in love and not dead inside. Honestly? Get fucked both of you.” Despite my harsh words, the three of us break into a lighthearted conglomerate of laughter.

“We’ll find you someone… eventually.” Leila pretends she also can’t hear the last part of her sentence despite being the one saying it.

“I know, but I don’t think it’s in the cards for me to find love in Norman. I don’t need a cowboyfriend, and we’re not gonna find a true city slicker here either.”

When I finish my statement, I see our blonde friend seems to have followed us. I observe he comes to a stop in front of another guy in a flannel with a shopping cart. The way they jump into conversation with one another parallels the animated body language Leila, Chelsey, and I share. I continue to watch their exchange as Chelsea speaks up.

“Maybe you need someone right down the middle.”

“Yeah, like a guy who drives a truck but uses it to transport Ikea furniture instead of a whole ass tree that he’ll carve into a chair.” A small laugh escapes my lips, at both Leila’s statement, and the scene ahead of Blondie pretending to strangle his friend over something. I’m snapped out of my nosy yet endeared stare as a third guy appears. He’s a sandy blonde with billowing locks tucked under a trucker hat. And he came from behind me and my two friends to place something in their cart which keeps his back toward me. When he turns back around, my mind goes blank. Any thoughts of shopping for dining room chairs has left my mind. He is wearing a face mask, but he has such nice eyes that he could have a giraffe snout under the mask for all I care. I see him look up from the shelves, directly into my eyes. We stay locked for a moment before he breaks away and turns to his friends. I slowly turn to my friends too who are both giving me the exact same look of excitement and conspiracy.

“He’s really cute,” I sigh out with a laugh, swooning much louder than I’d have preferred.

“He has a face mask on,” Leila points out, her expression dropping from excited to cynical.

“Still! I can just tell.”

“Girl, what are you doing? Talk to him!” Chelsea whisper-shrieks.

“Shhh, I cannot take you anywhere!”

Glancing back at the handsome stranger, we connect eyes once more and I feel my face heat furiously as I realize he was already looking at me. I’m the first to break; I consult my friends for the best course of action and as I’m turned 180 to face them, Chelsea starts pretending to hyperventilate excitedly. Leila looks over my shoulder for me, discreetly surveying the other trio in the dining chairs aisle.

“Don’t look now, but he’s talking to his friends and looking between them and you.” I can hear in her voice she’s trying her best not to smile despite wearing a face mask.

“Should I give him my number?”

“Yes!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m nervous! What if he’s gay?”

“Will you just get over there? I promise you a gay man would not be wearing what he’s wearing right now. Maybe a lesbian,” Leila adds for good measure.

“You guys are freaking me out, I need you to leave so I know you’re not judging my flirting.” I shoo my best friends out of the aisle as inconspicuous as possible. Kinda wish blondie would’ve done the same because when I turn back around, the other trio hasn’t moved and the only one looking at me is the one in all black. He quickly averts his eyes though and I take one last deep breath before walking over to the stranger. I tilt my chin up ever so slightly to fake a sense of confidence that I unmistakably don’t have right now.

“Hey.” Really, Y/n? Hey??

“Hey,” he greets back breathily. Why is he nervous? I’m the one who gets to be nervous! Man, he’s really cute. I can’t fuck this one up. I’m not doing so stellar right now. Perhaps you should say something else, dipshit?

“Uhm,” I should’ve scripted this. “I just wanted to say that-” You’ve got this. Don’t be a bummer. “I-uh, I think you’re really cute and I was wondering if I could give you my number?” My speech is slow, each word deliberate in spite of the fact that I feel like I’m having an out of body experience right now. I’m not the one in control of the words that are coming out of my mouth.

Upon realizing why I walked over, blondie’s friends take the question as a sign to leave and less than inconspicuously back away from the two of us. Trucker hat spares them one last glance over his left shoulder and judging by the look flannel gives him, they were definitely talking about me in their team huddle.

“Uh, yeah. I was gonna ask for your instagram- if you have one, that is.”

“I’m cool with both.” The two of us reach for our phones and unlock them with anxious hands. I move to hand him my phone with instagram open, and he trades me for his which has a new contact open. I type my name and put my favorite heart emoji next to it after triple checking the number is correct. Wow, you’re just so ballsy today, Y/n!!!!! I give him back the phone, scanning the instagram account he’s just opened and followed for me. I hear him exhale a little harder as a small laugh and can only imagine it’s from the stupid heart emoji.

“Owen,” I say in a hushed, endeared voice, fully not intending to say it out loud. “You have a million followers?! Oh, you’re an actor. OH… You’re an actor.” I really don’t need to be speaking my entire thought process right now in the middle of this Ikea. Exhaling a small laugh of my own, I see we already have a small bunch of mutuals, one of which is… Chelsea??? Looking up from my phone I turn around to see Chelsea and Leila watching the interaction from around the corner of one of the industrial shelves.

In the flurry of scattered likes, I see him find my account and follow me back. I accept the request, nervous of what he thinks of me without a face mask on. What do I think of him without a face mask on? Going back to his account, seeing his entire face is even better than just his eyes. I was right, Leila: he is cute.

“You’re really pretty,” I hear him almost sigh as he combs through the grid of my account. The comment makes my heart beat all the much faster and I finally look upward to get a glimpse of Owen in the flesh. Still as beautiful as the last time I checked!

Sparing a quick glance over my shoulder, he looks back down at me and laughs,

“I think your friends got tired of waiting.”

“I think yours did, too.” The other members of our trios come back into the aisle we had kicked them from more or less two minutes ago. We connect eyes once more and stare longingly, wordlessly at one another, so lost in each other’s beauty our friends have to break up the staring contest of infatuation.

“Y/n?” I hear Leila behind me.

“Uh, well, I have to get back to chair shopping, but- text me later?”

“For sure.”

“For sure,” I mimic his voice.

“Guess I’ll see you later. Y/n.”

“Yeah.” And with that, we’re pulled apart by our respective best friends, through the vast expanse of the Norman Ikea.

“What was that?” Chelsea asks, excitedly linking arms with me.

“I don’t know I- Wait, you have some explaining to do!”

*** 

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell @n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul @lilyjoyner 

[wooyunhwa]

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔴𝔬

check pinned post for masterlist!

Genre: smut (with plot!)

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: kidnapping, non-sexual violence, bondage, spanking, choking, sensory deprivation (blindfolding), mentions of alcohol use, 

Synopsis: Kidnapped and helpless, Seonghwa is the only one that can save you. Will his secrets finally come to light?

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and comments are always appreciated <3 I hope you guys like it! Stay tuned for part three!! Sorry, had to end on another cliffhanger, but I promise, you won’t be disappointed with what part 3 has in store. My tags aren’t working at all so if you could reblog this that would really help me and this story be seen I’d really appreciate it! So much work has gone into this. Thank you~ 

The trunk of the van was cold and unforgiving against your limbs as you sat helplessly against the wall, the curve and bumps of the road jostling you slightly. It was hard to keep your balance with your wrists bound together behind you. In front of you, your ankles were also bound tightly with rope. Your captors had blindfolded you, and no matter how much you writhed and tossed your head around, you couldn’t figure out a way to slip it off. Not that it would have mattered - your eyesight was the least helpful thing you could have had right now. Your screams and cries for help only echoed uselessly in the metal cage of the van, and at a certain point your voice gave out and you gave up entirely, hanging your head in defeat.

You felt the van swerve around a sharp corner, nearly toppling you over on your side. The car rumbled beneath you as if going over loose gravel. Finally you halted to a stop, lurching you forward slightly. The doors of the van unlatched with a distinct click and swung open. The voices of the men were clear now. 

“Help me grab ‘er,” one said, and you felt the van’s weight shift as he climbed in the back with you. You screamed as he grabbed you and yanked you from the open trunk. You were met with the brisk outside air and the cold, wet feeling of rain gently falling around you. 

The man guided you by your shoulders through the gravel, and you shuffled your feet to keep from tripping. You were inside a building now, and he shoved you down onto a creaky wooden chair. He took a second to re-tie you to the chair before slipping the blindfold off, your eyes taking only a few seconds to adjust to the dim light in the room. It looked like you were in some kind of shed, maybe even a barn, but you couldn’t tell. There were two men in front of you, one significantly taller than the other, their height being really their only distinguishing features. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart. We won’t hurt you as long as your little boyfriend brings us what we want,” the taller man said. The pet name made you cringe. 

“Fuck you. And he’s not my boyfriend,” you sneered through gritted teeth. “What do you want from him anyway?”

“Not your business sweetie,” the shorter man said.

“I don’t know how much of a piece of shit you have to be to kidnap an innocent girl, but don’t think Seonghwa is gonna let you get away with this,” you spat at them. You don’t know what overcame you to be so openly combative with the men who were holding you hostage, but the spite dripped so easily off your tongue. 

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you? Don’t make us gag you,” the tall man said. He stepped close to you, tipping your chin up to look at him. You cringed in disgust, trying not to meet his eyes. “We don’t want to hurt a pretty girl like you,” he said, running a finger across your jaw. You fought back the urge to bite down hard on his finger. You might have been angry, but you didn’t have a death wish. 

“We’re not worried about Seonghwa. He might be the boss’ son but he has... well… a reputation. That pretty boy would never have the guts to do anything,” the shorter man said from across the room, laughing lightly. “I don’t know if you knew this, but your boyfriend has a reputation for being kind of a pussy.”

“Still not my boyfriend,” you grumbled through your teeth. Despite what they were implying, you weren’t worried about his ability to fight—you could still vividly recall the smooth and almost effortless way he took out your boyfriend, the way he stretched out his fingers casually afterwards like it was nothing to him. You remembered the way Seonghwa looked at him like trash on the floor afterwards. And most of all, you remembered how Seonghwa had told you he made arrangements to ‘take care of him’. Although you didn’t question it much at the time, a part of you wondered if he had ordered for him to be killed, especially knowing the connections he must have. You shook the thought out of your head. There were more important things to worry about, like being tied to a chair in some dingy shack. 

The taller man stepped away from you and leaned into his partner’s ear, whispering something you couldn’t make out. 

They left shortly after that, leaving you tied on the chair for what could have been anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours, you couldn’t tell. Your eyelids began to grow heavy as you waited with nothing but your thoughts and the pattering of rain on the ceiling.

A loud noise shook you from your trance. Someone had kicked through the door, and it rattled off its hinges easily as if it was held together with duct tape.

Seonghwa. 

In your sudden relief, you could only choke out one stupid sentence. “You probably could have just opened that, you know.”

He laughed at your unexpected greeting, but quickly growing serious again at the sight of you tied helplessly to the chair. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 

“No, not yet… fuck, can you get me out of these things? They’re starting to cut off my circulation.” you gestured to the ropes viced around your limbs.

Your relief was short-lived. In an unskillful display of desperation, your kidnappers shoved their way through the kicked-in door frame. Was your vision giving out? You were sure you had been kidnapped by two men before, but there were four now. Fuck. You were confident in Seonghwa’s ability to fight against two men, but four? The newer additions were much burlier, too. 

Seonghwa turned on his heels to face the captors, but he seemed unshaken. He shot you a confident glance over his shoulder, and something gleamed in his eye. What was it? Was he seriously going to take on four men on his own? What kind of overconfident idiot-

Before you could conclude your thought, one man was on the floor already. There was a sickening crack and a thud as he hit the ground, but Seonghwa hadn’t moved. One of the men lunged forward. He grabbed Seonghwa by the lapel of his jacket, cocking his elbow for a hook, but Seonghwa intercepted him with a viper quick jab to the throat. He staggered back, saliva dribbling from his lips as he clutched his throat. 

As your line of vision cleared, you saw two additional men had entered the fray. At first you thought you were fucked, but then you heard a voice call out a friendly greeting. 

“Yo, Hwa! Heard you were getting your ass kicked.” 

The distinct sound of a fist hitting flesh echoed against the walls of the room, and another one of the kidnappers staggered back. 

“Who, me? Like hell,” Seonghwa called, smiling viciously as he dodged another blow from throat-punch guy, who looked furious. Seonghwa landed a well angled hit to his jaw, effectively uppercutting his lights out. He landed hard on the floor, dead weight as he was knocked cold, and Seonghwa turned on his heels to grab his next victim. 

A flash of red hair caught your eye as he ducked and weaved between two guys, while a blonde guy wound up a swing with a crowbar like an all star baseball champion. Red hair baited one opponent closer, ducking just in time for blondie to knock him out of the park. The sound of the crowbar hitting his teeth sent shivers down your spine, but you simultaneously wanted to leap up and cheer them on. You stayed glued to your seat, heart pumping with adrenaline. 

Molars scattered across the floor. Poor guy landed hard, wailing in agony as blood poured from his lips. Red haired guy threw a lethal cross, twisting his hip to power up his momentum as his fist impacted the other guy’s nose, most likely shattering it, sending him staggering back in a daze. He fell right into Seonghwa, who grabbed him by the jacket and sent him careening toward the wall, his forehead cracking against a support beam. He dropped like a rock, and the room fell quiet, save for one guy shrieking in pain. A swift boot to the jaw silenced him, and blondie turned, tossing the crowbar over his shoulder with a satisfied smirk. 

Seonghwa turned back to you, rubbing his bruised knuckles with a huff. His lips turned up into a smile, and he gave a nod with his head toward the new guys. 

“So, these are my cohorts. Wooyoung—” he paused, pointing at blondie, who tilted his head up in a friendly nod, “—and Jongho,” he pointed at the redhead, who gave you an adorable smile and a wave.

“So this is the girl, huh?” Wooyoung said, smiling at you as he looked you up and down. Out of the three of them, he looked the most like he belonged in the mafia. He wore a loosely fitted leopard print button up under a black leather jacket, his side-shaven bleach blonde hair neatly styled with gel. “She’s cute.”

Next to him, Jongho stood sternly. You wondered how this baby-faced guy could have taken out the burly one all on his own. He seemed younger than Seonghwa, but certainly stronger. “She definitely looks like your type, Seonghwa,” Jongho said, flashing a knowing smile at him. “We all know you like a girl in bondage.”

Seonghwa’s face immediately went flush. “Shut up, Jongho,” he said, shooting him a threatening glare. “Come on, help me untie her before more of their goons come looking for them,” Seonghwa said, moving around the chair to loosen the tight knots bound on your wrists. 

You turned your head over your shoulder and widened your eyes at him, arching your eyebrows as you watched him skillfully disentangle the knots. “You like a girl in what?”

“We can talk about this later,” he muttered through his teeth, his cheeks an incriminating beet-red.

“Careful, you’ll scare her off,” Wooyoung teased. 

“Honestly, if getting kidnapped didn’t scare her off, I don’t think anything will,” Jongho reassured Seonghwa with a pat to the shoulder. You felt oddly proud at that, for some reason. He was right, you were a tough cookie, you could handle a kidnapping or two. 

Seonghwa gave you a hand as you rose from the chair, steadying you with a delicate hand around your waist. Your joints creaked from being tied up for so long, but you could walk on your own. Still, he kept a protective arm around you as he escorted you back to the car. You stepped over one of the unconscious bodies on your way out, his tall frame blocking the doorway. You cringed at the puddle of crimson around his mouth, but celebrated your freedom nonetheless. His hand twitched as you lifted your leg over him, and you flinched, curling your fingers tighter into Seonghwa’s shirt. He laughed softly, pulling you close. 

You slid into the passenger seat of Seonghwa’s car, the plush leather of his Bentley Continental soothing the ache in your bones. It was hands down the single most expensive thing you’d ever touched, and you couldn’t help but to imagine what it would be like for him to pick you up in it for a date. You sighed as you relaxed into it, feeling tired from the adrenaline comedown. 

A blacked-out Mercedes S Class revved its engine as it peeled out of the lot, and Wooyoung winked at you from the driver’s side window. 

“That douche,” Seonghwa laughed as he turned his key in the ignition. The engine purred decadently, and Seonghwa slammed on the gas, tearing down the road right on Wooyoung’s heels. You gripped the edge of your seat as the inertia slammed you backwards, a thrilled laugh bubbling up from your chest. 

He shifted gears, launching into a high speed battle of pride with the other guys, flying down the rural highway with his tongue poking out in concentration, one side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. He put the S Class in his rear view mirror, and you couldn’t help but to roll the window down, shoving your fist out with a triumphant holler. You grinned widely as the wind blew your hair in a wild tornado, your screams and laughter lost in the roar of the highway. You noticed Seonghwa peek over at you, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, but just for a second. 

Exhaustion hit the moment you stepped into his apartment, but your mind was still reeling from the day’s events. You didn’t plan on getting much sleep that night, and you were still a bit angry at Seonghwa for not disclosing the fact that he was in the fucking mafia, but you chose to shove those feelings aside. Mafia or not, you still felt much safer with than without him. 

“Seonghwa.” 

“Hm?”

“Don’t leave me tonight. Please?” you looked at him with the biggest, saddest eyes you could manage, hoping to hit a soft spot. You didn’t need much.

He sighed. “Of course I won’t. This is all my fault anyway. If something were to happen again I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

And so he stayed.

You talked for a while on the bed as you tried your best to calm yourself down. You were still in a rush of nerves from adrenaline and relaxation felt hopeless, sleep even more so. In fact, sleep wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.  

As you made conversation, you recalled a question that had been nagging at you since he'd saved you earlier. You could have asked him anything you wanted. You could have asked what the men wanted, or how he found you, but instead…

"Hey… what was with that thing Jongho said back there? About ‘liking a girl in bondage’?”

Seonghwa immediately pulled his gaze away, breaking eye contact, heat rising in his cheeks like before. “He was just teasing me.”

“So it’s not true?”

“I never said it wasn’t,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. You admired the curve of his jaw, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than for him to take you right there. His eyes went dark as he paused to pull his gaze up and down at your body. “I always thought you’d look good tied up for me.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. You saw how he looked at you, hungrily, as if picturing you bound to the bed frame right then. But something seemed to be holding him back, like he was trying to resist the temptation to fall back into a bad habit. You wouldn’t let him. You held out your wrists playfully in front of you. "Well then tie me up." His eyes widened at your proposal. "C'mon. Look, I can't sleep like this. I need a distraction. Please."

He drew his tongue across his bottom lip pensively, before finally giving in with a click of his tongue against his teeth. "I really can't say no to you." 

You smiled at how easily he conceded to your pleas. He was surely thinking the same thing that had been on your mind for the past week—this was going to have to end, and some time had to be the last. He had made you promise to never contact him after this was over, and you were sure now more than ever after putting you through danger that he was going to hold up his end of that deal. This would be your last soiree with him, and you wanted—no, needed—it to count. 

He leaned in, hooking his hand on the collar of your shirt, eyes glazed over with lustful intensity. “You’re too dangerous for me, you know... I have no control when it comes to you.” A shiver traveled down your spine. That’s exactly what you wanted: you wanted him to lose his control for you, you wanted him weak for you. You wanted him to want you like you wanted him. “And that’s why I want to make this last time unforgettable.”

You broke the thick tension between you with a slow, sensual kiss, sliding your tongue against his. He nibbled at your lip as you pulled back slowly, lingering your lips precariously close to his, nearly touching. His fingers dug into your waist hungrily. “Do your worst.” 

“Are you sure you mean that?” he asked carefully. The air between you grew hot as the tension rose, your lips barely grazed against each other’s. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” Something about the amount of restraint he seemed to be exercising told you there was a part of him he was holding back, something more animalistic. 

“You have to tell me if I’m being too rough, okay?” he said, voice smooth like honey, tracing a finger along the curve of your jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You nodded eagerly, willingly accepting his terms. If this was the last time you could experience him, you wanted everything he had, no matter what it was. Something about the soft way he talked about hurting you gave chills. He was entirely gentle and yet his words felt sinister. 

He stood up to receive something from the closet, what looked like a thin scarf. You expected him to cinch your hands together with it, but instead he sat himself behind you, pulling the silky material around your eyes and fastening it tightly with a knot at the back of your head. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice deep and smooth like honey.

He let his fingers wander down your neck and shoulders, pausing to stroke your collarbone. His touch was gentle but electrifying. You were entirely blind now, but you could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you. The blindness was exhilarating, as it left your other senses completely heightened. He continued to let his fingers trace your collarbone as his lips made contact with the sensitive skin at the back of your neck, placing slow and sensual kisses slowly down your neck and shoulders. He took his time, excruciatingly, as you squirmed in anticipation for his next move. You were truly submissive in the blindfold—he had complete control over his next move. The thrill of anticipation made your head spin.

Still behind you, he lifted the hem of your shirt up slowly, and you followed suit by pulling your arms up to help him strip you. He released the clasp of your bra, gently removing it. His hands wandered at your breasts, tracing over your nipples until they grew hard and sensitive. 

Out of nowhere, you felt a sudden tension around your wrists behind you. The familiar rough sensation of rope cinched your arms together. “You’re doing so good for me darling,” he whispered in your ear, delivering one final tightening of the knot, causing you to yelp out in surprise. “You look even prettier like this than I imagined.” 

You were sitting on the bed now on your knees in only your panties, blindfold cutting off your vision, wrists bound behind you. Seonghwa sat straddling you from behind, and you could feel he had stripped entirely. He caressed your body for a while, teasing you with a brutally faint touch. You moaned and squirmed eagerly as he wandered his hand closer to your already soaked panties, rubbing his fingers against the damp fabric. His fingers slipped inside you briefly, and you let out soft pleasured moans. The sensation was overwhelming after such excruciatingly drawn out teasing. 

Your moans were cut off by Seonghwa’s finger hooking over your teeth and pushing into your mouth. You sucked at it eagerly, and he shoved a few more inside, eliciting an involuntary gag. You heard Seonghwa sigh lustfully in your ear at the sound, taking pleasure in what he was doing to you. “That’s it baby,” he said, his deep voice resonating like music to your ears. His other hand continued to pulse in and out of you, and you were practically dripping now, unable to hold back your neediness. Your pleasured moans were muffled as you sucked and licked at his long fingers.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered. He’d never been so forward or vocal before. You loved hearing his deep voice dripping like honey in your ear-- just the sound of it could have been enough to drive you all the way over the edge if he kept talking. 

“Mmf- I want- you- fuck me-” you mumbled through his fingers, and he shoved them in further, eliciting another soft gag. You couldn’t express what you wanted, not only because of his fingers muffling your sounds, but your head was spinning from his touch. “Please- fu- mm-”

“How cute, you can’t even get words out.” 

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, drool pooling at the sides of your lips. Between your legs, his other hand pulled your soaked panties down your legs as he began to circle your clit with his thumb. You whimpered under his complete control. He used his fingers so masterfully, like everything else he did. His contented breaths in your ear sent shivers down your spine. 

He repositioned himself suddenly, sitting up tall behind you, and dragged you up straight against him. You felt both his hands move under your ass, hoisting you up over his waist and pushing you down on his dick without warning. You let out a choked cry as his dick stretched you out entirely. “Fuck, Y/N…” he growled, his voice getting darker every time he spoke. “You have no idea how much I want to ruin you.”

He rutted his hips up under you, thrusting himself even deeper inside where you sat on his dick. You let out another cry, and his hand came up to your neck. Your arms, still bound together behind you, squirmed and writhed at the urge to claw at the fingers viced around you. You loved the sensation as his grip tightened, sending you soaring in an unfamiliar headrush. He bucked his hips up and down as you tightened around his shaft

“Seonghwa, fuck- ah-” Your choked cries seemed to spur him on to grip tighter around your neck. Your high nearly spilled over into darkness as he loosened his grip suddenly. You let out a few sputtering coughs as you caught your breath. 

He thrusted a few more times up into you as you caught your breath. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay- ah- I like the pain,” you said breathlessly. 

“Mm…” he sighed roughly against the back of your neck, planting a few soft kisses. “You really shouldn’t have said that.” 

His hands came to your waist, hoisting you off his dick. It slid out with a lewd sound, and you felt him get up from behind you. You were sure you looked like a drooling, horny mess, still bound and blindfolded on the bed helplessly. 

You sat there for a while in silence, and the anticipation of his next move kept you on edge, unable to settle in. The silence was unnerving, almost excruciating. Was he gone? Was he watching? 

You snapped up when you finally heard footsteps again, pacing around the room and then coming towards you. He leaned into your ear, pulling his arms around your waist to untie the ropes around your wrists. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked carefully. You nodded. You did trust him, but at this point, you would have said anything to keep his hands on you. You didn’t care what he did, you just craved his touch.

“With your words.” 

“Yes, yes, I trust you Seonghwa. Please.”

He untied your blindfold and it slipped off your face, falling to the bed by your knees. It was dark, but your eyes took a moment to adjust to the faint glow of the moonlight washing through the window. His face overwhelmed you instantly—you didn’t realize how much you’d missed it while blinded. The cut of his jaw was the first thing you noticed, then his dark, lustful eyes sparkling in the faint light. His lips pulled up into a smirk as he watched your eyes trace his features. You’re sure the look on your face indicated the way you were marveling at him, as if you were admiring the world’s most beautiful piece of art. 

“We’re gonna play a game,” he purred, still leaning over the bed where you sat, fully freed from the ropes. His eye contact was piercing, almost terrifyingly.

“What’s the game?”

“I’m gonna fuck you, and every time you make a pretty little noise…” he delivered a light smack to the side of your ass. “I spank you.”

Your jaw dropped at his proposal. You liked it—you already admitted you liked a little pain to him earlier—but was this the same Seonghwa you practically dommed in his penthouse? 

“What if I can’t control it?”

“Well then your ass is going to hurt tomorrow, isn’t it?” 

You gulped, nodding. His aura oozed power now. He may have been in the mafia, but he’d never displayed so much power, so much control, until now.

He climbed on the bed, flipping you over easily and guiding your face to the pillows. He hoisted your hips up to be flush with his, running one finger along your folds to test your wetness, before aligning the tip of his cock at your opening. Already, you were struggling to hold back moans, your body trembling under his touch. 

He slid the tip in slowly, and you rocked forward in pleasure, biting your lip to keep in the noises. He positioned one hand at the small of your waist, the other on your ass, waiting. As he thrust himself all the way in you couldn’t control the cries that fell from your lips. 

“What did I tell you?” He said, delivering the first harsh smack to your ass. You gritted your teeth at the sudden impact, but the light sting also felt incredible as he rocked inside of you. Your breathing grew shallow as he toyed with you, switching up the pace in a way that had your head spinning. You could tell he wasn’t moving in a way to get himself off—he wanted to watch you squirm. 

He thrusted in another time, hard, and you whimpered involuntarily. Another smack. This went on for several minutes, Seonghwa continuing to deliver harsh smacks to your ass until it was stained with a permanent sting. You were shaking under his touch, and he let up, rubbing your back with comforting pressure. 

“Have you had enough, darling?” he cooed softly, almost condescendingly, but it sounded amazing coming off his tongue. You nodded. “Mm, okay, we can be done now.”

He stroked your hair as he thrust himself back in, picking up a considerable rhythm now. You moaned like your life depended on it now, finally able to let it out. He gripped a hand in your hair, pulling it together into a messy ponytail, tugging lightly as he slid his dick in and out. Your eyes rolled back into your head as he pounded into you. You could definitively say now that he fucked exactly how he looked—like a god. 

His other hand made its way underneath you, tracing your clit. It only took a few seconds of stimulation for your orgasm to hit, and it was more intense than you’d ever experienced before, or imagined you could experience again. It rocked through your body like a wave, overtaking you entirely. You let out a final cry as it reached its summit. Seonghwa let out a final grunt as he reached his tipping point, pulling out of you to spill over onto your back. 

You collapsed onto your stomach, completely spent, and you could swear you blacked out for a moment while he brought in a damp washcloth to clean you up with. 

The dominant side of him seemed to melt away instantly, as he stroked your back gently. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you too much?”

You nodded drowsily, all your pain seeming to dissolve under his touch.

You fell asleep on him that night, nestled in the warmth of his neck. You fit so perfectly in his arms like that, like it was meant to be. You imagined what it would feel like to cuddle up to him like this every night, but the thought was too good to be true. You knew this was the last chance you would have to touch him like this. 

It had been several months since you last saw Seonghwa, and you were just starting to move on from him. Well, part of that was true. The last time you’d been in contact with him was when he had dropped you at your apartment, ex-boyfriend nowhere in sight. You didn’t push him too much on how he managed to “take care” of him, assuming he’d paid him off or ran him out of town by threatening him. Either way, you had just been happy to be back home. Your days with Seonghwa felt like a distant fever dream, but it was several weeks until you could get the taste of him off your lips and his image out of your mind. 

You did your best to scrub him from your head, but it felt impossible. He haunted you in every way possible. 

On one day of particularly drunken weakness, you paid a visit to his bar. You justified it by saying you were just checking in on him, making sure he was okay, but really you just wanted to see his face. Was it risky? Extremely. Were you drunk? Also extremely. You sat in an indiscriminate seat at the end of the bar, hoping not to be seen. But another part of you wanted him to notice you, regardless of the consequences. That was the drunk part.

But he didn’t notice you. In fact, he wasn’t even concentrating on the happenings of the bar at all. You could see him atop his VIP throne, the one that overlooked every seat in the bar from the lofted second story. He had a girl by his side, his arm draped around her waist, clearly flirting. Scorching heat rose in your chest as you watched him seduce her, your heart stinging with a fiery jealousy you had never felt before. In the back of your mind, you always knew he was bound to be back to his socialite self, bringing girls up to his penthouse suite every night—the same penthouse suite you had shared that first fateful night… and the morning after. Even so, the jealousy burned in your throat, and so did the alcohol you were knocking back to drown your feelings. A large part of you wanted to disappear off the face of the earth right that second, shrink into the bar stool and never be seen again. The other part wanted him to notice you, even if just for a moment. You didn’t care if he was mad that you came, you just wanted to take him in up close again. You wanted him to acknowledge you. You watched in anguish as he let the girl by her waist in the direction of the elevators, not to be seen again. You left the bar that night sobbing, and didn’t stop until you passed out in bed. Since then, you swore you were never going to think about him again. He wasn’t worth it. You had to come to terms with the fact that you were just another one of his playthings—one he just happened to take pity on.

You swore you’d move on, and you did, mostly. The independence of not being tied down felt incredible, and you took advantage of your newfound sexual prowess to download a dating app and have some fun for yourself. But there was a small part of you -- one that you didn’t ever want to admit to—that could only picture Seonghwa every time you fucked another guy. 

11pm. 

You were laying in bed, swiping hopelessly through men on your phone, sifting through hundreds of desperate guys you couldn’t care less about. You couldn’t sleep, even after a few pathetic drinks alone in your kitchen, when you heard a knock. You had felt on edge about people coming to your door ever since the kidnapping, but today you were too tired to deal with the incessant knocking. It just kept coming. It was probably your neighbor coming to tell you you left your lights on again. 

You swung the door open, wondering who could possibly be knocking with such carelessness at this time in the night.

Park Seonghwa.

You were immediately flooded with the same intimidated feeling you had on the night you met him. He looked like a model, maybe even a god, standing in your doorway. He ran his hand through his freshly shaved undercut and you took in the sight, unable to tear your eyes away. He looked just as stunning as you remembered—even more so. But something wasn’t quite right. He was swaying slightly, and as he spoke your name, the words were slightly slurred.

“Y/N… I-”

“Are you drunk?” 

“No… yes… maybe,” he laughed lightly before stumbling inside without an invitation. You knew enough to move out of his way. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You froze. You’d never seen him so incoherent. You immediately recognized the smell lingering a bit too long in his breath as the expensive champagne he had poured for you in his penthouse that night.

“Seonghwa, how much did you drink?” you asked, voice laced with concern. You led him through your apartment to the couch, where he plopped himself down with an alarming amount of force. 

“Enough to know what I really want.” He looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “You.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you said seriously. 

His eyes glimmered with lust. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I want you to fuck me right here.”

This man was dangerous. And you didn’t mean in the mafia sense, although that was also true. You meant in the way he could completely ruin you if you let him. You had tried so hard to finally wipe him from your memory and move on, but you were stained with a constant desire to feel his touch again. You were finally moving on until now, when the desire surged back in, and it was like it had never left. 

“You’re drunk,” you said dismissively, doing your best to ignore the fact that you definitely wanted to fuck him, like right that second. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

His eyes looked heavy as he struggled to even hold the cup in his hands. His eyes were glued on you with the lust of a thousand horny teenage boys, but something about his hungry gaze felt comfortable to you, and you welcomed it. 

“You look like an angel,” he muttered softly. “You’re an angel sent from heaven to ruin me. I know you are.” You laughed as he seemed to get more incoherent. You glanced down at your oversized pajamas, wondering what he meant when he said you looked like an angel. “I missed you… I-I can’t get your body out of my head.”

You shook your head, trying to clear any desire you had out of your mind. He was way too drunk. “Shh, Seonghwa. Lay down.” 

You grabbed the water glass from his hand and handed him a blanket, guiding his shoulder gently down a laying down position on the couch. You settled in next to him, and he placed his head in your lap. Something about his current state felt incredibly vulnerable, and you’d never seen him like this. 

You petted his hair softly. He looked up at you with sad, sparkly, drunken eyes. “You’re pretty,” he said with a dorky smile. 

You chuckled. “You’re drunk.” 

He nodded, and his eyebrows furrowed suddenly. “I hate my father.”

You zipped your lips tightly, trying to give him room to continue. He still hadn’t spoken about his family since the first night at his house, and you wanted to take advantage of his drunken state. 

“He treats me like his puppet, but I’m nothing like him. I never asked for this. I just want to live a normal life for once.” You nodded, urging him to keep going. You didn’t want to ruin this moment of vulnerability. “You know those paintings… at my place, above the bar? Those are mine.”

“You bought them?”

“I painted them.”

You went silent. You couldn’t remember them in detail, but you remembered that they were beautiful, like they belonged in a museum. You kind of assumed they were stolen, to be honest.

“You painted those? All of them?”

“I’ve always wanted to be an artist.” He paused. “But I’m trapped being my father’s stupid fucking puppet. I’m supposed to take his position next year, but I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. I’m so sick of the bar. He expects me to just sit there and keep his appearances for him. I’m sick of just drinking myself numb and fucking girls mindlessly.” 

Fucking girls mindlessly? Was he fucking you mindlessly?

“Girls like me?” He paused, trying to remember what he had just said. “You’re tired of fucking girls like me?”

“No…” he shook his head vigorously, realizing what he said. “You’re the only girl that has made me feel something... in a long time.”

Your cheeks went red hot. What was he admitting to you? His eyes were getting heavier, and so was his head, the heavy weight of his skull starting to crush your thighs. You stroked his hair a few more times and gently scooted out from under him, guiding his head down to the couch. 

“Get some sleep.”

You checked on Seonghwa immediately when you woke up. He was sitting upright on the couch where you left him last night, hunched over slightly, rubbing his temples. He raised his eyes as you walked in. “God, what happened last night? I feel like I got hit by a train.”

“What do you remember?”

“Drinking… and not much else.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

He froze, the look in his eyes quickly transitioning from confusion to pure terror. “Oh god… what did I tell you?”

“Everything. About your family. Your paintings. You told me I was pretty.”

“Well, that last one I don’t regret,” he said, rubbing his temples harder. “Do you have like… some painkillers? Coffee maybe? God...”

“Wow, you really don’t get wasted much.”

He chuckled. God, you missed his laugh. “Takes a lot.”

You returned to him on the couch with a cup of coffee and some Ibuprofen. Something about giving him painkillers felt… wrong. As ridiculous as it sounded, by the way he carried himself, you would think he was almost invincible, like he didn’t even feel pain or something. You plopped yourself down next to him, and you talked for a while as he drowned his hangover with coffee. 

You made him breakfast, buttered toast and fried eggs, and suddenly you felt like a housewife. It was nice - you wished you could do this more often. He smiled at you around his toast, with his messy, tousled hair and tired eyes, and he almost looked human for once. As close as he ever could, at least. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist, thanking you for breakfast as he pressed his lips against yours. You melted against him, embracing him like your body was designed for it. You wanted to hold him close and never let go, and the idea of him never coming back was one you shoved deep into the back of your mind as you deepened the kiss. 

He pressed you against the counter, kissing you like your lips held the answers to all of his problems, and you kissed back like you knew how to solve them. His hands were warm as they slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, and you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and freshly cut. 

You dipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, and his hands immediately tightened their grip on your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your hands sank further down, teasing your fingers over his cock through the fabric, and he groaned low in his throat. 

He pulled back suddenly, a concerned look growing on his face. “What time is it?”

You glanced at the clock. “11am. Why?”

“Shit. Fuck. I have to go.”

Damn it. It was just getting good.

“Will you come back?” you asked, a little too desperately. You flashed the puppy dog eyes you already knew he couldn’t resist. You didn’t realize just how much you had missed him until he was right in front of you, his hands all over your body. 

He sighed. “I mean, there’s no point in hiding anything from you anymore. I guess I laid everything out on the table when I burst in here drunk last night.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise. I just have some… matters I need to attend to with my father.”

“Is that why you were drinking?”

“It’s not important,” he said dismissively, and suddenly you felt him building a wall again. You gave him one more soft kiss before he left. 

“Don’t let him get to you, okay? I’m always here if you want to talk about it.”

He gathered himself up quickly, glancing over his shoulder one last time before heading out. “Thanks.”

Over the next month, you dated in secret. Nothing was ever explicitly stated about the nature of your relationship, but he visited you almost every night, and you did everything together from dinners to movie nights on your couch to fucking on the kitchen counter. Well, mostly the last one. You weren’t sure if you could call him your boyfriend, but he would have been by anyone else's standards. 

Every day that passed you learned a little more about him. The thing you liked the best? He was secretly kind of a dork. Contrary to the serious and powerful image he put on to the outside world, his true nature was much softer and sweeter than you could have ever anticipated. You fell for him in the simplest tasks: the way he hummed while he washed the dishes, the way he cried a little when he laughed too hard, the stars that shined in his eyes when he discovered something new. You wondered if he had ever experienced such simple things before, things you took for granted - watching sitcoms at 2am, the pain of eating a little too much ice cream, the unadulterated joy of laughing over a bowl of cereal after a long night of sex. You’d watch his eyes sparkle at every new experience, and there was a part of you who really, really wanted to meet his father so you could punch him for ever depriving Seonghwa of a normal life. 

Even so, there were moments when he struggled to open up. There was something still so dark about him, mysterious, hidden. Even after experiencing his wide-eyed, almost childlike sense of wonder, you detected something still slightly sinister kindling within him -- something you would expect out of a mafia boss’ son. He kept a tight seal on the resentment inside, but you knew it was festering just under the surface. You had tried to get him to talk about it, but he evaded your questions each time. You wondered when he would finally boil over. 

A knock sounded at your door. Seonghwa, for your date. 

You opened the door with a sweet, expectant smile. “Seonghwa! Just in time, I was making-” The expression on his face caused you to pause. He looked frighteningly serious, more than he usually did, and that was saying something. You furrowed your brows. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to go right now. I can explain in the car. Get a bag together, only what you absolutely need.”

“Seonghwa what the f-”

His voice went completely dark, commanding as he spoke. “You’re in danger. We have to go. Now.” 

[tmabigbang]

Masterpost of TMA Big Bang 2020 Fics

To prevent clogging up anyone’s dash, we have put all of these fics under a read more since there are 28 wonderful fics created for this bang, which makes for a bit of a long post! Below the cut are links and summaries to all the fics created for this bang! 

In addition to this post, you can also check out our fic page (which you can find here)! The fic page includes links to all the fics, art, and the team members that helped create them! You can also use some basic filters for rating and oneshot/multichapter to find fics.

Thank you again to all our participants, and we will see you next year!

Your Job’s A Joke (You’re Broke) by @bisexualoftheblade and @desert-lily

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27590578

Summary: Working at the Magnus Institute was stressful by default. With monsters, mayhem, and potential primordial entities, it has very little expectations for being a comfortable job. However, everyone is allowed to have a little fun sometimes - even an archivist, their assistants, and their really creepy boss. Fueled by spite and a rampant lack of heterosexuality, they all try to balance their work life with a bit of fun and a healthy dose of bullying twelve-times divorced Elias Bouchard.

I Know The End by @williammatagot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27947966

Summary: Except, for all that beautiful poetry, Eliot was wrong, because the world doesn’t end with a bang, sure, but it doesn’t end with a whimper, either. It ends with the distant-yet-deafening voice of the man Martin loves shouting through a ragged, wild throat--I open the door. (The world ends, Jon shatters, and Martin tries to fix it. The house tries, too, in its own way.)

From the Depth of the Spiral by @trickstergod14

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27842941

Summary: Michael had no idea what was going on. He suddenly woke up in the tunnels under the Magnus Institute with no memories of the past seven years after that fateful trip to Sannikov Land. Watch as he slowly spirals into madness, regaining his memories while strengthening his bond with the Distortion along the way. Can he hide all this from the other Archival Assistants? What will happen when Jon wakes up from his coma? And what does the newly crowned Distortion Avatar, Helen, have to do with all this?

Every Word I Say is Kindling (But The Smoke Clears When You’re Around) by @ohnoimdeathing

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27956897

Summary: The unknowing left Jon stirring in the nightmares of others, watching their torment and suffering and making everything worse. He wanted to wake up, to go back to Martin, Tim, Basira, even Daisy. But he didn’t know how to. Until a voice told him to choose Though, to be honest, he doesn’t remember actually making the choice to stay a monster and live rather than be human and die. The only injury the doctors will talk about is his missing eyes, and why are all the doctors Scottish? At least Martin is here.

Spinning ‘Round (like two sides of a coin) by @awayofunderstandingit

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27835756

Summary: Time is a construct. What we know as past, present, and future all exist at the same time, ad infinitum. • Guided not by time but a spoken word poem, follow along the lives of two intertwined souls, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James. The story of their friendship from the time they meet, through growing apart, to when they fall back together, and through their time working at the Magnus Institute. Witness slices of their lives—not memories, memories would suggest the past—as they exist, ad infinitum, even at The End.

retrouvailles by @jet-siquliak

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27818092

Summary: The Magnus Institute burns. The archivist, for all intents and purposes, burned with it. In a dingy hospital room lies what remains - Jonathan sims. weak, powerless, and insignificant. On Jon’s last day in the hospital, Martin awakes from a coma, unscathed. Melanie King kicks the dirt that once housed the institute. Tim stoker wakes up in the middle of nowhere. Elias Bouchard is dead. No one knows where to go from there. Or: the destruction of one home and the making of another.

Still, I’ll Always Keep the Memory by @revolutionnaire-e

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27932125

Summary: [MARTIN turns, stepping out of the shadows towards him. It is blood, not tears. His left eye is not his own. His eyes never shone that blinding green, never shone with such malice or self-satisfied pride.] MARTIN BLACKWOOD Pleasure to see you again, Archivist.

Making Home by @cuddlytogas

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27664805

Summary: After the events in the Panopticon, Jon and Martin rush to leave London. But making their home in an idyllic safe house isn't that easy: between the layer of dust, and Forsaken still clinging to Martin's heels, it could be some time before they reach an understanding.

called your name ‘til the fever broke by @corpsesoldier

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27845161

Summary: Basira made a promise to her partner. At the end of the world, a monster comes and demands she keep it.

assorted family photos by @lesbianbirds

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27903979

Summary: When setting off on a research trip, it is advised that you prepare yourself for certain oddities that may greet you. or; key moments in a world where the entities are weaker and everyone got a bit more therapy

Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Dating by @pezilla

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27841267

Summary: Timothy Stoker has a lot of advice when it comes to matters of the heart, online agony aunt, gossip monger and general love guru. He has a list and he sticks to it. Or he did. That was before he took a job at the Magnus Institute and before he met three of the most fascinating and frustrating people to ever come into his life. Rule #7 under no circumstances fall for a co-worker. Yeah, that rule was starting to become a problem.

Running the Institute by @drowsy-salamander

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27878306

Summary: Caroline Ferguson, the entirety of the Magnus Institute's legal department, is furiously ignoring any weirdness that could be going on in her workplace, from the tech issues to the vanishing colleagues to the everything about Artefact Storage, Caroline will turn a very deliberate blind eye. They're are not her problem. Now if only those murders could also stop.

kindred spirits (not so scarce as I used to think) by @pollylittlehigher-littlelower

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27914821

Summary: An Anne of Green Gables inspired AU, set in modern day England. Jon and Georgie are childhood best friends, but the two stop talking after a falling out. Even doing their best to avoid each other, Georgie struggles to escape him, even while dealing with her own mental health issues and a blossoming romance with her housemate, Melanie. Is Jon truly the kindred spirit she once considered him? Or will the two eventually part ways for good?

Friends of Empty Graves by @artswaps

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27974807

Summary: After the coffin, she cuts her hair. Who is Alice Tonner? People are searching for her in the space she left behind, in the person she was. Daisy looks elsewhere, and tries not to choke.

just let the feeling grow by @ajkal2

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27838447

Summary: Jon is a musician. He plays songs for a living. Except love songs. He doesn't do love songs, and he makes this quite clear with anyone interested in working with him. Except his manager has booked him for a wedding. Without asking. With days before the festivities start, Jon needs help. Desperately. He won't get it from his hosts, the Lukas family. He certainly won't get it from his manager. However, there's a certain amateur poet on the Lukas' staff who has a talent for making love sound genuine.

World Cold and Hard, Moth Boy Warm and Soft by @lcjenkinswriting

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27827491

Summary: Jon, a young moth fairy, leaves the nest in search of a place that feels like home

tapes winding forward by @ghostbustermelanieking

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27858721

Summary: Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?" --- Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

MAG 26.5: Beach Episode by @ebenrosetaylor

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27882746

Summary: Sasha is aware of the rising tensions in the archives after Martin was stalked by Prentiss and after she had her own encounter with Michael. In an attempt to boost morale and bring them closer together, Tim suggests that they all visit the beach to unwind and get their minds off of all things paranormal. Sasha takes it upon herself to make sure that everyone has fun and relaxes, but she forgets to give herself that luxury.

Rewrite The Rulebook by @radiosandrecordings

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27823774

Summary: "Panic! Bloody panic! I've been out since I was fifteen and never once actually brought someone home. I think I just wanted to seem like I had my life together, y’know? Mainly I just... I think I just wanted someone to be there with me, so I wasn't just alone with her the entire time. A bit of comfort.” There was pause as Martin let out a dramatic sigh, seemingly relieved to ramble out his thoughts. "... I could go with you. If you want."

A Test In Patience by @talking4the1

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27917749

Summary: Elias is going about his day as the new head of the Magnus Institute in 1995. Some spreadsheets to do, meetings to attend mundane and supernatural. Nothing seems out of place until The Eye calls him to Bournemouth.

Of Mothers and Memory by @loverdontleave

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27856585

Summary:  There is a story to be told, of two people, a mother and a son. Of their history together, and the sacrifices they made for each other. Perhaps they loved each other once, but that thread of connection has weakened on one end, fraying away. And it is so, so cold.

Would That I Were Golden Dust by @that-one-girl-behind-you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27734197

Summary: The world is a lot more dangerous with your soul walking by your side, and Entities aren’t shy about feeding on golden Dust.

Till Death, Parted by @bigowlenergy

Ao3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27749680

Summary: Jon gets caught after ripping out Gerry’s page by Trevor & Julia, and through a comedy of errors ends up engaged as an excuse. Somehow, Jon gets out alive, Gerry is freed, and they have the two hunters accompanying them as bodyguards - and as best man and best woman - without a fight. Living alone in Gerry’s London safe house afterwards will be totally fine. Jon is fine. He knows what coping is and everything! Totally fine.

The Spoken Word by @drumkonwords

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802708/chapters/68066326

Summary: Jon wants. Their pinky twitches — stretching and curling to the tune of something musical. The song of wanting, with its motifs of long, low notes. Starting quiet and mumbling up into Jon’s chest until the strings of their heart vibrate like the strings of a double bass and all they can do is wonder who’s tune they’re matching. But they know.

First Aid by @platypik

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27948284

Summary: Jon is certain Martin has been acting strangely all morning. When Martin offhandedly mentions he took a bad tumble off the tube to work, Jon suddenly Knows that the fall had given Martin a nasty fracture. Despite his desperate pleading, Martin stubbornly refuses to let Jon drive him to the hospital. In fact, it seems he would much rather take care of it himself than have Jon worry and fuss over him. Jon would disagree.

Burning Bright, In the Forests of the Night by @triffidsandcuckoos

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27915400

Summary: The safehouse bursts into flames at their backs. You can choose to change the path. Just be ready for what else you might change.

i’ve been static for too long by @furryjefferson

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27887878

Summary: Jonathan Sims ends up with a stranger’s phone on the way home from work. All signs point to the Magnus Institute, and all roads lead to its mysterious archivist: Martin Blackwood.

through the clouds like a moonbeam by @digital-waterfall 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20/works/27877402

Summary: After passing through the Vast’s domain, Jon is left with an unexpected surprise-- a pair of wings. Unsurprisingly, Martin finds them beautiful. Also unsurprisingly, Jon does not.

[azure7539arts]

Beacon

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Blaze + Reverse a common trope

Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, possession, idiots

Summary: One day, perhaps people will forget that a Flame Alchemist has ever existed, but the same can never be said of his subordinates. And today is not that day anyway.

Or: 00Q but Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood AU

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble… And here we are. Again. If you find this intro familiar, thanks for reading Sword! If you have no idea what Sword is and just know my penchant for biting off more than I can chew, please refer to my previous post. Thanks!

Also, look, @solarmorrigan​, pyrokinesis! And @opalescentgold​, because you know the fandom and may appreciate some references. Damn, I have been dying for a FMA AU for. so. long. And now I’ve managed to somehow realize it into fruition. Jeez. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!

-

Q couldn’t stand. The rush of adrenaline and sheer agony were urging his heart into overdrive, as if in beating a punishing pace right then, it would somehow make up for the gaping hole wedged in his side.

He bit back a sharp cry, alchemy flaring as bright as the pulsing pain invading his system. In what was either an eternity or no time at all, the wound was cauterized in a fit of smoke and sizzling burnt flesh, effectively staunching the intolerable amount of blood loss in a matter of seconds. His head spun.

(For as long as he’d lived, Q had wished for a lot of things. Right then, though, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself in the confines of his mind—)

Footsteps were approaching. Q scrambled to get to his feet with whatever remaining strength he had left and snapped his fingers again. Vicious ropes of flames sprang forth like spiteful cobras, eliciting an intense wall of fire that stood guard between him and his would-be captor.

One steel arm shot out from among the blaze and seized him by the throat.

Q choked.

The rest of that body stepped through quickly enough, like an emerging monster materializing from the depths of hellfire.

“Ultimate shield, remember?”

Q clawed uselessly at the still squeezing hand around his throat. “L–Lieutenant—” he wheezed, bitter reluctance warring with his struggling will to survive. “Bond—”

“Hm?” The steel receded, and Bond looked back at him now, head tilting to the side. “What, the old owner of this body?” He tutted, visibly frustrated despite the good humor gleaming in those too sharp eyes. “I told you: He’s gone—he’s become one with the stone. I’m the one in charge now, and the name is Greed.”

He grinned, and Q’s guts twisted at the sight, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. (He could still hear the sound of Bond’s screams piercing all the way down the long corridors. The way his body had writhed and bucked in violent pain as it died and regenerated again and again, rejecting the philosopher’s stone that had been wrongfully injected into it. The way he had suddenly gone lax while Q had done his best to burn through the literal living wall of obstacles out of existence to get to him.)

He gathered all his strength to curl up his legs and kick Bond in the stomach.

No, not Bond. (But that was still his face.)

Not anymore. (Still his eyes, his voice, the low gravel of his laughter, chest-deep and oh so warm.)

Just Greed.

(What if he was still in there?)

The momentum of that kick thrusted Q out of the vice-like grip as he landed onto the ground with a dull thud. A twang of stabbing pain in his side knocked the air out of his lungs, distracting him from the stings of having steel claws dug long strips into either side of his throat.

(The thing was that: if he really was still in there…)

“Damn it,” Bond—Greed—hissed, staggering back before steadying himself with an annoyed huff of breath.

Like this, Q recognized that whoever was in front of him then, despite appearing and sounding exactly like him, didn’t have the firm stance that Bond had always maintained, edged into his bones from all the arduous training he’d put himself through.

The red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand seared into Q’s vision like a brand, as though sealing a death sentence.

(... If he really was still in there, Bond wouldn’t have willingly punched a hole straight through Q.)

Once the thought sank in, Q’s stomach plummeted.

“Could you stop being such a nuisance?” Greed clicked his tongue.

When he tried to reach out again, molten fire engulfed the room at another snap of the fingers.

And in the roaring flames, Q screamed.

-

He wakes with a startled gasp, cold sweat breaking all over.

It takes a moment, but the familiar ceiling of his office finally shifts into focus once more, and Q lets out a shuddered sigh. The documents he was looking at lie strewn across the littered desk surface right where he left them, and at this very moment, the phone rings, shattering the disquiet that has settled over his foggy mind.

He doesn’t notice the long overcoat that’s, apparently, been laid over his person while he slept until he reaches over to make a grab for the handset. It slides down from over his shoulders and pools in the middle of his lap with a rustling of fabric.

Q purses his lips and picks up, free hand settling over his now healed side to ease the aching phantom pain.

“Yes.”

“Brigadier General, sir,” the operator greets. “Major General Moneypenny is on the line for you.”

“Put her through.”

The line clicks after a final ‘yes, sir,’ and instantly, Eve’s voice filters through from the other side. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still there despite the atrocious hours.” It isn’t a question, and he smiles.

“Hypocrite,” he replies without heat, thumb smoothing along the raised ridges of those scars that he can still feel even through the thick layers of his uniform. “How has Briggs been welcoming you back?”

“Oh, you know, the usual warmth and sunshine,” she says, a joking lilt to her tone, and Q winces just from imagining the howling gales of a normal Briggs snowstorm that must be sweeping through the barracks even as they speak. “Now, enough of your diversion scheme. How are things on your side?”

Q thinks he’s too tired to do much of anything else and chooses the easy way out. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Eve hums, entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t point out that his answer isn’t all that she asked. She knows him too well by now to press. “Sometimes, though, I do wonder if you should’ve just retired and gone to Rush Valley to do whatever it is that you automail enthusiasts do.”

The sentiment sends a soft snort through his nose. Not that he doesn’t wish to be a simple automail mechanic from time to time, especially when the price paid doesn’t seem equivalent to subsequent results, but in life, simple wants and actual needs are two different things.

They’ve all learnt this the hard way.

Even so, Q appreciates Eve looking out for him. Thousands of miles away, she’s still one of the few people who truly know and understand him. One of the few whom he trusts with his life. “Oh, definitely—once I find someone suitable to man the post for me, that is,” he muses, only half-serious. “No promises otherwise.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Sir.”

“Come in,” he calls and straightens up, popping the crick in his neck. “Gotta go now. Send my regards to Captain Tanner, would you? God knows the length that man’s gone to to keep up with you.”

Eve laughs, and he smiles, too, just as Bond walks in and closes the door behind him.

(There’s no Ouroboros tattoo on his hand, Q notes and subconsciously relaxes.)

(He shouldn’t feel bad for it—but he does anyway. Just the same as Bond, who didn’t mean to lose control long enough for Greed to hurt Q the way he did.

Emotions are fickle things.)

Eve has gone quiet for a long second as well, probably considering her words. In a way, Q feels he already knows what they are going to be, and grim satisfaction paints his tongue when what she says next is precisely just that, “How’s First Lieutenant Bond?”

How are things between you two, goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless.

Bond is patiently waiting for him—hands tucked behind his back, perfect military posture, too proper and formal to bear—and Q squeezes the coat that remains in his lap.

(He misses the casual dynamics, easy tandem they used to have. One not laden with guilt and second-guessing.

It’s just one more hurdle for them to work through, he supposes.

Together.)

“We’re… getting there,” he replies, mildly surprised by his own honesty. “Talk to you later. Goodbye, Major General.”

He hangs up, and Bond has gotten closer, despite maintaining a minimum distance of three steps.

Q crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits, eyes expectant.

Eventually, Bond can’t but break the silence. “Was that Major General Moneypenny, sir?”

Q suppresses a sigh and nods. “Yes. Just one of her usual check-ins.” He pauses. “She did ask about you, about us, and how we were doing. And I said we were getting there—you heard.”

When Bond doesn’t reply, Q narrows his eyes, shrewd. “So, are we, Lieutenant? Getting there?” Most likely, he’s coming off much harsher than he originally planned, but Q doesn’t give a damn about that. Not right now. “You said you were following me to the top. Is this how you intend on doing it? By pretending to be a good little model soldier while keeping me at arm’s length?”

At this, Bond seems to further straighten, if that’s still physically possible. There’s steel in his eyes, but not the lost, abandoned kind given into avarice like that of Greed.

It’s all just sheer solid nerve and hardened integrity. It’s all Bond and so much more.

“I will do whatever it takes to protect and help you reach your goal—”

“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect me for damn if you’re always three steps away from me! That only means we’re no longer the team you seem to think we are.” Q’s mouth twists into a snarl. “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Bond?”

Bond turns his head away, staring out into the endless expanse of the night through the large panel of Q’s windows. Bond has never liked them, these ‘uselessly big windows that Central Command seems to prefer for their offices.’ Makes his job harder than it already is, he said.

Q tears himself away from the sudden memory.

“My only mission is to protect you,” Bond grinds out, hands that have fallen to his sides clenching into fists.

“And you have not failed.” Q’s voice has somewhat softened as he stands and clears his throat. “What happened, back then. It just means that we need to update our measures of counterattacks.”

They stare at each other now, mutual challenge shining in their eyes like a beacon to safety in the middle of a raging storm.

(“Q. I’m sorry.” Bond said, desperation ripping his voice raw and vulnerable. Q had never heard him like this. “I–I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“James, there’s nothing to forgive.”)

“We can discuss that tomorrow, then.” Bond bends down to pick up Q’s coat from the floor and gives it a few perfunctory pats before handing it back over, a tentative smirk on his lips. “Are you ready to go home for the night, sir?”

Q scoffs and takes it, not hiding his own smile. “Just about.”

It’s a long road ahead, but they’re getting there all right.

-

-

Bonus art:

[jasontoddiefor]

This is entirely @excuseme-howdareyou ‘s fault so here we go

A Hopefully More Or Less Complete List Of My Star Wars AUs with honorable mention of @anakinskywalkher as the person I usually bother with my stuff. We also have more AUs together. No, they’re not here because this post is incredibly long already.

I tried to summarize one AU in one sentence. I hope you’re happy.

Here are the AUs I’ve actually written something for [AO3]:

Obi-Wan raises Luke AU: in which Obi-Wan can’t give Luke away and Luke, set after ANH, drags Vader to the Rebellion kicking and screaming

Self-Made Jedi Anakin: In which Anakin wasn’t accepted into the Order and proceeds to study old Jedi temples

Counterpart AU: Jedi and Sith as yep halves of the same order co-parenting their younglings

Grandfather Vader: Pre-ANH Luke as a teen Dad with toddler Rey making Vader realize he needs to change his plans

Accidental Sith Shmi: Shmi, leading the slave uprising on Tatooine, becomes a Sith

Qui-Gon Padawan Reversal: Anakin as his first padawan, Feemor as the baby of the lineage

Female Anakin: Genderbend Fix-it in which the Republic falls but there’s no Vader

Assassin’s Creed AU: Anakin in the 21st century struggles with the memories of his ancestor Vader

Tyrant of Tatooine AU: Anakin is never found and leads a slave uprising

Tiny Emperor Luke AU: Vader kills Palpatine and makes 10 y/o Luke Emperor [AO3]

Eldritch Anakin: Anakin is only half-mortal

Stuff I’ve started writing

Propaganda AU: in which the Rebellion makes use of the fact that Vader is Luke’s father in the most genius way, currently an estimated chapter count of 23, though I won’t actually start posting until I’ve finished this story

Wings AU: In which being a Skywalker is a bit more literal

Another AU in which Luke is a slave and one where he is highly psychometric and touching his father’s lightsaber is a terrible idea

Soulmate AU in which Obianidala are soulmates with three very different cultural views on soulmates and accidentally save the Republic through cultural differences

No Sequels everything is Happy and Luke setting up the new Jedi Order is basically just straight up parenting a bunch of force sensitives kid for the first 10 years

Ideas I’ve entertained and might write in the future or toss into the abyss

Gods AU: in which our main casts are gods given human form

Vader inserting himself as tiny Leia’s teacher to spite Sidious while Bail is Stressed

Another non-Jedi AU which is honestly just an excuse to come up with my own Force-sensitive culture and put Anakin in fancy clothes and have him wear jewelry

One where Luke sneaks off to the academy and meets Han. The sole purpose of this is Han, a rebel, going “what do you mean the short blonde kid i was always saving is Vader’s #2″

Naboo resigning from the Republic, Anakin not being taken in by the JEdi Order and ten years later Padmé and he are separatists trying to get Jedi Master Obi-Wan and his Padawan Ahsoka to help them figure out what’s actually going on

Anakin and Shmi as accidental information brokers/heads of an outer rim criminal empire

Padmé as the Senate representative for the Jedi Order

Role Reversal OT trio with Leia Skywalker as Obi-Wan’s Padawan, Han as Rebel Prince Organa and Luke as a smuggler

Prequels trio role reversal with Senator Anakin, Padawan Obi-Wan and Jedi Master Padmé

The one where Anakin finds a dragon egg on tatooine and keeps it

Obi-Wan, on his way to bring Luke to his relatives, gets attacked by pirates who call Vader. Obi-Wan manages to take out the pirates but suffers a head injury and loses his memories causing Vader to go”could be my revenge,,, could be Obi-Wan joining my side”

One in which more Jedi survive and they all show up on Obi-Wan’s doorstep or on Alderaan and they kinda rebuilt the Order in secret and the twins grow up with a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins

That one where Sabé pretends to be Padmé and raises the twins

Happy ROTS ending where Anakin “Hero of the Republic” becomes a stay at home dad and shows up to the twins’ PTA meetings with space starbucks

One in which Luke is allegedly a clone Sidious created, just wants to be a person and Leia is a Jedi because gosh damn it just let her be a Jedi you cowards-

Too many Time Travel ideas I’m not listing them all just fix its. a lotta fix its.

Jedi Palptaine AU in which Luke accidentally time travels, kills Plagueis as he’s about to drag still innocent Palpatine off and Luke figures good parenting can fix the galaxy

One were the handmaidens stick around both twins and paint vividly different pictures of Padmé depending on whether they were more tasked with being political help or protection detail

A whole bunch of happy modern AUs that I’m not elaborating on bc this list is already too long

THAT’S IT DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO WRITE ALL OF THIS DOWN??? Ages. Ages. there are probs still some missing but idc anymore

If you have any questions, just sent me an ask and I’ll be happy to elaborate!

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars LVIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’ve been reading Anne’s books all weekend and I almost forgot about posting this chapter lmaoo it’s here and queued now so I’m safe. You’re welcome -Danny

Words: 3,686

Warnings: Blood and a tad of violence 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Seventeen: Under The Whomping Willow.

"Yeh shouldn've come!" Was the first thing Hagrid told them.

He let them in anyway, and they took off the cloak while Hagrid walked around the place giving the impression that the walls were closing around him.

"Wan' some tea?" He asked.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" Hermione inquired while sitting down at the table.

"I — I took him outside. He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an' — an' smell fresh air — before —"

He let out a strangled sigh before dropping the milk, causing them to jump.

"I'll do it, Hagrid," Hermione got up again to help him.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid sat down, nothing but defeat in his voice.

Harry, Ron, and Mel shared the same expression.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?" Harry asked fiercely, sitting down next to him. "Dumbledore —"

"He's tried," said Hagrid. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared... Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy's like... threatened 'em, I expect... an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's... but it'll be quick an' clean... an' I'll be beside him..."

Hagrid swallowed. His eyes were darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort.

"Dumbledore's gonna come down while it — while it happens. Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter — ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid's cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. She straightened up with the new jug in her hands, fighting back tears.

"We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," she began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head.

"Yeh're ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down here anyway... If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Silent tears were now streaming down Hermione's face, but she hid them from Hagrid, bustling around making tea. Then, as she picked up the milk bottle to pour some into the jug, she let out a shriek.

"Ron! I — I don't believe it — it's Scabbers!"

Ron gaped at her.

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione carried the milk jug over to the table and turned it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.

"Scabbers!" said Ron blankly. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?"

Mel reached out to get the rat, the brief second her fingers curled around the animal's tail she felt overwhelmed by panic and the inexplicable need to run away. She dropped the creature in spite of Ron's complaints and held her hand up closer to the light.

"It's okay, Scabbers!" said Ron, picking up the rat again. "No cats! There's nothing here to hurt you!"

"Mel," Harry put a hand on her shoulder, the feeling immediately easing her heart. "Are you okay?"

She took a moment, trying to understand what'd just happened.

"I... I think so," She cleared her throat, rubbing her wrist. "Doesn't matter– Thought I saw... nevermind."

Hagrid stood up abruptly, his eyes never leaving the window.

"They're comin'..."

Albus Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge, the Committee member, and the executioner were approaching at a steady pace.

"Yeh gotta go– They mustn' find yeh here... Go now..."

They collected their things quickly and hid under the cloak once more, Hagrid guided them through the back door where they found Buckbeak nervously moving around the pumpkin patch. They protested all the way while Hagrid kept pushing them further.

"Hagrid, we can't —"

"We'll tell them what really happened —"

"They can't kill him —"

"Go! It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!"

"You're not alone, Hagrid," Mel reassured him. "We'll come back tomorrow."

"Go," His voice broke a little. "Don' listen..."

And so they did as he told, their spirits breaking with each step.

"Please, let's hurry," Hermione mumbled weakly. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it..."

Midway up, Ron stopped moving.

"Oh, please, Ron," Hermione said.

"It's Scabbers — he won't — stay put —" Ron's hand fumbled inside his pocket, fighting with the rat. "Scabbers, it's me, you idiot, it's Ron," He hissed, the animal had bitten his fingers.

"Oh, Ron, please let's move, they're going to do it!" Hermione said with dread.

"Okay — Scabbers, stay put —"

They walked ten steps further when Ron stopped again.

"I can't hold him — Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us —" The rat was squealing and tossing around, desperate to get out of his owner's grip.

"Ron, honestly–" Mel started, but the distinct sound of an axe cutting through made her stop mid-sentence.

The group froze.

"They did it!" Hermione whispered in horror. "I d — don't believe it — they did it!"

"Hagrid," Harry tried to go back, but Ron and Hermione seized his arms.

"We can't," said Ron, momentarily forgetting about Scabbers. "He'll be in worse trouble if they know we've been to see him..."

"How — could — they?" Hermione panted. "How could they?"

"Come on," said Ron, pulling the whole group with him.

They managed to climb all the way up to the open grounds, where Scabbers had gone mad once more.

"Scabbers, keep still! What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still — OUCH! He bit me!"

"Ron, your elbow!" Mel grumbled, rubbing her left arm.

"Be quiet!" Hermione urged them. "Fudge'll be out here in a minute —"

"He won't — stay — put —"

"What's the matter with him?" Mel huffed, moving away from her friend.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione squeaked. Mel looked forward and saw the tiny creature observing them through the cloak. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

"Scabbers — NO!" The rat jumped out of Ron's pocket, and before anyone could stop their friend, he pushed the cloak off his body and ran after it.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted.

Mel took off the cloak as well and ran after Ron, followed by Hermione and Harry.

"Get away from him — get away — Scabbers, come here —" It was hard to see what was going on, Mel heard Ron falling to the ground. "Gotcha! Get off, you stinking cat —"

She stopped a feet away from the boy, Hermione and Harry crashing against her.

"Ron — come on — back under the cloak —" She heard her friend move beside her. "Dumbledore — the Minister — they'll be coming back out in a minute —"

"I can't see!" Mel complained. "This is ridiculous– Lumos!"

The light fell above the shape of a massive, nightmarish black dog.

It jumped the exact moment Mel tried to attack him, throwing her and Harry to the ground and leaping towards Ron, closing its mouth tightly around his arm. The creature dragged him far from reach, and Mel jumped to her feet trying to run after them.

Then she remembered she'd dropped her wand and turned around to search for it when a harsh blow threw her five feet away from where she'd been standing. Her eyes teared up and made it impossible to see, but she heard Harry screams.

"Lumos!"

The Whomping Willow stood proudly above their heads. And there, at the base of the trunk, Ron was sinking.

"Ron!" Harry yelled.

A branch hit him on the side, they couldn't step closer. Mel still hadn't found her wand. One of Ron's legs remained hooked around a root in a strange position. She knew what was going to happen and the awful crack confirmed her fears: Ron's leg had broken, and a moment later, he was gone.

"We've got to go for help —" Hermione had a nasty cut on her shoulder.

"No! That thing's big enough to eat him; we haven't got time —"

"I lost my wand–"

"You didn't," Harry handed it back. "It fell next to me."

"Harry — we're never going to get through without help —"

A new branch tried to hit them, but they jumped out of reach.

"If that dog can get in, we can," Harry insisted.

Mel looked around frantically, she could try to freeze the tree on the spot, but she didn't know if she was strong enough for that.

Crookshanks moved silently between them, he reached the trunk and his front paws clawed at a knot on the base of it. The tree ceased its movements.

"Crookshanks! How did he know — ?"

"He's friends with that dog," said Harry dryly. "I've seen them together. Come on — and keep your wand out —"

They entered the passageway without speaking, the dark silence urging them to find their friend.

"Where's Ron?" Hermione whimpered.

"This way,"  Harry nudged Mel's arm, pointing to his left.

"Where does this tunnel come out?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know... It's marked on the Marauder's Map but Fred and George said no one's ever gotten into it... It goes off the edge of the map, but it looked like it was heading for Hogsmeade..." Harry explained through pants while he guided the way.

The path wasn't high, and it forced them to almost bend over, Mel was starting to feel pain on her lower back when suddenly it opened abruptly, widened, and twisted once more. It gave away an odd entrance through which they managed to see a  room, for the looks of it, the place was abandoned. The windows were boarded up, the furniture dusty and broken.

Harry was the first to walk in, then Mel, and then Hermione.

"I think we're in the Shrieking Shack," Hermione whispered, Mel turned to see her clinging to Harry's arm.

"I think you're right..." Mel replied quietly, her memories matching how it looked the inside with the outside.

"Ghosts didn't do that," Harry signaled to a rusty chair, it was so savagely broken it made her feel weak on the knees.

Something moved on the upper floor and they shared a look, agreeing to walk upstairs and find out what was happening.

"Nox," The lights went off on the three wands.

Only one door was open, and they could see something move behind it. Harry kicked it and walked in with the wand pointing ahead. Ron was on the ground holding his leg and white as paper. The children ran up to him, Mel felt her soul leave her body at the sight of his injury.

"Ron — are you okay?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Ron grunted. "Harry, it's a trap —"

"What —"

"He's the dog... He's an Animagus..."

Mel turned at the same time Harry did. A man stepped forward and slammed the door close.

A mass of filthy, matted hair hung to his elbows. If eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. His yellow teeth were bared in a grin. It was Sirius Black.

"Expelliarmus!" he croaked, pointing Ron's wand at them.

Suddenly they were at his mercy. There was nothing they could do to help themselves.

"I thought you'd come and help your friend," Black said. His voice resembled a lot a dog's growl. "Your fathers would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful... it will make everything much easier..."

Harry tried to throw himself at Black, but Mel and Hermione caught his arms before he could leap forward.

"No, Harry!" Hermione whispered in horror.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!" Ron yelled. Mel hadn't noticed that her friend had stood up beside her, and she helped him support his weight on her.

Black watched them quietly, Ron was losing blood and although it wasn't a dangerous amount, he still needed to be cured.

"Lie down," The man said. "You will damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me?" Ron insisted, clutching to Mel's arm. "You'll have to kill all four of us!"

"There'll be only one murder here tonight," Black whispered with a nasty grin.

"Why's that?" Harry's voice came out like venom, she'd never heard him talk like that. "Didn't care last time, did you? Didn't mind slaughtering all those Muggles to get at Pettigrew... What's the matter, gone soft in Azkaban?"

"Harry! Be quiet!" Hermione pleaded.

"HE KILLED MY MUM AND DAD!" Harry roared, and with huge effort he broke free of Hermione's restraint and lunged forward.

The boy punched Black– no magic, not even caring that the man was crazy and ready to kill him in no time. Black's hand enraptured Harry's throat tightly.

"No! I've waited too long —"

Harry choked, Mel was pulling Ron towards the bed panting and feeling her muscles burn, she wanted to help. Hermione took care of it before she could, she launched forward and kicked Black's side. When she made sure Ron was safe, Mel rushed over to them and tried to steal the wands away from the criminal. Everyone got hurt in the fight, Ron screaming indications to help his friends.

"Argh!"

Crookshanks had joined the fray; both sets of front claws had sunk themselves deep into Harry's arm; Harry threw him off, but Crookshanks now darted toward Harry's wand —

"NO YOU DON'T!" roared Harry, and he aimed a kick at Crookshanks that made the cat leap aside, spitting; Harry snatched up his wand and turned —

"Get out of the way!" He screamed.

Harry approached the grim man, pointing right at his chest.

"Going to kill me, Harry?"

"You killed my parents."

"I don't deny it, but if you knew the whole story–"

"The whole story?" Harry asked in disbelief. "You sold them to Voldemort. Mel's dad died because of you! That's all I need to know."

"You've got to listen to me," Black growled. "You'll regret it if you don't... You don't understand..."

"I understand a lot better than you think– You never heard her, did you? My mum... trying to stop Voldemort killing me... and you did that, you did it..."

Crookshanks leaped towards Sirius and curled around his chest

"Get off," Black tried to move him away.

Harry wasn't going to kill him. For starters, he didn't have the knowledge or power to be able to even hurt Black in a serious way. Second, he wasn't a murderer. Mel was waiting for the moment when he would come into terms with that, when a sound came from the first floor.

"WE'RE UP HERE!" Hermione shouted. "WE'RE UP HERE — SIRIUS BLACK — QUICK!"

Harry let out a tiny whimper, imperceptible for the rest but loud enough to know he was forcing himself to stay and face Black, to not look afraid.

"Expelliarmus!"

She felt her wand fly out of her grip and saw her uncle caught the wands with impressive expertise. Harry's chest deflated, an utter look of shame on his features. Mel stepped forward, careful not to scare him, she supported a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from Black.

"Where is he, Sirius?" Something about the familiarity of the question made her feel scared.

Black, terribly slow, pointed at Ron.

"But then...  why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless..." Throughout her life, Mel had seen him recovering from his transformations. This was different, something was changing inside his mind. "— unless he was the one... unless you switched... without telling me?"

Black nodded.

"Professor," Harry was losing his patience. "What's going on — ?"

They froze in place when Lupin lowered his wand and walked over to Sirius, helping him on his feet and... hugging him. Mel felt something breaking in her chest.

She never would've thought... He had known her dad, Harry's parents... He was family!

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Hermione yelled. "You — you —"

"Hermione —"

" — you and him!"

"Hermione, calm down —"

"I didn't tell anyone!" Hermione shrieked, this time turning to see her. "I've been covering up for you because Mel asked me to—"

"Hermione, listen to me, please!" Lupin insisted. "I can explain —"

"Could you?" Mel heard her own voice, sadder than ever. "I think it's clear..."

"I trusted you," Harry shouted, "and all the time you've been his friend!"

"You're wrong, I haven't been Sirius's friend, but I am now — Let me explain..."

He tried to reach Mel, but she stepped back in anger.

"You're a monster," She said shortly.

A pained expression crossed Lupin's face but he shook it off quickly, stepping ahead.

"Please Mel, this can be fixed–"

"NO!" Hermione pulled her to her side. "Don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too — he's a werewolf!"

Mel didn't speak on his behalf.

"Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," Lupin said calmly. "Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don't want Harry dead... but I won't deny that I am a werewolf."

Ron whimpered behind her. Lupin noticed he was injured and tried to reach for him as well, but Mel stood between both of them at the exact moment Ron demanded:

"Get away from me, werewolf!"

Lupin stopped, his eyes landed on Mel's, who was deadly quiet. She wasn't going to humor him and speak, he knew that. Instead, he addressed Hermione.

"How long have you known?"

"Ages," Hermione replied. "Since I did Professor Snape's essay..."

"He'll be delighted, He assigned that essay hoping someone would realize what my symptoms meant... Did you check the lunar chart and realize that I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realize that the boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?"

"Both," Hermione said quietly.

Lupin forced a laugh, then he looked back at his niece.

"You knew?"

"Same time as Hermione," She examined the scars across his face as she spoke. "Different reasons."

"You're the cleverest witches of your age I've ever met," He nodded at Mel. "I've known you your whole life... I helped Emily raise you–"

"You did it out of guilt– I don't owe you my upbringing," Mel growled.

"And I'm not clever at all," Hermione added. "If I'd been a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are!"

"But they already know, at least, the staff do," Lupin explained.

"Dumbledore hired you when he knew you were a werewolf? Is he mad?"

"Some of the staff thought so, he had to work very hard to convince certain teachers that I'm trustworthy —"

"AND HE WAS WRONG!" Harry shouted so abruptly it made her jump. "YOU'VE BEEN HELPING HIM ALL THE TIME!"

Black dragged himself towards the bed and fell on it tiredly. Ron pulled himself away from him with difficulty and Mel stood next to him protectively.

"I have not been helping Sirius. If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. Look —"

He threw the wands back to each owner, Harry looked down at his with confusion.

"There," said Lupin, putting his own away on his belt. "You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?"

Mel and Harry shared a look. She nodded, and the boy continued.

"If you haven't been helping him... How did you know he was here?"

"The map– The Marauder's Map. I was in my office examining it —"

"You know how to work it?"

"Of course I know how to work it," Lupin brushed it off like it meant nothing. "I helped write it. I'm Moony — that was my friends' nickname for me at school."

"Moony?" Mel repeated.

"You wrote — ?"

"The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you two, Ron, and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I? You might have been wearing your father's old cloak, Harry —"

"How d'you know about the cloak?"

"Don't you remember?" Mel inquired. "He'd said it before– He was friends with our parents, of course he knows!"

"The number of times I saw James disappearing under it!" Lupin said, acting like it wasn't important. "The point is, even if you're wearing an Invisibility Cloak, you still show up on the Marauder's Map. I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else."

"What?" said Harry and Mel at the same time. "No, we weren't!"

"I couldn't believe my eyes, I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?"

"No one was with us!" Harry denied.

"And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labeled Sirius Black... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow —"

"One of us!" Ron yelled.

"No, Ron," said Lupin, pacing around. Mel noticed -unsure of how to feel about it- that she had the same mannerisms whenever something wouldn't leave her mind.  "Two of you. Do you think I could have a look at the rat?"

"What?" said Ron. "What's Scabbers got to do with it?"

"Everything," said Lupin, stopping his walk. "Could I see him, please?"

Ron hesitated and glanced at Mel. She thought that at the end of the day, it didn't sound like a life or death risk, so she told him it was alright. Ron grabbed Scabbers by the tail and offered it to the Professor. Lupin inched closer.

"What?" Ron pressed, taking the animal away from Lupin's excruciating look. "What's my rat got to do with anything?"

"That's not a rat," Black said hoarsely.

"What d'you mean — of course he's a rat —"

"No, he's not," Lupin said miserably. "He's a wizard."

"An Animagus... by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018​ @vampiregirl1797​ @siriuslysirius1107​ @celestialhayi​ @mikariell95​ @omiwashere​ @tomshollandz​ @steve-thotgers​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @reverse-hxlland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​

[finleyjayne]

EXTRA

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey guys, I know y’all don’t know me but I’m going to be trying to post some of my fan-fiction. It’s both exciting and scary, please reblog, share. I’m going to be trying to write a little blurb every day for the month of April. If you have any requests please send them my way and I’ll try my best. Thank you in advance. If you want to follow me for ONLY writings my writing blog is @finleyjaynewriting. 

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attack, Self-deprecating thoughts

Summary: You are a part of the Avengers family but it’s sometimes hard to keep yourself from falling into bad habits that you thought you kicked when an essay question from your last college English class causes you to backslide. It’s a good thing your boyfriend Bucky is there to rally the troops and remind you that you are loved, even when you decide to run around the tower in a cape. 

picture credit goes to: Marwan & Khaled Couture Fall/Winter 2019 

Originally blogged by @fashion-runways​

You had been sitting here, staring at your outline notes, grading rubric, and notebook for over an hour. And you still hadn't a scrap of what to write. The list of adjectives on the page getting fuzzier as you tried to decide whether or not they fit you. Or if they were something that your friends, team-members, or family would use to describe you.

 If there was one word to describe you, you'd like to think that it was intelligent. But seeing as you live in a tower with not one but two geniuses and three supersoldiers who have heightened cognitive functions, it was terrifying how stupid you feel on the daily. Even with your triple-majored ass, you were on the lower end of intelligence. 

 Okay, so the people around you wouldn't call you the smart one in the group. What about determined. I mean, it takes a substantial amount of determination to get three master's degrees at the same time in five years. Tapping your pen against your chin as you think, you shake your head. Yeah, no, not when compared to Mr. I-can-do-this-all-day. 

 Sam is the compassionate and supportive one.

 Natasha is independent and fearless.

 Bucky is strong and loyal.

 Bruce is sweet and patient. 

 Wanda is attentive and courageous.

 Tony is eccentric and a genius.

 Steve is gentle and determined.

 Clint is funny and hardworking (even if he tries to play it off).

 Gods, this assignment is going to be the downfall of my perfect 4.0 GPA. You think to yourself, slamming your head onto your notebooks. Why did you have to take English? None of your majors were English oriented. Music, Engineering, and Chemistry. No  English, no need to know how to write a complete sentence. No need to write 2 pages on what your friends consider you using one word. You should know, you've made it 97% of the way through all three majors without taking a single English class. The most writing I had to do was my dissertations, which had nothing to do with this useless "self-expression piece."  The prompt doesn't even make sense! Write 1000+ words on a single word. How is that logically not just busy-work? 

 Just as your eyes and sinuses start filling with the feeling of hopelessness, Bucky comes waltzing into the tower's library with his book of the week. 

 "Heya dollface. Taking a nap?" He calls, the chuckle entwining into his voice in that perfect way it does. 

 And that's all it takes for your body to unleash the body-shaking sobs. The soulful wail that tore through your chest and out your trembling lips was nothing like you'd ever let anyone see. Especially not your team. You were already the weak one. You didn't need them to think anything less, but after comparing yourself to them for the last two and a half hours, you couldn't keep your self-deprecation locked in its cage anymore. 

 Seeing you this way was terrifying for Bucky. He had never seen you cry anywhere besides on stage. Not when you had been on the Mission from Hell. Not when you were hormonal, and Clint stole your heating stuffy. Not even when you were grieving the loss of your ex-girlfriend. So now having your usually bubbly, determined, happy-go-lucky self in a full breakdown was new territory for him. 

 "Woah," he said, eyes widening as he stared. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, doll. If anybody deserves a nap, it's you." He comforted as he took giant steps to your chair. Lifting you effortlessly and positioning you into the cradle of his arms as he took a seat in the large Papasan chair to the side of your chosen workspace. Holding you in a tight embrace like you did when he was having a hard time with his anxiety. 

 He focused on breathing evenly and keeping his heartbeat in check, knowing that if he didn't stay calm, the situation would escalate into something worse. Shushing you and rocking you as he observed the table for anything that could give away why you were crying. Bucky knew better than most about your anxiety and depression. He had asked you once how you knew so much about helping him during one of your many cuddle sessions. You had just said that you were working from your own encounters before you changed the subject.

 Though he didn't know everything, Bucky did try to help you as much as he could, especially as your friendship turned into something more. Still, he couldn't see anything that would cause you to become this upset. Usually, you would complain about your English assignments as you hyper-focused on them. Giving up on figuring it himself, he turned back to his distraught girlfriend, who was fighting to control her emotions in his arms. 

 "Babygirl, can you match your breaths to mine? Come on. Breathe in, hold, breathe out." He whispered, holding her tighter to him as she shakily followed him through the exercise a few more times. "Good, now what has my BAMF girlfriend distressed. Who do I need to take care of?" 

 You could feel the seriousness in his voice before you could see him through your tears. "Nobody, it's not a big deal. Just a stupid essay for English."

 "Don't give me that shit, Y/F/N Y/L/N." Bucky cuts off your excuses sternly. "You rarely cry, which, no matter how much you fight it, is unhealthy." Before you could even open your mouth to argue, he had a gentle, calloused finger on your lips. "Not going to remonstrate this. You are clearly upset, you are not okay, and that is okay. I just want to know why so I can help you more fully." He says, lifting his finger from your lips to tuck a few strands of your hair from your face.

 Sighing, you look down. "It's just this essay, I have to write about one word that my friends use to describe me. I ended up spiraling while trying to find a word that would be mine when all the ones I usually consider myself are more aptly displayed by somebody else. Honestly, I don't know why you keep me around. I'm pretty average." you admit, curling in on yourself as your tears gather again. 

 "Hey, none of that printsessa." He scolded you softly. "You are important to us. You are smart, fun, and inspirational. You are the reason we aren't at each other's throats. You are the instigator of too many of our team-building exercises. You single-handedly instigated the reconciliation between Steve and Tony." He started, giving you a smirk as you begin to scrunch your nose up. Tears were forgotten.

 You really didn't like it when he made sense when you were upset. It made feeling bad really hard. The worst part; Bucky damned well knew it. "But, you're biased, Bucky."

 "Maybe I am, but I also know you. And if I heard you correctly: It doesn't say one word YOU would choose to call yourself, but one word WE would define you as. Therefore, you shouldn't be wondering what words we would use. You should have gotten up and asked us. Or even better, you should've texted the group chat and asked! Then you wouldn't be here sending yourself into a hate-spiral, doll." Bucky reprimands softly. Determined to get rid of the lies that your mind is spewing at you, just like you do for him. 

 "I don't wanna bother you guys with my stupid homework. You guys didn't sign up to be pestered by my lack of self-mediation." You grumble huffily, knowing full well you are acting stubborn.

 "If you won't help yourself. I guess it's up to me to help you." Bucky states, standing up with you still cradled snugly in his arms. 

 "BUCKY!" You admonish, clinging to him at his sudden movement. "At least let me walk. I'm overwhelmed and sad, not crippled."

 "What's to say, I don't just wanna carry you? Huh? Also, you're holding me just as tightly love." He smiles brightly at you, kissing you briefly before turning back to the exit. Book, schoolwork, and his original objective forgotten for his new mission. He was going to find his doll her confidence again, with all the positive affirmations that should've been her first thoughts.

 Once settled in the elevator, Bucky looks up, "Hey, Friday, can you take us to Tony, please?" After confirmation from the resident AI, he sets your feet on the ground from the bridal carry he's holding you in but keeping you close to him. "So you need one word? What is your plan?" 

 Keeping your arms in their place around his neck, you lean your head against his secure warmth. "I don't really know, Buck. I kinda got stuck on the first step. If it was an analytical or critical styled piece, it would be a breeze, but it is supposed to be a descriptive essay. I don't know what to do with that. If it was a song, I'd be cuddled with you and my ukelele by now, putting finishing touches on the finished product. But no, there isn't any room for incomplete sentences. Maybe I'll make it a song just to spite the evil bat."

 "Hey, dollface, it's okay, I'm here to help you. Does it just have to be one word, or can it be structured for each person you know to have a different word? Remember what Peter said that one time he was working with you on Formatting? Your thesis could be something like 'I am many things to many different people and therefore have many different words that can be used to describe me. These things are A, B, C, and D. Then, you can use each term for a paragraph of fluff."

 Taking a deep breath, your lip twitches somewhere between a smile and a deep frown. "That does sound like a good idea. I don't really want to track down everyone, though. Can we get everyone into the same room and ask them as a group? It would be less hassle, and maybe we can decide on reasoning and stories to use to explain why? I really don't know how to do this without being really pessimistic and cynical about the whole thing."

 "Mr. Stark is in his lab, he is recommended that he is brought down to the commons, where I will page everyone else." Came Friday's disembodied voice. 

 "Thank you, Friday," you whispered. You weren't really sure that you were ready for this, but you know that this is the best way to finish this essay without spiraling into your self-pity again. It has to get done. Procrastination is not an option. After all, these are your friends. They don't have to know that you were bawling your eyes out about this stupid assignment. 

 Taking another steadying breath, you wipe the remainder of your tears off your make-up-less face onto Bucky's soft T-shirt, before turning out of his embrace to march confidently into Tony's Lab. "Hey Tones, your presence is required in the Commons." You call as you walk in the door. Knowing that Friday would've warned you if Tony had been in the middle of something delicate. 

 "What is it for? I want to get this sequence reconfigured. Can it wait?" Tony said, his full attention on a large display of Smalltalk equational programming floating off of his Holotable. 

 "Nope, if you don't come now, you don't get to participate, let Friday do the reconfiguration code. It will be done by the time you get back. If you come and keep your attitude to a minimum, I'll let you use me as a scapegoat for your next prank." You try to bribe when he looked offended that I'd suggest such a thing.

 "Any prank? Even if it's against loverboy?" Tony perked, throwing a truly roguish smirk over your shoulder. 

 "As long as no one is injured or harmed. But to make sure that I can cover your ass, you need to fill me in on the joke BEFORE you pull it." You say herding him away from the endless rows of code while he is occupied with his next plot. 

  When you finally make it to the Commons, The rest of the Avengers are gathered on the couches. All seemed to be in a decent enough mood. Taking a deep breath, you look to Bucky for direction on how to implement this plan of his. 

 He gives your hand a squeeze as he guides you to the middle of the sectional. Holding you from behind, he clears his throat. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to this impromptu meeting. I know you guys were probably doing nothing, anyway, but I appreciate you coming down here. Doll, here, needs some help from us. Well, you guys, since apparently, I am biased." His tone is light as he brings attention to us.

 You can't help but feel that knot of uncertainty come back as he speaks, though. You try your best to hide the shaking of your hands by holding onto Bucky's forarms that rest tightly around your middle, grounding you into the moment. Please just let this be quick. 

 "You are biased," you grumble. "You have to say the best things because you are my boyfriend. It makes for a skewed view on what my friends think of me." 

 "She does have a point, Buck. You tend to have neverending heart-eyes whenever anything is about her. Though that is reasonable, seeing as she is your girl. I'd be more concerned if you didn't have a shade or two of rose to your glasses." Steve said from his station in on the nearest end of the couch to the door. 

 "If his glasses are tinted any pinker, they won't be able to be seen through." Scoffed Sam from the other end of the couch. 

 "Doesn't matter," Bucky cut in before there could be any more railroading. "Y/N has an essay that she has to write but couldn't find the right inspiration for the prompt. Seeing as it pertains to our views on her, I felt it necessary to bring our expertise into the mix."

 "Oh, What's the prompt?" Bruce asked from the corner of the window seat. 

 "It's stupid, It's an essay on the word that your friends and family would use to describe you. Well, in this case, describe me." You say to the oak coffee table that separated the majority of them from you and Bucky. 

 "Doll, stop hating, and just accept the help." He whispered into your 

 "Well, you've definitely come to the right place. Come on, guys, what words describe Y/N?" Tony said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together from the place he found next to Natasha.

 "Friday, can you make a list on the monitor, so we don't forget any?" Steve asked the AI helpfully.

 "Good idea, I'll start with eccentric," Nat stated.

 "Bubbly."

 "Funny."

 "Smart."

 "Out-going."

 "Playful."

 "Creative."

 "Hardworking."

 "resourceful, Multi-talented, Impressive."

 "Badass."

 "Stubborn." 

 Words just kept coming at incredible speed before there was a ding at the elevator. "Mrs. (Y/L/N), The package you ordered last night needs to be signed for if you wouldn't mind." Friday cut in. 

 As more words were being piled onto the TV screen, you turned toward the elevator. "It's here already??" you asked, making your way to the waiting delivery man. I quickly signed for the package before coming back to the group. Ripping into the box without care as Tony and Clint argued over positive and negative words on the list.

 Letting out an excited squeal while you pulled the long, sky-blue cape out of the box and swishing it over your shoulders, clasping it easily, and spinning in a circle to make it swish out. It was just as you imagined. Silky, soft, and absolutely perfect for everything. When you finally came back to the conversation you found yourself at the center of attention, everyone's eyes were on you in different mixes of amusement and exasperation. 

 "Where you going, Miss Bennet?" Tony laughed out.

 "What do you mean, where am I going? This is my house cape. Don't you have one? It's the latest fashion." You bite back, raising your head in indignation. "I love it, I am going to wear it. EVERYWHERE."

 As everyone's faces split into the biggest smiles, Peter walked into the room, tossing his backpack onto the floor as he took a seat between Sam and Steve. 

 "No Capes!" He said, lovingly referencing the Incredibles. Sending a ripple of laughs through the group of superheroes. "So what has you so Extra today, Y/N?"  

 "Nothing, I just saw this for sale while I was doing research for my recital dress and thought it would be nice." You respond fondly, feeling invincible in the cape. 

 "THAT'S IT! YOUR WORD IS EXTRA!" Clint said, springing from his perch. Everyone looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. 

 "Agreed. It's perfect. You give extra in everything you do." Steve said, not really getting the modern connotation.

 Even though it isn't any of the words that you thought they would choose, you can't really complain. Especially when it gives you the privilege of wearing your Couture Cape around the tower, just because you want to.

 Smiling at Bucky, you raised slightly on your toes to kiss his cheek, whispering a thank you. And with that, you whooshed off to write the worst essay in your academic career. Leaving the bickering and astounded Avengers in your wake.

[quicksilverlightning]

The All Might Fan Forum Discussion Board, Part Two

ALL MIGHT FAN FORUM General Discussion All Might Battles Meeting All Might      Rescued by All Might      All Might Encounters      >Small Might Encounters (New!) Fanart and Fanfiction

Gone4-a-Jog

Small Might Sensei

I like to go jogging. I started recently and I’m not very good at it – I can’t run very fast or very long. But I like taking different routes and discovering new places when I stop to catch my breath. It was during one of my longer runs that I bumped into All Might.

I’d heard someone behind me a few minutes before I stopped to put my hands on my knees and try to gulp down as much air as possible, but didn’t hear that he stopped when I did so I jumped and nearly fell on my ass when I got upright, then nearly fell again when I saw who it was and this long sentence doesn’t begin to cover the comedy of errors that was my life in these few moments.

He stopped cause I was running wrong. Sidenote: there’s a such thing as running wrong. Apparently, you want to land in the middle of your foot and try not to land on your heel at all cause that can cause problems. He also taught me a few breathing rhythms for different intensities of runs.

He ran with me for about twenty minutes, correcting my bad posture and seriously I know every post on this forum says it, but All Might is super, super nice. Like, you’d think he’d have at least a little ego or something, but he doesn’t. He just wants to help everyone. He said hello to everyone we passed and doubled back to throw away a bottle someone dropped. He’d so nice you guys.

I’ve been using what he taught me for a few days now, and haven’t gotten a stitch in my side once. It’s so much easier to run now. Thanks Sensei!

Pepper-oni

Seatmates!

Small Might sat next to me on the bus. Pretty sure he could have had any seat he wanted no matter how crowded it was, but he was really polite and kinda awkward about asking if he could sit with me. Meanwhile, I’m internally screaming while trying to keep it cool on the outside.

He was texting someone on his phone – I tried not to stare, but it’s All Might, you know? I didn’t catch much, just that he was proud of someone, which, hello, is so frickking cute. He looked happy.

m0toroildrmz

A brief conversation with my mother:

“Mom, do you know who that was?”

“No?”

“That was All Might! All Might, mom!”

I leave my mom alone for five seconds to use the bathroom, and I come back to ALL MIGHT helping her with her English crossword puzzles. She didn’t even get an autograph for me.

oba-san581

the beach

I don’t know why it took so very long for it to click – after his last battle, I couldn't shake the feeling that I’d seen that tall, skinny man somewhere before. And he is such a distinctive gentleman; I was sure I knew him, somehow. It wasn’t until I met him on the beach that it finally fell into place.

I’m retired these days, so I have a lot of time on my hands. Every day, I take a walk from my home to the library and back. Sometimes I stay a few minutes, sometimes the entire day gets away from me. For months, almost every day without fail, there was a man and a boy cleaning the shoreline near my home. They would be there when I left for the day, and were still there when I came back. The boy was a scrappy, freckled little thing, cute as a button. The man was slender, but undeniably strong – he would step in to help with some of the bigger appliances, but mostly directed the boy and cheered him on.

I stopped to speak to them a few times; the boy was such a polite young man, and All Might was genial and humble. I never would have known. I could never have guessed had I not met him again, returning from the library with a book to enjoy near the waves.

It’s strange; heroes are so flashy these days, hustle and bustle and fight and move. And we appreciate them, need them. But there’s something so very special about the little things. All Might personally spent almost a year helping clean up a beach. Would anyone else in the top ten have done that?

He was every bit as kind as I remembered. He doesn’t accept praise very well, insisted the beach was all the boy’s doing. Which is fair enough I suppose – he did most of the heavy lifting. Even so, that man was out there almost every single day, with lunch and water and cheer and kind words. It warmed my heart, watching the two of them progress across the sand. I’m so glad All Might is a teacher now; those kids are in good hands.

spite-and-aesthetic

again with the cats

small might plucked my cat out of a tree AGAIN – same cat same tree he even fucking remembered me is this guy for real?

MKPlusUltra

All Might does not skip Leg Day

So I’m minding my own business, checking messages on my phone, waiting on my drink order, when there’s some commotion across the street – lotta loud noise, people screaming and running, standard-issue villain-tries-to-rob-the-till-at-the-combini sort of afternoon. It’s a tall guy with, like, I guess it’s a stretch Quirk off some kind? He looks like he walked out of some old-timey cartoon, all wiggly limbs bouncing everywhere, running from what looks like some rookie Pro – I don’t even think they were a rookie yet; maybe an intern? Anyway, Noodle Arms is booking it, Intern is after him as fast as his short legs can manage. Leggy clears the street in one jump and starts twisting his head around like he can’t decide where to go next.

It’s at that moment when All Might himself exits the building next to mine, one hand leaving his pocket to check his watch and Noodle makes a decision.

Now look, I’m gonna break this down into slo-mo for ya, cause seriously, it was a thing of beauty. It was one, smooth, impossibly cool-looking move, and every piece of it needs to be appreciated. This DUMBASS, who clearly had no plan whatsoever beyond “grab a hostage,” honestly thinks he can take on ALL MIGHT, I guess cause he’s skinny now or something. He wraps his stupid noodle limbs around him and All Might doesn’t even twitch when Dumbass constricts his arms and waves a gun around. Dumbass is yelling something, I don’t know what, who tf cares. All Might kinda tilts his head, wriggles his shoulders a bit, then lifts his arms up and slides out of the jacket so fast the fabric doesn’t even lose its shape. I’m not even kidding, it looked like it was on an invisible mannequin, this move came straight from the Acme school of How To Defy Physics. Dumbass has just enough time to look shocked before he’s eating a size 13 leather shoe – All Might dropped to his haunches, made a quarter-turn, and kicked his leg up and back, straight into the jaw of Dumbass. He kicks him so hard his feet actually lift off the ground and he flies backwards into a streetlamp.

All Might doesn’t even look angry; he just looks Annoyed, like someone forgot to put sugar in his coffee. He picks up his jacket and slings it over a shoulder and waits around a few minutes for the police to catch up and haul Noodle McDumbass into custody while Short Intern babbles away with stars in his eyes. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

AM_FAN0112

HE’S BACK

HE HASN’T BEEN TO THE SHOP IN THREE MONTHS TOSHINORI YOU USELESS SUNFLOWER I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU. I LEFT SO MANY TEARS ON HIS JACKET

YOU FUCKING SWEETHEART. YOU ABSOLUTE RAY OF LITERAL SUNSHINE. I WILL SAVE EVERY COPY OF SUGAR SUGAR CAT CAFE FOR YOU I WILL READ EVERY SINGLE DUMBASS ROMANCE MANGA I CAN FIND I WILL WORK IN THIS TINY BOOKSHOP FOR THE REST OF MY STUPID LIFE JUST NEVER SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN YOU AWKWARD JACKRABBIT DON’T EVER LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THAT AGAIN

I’M SORRY FOR SCREAMING I JUST MISSED HIM SO MUCH HE’S MY FAVORITE CUSTOMER EVEN BEFORE I KNEW HE WAS ALL MIGHT. HE’S AN ADORABLE OLD MAN

RedRibbon

A good man

Perhaps it’s a little unfair for me to comment since I work in the Tower. Still, there are some things I wanted to share with the world and this is a good place to do it.

I’ve been at the agency for three years now, mainly doing secretarial work. My direct superior is a man named Yagi-san. Yagi-san acted as All Might’s personal assistant, right hand man, concierge, whatever you want to call it. Telling something to Yagi-san was as good as telling it to All Might directly. I, along with everyone else in the Tower, learned why that night in Kamino.

I’ve read many, many posts on these discussion boards and if I were to identify a unifying theme that everyone seems to mention, it’s that All Might is a nice guy. That he really, honestly cares. That he worries about the little things just as much as the big things. I’ve worked with Yagi-san for three years and can confirm that none of it is a show for the adoring public – it’s all 100% true.

Let me tell you something, I worked with Miruko’s agency before All Might’s, and Wash before that, but unless the two of them also have secret identities, neither one of them was on the ground floor pushing pencils with the rest of us like All Might was. I’ve seen Yagi-san escorting new hires around the building when they get lost. I’ve seen him roll up his sleeves and change a busted printer cartridge, ink all over his shirt. He knows everyone’s birthday. He’ll do coffee runs, answer the phones, make deliveries, grab lunch, whatever you need. I’ve seen him as All Might, shutting the press down when they start getting pushy with the employees, or dropping by the daycare and making the kids light up.

I’ve never seen him complain. I’ve never seen him brush anyone off. I’ve never seen him be rude, or arrogant, or insulting, or aloof. I’ve never seen him treat anyone as lesser, as if they weren’t worth his time. Yagi-san lifted morale just by being in the building, the way All Might cut crime rates just by existing. Everyone in the agency loved Yagi-san just as much as they loved the hero; everyone had a story about All Might, and another one about Yagi-san. I’ve seen a few of those stories on this very board.

But this one is mine:

Ever since high school, I’ve used a ribbon to keep the hair out of my face. I love my curls, but they can be a nuisance waving around at the edge of my vision, so I keep them pulled back. I like using ribbons because scrunchies often get caught in my un-tameable mess of hair.

My ribbon snapped one day at work. It wasn’t a big deal – just a minor annoyance to have to keep pushing my hair back. But Yagi-san noticed. He noticed without anyone saying anything, and came back from lunch thirty minutes later with a beautiful red ribbon that he tied into my hair.

It really is the little things that matter the most. This tiny little gesture made me feel seen, acknowledged, valued. Not just as an employee, but as a person. All Might cares about those kinds of things – his employees aren’t subordinates, they’re people. He doesn’t rescue victims, he recuses people. He doesn’t pull you up to his level; he gets on yours and puts you on his shoulders.

I’ve worn that ribbon nearly every day for two years. It’s gotten thin in places, kinda frayed at the edges, but still doing its job faithfully. A bit little like the man who gave it to me.

[awesome-fandom-reference]

Partners

ReaderXaizawa

Warnings: violence, fighting, blood, cursing, sexual content.

Chapter 1

There you were on a nightly crime watch guard. You couldn’t sleep knowing you start your new teaching job the next day, so rather than toss & turn all night, you decided to gear up & put in practice what you’ll be teaching.

You preferred working at night, most of the civilians were asleep & a lot less pressure of having people who have nothing to do with a scene making it their business.

You sat on a fire escape keeping watch as you saw two people running through the alleyway carrying many electronics with them.

“A common robbery, no biggie” you thought to yourself.

You jumped into action to stop the thieves, & as they noticed you, one of them stretched out his hand at you, shooting bullets from his fingers.

You quickly activated your quirk turning your arm into a blade & deflecting the bullet.

The thief fired again but to his surprise nothing came out of his fingers.

“These were my criminals to catch.” A raspy voice said from the shadows.

A silhouette swung out of the darkness & tied up the two men.

“Well clearly you weren’t doing a good job. They were getting away.” You answered back.

“My stealth plan was working just fine until you intervened, letting the entire block know you were here with how unsubtle you were.” He said back seriously.

“Are they caught or not?” You snapped back annoyed.

The long haired hero made a growl as he bound the men with a special gadget & wrapped his scarf back around his neck again.

“Here take ‘em in. I don’t need the extra attention.” He said to you gesturing towards the bound criminals.

“& have to fill out all that paper work for you? I’ll pass.” You replied As you climbed onto to the ledge of a building & made your way back to your apartment. Leaving the long haired vigilant smirking at your response.

Chapter 2

You did everything you could to hide the fact that you didn’t get good sleep the night before, it was your first day & you wanted to make a good impression, unfortunately you have never been good at hiding your tired face.

You were at UA high, starting a new job as a teacher in offense & defense strategy’s.

You made your way to meet up with their principal. You didn’t know if it was your tiredness or the feeling of being a part of UA that distracted you, causing you to not watch were you were going & trip in the hall. You turned as you laid on the ground to see what caused you such a fall.

“Who the hell leaves a fucking ugly sleeping bag in the middle of the hall?” You said to yourself, at the sight of the bright yellow bag.

No time to waste with trivial things, you got up & went on your way, just glad that no one was around to witness your embarrassing moment.

You met up with the principal, an adorable little creature with a soft voice, who pointed you to the room in which you were to teach.

The day went on & you taught various classes, with a mix of theory & practical. All in all you had a good time & the first day jitters quickly subsided, & before you knew it the school day was over.

You began to pack up your things when you heard the door to your class open.

“Hello, I would like to hear a general report on how my class did with your subject.”

“oh, of course. Which class?” You said as you turned around to find the Jet black haired man with the scarf you had captured criminals with the night before, standing in front of you.

“Class 1A”

Chapter 3

Recognizing the man in front of you, you couldn’t help but point it out.

“Hey, you’re...”

“The fucking ugly sleeping bag.” He said, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Huh? You saw that?” You said confused.

“I was that.” He said monotone.

You could feel your cheeks flush red in embarrassment as you put together what had happened earlier.

“Sorry, I didn’t notice... I didn’t mean it like... wait, why were you laying in the hall?”

“A profession like ours doesn’t leave a lot of time for a nights sleep, as you know. Now please, I don’t have time for small talk; tell me the report on my class.”

“I don’t have time for small talk.”

You said & walked out of the class.

Chapter 4

“What an ass hole.” You thought you yourself as you stormed off.

“Entitled prick. Oh I’m too busy for small talk. We’re all pro heroes, we all got things to do. Tired ass looking motherfucker.”

You marched off to your apartment & let your anger out by practicing your knife throwing skills.

The next day you woke up not sure if you were slightly more rested or fueled by pure spite & rage. It felt like a good day to teach offense techniques in a practical way.

Your first class that day just so happened to be 1A.

“Of course it would be.” You thought to yourself.

The class walked into the practical training area, & you were shocked to notice the audacity of the tired looking teacher to show up behind them.

“I can see we have a surprise visitor joining the class.” You said in a low voice as he walked in.

“You didn’t have time to give me a general report, so I figured I would just see how my students are doing myself.”

“Oh I didn’t know I would be evaluated today.” You said sarcastically.

“Don’t be silly, I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of teaching, that’s why UA has you on their faculty. I’m here to evaluate my students.”

“Fair enough.”

You turned & proceeded to start the class.

“Okay kids, gather around. Today we are going to be learning offense moves. As you know, my name is (YN), also known as (Your hero name), & my quirk is blades; I can turn my appendages into blades on command. I also like to enhance that by practicing knife & sword training.”

You went on to explain & demonstrate different attacks & how they would be useful for fieldwork in battle.

“Any questions?”

A boy with dark green hair who had been intensely taking notes raised his hand.

“Is there anyway you could show us this in a realistic example? I just want to understand clearly how these moves could be used realistically when someone has a good defense up.”

“I’m sure you guys will get the hang of it once you practice one on one with each other.” You said.

“But we won’t really have a good idea on how to practice it with each other unless we see how it’s done with someone else.” Said a student with yellow hair with a black lightning bolt going through it.”

“You do have a point there. Iida, right? Why don’t you come up here and I can demonstrate.”

“But miss, we are just students. Surely our defense skills won’t be up to par with your offense, thus not giving a realistic expectation of what we are to face as pro hero’s.” He said with a knife hand motion.

“Oh I know! You can show us with MR. Aizawa!” Said a pink girl.

“Well, if it’s for the good of the students education.” Aizawa said with a grin.

“You’re on.” You said back.

Chapter 5

Aizawa walked up to you, he didn’t take his eyes off you & you didn’t take your eyes off him.

“Ready?” He asked smiling cockily & putting on his goggles.

“Been waiting for this.” You replied with a half smirk.

The alarm went off letting you know the fight had started.

You reached your arm forward in an attempt to strike him, but him jumped away & dogged it. He was now watching from a ledge he had pulled himself toward with his scarf.

You took a couples of knives out & threw it where he was posted. He jumped away again, but this time swinging toward you.

You waited for him, ready to strike when he came your way, but as soon as he did your baldes failed you, causing the impact of him kicking your arm to push you down.

You were on the floor & he managed to land on you, pinning you down & immobilizing you with his scarf.

Your blades were failing, you were stuck. You kept trying helplessly anyway, then suddenly the sharpness of your arm ripped you free. Your blades were back as you managed to not only rip your binds, but cut his right arm, making him unstable & allowing you to jump on top to begin your offense; but suddenly your blades were gone.

“His eyes, they’re glowing red.” You thought to yourself as you managed to notice up close.

In a split of a second you grabbed a knife and threw it at him. Your aim being compromised cause suddenly your blade was back.

“The red glow was gone. He blinked... I get it.” You thought.

You stopped trying to use your quirk. You threw three knives at him at different intervals as you jumped behind him.

Out of his line of vision you leaned in with a kick, turning your leg into a blade, cutting at his ankle & pushing him down. You were now keeping his limbs down with your legs & one arm at his wrists.

You took out of special pocket knife, & held it at his neck. The excitement of gore gleaming in your eyes, only to be dimmed out but the feeling of aizawa striking at your face with his head, & elbowing your neck. Before you landed against the ground, he threw many spikes to where you would fall.

As you fell back you managed fling your special pocket knife at him, giving you a blinking second to activate your quirk & turn all your limbs into blades.

You were cut up all over your torso & face but you managed to minimize the damage to your limbs by falling on their flat side.

You jumped up, blood dripping down you face. The one thing you could tell for sure, this guy sure isn’t going to go easy on you.

You chuckled cynically to yourself. “Finally, just like I’ve always wanted.” You growled as you wiped the blood steaming down your temple.

He came running towards you.

“Let’s get even.” You said.

You shattered some glass towards his directions He jumped away but still got a few cuts.

You jumped towards him engaging in hand to hand combat. He blinked, letting your blades come out, you cut away a chunk of his hair.

He tried to jump away but you pulled at his scarf, then you tugged at the ends, choking him.

He kicked you off, but you managed to keep your balance. Spitting blood you smiled. You hadn’t had competition this intense in a while, & you loved it; the trill of being on your toes, not being able to predict what comes next, the confrontation of blood running through your veins, & above all the challenge.

You smashed a piece of concrete, & threw it at him. He jumped out of the way, but turned around to find you next to him, you took you finger as a blade, cut his goggles off & sliced at his eyes.

“Try erasing my quirk now.”

Tears of blood coming down from his face, he fell to the ground. You felt a sense of victory.

You turned around to explain the lesson to class 1A, but to your surprise they were not there anymore.

You felt a tangling at your legs & then you fell to the ground.

Aizawa pounced on top of you & held a throwing star to your neck, blood shot eyes staring intensely at you.

“Never assume victory, & never ever turn your back!” He growled.

“You mean as you have now.” A booming voice said.

Aizawa was pulled off of you, & you were carried off the ground.

“I think this lesson has gone far enough.” The booming voice said as he carried you both.

“All might.” You said.

Chapter 6

All Might took you both to the nurses office where Recovery girl healed you up.

“Look at you too! What have you gotten into?! This is going to take a while.”

She kissed you both, yet you still had to be bandaged up & lie in bed for a couple of hours to rest up.

Luckily the being together after beating the shit out of each other wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been, since aizawa fell asleep almost instantly. You on the other hand were worried.

This was your second day at UA & were caught having a petty fight. Surely this wouldn’t be without consequences. Finally your dream job & you blew it.

Eventually your resting time was up when all might came in to inform you that there would be a faculty meeting.

You were nervous out of your mind, but aizawa seem so calm. Maybe it was cause he had more years of teaching backing him up & a good history, YOU on the other hand were new & this is the impression you give?! You were screwed.

You walked in to a room full of teachers sitting around a table & principle nezu in the middle.

“Welcome in.” Said the soft voice of the principal.

You and aizawa walked in and sat next to each other. The room was quiet for a second, then the principal began to speak.

“As you all may know, we are gathered to discuss the incident between YN & mr. Aizawa. All might, if you could please inform everyone your involvement.” Nezu said.

“Right. Well I was on my lunch brake in the teachers lounge when Midoriya ran in & explained to me what was going on. As I went to see for myself, I saw the rest of the class outside the teachers lounge looking concerned. They told me that they were getting a demonstration that seemed to have gone too far & were worried for the well being of the teachers. By the time I went in you both seemed very beat up & frankly at each other’s throats.” Toshinori said, without sounding accusatory & careful to not step on anyone’s toes.

“As faculty members we should be leading examples of self control & responsibility when it comes to our quirks.” Said cementos.

“It does worry me what impression this situation is giving the students.” Nezu said calmly.

“It’s unacceptable that the students were acting more responsibly than the teachers who are in charge of the class!” Said Kan.

“If you’ll all excuse us, but there was nothing irresponsible about the events that happened.” Aizawa suddenly spoke up.

“Miss YN is an exemplary teacher who had the situation under control. Her subject is about teaching techniques in offense & defense that are required as basic for a pro hero in field work. As you all know, miss YN did not hold back as neither did I, & that just goes to show the quality education she will add to UA.”

You started wide eyed at Aizawa, in disbelief in the way he was talking about you in front of the staff. Could it just be to save his own skin? It couldn’t be, he could do that without saying how good you are for UA.

“Eraser head, what are you talking about?” Kan said upset.

“Miss YN gave a true demonstration of what is to be expected as pro hero’s & what they should train to live up to. If the students can’t handle what that looks like, then frankly they should rethink their career.

I plan to have a stern talk with my class, since they left class & were not dismissed. We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused.” Aizawa said sternly.

“Well that clears things up. I have full trust in Aizawa’s word as he has always proved to have things under control & never fails to educate exemplary students. Plus I too understand what it’s like to get carried away with a demonstration.” Nezu said giving a quick sip to his tea letting out a small cynical laugh.

“This meeting has been quite fruitful. Everyone can return to their activities.” The principal said.

Chapter 7

Everyone got up from their chairs & left to resume their activities. Aizawa seemed quite stoic as he got up & walked away with a stern posture. You were still in disbelief & taking in what had just happened. When you realized almost nobody was still there, you snapped yourself out of it & quickly got up from your chair & quickened your pace to catch up to shouta.

“Mr. Aizawa!” You say catching up to him.

He stopped his pace and turned around “hmm?” He mumbled.

“I just wanted to thank you, for what you said back there in the meeting.”

“It wasn’t any favor, any teacher who is willing to teach their students the reality of a situation no matter the cost, shouldn’t be punished.” He said, & then continued to walk.

“I know, but still thank you, I know you didn’t have to do that.” You said catching up to him.

“Like I said, it wasn’t any favor. You earned that yourself.” He said stopping briefly & then continued his way.

You were left there pensive. “Maybe this guy is actually okay? Or nice even?” You thought to yourself, puzzled.

That night in your apartment you sat on your window sill, looking at the glow of the city as you sharpened your blades.

You had mixed emotions you were trying to straighten out.

“He was such a jerk when we met; but maybe his just one of those stubborn people. He came to my class uninvited; but maybe he genuinely just wanted to see how his class was doing. He literally fought me in front of everyone; but he never underestameted me. Was it all for himself? The students? Me? All three?” You thought to yourself.

“Ughhh this is confusing.” You said our loud giving an extra strong sharpen to one of your knives.

“I guess I still have a lot to learn about him.” You thought.

You put the knife & looked at the view outside your window. Recovery girl had told you to avoid hero activity for a bit, so you stayed in that night.

“I’m glad there are other hero’s to keep this place safe.” You said as you heard sirens from a distance & saw the lights of vehicles in motion.

“Other pro hero’s...” You thought.

You quickly got out your phone & remembering Aizawa’s hero name, you searched him up.

“Huh, there’s not really a lot on him.” There went your attempt to try to learn more about him.

You browsed through only to find very limited official pictures of him, & a few of sightings of him in action at night. You read how he avoids the public eye, & different opinions on why; but in the end all those were just speculations & opinions, no better than your own at the moment.

“I guess the only way to truly understand him is to get to know him.” You thought.

You kept looking outside your window, wondering if he was resting as recovery girl said, or out somewhere in shadows of the city. You couldn’t help but feel a strange fascinating towards him.

For the next chapters click here:

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 16

No one even bothered cleaning up the glass; all three of us too tired and jagged from words better left unsaid.

Not even a word had been spoken since; Eleven refusing to leave her room, and me ducking into my own soon after the ordeal.

Not that it mattered.

Dad didn’t even try to talk to us; still wound up too tightly to say anything but cutting remarks.

I’m pretty sure he’d fallen asleep on the couch, refusing to leave his post out of pure spite; and what do you know? When I peered our from my room, he was still there.

I edged out of my room, having already memorised every creaky floorboard and loose nail in true teenage renegade fashion.

Step by step, I made it across the living room, tiptoeing through a gauntlet of shattered glass and upturned furniture just waiting to trip me up.

I lost my footing; my heel falling down on a particularly large shard of glass; the sharp crunch cutting through the air like a gunshot.

Dad snorts, and my heart stops in my chest.

I dared a glance up at him, dreading the conversation we’d have if he woke.

To my relief he remained dead to the world; half drunk bottle of beer still gripped in his hand. He lets out aloud snore, lazily lifting his wrist to run at his nose, before falling limp once more.

I let out a sigh of relief, thanking whatever God was up there was too preoccupied to humiliate me.

I then lifted my foot, holding back a hiss as the motion finally stirred my pain reflex; the glass feeling as painful as the metaphors might suggest.

Balancing rather deftly on one leg, I raised my foot up, allowing me to get a better look at the cut.

It had bled a lot, but it wasn’t deep; the bloody shard that caused it still wedged in my skin.

I pulled it out, wincing when the jagged edges caught on exit, but still; it would be fine.

I’d had splinters worse; I swear.

After that I was more careful, rising up on my tiptoes so only the barest amount of my foot touched the floor as I made my way across to Eleven’s room.

I reached it without further injury, lightly rapping my knuckles on the door.

“El, it’s me; Lola. Can I come in?” I asked in a hoarse whisper, leaning in close to the wood lest dad might hear me.

Silence.

“I know it’s late, but I thought you could use some company...” I continued; not entirely sure that the kid wasn’t fast asleep and I was talking to thin air.

Still nothing.

I tried one last desperate attempt, hoping that somehow she’d be listening.

“I bought Eggos.” I said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. I’d fished them out of the trash when dad wasn’t looking, guessing I might need some bargaining chips later, and hid them underneath my mattress where dad wouldn’t find them.

The door clicked as it unlocked, swinging open ever so slightly.

It seemed my ploy payed off.

I snuck into the room, making sure to make as little sound as possible as I shut the door behind me.

El was sat on the floor, knees tucked up to her chest in a position that was universally recognisable as upright foetal; a clear sign she wasn’t quite over what dad had said yet.

Tear stains streaked her cheeks; her eyes still red and puffy from crying, and dried blood crusted beneath her nose from where she’d attempted to wipe it away with her sleeve.

Overall; she looked a sorry state, and my heart cried out in sympathy for her. It wasn’t easy going head on with Jim Hopper’s fury, especially not at thirteen years old with no experience.

“Hey El...” I smiled, slowly approaching her much like you’d approach a startled horse; all soft words and gentle movements.

“Can I sit down?” I asked, slowly lowering myself to her level.

She nodded, and I sunk down beside her, sitting with my back to the wall so she didn’t feel pressured to look me in the eye.

“Y’know; all that destroying things with your mind stuff, that’s pretty badass...” I remarked, grasping for something to break the silence.

“I could think of a few situations I could use that...” I continued, giving her a sly look, because it was true. I could use that; especially if it meant scaring the shit out of a certain pretty boy who couldn’t seem to keep his hands off me.

But this was about Eleven; not me.

“Do you want an Eggo?” I offered, reaching into the oversized pockets of my shirt where I’d hidden my haul.

El nodded, managing a small smile that licked at the corners of her mouth.

I pulled out the Eggos, slightly regretful that they’d become so crushed in transit.

“They’re a little squished. Had to hide them from the fun patrol...” I joked, pulling the cellophane wrapper from one before handing it to her.

“But they’re still good.”

El took a bite from it, before smiling and nodding.

“Still good.” She agreed, taking another bite.

I watched her eat for a moment, savouring that small satisfied smile that stretched across her face every time she took a bite.

I knew I was gonna have to talk to her. At least try to foster some forgiveness between her and dad before sunrise. God knows the pair of them were too pigheaded to do so themselves, but still; the challenge seemed daunting in its own way.

“You know; all that shit dad said earlier, he didn’t mean it.” I began, fixing my gaze on the door opposite, because I wasn’t sure I could do this if she was looking straight at me.

“You’re not...”

“A brat?” She finished my sentence; no hint of accusation in her words, just pure curiosity.

“No; you’re not a brat.” I confirmed; my voice dropping low, because I really didn’t like to use that word for the kid; not after all she’d been through.

I reached out for her, grasping my hand around her own and interlacing our fingers, if not for her sake then for my own; because I wasn’t good with emotions and shit; I was gonna need some moral support for this one.

“It’s just... sometimes he gets real mad and doesn’t know what he’s saying and he does stuff that can really hurt...” I tried to explain; the confession coming harder than I thought it would.

“Hopper hurt you?” She asked; though her phrasing made it seem more like a statement than a question.

“What?” I replied; confused on what made her think that.

She reached across with her spare hand, fingers gently tracing my wrist where deep purple bruises decorated my skin in the shape of fingerprints.

“Hopper hurt you?” She repeated herself; her intention clearer now than before. My stomach sunk again at the realisation.

She thought dad hit me; the genuine concern on her face laced with resentment a more cutting tool than any weapon. She honestly believed that my dad would hurt me; physically and not just with words. It made my heart break in my chest.

“No, sweetie; no.” I corrected with a sad smile, pulling gently on her head till it rested on my shoulder in some strange hybrid of a half hug.

“Dad would never hurt me; or you, for that matter. Not ever”

I felt her body relax after that, tension bleeding out of her as if her only fear was what I might’ve went through. That I might’ve suffered just a smidgeon of what she had; bless her heart.

I didn’t deserve El; her honesty and genuine enthusiasm. Being around her was like seeing the world through fresh eyes, and being as jaded as I was; that was an experience I could never underestimate.

El was an incredible little kid, and dad should buck up and see that before it’s too late.

—————————————————

The next morning I’d woken up to the sound of hammering just outside my bedroom; the dull thump of metal on wood ridiculously loud in the wood’s serene silence. Seems like dad had started cleaning up the mess.

Good for him; I heard cleaning builds character.

I forced myself out of bed and began to get dressed, eager to get to school, because as much as I hated having to listen to rumours there; at least I could drop kick someone if they really pissed me off.

Here, I’d have no hope; tensions already high enough without the threat of physical violence rearing it’s head.

I was still pissed at dad; more for Eleven’s sake than my own.

Yes; she’d acted recklessly and put herself in danger, and that was childish, but guess what? She was a child, and I’d forgive her a multitude of sins for that very reason, and the fact that beneath it all, she was a pretty good kid; if not a little messed up.

But so was I; I guess that’s why we related so well.

Dad, on the other hand, had been completely out of line.

He’d berated and belittled her at every opportunity, before downright threatening her with what was virtually abandonment; and I couldn’t condone that, not after the bullshit she’d already been through at the hands of so called responsible adults.

He knew what he’d said had been wrong, but I wasn’t gonna be the one to spell it out for him; he was old enough to do that for himself.

So when I left my room, I didn’t say a word to him, making a beeline straight for my keys on the kitchen counter.

“Well; lookie who it is, if it isn’t the caped crusader emerging from her cave...” Dad drawled; no trace of affection in the dry nickname.

“Had fun gossiping with Robin; Batman?” He asked sardonically, but I wasn’t about to sink to his level.

Instead, I just shoved on my leather jacket, ignoring how he stared at me expectingly, as if that question deserved an answer.

“The silent treatment; huh?” He continued, following me as I stalked across the room to find my backpack.

“Well good for you for setting a great example for the kid. I bet that attitude goes down real fucking peachy with the kids at school...” He continued to gripe, but that was it.

That was the last straw, and I wasn’t about to shut up and take it whilst he dragged me through the mud like a fucking martyr.

I marched up to him; eyes burning with a subtle fury as I stared him down, not a hint of submission in my posture.

“You know what; I did talk to the kid last night, and yes; it was about you, but only because I was trying to convince her that you weren’t a total dick.” I spat; not even flinching at the sprinkling of expletives finding their way into my speech.

“But apparently I’d been wrong and stupid, and I know; ‘we are not stupid.” I finished, throwing his words into his face, before storming out of the cabin.

“Lola; wait...” He called out; regret already colouring his voice, but you know what; fuck him.

He was the one so set on the fact that actions had consequences, so now he could fucking drown in them for all I cared.

[snnchsn]

have you seen  BARBARA SØNNICHSEN  since the storm? some say they look like MAYA HAWKE but they’re 21 & go by THE ABSURDIST. SHE lived in halloway for NINE YEARS & they are originally from SLC, UTAH. before the town vanished they were studying VISUAL & PERFORMING ARTS and lived at UNI BLVD. most people knew the CISFEMALE as WAGGISH but i’ve heard they can also be COARSE. for some reason, they feel UNEASY about the town’s disappearance.

*gamer guy voice* what is good, guys! im alex, im twenty and today we’re gonna chug thirteen red bulls while playing overwatch with one hand !! also, this is babs and she’s ssstupid. lmao. if u like this post and subscribe, u can win a new merch and also i will come to u for plots !! u can also always im me or just say my name three times and i’ll b there x 

born in roskilde, denmark to a danish mother and danish/american father. the family then moved to utah after having their second child. babs was around four. so, basically she grew up in the states.

lost her father at the age of six. not to casual death, but murder. and no, he wasn’t the one to get slashed. he was the slasher, murdered the woman he had an affair with and then her husband. he was sentenced to life, no parole. 

so babs and her sister were raised by a single mom who refused to stay single! no joke, she was grieving for like half a year and then before you know it…. whoosh, a new boyfriend! she even married him after just four months! the relationship lasted less than a year.

after divorcing the dude, she found herself a new one. and then a new one. a new one after that. basically, she was just constantly dating someone. there were constantly some dudes at their place, most of them staying for no more than few months.

she got married again when babs was twelve. they moved to new hampshire, into a nice suburban neighborhood. that marriage lasted three years. like all previous flings, it ended on bad terms, the worst terms, actually, after babs’ mom found out that her new husband was emotionally abusing her children, as well as trying to get the then fifteen year old babs to sleep with him. it was disgusting and terrifying and the girls couldn’t have been more happy after their mom finally kicked him right out.

few years passed and for a while it was just babs, her sister and her mother. she liked it that way, thought it’d stay like that forever, was super disappointed when her mother then brought in a new guy, shortly before babs’ graduation from high school.

and then girl went off to college. 

personality-wise she’s ….. ugh. first of all, she doesn’t believe in love. just, growing up, watching her mother struggle with different men kind of gave her the wrong idea. babs, herself, has dated one guy. she was sixteen at the time, naive enough to go for an abusive twenty year old. it lasted a year. since then it’s been mostly occasional hook-ups and dates that led nowhere.

v sarcastic. bitter, sharp and outspoken, appears constantly unimpressed and easily bored. has a lot of thoughts to share but bottles up emotions. bad at expressing how she feels so she usually deals with it on her own or cracks some dumb jokes ‘bout it. sort of distant. picky, pretentious enough. doesn’t trust easily. loyal to few, doesn’t seem to give a damn about the rest. huge skeptic, always ready for the worst and so okay with it at this point. legit has a resting bitch face all the time. appears rough around the edges but a lot of it is just an act. seems like the quiet type but then when u actually approach she can babble for days?? most of what she says tho is utter garbage. she loves nonsense, shit that’s absolutely out the window. the more ridiculous the better.

a lot of the shit she does, she does out of pure spite. don’t tell her she can’t do smth, bc, uhh … guess what’s gonna happen?? has always been super fuckin visionary and creative as heck. super into visual arts, performing arts. lowkey breathes absurdism.

can play the guitar and is actually a pretty lit singer??

fluent in four languages ya’ll!!

chainsmoking bitch. rolls her own cigarettes and laces them with weed so she’s constantly slightly high. has a septum piercing & a vocabulary that consists mostly of…. well, profanity.

rly into horror movies.

in a band.

has huge ADD.

[roatsww]

The Crime Of Silence

 The Never ending cycle that is precipitated by Child Abuse

 For those who may wonder why I refer to it as the “Crime Of Silence” herewith my reasoning:

 1.    The abusers keep silent about their doings; the only sounds during the events are the screams of the victims, in the aftermath the abusers have no wish to publicise their crimes.

 2.    The victims keep silent about the pain they suffer, either through their own fear because they feel guilty and that they are themselves responsible for the act, or a fear imposed by the abuser who has threatened an even worse retaliation if the victim ever speaks of it.

 3.    The witnesses who either see post traumatic evidence of the crime, or listen in to the screams while the crime is being committed, who keep silent for fear of getting involved.

 4.    The families who witness the crimes who either keep silent because they have been threatened by the perpetrator of the crime, or else they keep quiet for fear of being implicated if the crime should become public.

5.    The silence is carried through into adulthood by both the survivors and the perpetrators, because neither the victims nor the perpetrators want the knowledge of the brutality to ever reach the light of day, perpetrators will deny that anything ever happened and victims who fear ostracism keep silent.

I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault

I am damaged goods, I will always be damaged goods, I have managed to hide it from the world, and hide it from my outward emotions for nearly half a century, but not any-more. The events of 18 September 2013, and the pursuing events leading up to 22 May 2015, changed my life forever. The terrible events that happened after 22nd May 2015 opened up “Pandora’s box”, and every nightmare that humanity can ever imagine has come out of it, and there is no way to close Pandora’s Box..

 What has happened to me is not just one, but a whole series of terrible crimes of brutality, crimes for which the perpetrators will never, ever, be punished, the fact that I am a victim of some of the worst abuses that possibly none of you could ever imagine, is the tragedy behind who and what I am, and I am NOT responsible. It is not my fault, and it never was my fault. Only one of my abusers has ever been sent to prison it took sixteen months to get him sentenced to a term of eighteen months imprisonment of which he served only three on a plea-bargain, and 20 minutes after he was released from prison he had jumped over my back fence again. The Dept. of Correctional Services compounded the abuse by failing to inform me (the victim) about my abuser’s imminent release.

 In the sixties and seventies, child abuse was not recognised as a criminal act, neighbours, teachers, and family, basically everyone, walked around with the attitude that if they didn’t see it, then it didn’t happen, and it was best not to get involved. Nobody reported the incessant screams of a child being mercilessly beaten across the neighbouring fence, nobody reported the little boys back and buttocks covered with blue and red stripes, the swollen skin and the cut marks, if it was ignored it would go away, nobody did anything.

Nobody reported the little boy walking the streets at night, because his mother didn’t want him and had locked him out of the house, nobody did anything when the abuse was continued in the school yard, and the children of the schoolyard continued the abuse by mercilessly bullying, teasing and calling the little boy names which he didn’t understand.

 I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault! I had no idea what was being done to me.

 I grew up with animals as my friends, because they were the only place I was ever safe, because of the brutality inflicted on me, I was made into a solitary figure, a loner, who wasn’t accepted anywhere, I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault.

 As a teenager, discovering my sexual orientation was hard, I couldn’t even look at other boys, if I dared to even glance in the direction of another boy, I was beaten up, so I learned not to look, and there was no experimentation because of the fear, there was no learning, there was only loneliness.

 Nobody said anything when a young teenager was dumped in a cow stable at the Klerksdorp show grounds, I had dreamed of being a vet, but nobody said anything, the kids at school who tormented me so mercilessly, didn’t even know that I was homeless, but still going to school, and if the teachers knew, nobody ever said a word, or did anything, In spite of the circumstances, I finished my matric even though it wasn’t good enough to study veterinary medicine.

 I was twenty years old when I decided to take the chance and go to a gay club for the first time, it was a fateful decision, as I had no idea that on that night the security police had planned a raid, I won’t name the club, but it was in Hillbrow, I was just dancing with a colored man when the police raided, I was grabbed thrown into a yellow van and taken to John Vorster Square, I was stripped naked, and beaten for what seemed like hours with fists and truncheons, I was kicked until I passed out, some-time in the middle of the night I regained consciousness lying in a pool of my own blood, vomit and piss. The next morning, the cell door was opened, my clothes were thrown in the door, and I was told to get dressed and fuck off, because no charges were being brought. I left John Vorster  Square, still a virgin, I had been brutalised for nothing less than that I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I learned to fear the police that night.

I was twenty five years old, living with a man who professed to love me, one night he came home after being out with friends, he and a friend were doped up on “smack”, they decided to rape me, but couldn’t get erections, so they broke a beer bottle, and raped me with that, I spent three months in hospital to try and repair the damage, I live and remember the incident every day of my life, because it has changed the way I use the toilet, I will never be the same again.

 I met another man two years later, who considered himself a pugilist who didn’t like gloves, the beatings of my childhood became my reality, and set the pattern of my youth, then I met the last man of my youth who took his pleasure in using the words of my father, “You’re nothing but a useless piece of shit you’ll never amount to anything”. The last straw came with these words, “You’re not acceptable to my friends and family as a partner, because you don’t have a degree or a title!” It was the prelude to the first in my series of suicide attempts, which eventually led to my being committed to a psychiatric hospital. At the age of thirty I had to take that momentous decision which led to my living a solitary life, never allowing any man to come near me for almost twenty years.

 I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault, and I am not to blame that evil people have done terrible things to me, unforgivable things!

 In November 2009, the child which I had raised since his birth was taken away from me, because his mother suddenly wanted him, It was the first of the three events which would eventually break me completely. Two years later I had to tell my beloved sister that she was dying of cancer, as her parting gift of love to me, she left me her entire estate, of which the remaining members of my family proceeded to steal half. Then came September 2013 and a little case of murder. I was already broken, I had no resistance and no defences, and so another abuser crept in where I had managed to keep all men out, I ended up falling in love with another man who would abuse me terribly before he was sentenced, and then continue to abuse me from his prison cell, I had no idea that it would lead to my being raped for a second time in my life, by newly released ex-convicts on Friday the 30th of October last year.

 And then came the harassment, the threats, the theft, the lies, the promises, being threatened with knives and an axe, the total destruction of my heart and my soul by men who only have evil in their hearts, this past year has been a year of living a nightmare in hell.

 I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault that my life has been stolen by evil people whose only intent has been to destroy what was born a gentle soul with a big but very soft and vulnerable heart.

My life has been stolen from me, I will never be able to get it back, it has been a journey to hell that has lasted more than half a century, the damage is too great, and nobody could ever fix the terrible damage that has been done to me. But, know this that even if I am damaged goods, and even if I do have to spend the rest of my life in terrible loneliness, I am still a man, and I am still human, I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault that terrible people did these things to me which have left me nothing more than a broken windmill in the storm of life.

 “There is only one great sin in life,

           And that is abuse, brutality, and cruelty, call it what you will –

           The Sin of wilfully causing pain and suffering to others,

           Without suffering pain yourself.”

                                                           (Stuart Cloete)

 People have done things to me which are a crime, but I am not alone in what was done to me, there are thousands of other victims of these senseless crimes of abuse, thousands have and are still being abused and brutalised just as I am.

I quote my sister here:

                        “I understand why that when daddy beat you into absolute                             submission,

                       You just lay down and took it,

                       It was because you had to survive, so that you could get up                             again and try to live.”

                                                                       (Rosie)

 Article 12(1) of the Constitution directs that all people have the right to not be tortured by any means, and to not be treated in a cruel, inhumane or humiliating manner.

 The only thing that has changed over the past half century has been the names and the faces of the abusers, and the methods of torture.

 The abusers are businessmen, pastors, and leaders in the communities where they reside, the public do not see them for the monsters that they are, because they cloak their activities so well. The average man/woman on the street sees the abuser as the innocent angel, because abusers mask their evil activities so well.

 The courts do nothing, the SAPS tell me that it is my own fault, that I am entirely to blame. Is there any hope whatsoever? On trying to report these crimes to the police I get a standard reply:

                                   “Dis jou eie skuld!”

 I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault that I am trapped in the never ending cycle that is precipitated by a horrific child abuse that was not of my making. The statistics for suicide amongst the victims of abuse are the highest; as it is the only escape from a never ending nightmare. I have made two attempts in the past year, and have been on the verge of my third attempt in thirteen months, it has only been my fear of failure that has kept me from going over the edge.

 Will the cycle of abuse ever stop? Will I be able to endure the loneliness of my nightmares, and the ever present tears on my pillow? I don’t know, all that I do know is that I am NOT Responsible, It is NOT MY Fault, I didn’t do anything wrong to deserve what has happened to me, I had no control over the unnatural acts which were perpetrated against me as a child.

 All that I do know is that in doing what they did to me, my father and mother hung a flag over my head announcing that they had created the perfect victim for the crime of silence; they made me a magnet for abusers who seek an easy target they have left me living a life of vulnerability/

 I have no answers, only questions, why me and not my sisters or my half brother, why only me? Up until two days ago I used to ask myself what I did wrong, and now I know that I did nothing wrong, I am not responsible and it is not my fault! Will I ever forgive, I don’t know if I could ever forgive any of them for what they have done to me, there’s was a terrible crime, the invisible crime, and given half a chance they keep on doing it to me, it just leaves me with a terrible sadness, a heaviness in my heart, because it never should have happened, and it has left me so scarred that I live in fear of everyone, the scars will never heal.

 I ask only one thing of you who read this, if you know or suspect that it is happening to a child some-where, please stand up and do something, before another life is ruined. The crime of silence destroys innocent lives.

 No matter what any-one says, it is not only children who are victims of the crime of abuse, and abuse is not necessarily sexual in nature, most abuse is physical through brutal beatings and verbal humiliation. And adults both male and female are victims of abuse, some of which started in childhood and became a never-ending cycle of abuse through to adulthood. The South African Police Service are at fault for not pursuing these crimes, the SAPS especially are at fault, as police officers on the ground are not trained to deal with either the victims or the perpetrators, and they are ignorant of both the criminal procedures act and criminal law. Victims are further victimised by the SAPS.

 I have spent the past five days crying, because I have had to finally accept that for the rest of my life I have no choice but to play the game of solitaire, I am a soft target and I am vulnerable because of what my father and my mother did to me as a child. The risk of being abused again is far too great, but I know that locked behind the walls of my house in the silent world where I have only my dogs for company, no human being will be able to hurt me again, the acceptance of my fate is a very hard conclusion to what has been a terrible life lived in fear. I cannot ever again risk another human being getting close to me; the deck of cards is stacked against me. Don’t let it happen to any-one else.

 Speak up, speak out against abuse whether it be sexual abuse, the brutality of physical abuse, the humiliation of emotional and mental abuse or extortional abuse, the crime of silence must stop.

[fhimechan]

Merman AU - April

This is the 12th chapter of my AU where Hannibal is a merman and Will is a human, started because of @brokenfannibal​ and @my-soul-and-perfume​ :) I’m also tentatively tagging @bonesandscales and @limonium-anemos, who are under no obligation to read :D

Tumblr is still formatting my posts as it wants so please forgive me if something’s amiss. Another warning is that I didn’t ask anyone to beta, and since this month is long, I didn’t check preposition by preposition as usual… Keep reading with kindness 😅

[Prologue]   [June]   [July]   [August]   [September]   [October]   [November]   [December]   [January]   [February]   [March]

Jenny comes to pick him up in his house in a small van with the shop’s logo. She waves cheerfully from the car, but when Will hops in she frowns. “What did he do now?”

Will was sure he had been able to dissimulate his emotions when he was  a cop. But maybe, and he blinks at the realization, he didn’t have friends. And he’s about to put his friend in danger, involving her into his not-yet-planned rescue.

He sighs. Instead of answering, he says, “If you take me there, I’ll get you in trouble.

Jenny takes a hard, long look at his face. She nods. “I’ll do it. Anything you need to know?”

Will swallows around the lump in his throat. He will repay her, take the blame. Maybe pretend he forced her, if worst comes to worst.

“What are we carrying?”

She starts the engine, and adamantly refuses not to smile. “Some sort of fancy underwater recording device. Looks like a huge mic. George takes mermaids seriously.” She winks. 

Will thinks. They’re bringing Hannibal a mic. Sounds promising.“Oh, a plan is coming, I see it in your eyes. Do I have a role in it?”

Will blinks. He should really try to hide his emotions better, but at the same time being read like that is weirdly reassuring.

“Would you pretend to faint in front of George?” The familiar name is weird on his tongue.

She considers it. “Okay. I suppose it must be bad enough that he has to carry me home, to my meds? Possibly I should cling to him so it doesn’t occur to him to send you?” Her expression is very incongruous with the seriousness of the situation. “What? Don’t you think I had an emergency strategy to get out of school early?”

Will snorts in spite of the worry.

-

The house is visible from the road, suspended at the top of the cliff in the twilight light. It’s dark and imposing, straight out of a fairytale, or a nightmare. It’s currently empty, a cursed home calling for his lost tenants.

Then, as they come closer, the lights lit, and Will is back to the here and now. 

They must have already transferred Hannibal inside.

-

There’s only George’s car outside, which is good. The captors must have come by boat. George himself opens the door. When Will says “Jenny…”, worrying his shirt and breathing heavily, George is out and running to the car before Will could even finish his sentence. He knows he should feel ashamed at his act, but the guilt is nowhere to be found as George gives him vague indications about where to leave the equipment and speeds down the hill.

Will blocks the gate with the van, so that George, or anyone else, won’t have an easy access to the house, then heads inside with the box containing the microphone.

The house is completely silent apart from some distant voices. Will follows them to a room where three people are fussing with some sort of equipment. Will thinks he remembers two of them from the cruise.

Beside them there’s a stunning tank, which covers the entire wall of the room, dominating the assorted soft sofas and small tables currently covered in cables and assorted instruments. The tank is lit from inside, and the small spotlights shine over a number of colorful fishes.

In the furthest corner of the tank, there’s Hannibal. Will didn’t see him at first glance because he’s curled on himself, impassive. His rigid stance screams of fear.

Will realizes he has frozen in place and steps over the threshold, towards Hannibal, forcing himself not to fret or to look anything but surprised. Not angry, not nervous, not worried.

As soon as he enters the room, Hannibal’s eyes snaps to Will, and he straightens. Will ignores how the other people turn to him, because the burning red in Hannibal’s eyes is unfocused, and his emotions, usually hidden under the surface, are bare. Hannibal is burning with fury.

“Oh, the mic! Thank goodness!”

Someone takes the box from his hands, as Will’s anger builds. He has expected to find Hannibal drugged, because how else Hannibal would have ended up trapped? But even if rationally it makes sense, it’s still infuriating.

And they have him only because he saved me, Will thinks.

He fakes a charming smile. “Why! Was it real then? A merman?”

The three people start to talk at the same time, too excited to pay attention to what Will is doing. He advances towards the tank, giving his back to the rest of the room.

“After a month of searching, we found him during our surprise visit…”

“What a surprise, indeed!”

“Can’t believe our luck!”

Will is tempted to smash the glass and let the water flood the room. Hannibal would attack them and they would pay for taking him away.

Hannibal smiles slowly at him, pleased, ready to lunge.

Instead, Will signs, “I’ll take you out.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrow.

Apparently, the microphone is expensive enough to be assembled in record time, because one of the men, still chatting, pushes a ladder to Will’s left. He climbs to a small panel above the water, where he can enter the long arm of the mic into the tank.

“Finally we can discover if it’s sentient.”

Hannibal’s eyes widens when recognizes the device. Calculating. Cold. The drug isn’t slowing him down; if anything, it’s bringing out his instinct.

Hannibal is in the water. He could order them to do anything. He could tell the men to kill each other with the cutter they have used to open the box, or maybe with their bare hands. He could tell Will to kill them.

Will feels a thrill of anticipation at the though.

Plausible deniability. A kill outside of his control. The satisfaction, without the guilt.

Will could show the knife to Hannibal and let the events unfold, following his urge to kill whoever tried to separate them; or he could tell the man to stop, not to lower the mic, giving away his chance of breaking him free and stopping Hannibal’s murders forever.

What he does instead is a leap of faith. Because he wants Hannibal, and he doesn’t want to kill innocents, and he must at least try to have both. He signs at Hannibal. “Please. Don’t. I just want to stay with you.”

I don’t want to live with the guilt every day for the rest of my life.

The mic splashes into the water. Hannibal swims closer, looks at Will.

“Please.”

Hannibal’s eyes still burn, but part of it belongs to Will. He speaks.

“Will, if you may, cover your ears for a moment.”

Will does. Hannibal’s mouth moves, and the men blink, confused, then their eyes unfocus and they lie down on the floor, staring unmoving at the ceiling.

Will’s legs fold under him. He smiles.

“You…”

Hannibal looks annoyed. Yeah, well, he just didn’t kill three people, must be exhausting after a lifetime of violence. Will giggles. He suspects it’s a bit hysterical.

Hannibal frowns. “Stop being silly and let me out.”

His voice is warm and low, and Will loves how it comforts him. Will is still smiling as the orders kick in, and the smile widens when Hannibal flinches. The order was accidental. Oh, well, Hannibal’s drugged, he can’t be perfect.

Will has to stop moving, in spite of the order, because he doesn’t know what to do.

He giggles again. “How did you get in there?”

Hannibal growls in frustration, and it shouldn’t be that funny. “I don’t know. You’re the human, do something!”

The order kicks in again, and Will laughs aloud. “I’m doing something, Hannibal. Breathing.”

Before Hannibal loses his last shred of patience, Will looks around. After a small search, he finds it. Hidden under a wood panel, there’s a smaller tank which can be attached and detached from the main one through a watertight seal.

The seal is currently open, so Hannibal hops in, somewhat uncoordinated, and glares at Will, daring him to joke over it. Hannibal is out of the reach of the mic now.

Operating the controls of the seal isn’t difficult, but it isn’t easy either. Will sobers up, starting to worry. How much time has passed? Surely at least half an hour. How much time left do they have?

Hannibal is sitting on the bottom of his small tank, simply watching Will as he fumbles to get the container moving. The tank can move directly into the internal elevator and down the cliff, or at least it could if Will managed to pull the right lever.

Finally, the engine buzzes to life and the tank slips sideway, on its way to the elevator. Will smiles and turns to Hannibal.

He has less than a second to register how Hannibal’s eyes are wide and savage and how he is pressing his body against the glass, before two arms are choking him from behind.

Will kicks, enough to conquer a mouthful of air, but the arms strengthen around him.

“What did you do?”

George’s voice is almost unrecognizable for the rage. Will understands it. Discovering Jenny is lying, walking into his house, his friends on the floor, Will stealing his his prize. He knows how he looks like.  George is strong, and Will’s arms grow more and more uncoordinated, as his blows don’t seem to obtain any result. He wants to apologize to Hannibal.

Something crashes, loud enough that Will hears it over the pounding of his ears. The seam of his trouser is splashed and pierced by small shreds of glass, and he can breath.

He falls to the floor, coughing, clutching his throat, and sees Hannibal. He’s lying in a puddle in the floor, wrestling with George on the ground, teeth bared, about to rip George’s throat off.

Will doesn’t think, and lunges.

He rolls with Hannibal in a mess of wet carpet and splinters, narrowly avoiding to impale his eye in a bigger shred of glass, Hannibal’s sharp teeth scratching his shoulder. He is remotely aware of some steps fading away, when Hannibal bites deeper and the skin breaks. Will stops struggling. He tilts his chin down and sideways to look at Hannibal.

Red splattered on his face, unfocused red on his eyes. Dangerous. Free. Alive.

Will feels alive, too.

Will smiles down at him, and says, “Thank you.”

Hannibal blinks and stares.

Then his teeth retracts, and at first Will thinks it’s Hannibal moving away, but immediately after Hannibal coughts, and his whole body trembles, and suddenly Will, scared out of his mind, is sitting with Hannibal on his lap, watching him twitch without the faintest idea of what to do. Hannibal’s tale splits into two legs, his skin loses the green undertone. Will doesn’t care, focusing on Hannibal’s ragged breathing, willing him to be okay. He holds Hannibal as he changes, until his breath are regular and there’s a man in Will’s lap.

A man, Hannibal, who doesn’t leave Will any time to process the event before flinging himself outside of the door, as if called by a distant voice.

Will can only raise and run after him.

Outside, the sea is screaming in the otherwise quiet night. The moon lits the angry waves, letting Will see the outline of each single drop, even if between him and the water there’s a fucking long dive.

Hannibal stands at the edge of the cliff, staring at a single boat who’s running away in the distance. His whole body is tense, ready to jump.

The pendulum swings, and Will sees Hannibal as a kid, centuries before, on that same cliff, watching his sister’s killers escape, summoning the power to chase them. The past and the present overlaps perfectly.

Will’s heart breaks. Hannibal’s going to leave him, picking once again revenge over humanity.

Will reaches out. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal turns, his eyes dart from the ship to Will and back to the ship again. George is running away and soon he’ll be out of sight. There’s only a tiny, small shred of doubt in Hannibal, and Will doesn’t know how to reach him. He wants to say that George won’t be believed, not without a merman. Not without witnesses. He won’t be believed when the police will discover his friends are alive and passed out on the floor.

That won’t get through Hannibal’s unfocused eyes.

So Will extends his hand, a silent plea, like he did the first time Hannibal came to him. Will knows that this is the moment. If Hannibal reaches back for him now, they’ll be together forever. If he doesn’t… It hurts to even think about it.

The first time Hannibal has reached out, he has been curious. Will can only hope now he’s committed.

Hannibal stares at the hand without blinking, and his eyes clear.

Then, a step forward, away from the edge. And another. And another.

Their hands touch again, and Hannibal is still cold as the ocean, inevitably breaking through Will’s barriers to his core.

Will doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he grips the hands harder, then he clings.

Hannibal whispers into his ear. “Yes, I’m taking you home.”

——

[Epilogue]

This is the end of the main story, next month there’ll be an epilogue… and then it’ll be done! Thank you for reading! ♥