#a small little glimpse into how scott actually is and NOT EVEN when he is physically around adam

[myhouse-pk3]

when scott tibb haters + trans adam truthers for some reason wanna argue that scott doesnt support adam and his gender identity and thinks hes still a girl (in the situation of ftm transness) and is transphobic to him; they better know that im putting nails in their shoes and putting a jar of acid on top of a slightly ajar door so that when they walk in acid falls onto them

[thedo0zyslider]

Sail Out To See And Fall For Me - 2k words

Scott and Martyn have a handful a moments together, many of them happening on the seas, in a boat far to small for two people to comfortably sail in.

A03 Link

To Scott, the Kestrels are a weird faction. They’ve always seemed to have a rivalry of sorts with his own faction since…well as long as he’d been alive and longer probably. The two groups are always calling each other names, yelling out mean jabs when they pass each other in the streets, much more than either of them seemed to do to the other factions. It’s just always been that way, Scott supposes. So it’s a little surprising when there’s one Kestrel he finds himself drawn too. 

Most of the current Kestrels are fine, don’t get him wrong. Scott gets along with most of them, Sausage in particular. But at the end of the day they’re still Kestrels ; vain and money hungry. But one of them doesn;t seem to be that way, one of the newer members. 

Martyn’s a fun guy, very good at wordplay and puns, Scott notices rather quickly. He finds himself liking Martyn quite a bit, and very much enjoys expeditions with him. Whenever they get the chance to share a quest of course, not that Scott goes out of his way to explore with Martyn. No, not him. He would never . 

He thinks Martyn should’ve been a Heron instead, as he seems to enjoy adventure more than he does riches. But Martyn says he’s in the Kestrels to find a specific treasure, which he could do just as easily in the Herons, in Scott's totally humble and unbiased opinion. They discovered unique treasure all the time, it was like, their whole thing after all.

They have a lot of friendly adventures together, just the two of them, each one more fun than the last. The two pirates find stuff every time, but it’s never what Martyn’s looking for, so much so Scott has to look at Martyn and wonder if he even knows what he’s trying to find anymore; or if he lost it long ago. 

Scott finds himself looking at Martyn a lot on these expeditions actually, more than a normal amount probably. He doesn’t do it on purpose, half the time anyways. Martyn’s eyes are just very easy to get lost in whenever he talks. The fact that he’s showing so much skin doesn’t help either, or that his arms are on the more muscular side. 

On their next little quest the two of them end up leaning against the rails of Scott’s ship, waiting for night to fall on the island. They need monsters to actually emerge from the caves to slay them, but that’s a few hours off. So the two pirates have just been content to sit there and wait, making idle chatter and doing other things to pass the time. 

About two hours into waiting, when sunset must have been less than an hour away, Scott finds himself staring at a certain Kestrel again. Though this time instead of admiring his arms, Scott’s eyes are tracing over the scars that litter one of them. They’re very interesting scars, and he can’t help but be a little bit curious about where they came from. Anyone would be really, with the strange pattern they almost seemed to be in.  

“Hey Martyn?” He asks, tapping his fingers against said scars lining the other’s arm. The blonde just hummed, and gave him a quizzical look. Scott feels like the question he’s about to pop might be too personal, but also reasons he’s probably not the first person in the isles to inquire about it. 

“Why’re you tapping my scar?” The blonde asked with a small smile, amusement lining his tone. Scott smiles back at him. He’s quickly finding that he really likes it when Martyn smiles. 

“How’d you get this thing?” Scott questions, catching a glimpse of how the blonde’s face falls for a moment, and regret flashes through him. 

“If I said a tiger, would you believe me?” Martyn cracks a joke, a playful grin dancing on his lips. The sight of it makes Scott all warm and fuzzy inside, yet his response comes out quite deadpan. 

“No.” Martyn laughs and gives a cheeky smile at his response, and Scott elbows his side playfully. 

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you!?” The Heron exclaims, shoving Martyn playfully. He doesn’t do it too strongly, well aware he could very easily send his friend overboard. Martyn shows him back, but with a little more force. Scott laughs, gripping the side of the ship to keep him upright.  

“Nope!” Martyn cracks another cheeky smile, and Scott tries to send him overboard again. Somehow, the play fight escalates, and they end up falling onto the deck, tussling with each other like children do. Martyn wins in the end, pressing Scott to the floor. Scott makes an oof sound as the blonde basically lays on top of him, proclaiming his victory proudly. 

Scott just rolls his eyes, and any snarky retort he ever had dries up in his mouth as Martyn holds the side of his face gently. The Kestrel is looking down at him, and it’s a fond look, one that makes butterflies flutter wildly in Scott’s stomach. The blonde is beginning to chuckle again as he does so, not able to stop himself. Scott can't hold back his own laughter either, with how ridiculously this whole interaction has been. 

Martyn presses their foreheads together, laughing. It’s an infectious laugh, one of pure joy, and Scott can’t help but be infected by it. He laughs along with the Kestrel, admiring him in between giggles. Martyn’s laugh is loud and booming, a sound he enjoys hearing. The corners of his eyes crinkle whenever he smiles, and there’s a million other little details Scott notices as he stares up at the blonde. 

He’s quite the pretty man, Martyn is, and Scott isn’t surprised at how enamored he’s become with him. He’s not at all surprised that there is blush spreading across his face, or that his heart is beating rapidly in his chest. It’s just a shame really, that the man he’d fallen for had to be a Kestrel. 

__________________________________

The next time the topic of scars is brought up, they are on a ship again. Because all of their little moments seem to happen on one of their ships for some reason. There’s no play fighting this time, just more fleeting touches. Ya know, the usual stuff with them. 

They’ve just started to set sail, and the waves are calm. Calm enough for both of them to feel comfortable enough to anchor the ship and take a lunch break, both men having taking turns steering. They used to travel separately when they shared quests, but soon found using one boat was a lot less risky, more time efficient, and a hell of a lot less tiring for the both of them. And Scott was never one to complain about more time spent with pretty men again, even if the ships they have access to at the moment hap[pen to be rather small and cramped. They’re supposed to be getting ones soon, apparently, according to the merchants, and Scott will believe it when he sees it.

The two men are sitting by the mast, sharing some bread and pasta they’d remembered to pack, when Scott finds his eyes landing on Martyn's scars again. There’s two more that are visible, matching ones shaped like little stars under his eye and on his chest. As his gaze traces the marks, the Heron finds himself getting a probably bad idea, but he’s committing to it before he can think twice. Again, it’s a dumb idea, but all of this man's scars are interesting, the conversation has lapsed into comfortable silence, and Scott is feeling bold. 

Scott leans closer to his friend, eyes still fixed on his chest. Martyn, probably more than a little puzzled, just blinks at him dumbfoundedly for a good moment. Until he processes what exactly seems to be happening, that is, then the blonde’s heart rate starts to increase just a tiny little bit. 

Scott runs a finger along the scar on Martyn’s chest, gaze filled with curiosity. “How’d this one happen?” He asks, and before the blonde can answer he’s moving to trace the matching one under his eye. The Heron thinks he sees Martyn’s breath hitch a little, and definitely sees how he turns a little pink at the contact. Which he’s totally not smug about at all. 

“An accident. One I wouldn't like to talk about.” The Kestrel huffs, leaning into Scott’s hand. He fails to hide a smile at that, and also has to stop his eyes from flicking just a bit downwards. Scott had to stop himself from leaning in as well, and doing something absolutely stupid. Absentmindedly, while he tries to get a handle on his impulses, he starts to trace circles in Martyn’s cheek with his thumb, and makes the blonde turn beet red in the process. 

He wants to kiss Martyn. But Scott can’t kiss a Kestrel. What would his parents say? What would his Heron friends say?

So instead he moves away rather abruptly, and maybe sees a little bit of disappointment flash across Martyn’s face, before it's schooled into something more neutral.

After that they continued on with the quest like nothing had happened. They reach the island, complete their goal, and take any treasure they find. It's getting quite late by the time they finish, and Scott does not want to swim back to the boat in the dark. The ships have to be anchored a good amount of feet out, before the water gets too shallow, and there’s always some mighty big fish lying around, waiting to catch an unsuspecting sailor. 

The swimming back part is, very predictably, where everything goes wrong. Scott makes it back to the boat just fine, but the splashing from the both of them had made quite the scene apparently, and his little Kestrel friend wasn’t going to be as lucky as he had been.

“Martyn!” Scott calls, gripping the edge of the boat as tight as he can, eyes trained on a rather large shadow in the water. “There’s a thrasher!” He hears the Kestrel swear to himself upon his call, and then watches as he swims back faster. Scott can also see the thrasher swimming equally as fast, maybe faster, and wishes there was something he could do that wouldn’t endanger him. Well, he does have his gun, but it’s a few feet away in his bag, and the fish is getting far too close to Martyn for him to be uncomfortable firing it. 

Unfortunately, the fish is faster, and catches up with the blonde as soon as he reaches the boat. Scott had already moved down to help him up, and is grabbing wildly for his friend's hand before worse comes to worst. There's a blinding panic settling over him, both of them probably, and Scott isn’t even sure he’s grabbing at the right area before he feels something warm and distinctively not a fish tug on his arm.

Just as the thrasher is about to grab Martyn’s foot and drag him down, Scott manages to pull him onto the ship. There’s exclamations of alarm as the two tumble backwards, Scott landing on his back with a thump . They land on a heap on the deck, both men trembling in relief as the adrenaline wears off, and Scott catches his breath. He doesn’t even notice how he hugs the other closer to him for just a moment, arms wrapped around Martyn’s back protectively, before letting the shaking limbs fall against the ship’s wooden floor.  

Martyn had landed on top of Scott, and was now basically laying on him. The blonde paid that fact no mind, clearly trying to regan himself after the extremely near miss. He had an absent sort of look in his eyes, and his breathing was still a little quick. The Heron doesn’t know what is running through his friend’s head right now, be it fear or something else, but whatever it is isn’t good. The wide eyed look he currently has says as much. 

“Hey,” Scott muttered, voice gentle. “You okay?” He pushed the wet locks from Martyn’s face as he asked this, his hand ghosting over the other pirate's cheek for just a second. 

“Yeah, ‘M fine.” Martyn huffed a few seconds later. If he noticed the position they were in, he said nothing, and only rolled off Scott and onto the deck. Scott got up as well, letting the blonde sit down for a second before helping him back to his feet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asks with furrowed brows, steadying Martyn as he stands. The other seems a bit shaky on his feet, which makes his claims of being fine even less convincing than they were before. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Martyn insists again, and starts to move away and towards the sail. Scott stops him before he can go far, grabbing the Kestrel by his arm and pulling him back. Martyn just blinks at him like an idiot, and Scott wants to roll his eyes. 

“You’re shaking.” He points out, deadpan, nodding towards Martyn’s hands. The blonde looks down at them and seems to realize that yes, he is indeed shaking. That’s a concerning thing his body is doing at the moment. 

“Yeah, guess I am.” Martyn murmurs, and stops trying to move away. Instead he leans closer to Scott instead, and rests his head on Scott’s shoulder. The Heron smiles, and absentmindedly runs a hand though soft, blonde hair. “Sorry about this..” The blonde mutters, burying his head until Scott’s chest just a little. 

“It’s fine, really. It is.” Scott reassures him, and finds that Martyn is shaking less. The Kestrel is also leaning into his touch, and Scott really can’t stop himself from placing a comforting kiss on his friend’s forehead. 

“What was that for?” Martyn’s question comes out as more of a muffled giggle, head still buried comfortably against the ginger's chest. 

“Just want to kiss you is all.” Scott admits it quietly and very tentatively, and it kinda feels like he’s admitting to something sinful. Even though, logically, this is not a sin. Being in love is not sinful, but his brain has been hardwired to think otherwise. 

“You do?” The blonde pulls away a little to meet Scott’s gaze. His tone and expression are surprised, and maybe a little hopeful as well. Scott’s heart seems to melt at the sight.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He smiles, and knows there’s no holding back anymore. Because if he doesn’t do it now, Martyn is sure to make the first move in a minute or so. And Scott is not letting him have the victory, no siree, not after all that flirting he did today. 

“I-- Mmph !” Whatever the blonde was about to say was cut off by Scott smashing their lips together, doing so maybe a little frantically. It took a moment, but Martyn was soon kissing the Heron back with fervor. Hands went to cup his face, and the blonde quickly turned to putty in Scott’s hold. The ginger nipped at his bottom lip after a moment, and Martyn let the other’s tongue slip into his mouth with a held back whine.

 For a few fleeting moments, Scott didn’t care about what anyone would think, and let himself kiss this guy stupid. Just like he’d been wanting to do for weeks now. 

When they pull away both of them are gasping for air a little, Scott’s face turning a nice shade of pink. He brushes the messy hair out of Martyn’s face again, and smiles when the Kestrel leans into his touch. Their faces stay close, foreheads resting together, and Scott has never been happier. 

“I guess you fell for me a second time, huh Martyn?” He murmured teasingly, bumping their noses together. 

“Oh shut it!” The blonde huffed, tone laced with affection. He connected their lips for a second time, Scott melting into it as he continued to hold Martyn’s face. The second kiss was better than the first, and he couldn’t wait to dive back in for another when they finally reached the shore. 

[glwstic]

Rec List 4: Teen Wolf

-  mary, mary, quite contrary, how do your murders go? by orphan_account

When his dad asks how are you, son, Stiles grits his teeth and smiles and says okay, Dad, I’m

– still not sure if this is real –

okay.

--

In which Stiles deals with the aftermath. Spoilers up to and including promo/sneak peek for 3x20, Echo House.

Oneshot,  2,135 words

-  Words Alone by SnowshadowAO3

Derek gets the first text message two months after he leaves Beacon Hills. He stares at it for a long time without actually opening it up, trying to figure out why Stiles would be texting him at all. Things start fitting together in Derek’s mind: his dreams, the door he sees Stiles enter, the loss of memory. Stiles’ body, his mind, are no longer just his. Something is sharing it, controlling him. Derek doesn’t know what it is yet, but he’s damn well going to find out.

In which the Nogitsune ordeal brings Derek running back to Beacon Hills and, in the end, to Stiles.

Oneshot,  18,916 words

-  The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

Oneshot,  51,974 words

-  between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

10/10 Completed,  105,192 words

-  more power than anything waiting in the dark by wangler

When Scott jogs back inside, his mom stands against wall, watching Stiles, eyeing the tangle of bandages and dusty old clothes.

"Get them off," Stiles is saying, dazed and soft. "Get it off."

Oneshot,  2,082 words

-  The Pull of the Tide by miss_aphelion

Stiles appears alone at the doors of the emergency room the morning after the full moon, covered in blood with a deep slash torn across his left side. He's suffering from hypovolemic shock and barely conscious and he won't tell anyone what happened—not his hospital appointed psychiatrist, not his father. Not even his pack.

The list of suspects is disconcertedly short. There were only seven others in the woods with Stiles that night: Derek, Scott, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson and Allison. And none of them remember the night in quite the same way.

20/20 Completed,  27,954 words

-  Pack Wars by miss_aphelion

Scott liked to call it the Great Pack Divide of 2012.

Derek liked to call Scott an idiot.

(Or the one where Derek kidnaps Stiles to teach Scott a lesson, and ends up learning a few things himself)

31/31 Completed,  158,621 words

-  Your Vision Borrows Mine by hazyascent

Stiles has encountered a fair share of monsters before, way out of his league - the kinds that children are afraid are hiding in their closets and under the bed.

He’d even become one himself when he was void. The nogitsune was in his house, his body, and his mind.

But the worst monster he’s ever faced took even more from him and got away with it.

It’s why Stiles has never really been as terrified of werewolves and kanimas and darachs as he should have been. They’re really not that scary, relatively speaking, and he has a whole team on his side. They always found a way to win - until they lost someone they really loved.

Stiles doesn’t know how to be normal, not after everything he’s done and everyone he’s hurt. The nogitsune is gone, but another monster is on its heels.

His uncle is back. And Stiles has never felt more alone.

19/19 Completed,  188,781 words

-  Knot Again by prettylittlementirosa

Our friends they don’t know how to knock But dammit Derek I love your cock So stick it in It’s not a sin To knot me so hard I cannot walk

Or: Five times Derek and Stiles are interrupted while tied together by Derek's knot, and one time they're not.

(I promise this is not actually 5k of knotting limericks. Sorry if that disappoints you.)

Oneshot,  5,148 words

[wqintraining]

NEW X-MEN: THE ANIMATED SERIES - SEASON 2, EPISODE 9

We open in the past, to a time we've glimpsed before. In the time that immediately preceded the original rise of Dark Phoenix, the classic X-Men have been defeated and captured by the Hellfire Club. Nightcrawler, Colossus, and Storm are stripped down and trapped in hanging cages, with only the latter still conscious. 

Storm screams in agony as Emma, the heartless White Queen, psychically tortures her. She tells Storm to stop resisting and that she just wants them to be friends, while speaking in a sickeningly sweet tone and visibly is having the time of her life doing this. 

Emma pauses her attack and gives Storm the chance to speak. Panting, but still determined, Storm tells her that she will not get away with whatever she's planning and that she will face the wrath of a goddess for this insult. 

Emma reaches her hand through the bars and slaps her. 

A goddess? She thinks far too much of herself. But that's okay. The White Queen is here to teach her her proper place in the world. 

Emma resumes torturing Ororo, laughing maniacally as she does so. 

In the present, Emma is seated at Scott's desk, laughing more casually as she twirls her finger in her hair. She's on the phone, but it isn't clear who she's talking to, as they simply make small talk. 

Outside in the hall, Storm is looking to speak with Cyclops, but hears Emma's voice inside. She takes a deep breath and steels herself before heading into the office. 

Storm demands to know why Emma is in here on her own and where Scott is, but Emma just raises a finger, telling her to wait a minute.

Storm gets impatient as Emma obnoxiously draws out the call. Before she finally hangs up, she tells the person on the other end of the call "the plan will not fail."

Once Emma is off the phone, Storm asks her what that was about. Emma tells her not to worry; it's actual business, not X-Men business. She wouldn't understand. 

Storm sneers at her, but refuses to take the bait, and just asks where Scott is. Emma informs her that he's prepping the Blackbird. They have matters in France to attend to. 

Storm asks if Emma found a new Mutant, but Emma only hums that it's something like that. Increasingly frustrated, Storm notes that ever since Scott and Emma began "SIGH…dating" the X-Men haven't gone on any missions as a team. The two of them dealt with Sublime on their own, they've been hunting the remaining U-Men cells on their own, and they've been retrieving new Mutants on their own. 

Emma says that yes, they have, and things are going well. But Storm shouldn't feel redundant. She knows she's doing her best. 

Storm slams her hands down on the desk. Perhaps if she delegated more, she could focus more time on addressing the telepaths she brought here who terrorized the rest of their students. Emma tries to assure her she's handling the Cuckoos, but Storm doesn't care. Too little, too late. 

STORM: "I am through putting up with your rank arrogance. Test me again, and I'll test how durable your diamond form truly is."

Storm marches off, while Emma just kicks her legs up on the table and smirks. She's looking forward to it. 

Elsewhere in the school, Iceman is teaching sex ed. While he is properly demonstrating how to put on a condom, he cannot stop making horny sex jokes as he does so. 

Seated in this class are Brian and Quentin. The two of them aren't paying any attention, with Brian having already gotten this talk from his dad when he came out as gay, while Quentin figures he won't be getting any until he's rich, famous, and beloved.

BRIAN: "Aren't you already rich?"

QUENTIN: "Yes, but not famous or beloved."

Brian tells him, if nothing else, he likes him, and thanks Quentin for still talking to him after all the "Hellions" crap. Quentin appreciates it, with him mentioning that Brian is the only one who directly apologized to him, but he really never even blamed him. 

QUENTIN: "You're a sheep who lives among a pack of wolves. You did what you had to do to survive. I believed Cessily to be a sheep as well, but she's shown her true colors." 

BRIAN, weirded out: "Riiiiight." 

Brian turns his attention away from his new sorta-friend, and toward Iceman, just in time to hear…

ICEMAN: "...but listen, it may be my job to teach you all how to do this yourself, but for all you studs, I'm rooting for you to have someone else doing it." 

Among a mix of awkward laughter and a single enthusiastic cheer from Specter, Brian raises an eyebrow. 

The bell rings and everyone starts clearing out. As Brian stands, Quentin's face lights up as he checks to make sure Brian is still free to come with him to Jumbo Carnation's fashion show that weekend. 

BRIAN: "I still can't believe you're into fashion."

QUENTIN: *Snapping his suspenders*: "I don’t see how."

Brian laughs. 

BRIAN: "Yeah, man. I'm there."

As Brian walks off, Quentin eagerly turns to Glob, who was sitting on the opposite side of him, and raises his hand for a high five. 

QUENTIN: "Wooh! A second friend! Gonna be great."

Glob taps Quentin's hand. 

In the hangar bag, Scott is prepping the Blackbird and…is also telling it what a good girl it is. With the new engine he had Beast install, she's gonna fly better than ever. 

"Eh hem". 

Scott, embarrassed, turns around to find Ororo behind him, an amused smile on her face. 

Scott: "Ororo, I was just…um…"

Storm laughs and tells him to be calm. She likes the rare moments he allows himself to be at ease. 

Scott asks if this means they're talking again…again. Ororo confesses that she'll never be able to stay mad at him forever.

STORM: "Although Kitty may be a different story."

Scott: "She learned a lot from Logan. Including how to hold a grudge."

Scott follows up and asks if this also means she's willing to give Emma a chance. Storm confirms that, no, actually, she's more suspicious than ever. 

Scott sighs and rubs his forehead, but Ororo tells him to listen to her. No, obviously, she has not been fond of Emma's presence since she arrived, nor has she supported…whatever is going on between her and Scott…but this is different. She spoke to Emma just now and she seemed different. And yet also familiar. 

Scott asks her to stop, but Ororo refuses. She knows she sensed a darkness around her earlier, and she fears she knows why. She came here on his invitation, broke up his marriage, and has had him largely isolated recently - the latter a strategy they both know she's used to control people before. 

SCOTT: "Get to the point."

STORM: "The point is that I believe she's tired of denying her true nature. And she desires to drag you into darkness with her."

Scott stares down at the floor in thought. 

SCOTT: "Ok."

STORM: "Okay?"

Cyclops tells her he's hearing her, and assures her he does get why she's concerned. There are no telepaths stronger than Emma left on Earth, but Betsy and Rachel, together, should still be able to get in her mind, no problem. She can call them and have them investigate as soon as he and Emma get home. In the meantime, she's in charge. 

Storm concedes that that's fair. It doesn't happen often, but she hopes that she's wrong. 

Storm wishes him luck and flies off, passing Emma on her way out.  The two exchange one more glare. 

Ororo immediately flies to the teacher's lounge, where Kitty, Beto, and Bobby are having lunch together. She tells Kitty that she's decided to accompany Cyclops and Emma on their France mission for the next several days; she's in charge while they're all gone. 

KITTY: "Wait, I'm fourth in command?!"

BETO AND BOBBY, mouths full: "She's fourth in command???"

Storm knows she'll do well, offering brief encouragement before departing in a rush. 

Kitty's stomach rumbles, and she doesn't think it was the tuna. 

In the cafeteria, the friend group, sans Brian, is having lunch. With Noriko having evidently decided to share with everyone else what she shared with Julian, Cessily wants to know more about the "Old Noriko". 

CESSILY: "Were you boy crazy? Were you super excited about school festivals and stuff?!"

NORIKO: "One, please learn about Japan from something other than anime. Two, yes. Yes, I was."

Everyone laughs. 

JULIAN: "She also mentioned while we were in the med bay that she was on the volleyball team."

The laughter continues as Noriko buries her face in her hands. 

ROXY: "So you DO have a hobby!"

NORIKO, embarrassed and growling: "Screw you, Keller."

JULIAN: "Not in your wildest dreams."

Sofia rolls her eyes. After what the two of them went through together, she'd hoped they'd be a little kinder toward one another. 

Noriko and Julian both bristle at that, but underneath the table, we see that they're playfully kicking at each other's feet. 

CESSILY: "Wait, Nori! If we could get a volleyball team started here, I could cheer for you!"

Even more laughter. Nori wants to die. 

NORIKO, to Laura: "I don't suppose you can distract everyone by telling us about the time you killed some pro volleyball player?"

Laura tilts her head and thinks. 

LAURA: "I don't think I ever killed a VOLLEYball player."

Sooraya pats her on the back. 

Brian arrives, taking his seat and asking everyone if they've noticed anything "off" about Mr. Drake. 

JULIAN: "You mean besides the fact he's dumber than Ashida?" 

Nori adds a little shock to their game of footsie, making him fall out of his seat.

While everyone now laughs at Julian, instead, Brian explains what he's talking about. Namely, he seems unnaturally horny. And in contrast to how sexless the rest of the teachers are around them, besides Ms. Frost, he can't help but wonder if he's maybe over-performing. 

CESSILY: "You think Iceman might be gay?"

ROXY: "I dunno. Seems pretty straight to me. Guy's gotten to sleep with Polaris. You'd be horny too if you lost that."

BRIAN: "I really wouldn't be." 

Brian sighs. He can't just ask him something like this, you don't just drag someone out of the closet…but maybe he could find out if he's right and ease him out at the same time. 

NORIKO: "This sounds like a terrible plan that could only have even worse consequences and I support you 100%."

LAURA: "I'm bored. I'll help." 

NORIKO: "Oh even better! 

In a dialogue-free montage, Scott and Emma are yucking it up in the Blackbird as they fly to France, with Storm trailing right behind them, staying just far away enough for her to not be picked up by the plane’s sensors. 

In France, Storm, in disguise, follows Scott and Emma and is deeply annoyed when she discovers the two are just on a getaway, having fun, and not actually doing any work. Still, she keeps watching just in case that changes. It does not. She’s simply left annoyed as she watches Emma drag Scott around Paris, the two getting lunch in a fancy restaurant, catching the opera, and, clearly, Scott’s favorite part, taking a helicopter tour. 

Storm looks like she’s two seconds away from killing herself in frustration by the end of this. 

Back in the teacher’s lounge, Iceman is watching TV.  There’s a knock on the door, and Bobby laughs that they don’t need to knock. Brian and Laura enter. 

ICEMAN: “Oh. Kids. I guess you did need to knock.” He continues to talk as they approach him. “You know it’s weird they let you be an X-Man but treat you like another one of the students, right?” 

LAURA: “Believe me, I know.” 

Brian re-introduces himself since he and Iceman haven’t really talked, but Bobby does know him. After all, he’s one of their “X-Men in Training”. 

ICEMAN: “You’re the Alpha-level telekinetic, right?” 

TAG: “No. I just said I’m Tag. I tag myself and make people run away.” 

ICEMAN: “Right, right, right.” Iceman mumbles to himself that that doesn’t seem like much of an X-Man power. Brian hears this and sneers. “So, what do you need?” 

Brian says that he’s pretty open about it, but he’s gay. Bobby thinks he should be talking to Northstar then. He seems to be getting along with that other gay kid. Well, about as well as Jean-Paul gets along with anyone. 

ICEMAN: “Wait, does this have to do with sex ed? Oh god please tell me it doesn’t have to do with me.” 

Brian takes a breath, trying to stay focused and keep his cool. He gets that this can be hard. He asks Bobby if he’s into anyone right now. Bobby says not really, but, well, he wouldn’t say no to a night with Dazzler. 

BRIAN: “Dazzler. Interesting choice. And what about–?” 

LAURA: “Are you gay?” 

BOBBY: “WHAT?!” 

BRIAN: “LAURA!” 

LAURA, shrugging: “I came because I was bored. I was getting bored again.” 

Bobby is frustrated, annoyed and confused, but makes clear that, no, no he is very much not gay. There’s nothing wrong with living like that, but it’s not his speed. He tells them both to get out. Now. 

BRIAN: “I just thought–” 

ICEMAN: “Now!” 

Dejected, Brian exits, Laura following along. 

LAURA: “We did our best.” 

Brian glares at her. 

LAURA: “What?” 

In Scott’s office, Kitty is at his desk being forced to pick up his and Emm’s workload. After less than a day, she already seems to be losing her mind. She’s struggling to juggle all of the phone calls, emails, reports, and scheduling required of her. 

Eventually, she finds herself with a moment to breathe…only for Dazzler to stomp in, pissed off. Apparently, Kitty sent her a notice that she’s to go out of her to spend some time with the Cuckoos. 

DAZZLER: “I’m not dealing with those little terrors! They’re Emma’s problem!” 

Kitty rubs her forehead and softly asks Allison not to shout. For one, this was Scott’s idea, not hers. They may be Emma’s squad, but they’ve expressed that they’re fans of, and want to be like, Dazzler. So, they need her to be a good rolemodel for them. They’re not asking. 

DAZZLER: “Gross. This is going to be worse than all of those, “Win a Chance to Spend a Day with Dazzler” sweepstakes.” 

Allison agrees, but mumbles about finding a new agent as she exits. 

Kitty sighs as she leans back in her chair, but she is once again denied a moment of peace. A stepping disc opens behind her, and Magik puts her hands over her eyes. 

MAGIK: “Guess who!” 

KITTY: “Ugggh. Selene Gallio?” 

MAGIK: “Ha! She wishes!” 

Magik teleports in front of Kitty and asks why she’s such a mess. Kitty explains that she never quite realized WHY they needed multiple headmasters, and she’s now terrified that this is going to be all on her one day. 

Yana thinks she’s looking at this the wrong way though. Instead of freaking out about having to do all this work, she should use her minions. 

KITTY: “My minions?”

MAGIK: “The teachers! They’re all here because they want to be. And if they want to work so bad, they may as well be working as hard as those in gulags.” 

Kitty doesn’t like the “gulag” part…but maybe she could get some help from them. Magik tells her not to worry about it. She can just stay focused on what she’s doing now. Just give her the authority, and she’ll whip them all into shape. 

Kitty takes a moment to consider if she should really do this. 

KITTY: “Fine. You know what, it’s either this or I drink, and I’m not 21 for another month! Let’s give it a try!” 

Magik laughs maniacally. 

KITTY: “Not helping, Yana.” 

In Paris, Scott and Emma get checked into a hotel. Storm is completely fed up and is frustrated in disbelief that this is what they left the school for. She’s about to head home, but before she flies off, she notices someone exiting the same hotel. Someone who’s been referenced, but never seen before. 

STORM: “Fabian Cortez.” 

On his phone, Fabian tells someone that he’s on his way, and that their final participants have arrived. It’s time for the new hunt to begin. Storm is left to ponder as Fabian gets into his car and is driven off. 

Storm shuts her eyes and softly vocalizes everything she knows. Cortez was one of Magneto’s followers during his darker days, but he also worked alongside Trevor Fitzroy as one of the Upstarts, a group of rich and powerful Mutants who “hunted” other Mutants for their own sick amusement. The Upstarts fell apart after Fitzroy was killed…by Emma, after the Upstarts murdered the Hellions. If they’ve reassembled, their new hunt needs to be nipped in the bud before anyone gets hurt, but she has no idea who she could be facing. 

Ororo turns back to the hotel, thinking about looking to Cyclops and Emma for backup. 

STORM: “Their final participants have arrived. No…no, it couldn’t be. Scott would never. Even Emma would never work with THEM.”  

Storm thinks about it for a minute more…before deciding she cannot risk it, and flies after Cortez to face the new Upstarts alone. 

In the gymnasium, Laura is running Brian through his hand-to-hand combat drills, since the Danger Room was taken offline once again after it almost took Emma’s head off. Notably, unlike Sofia’s training sessions with her, this does not involve sparring with Wolverine. 

Brian complains to Laura that she was supposed to help with Iceman, not do exactly what he said not to. Laura counters that his strategy wasn’t getting anywhere. She could read from his body language and how he reacted to what she said that Brian was right if that’s any consolation. 

BRIAN: “Barely.” 

Brian sighs that there has to be something they can do to help him, but Laura has a question. 

LAURA: “So many cultures seem to take issue with attraction to one’s own sex. Why?” 

BRIAN: “Why do people hate Mutants?” 

Laura pauses. 

LAURA: “Hate and fear. Weaknesses of the mind.” She pops out her claws. “People should be afraid of me for this. But why fear who I want to kiss?” 

BRIAN: “You mean why fear you for wanting to kiss Sofia?” 

Laura, unamused, flips Brian off with a single claw. 

Brian wishes he got it himself, but he’s not exactly a history scholar. All he knows is that religion has “something” to do with it, the hate has been passed down for thousands of years, and people are always just looking for something to get angry at. 

BRIAN: “Not like they can’t just read comics if that’s what they want.” 

Laura asks if that’s why he and Cessily got so into the whole “Hellions” thing. 

LAURA: “You’re both angry. At the whole world. And that what your way of getting back at it. Right?” 

BRIAN: “...something like that.” 

Brian admits that he knows it was wrong, and he knew it was wrong at the time, but it still felt so good. He felt like he was powerful and had no reason to be afraid at all. 

Inside a warehouse, a platinum haired woman in red and yellow looks up at a blank scoreboard as she sips a glass of wine,  excitedly moaning over how good it is. Really, it’s the perks like these that she missed most about running with the Upstarts. 

Brian asks if Laura will spar with him like she spars with Sofia. He wants to get stronger. Laura warns him he'll get hurt, but he's up to the challenge.

As she stuffs horderves in her face, a young man in a suit approaches her, questioning what she HAS been doing. She’s as powerful as any Mutant, but she’s been, what, robbing banks? 

“Really, Sienna, I’d have thought you’d do more.” 

SIENNA BLAZE: “Ah, shut it, Shaw. You don’t know my story.” 

 “Nor do I particularly care about it. And please, it’s Shinobi.” 

Cortez enters with a wide, fake grin on his face, telling his old accomplices how lovely they both look tonight and how happy he is they could make it for this little reunion. Shinobi tells him to drop the bit. He’s only here because Cortez promised this hunt would conclude with a group assault on the Xavier Institute, and he wants to wring his hands around the necks of the children who humiliated his father. Sienna is more of the spirit of things and is excited to get started, questioning if the only ones yet to arrive are the newbies. 

SHINOBI: “I certainly hope so. Otherwise, that would mean our dear host invited…” 

“Greetings, old friends!” 

Shinobi and Sienna both cringe as Andreas and Andrea Von Strucker enter the scene. Fabian happily greets them both, blowing air kisses at the two, delighted that Baron Von Strucker’s wonderful children could rejoin them for this. 

Shinobi and Sienna both glare at Cortez. 

CORTEZ: “What? They’re good at what they do?” 

Sienna groans while Shinobi pinches his nose and moans, “Damn nazis.” 

Andreas mocks that they’re clearly intimidated by them, while Sienna clarifies that, no, they just don’t want them kissing in front of them. 

ANDREA: “For someone so promiscuous, you sure are a prude.” 

SIENNA: “Who are you calling a prune?! Oh I am ready to start this hunt right now!” 

Before Sienna can start something, Fabian tells everyone to calm down and not be so hasty. Their final players should be arriving any moment now. 

An explosion occurs, blowing a hole in one of the warehouse’s walls, with two men, recognized by comic fans as John Greycrow and Riptide, flying through it, unconscious. Everyone turns their attention to the attack, as Storm enters, lit up with electricity and floating above the Upstarts. 

STORM: “Whatever any of you are considering doing next…I recommend surrendering instead.” 

Naturally, the Upstarts aren’t going to back down that easily, and ready themselves for battle. 

Back in America, Bobby has come to visit Chrisitan Frost. Christian eagerly greets him, referring to him as “my hero”, and it’s established they’ve seen each other a couple of other times since Iceman saved Christian from the U-Men. 

BOBBY: “I’m sure you’re just happy to have ANYONE besides your sister visiting you.” 

CHRISTIAN: “Are you implying that nearly all my social interaction for a decade and a half involving social gossip and hearing about the latest lives Emma’s destroyed would get tiring? Because you don’t know the half of it.” 

Christian obviously doesn’t have any news himself, but he likes hearing about the newest going ons with the X-Men from him; he’s more honest about the embarrassing parts than Emma is. 

BOBBY: “Uh, well, Emma’s with Cyclops in France right now. To be determined what that’s about. We just took in a demon? I guess? We’re still trying to–” 

Christian cuts him off. 

CHRISTIAN: “Stop. A demon? Demons are real?” 

BOBBY: “Wow, you’re as out of the loop as the dumb kids I teach.” 

Bobby laughs, before spinning that out into a tangent about his earlier encounter with Brian and Laura. He couldn’t believe these kids! Why the Hell would they think he’s gay?! Christian raises an eyebrow and reminds him that HE’S gay. 

BOBBY, gesturing to their surroundings: “Obviously! And obviously, I have nothing against gay people!” 

CHRISTIAN: “Then why do you sound so offended?” 

BOBBY: “I’m not offended!” 

The two stare each other down until Christian laughs. Bobby asks what’s so funny. 

CHRISTIAN: “Nothing, nothing. I’d just forgotten how those words sounded.” 

Christian reminds Bobby that he’s quite a bit older than him, and tells him that what he’s saying is normal. He acted this way too. A lot of them have. It’s what they’re taught to say. 

CHRISTIAN: “To be honest, you aren’t hard to peg. At least in that way. I saw it the day we met. I’m sorry those brats brought this up to you before you were ready.” 

BOBBY: “Are you calling me gay too?” 

CHRISTIAN: “You’re something. If you need to deny it more, go ahead. That’s your choice. But think about all the thoughts you’ve had. Think about your life. And make that choice with everything in mind.” 

BOBBY, hanging his head: “I…I don’t…you’re not trying to seduce me, are you? Cause I know you Frosts like younger men.” 

CHRISTIAN: “Keep making jokes if you have to. Whatever makes you comfortable.” Christian smirks at him flirtatiously. “And I’m only trying to seduce you if you want me to be.” 

Bobby stares off into space as he wraps a sheet of ice around his face. 

In Sunspot’s bedroom, he’s on the phone with Monet, who’s screaming at him in French. Roberto, also speaking in French, asks her to please stop shouting. No, Cyclops and Emma haven’t figured out what they’re doing. Frankly, he’d be embarrassed if they already had. No, they’re just in France doing…something. 

MONET, over the phone: “I am not going down helping you, Da Costa. Especially not to Ms. Frost.” 

There’s a knock on the door. 

ROBERTO: “We haven’t done anything wrong. Yet. Try to have some faith in me, hmm? I have to go.” 

Roberto takes off his headphones, hangs up, and answers the door. 

KITTY, disheveled, but less than before, grinning: “Hi!” She dumps a stack of papers in his hands. “Bye!” 

Kitty starts walking away, but Beto follows and asks what this is. Kitty explains that she’s in charge, and she’s decided to delegate some of her duties as temporary headmistress. 

KITTY: “Have fun!” 

Magik appears beside Kitty as she gets away from Sunspot and the two giggle together. The look on his face just now was priceless! The most nostalgic thing she’s seen since she got here. 

KITTY: “Yeah…wake up the others.” 

In their bedrooms, Beast, Nightcrawler, Dazzler, Northstar, and Warpath are all woken up from their peaceful slumber as airhorns mystically emerge next to their heads and blow out their eardrums, before Yana’s voice comes out of them, shouting at them to get up NOW; there’s work to be done. 

HANK, rubbing his head: “As if I needed another reason to leave.” 

In France, while the rest of the Upstarts are ready to tear Storm to shreds, Cortez approaches her with open arms and asks if she’s here to join them on their hunt. They may disagree about whether or not Mutants are a higher form of life than humans, but she is Storm, the so-called goddess - she thinks herself a higher form of life than everyone. 

Storm threatens him not to presume to understand her, but the Fenris twins believe he has her pegged. For someone so insufferably arrogant, it’s peculiar that she doesn’t flex more. Not that they’d expect someone like her to know what she was doing. 

Storm calls down a bolt of lightning from the heavens and blasts Fenris away. 

CORTEZ: “So much for the open hand of friendship!” 

Charged up with electromagnetic energy, Sienna flies at Storm. She kicked her ass once, and this time she’s putting her in the ground for good. 

SIENNA: “Assuming there’s enough left of you for that.” 

As Storm flies and deflects her attacks, mocking that she’s deluding herself if she believes she’s the same Mutant she was when they first fought years ago, increased pressure is put on her as a still conscious Fenris hold hands and attempt to shoot her down with energy blasts. 

Andreas reminds her that Blaze isn’t the only one to have nearly taken her out, with Andrea following that if she hadn’t been so annoying and survived, shooting her in her ugly little face would have been the happiest of memories. 

Storm summons a fierce wind and sends all three of them flying back into a wall. Staying alert, she scans with her eyes for Cortez and Shinobi. Shinobi attempts to get the drop on her, literally, as he phases through the ceiling, and attempts to skewer her with a katana from above. Ororo dodges, and continues to dance around his blade swipes, as he continues to say that the X-Men, and especially her, are nothing but hypocrites. They all know they’re above humanity, but they’re too weak to act on that and have the nerve to judge and get in the way of those attempting to take their rightful place. Especially in Storm’s case, if there was ever a spine behind that ego, she’d make a fearsome queen. 

Storm’s eyes widen with rage, as her memory flashes through Emma torturing her years ago, as well as Cyclops and Emma kissing, and the image of the Phoenix. 

STORM: “I AM NO QUEEN!” 

Reaching out her hand, Storm engulfs Shinobi in a localized snowstorm, freezing him instantly; phasing won’t save him. 

STORM: “I am nothing like her.” 

Storm is ready to deal with the others next, but she suddenly feels extremely weak. Fabian laughs as he approaches from behind. Whatever she’d like to deny, she absolutely is as arrogant as himself. She was in such a rush to be the big hero, she clearly forgot about what he could do. 

CORTEZ: “I cannot shut off the powers of an Omega such as yourself entirely, but I can damn sure make you weak enough for a strengthened Blaze to obliterate you.” 

ANDREA: “You’re boosting us as well, yes?” 

ANDREAS: “We deserve to–!” 

Before the nazi twins can say anything else, Blaze screams as Cortez increases her power level, and the uncontrolled electromagnetic forces she manipulates rip Fenris apart, killing them both. 

Storm looks on in horror, unsure of what she can do. 

At the Institute, it’s the dead of night, and while Kitty and Magik are asleep peacefully in their beds, most of the other teachers are passed out in the teacher’s lounge or in their classrooms while working. Only Beast is still awake, as he kvetches and mocks Kitty’s order. 

BEAST: “I want the Danger Room fixed already!, she says. As if I haven’t been working on it for months. There is nothing wrong with it!” 

Hanging upside down in the Danger Room, Hank finishes eating a banana. He’s still hungry though. A peanut butter and banana sandwich before returning to this impossible task sounds good. 

Hank heads down the hall but hears strange sounds and banging coming from somewhere. He follows the noise to a closet. He’s hesitant to open it, but when the magnitude of the rumbling increases and it sounds like things are breaking, he feels he has no choice. 

Hank screams as he sees Julian and Noriko forcefully making out in the closet, their powers going wild and breaking everything else inside. The two teens of course scream in response to Hank screaming. 

JULIAN: “We were just kissing!” 

NORIKO: “We are NOT dating!” 

JULIAN: “I would never date this loser.” 

NORIKO: “And I would never date this jerk.” 

JULIAN: “Do NOT tell Sofia!” 

NORIKO: “Or anyone! 

Hank composes and gives them both a blank stare. If they promise to use protection if this goes further, he’ll forget he saw anything. Noriko and Julian instantly nod. Hank sighs as he walks off, shutting the door behind him. Julian and Noriko immediately resume making out. 

In France, the raging Sienna screams in agony as she brings down the building around them, shaking the world. Storm does her best to dodge her attacks, all while keeping an eye on Cortez. She knows that if she can just land a hit on him and knock him out, Blaze will pass out from exhaustion. This becomes more difficult as Cortez pulls out a gun, attempting to aid Blaze in shooting Storm out of the sky. 

CORTEZ: “Isn’t this so much more fun than a bank robbery, Sienna?! The hunt may be spoiled, but when we’re done here, we can still go and kill every last X-Man, and all their little–” 

Storm, spotting a split-second opportunity, shoots a lightning blast at Cortez. He’s sent flying into rubble. However, he gets up just a moment later, remarking that the collision hurt more than that little taze. 

As things get worse and worse, and we see various parts of France throughout the episode being affected by Blaze’s attacks, Storm changes tactics, pleading with Blaze to try and control herself. They agree on nothing, but if mass destruction was what she longed for, she could have achieved that long ago. She must stop, for everyone else, and for herself. 

Blaze tries to fight it, slowing down her attacks as her own body cracks, but Cortez won’t be having that, and further boosts her. What follows is overwhelming. 

The warehouse is completely destroyed, Shinobi seemingly killed, and Blaze’s blast all but knocks Storm out, with her severely injured and barely clinging to consciousness. 

Cortez laughs maniacally as he tells Blaze to finish it. Kill Storm, and wipe out this entire Flatscan civilization! 

Blaze screams, Cortez laughs, and Storm struggles to stand…until the former two simply fall over unconscious. The Earth ceases to shake and Storm breathes a sigh of relief. 

STORM: “What just…?” 

“Not to speak down to you as if you were a student, but I must ask: what were you thinking coming here alone?” 

Storm cringes as she pushes herself to stand up. Emma has arrived on the scene. 

The next morning at the Institute, the friend group is having breakfast in the cafeteria. Cessily is excitedly telling everyone how she just got the call from the Washingtons, and she’s going to be a background dancer in their next video. 

While this is going on, Sofia, who’s still sitting as far away from Julian as she can, lapses into old feelings and sends a small wind over his way to put his stray hair back in place. Julian smiles at her and she smiles back, but when Julian looks back in front of him at Noriko, she shoots him a look that says, “Dude, what the Hell are you doing?”. From the look on Julian’s face, he has no idea either. Laura watches all three of them intently. 

Iceman approaches the kids and asks Brian if he can talk to him alone for a minute. Brian says sure, and the two end up in Bobby’s classroom. 

Brian starts apologizing to Mr. Drake for yesterday, but Bobby tells him to stop. He can’t deny what Brian and Laura said touched a nerve and, after talking about it with someone else and making him think, maybe he was onto something. He’s still not sure. But he’s sorry he snapped at the kids, “I don’t think Wolverine cares about hearing an apology”, and he’s grateful to Brian for at least reaching out to try and help; he’s a good kid. 

Brian thanks him and tells him there’s no need to be sorry. He gets it. And he’s happy to have at least helped Mr. Drake start questioning. 

BOBBY: “About that…what made you think that anyway?” 

Brian explains to him how his pretty extreme outward heterosexuality is a pretty common sign. Some other little things he picks up too. And also...he may have been projecting a little. 

BRIAN: “Real talk? I’ve been a fan since before I even knew I was a Mutant. I love my dad, I wouldn’t trade him for anyone, but…he’s kind of a dork. Didn’t really have anyone immediately around who was “big and tough” to emulate like I wanted, you know? But then, I’d see clips of you online. Strongest guy in the world. Wanted to be just like you.” 

BOBBY, laughing to himself, pretending to be humble: “Strongest guy in the world? I don’t know about that, I haven’t fought Magneto or Exodus since I got this powerful, but…sorry, continue.” 

Brian goes on to say that part of why he tries to help his friends as much as he can, tried to help Mr. Drake…part of why he went with the Hellions thing…was because he knows he’ll never be strong on his own. End of the day, he’s only an X-Man in Training because he made the right friends. End of the day, they’ll all be X-Men, he won’t be. 

BRIAN: “You said it yourself. Tagging isn’t much of an X-Man power.” 

Bobby shakes his head. He thinks Brian misunderstands a few things. He wasn’t ALWAYS an Omega. Back when he was Brian’s age, he was considered the weakling of the original 5 X-Men. The dumb little brother who everyone needed to protect. How was throwing snowballs and tripping people on slippery roads supposed to make a real difference? 

BOBBY: “There may be a lot more power inside you than you realize. And even if there isn’t? There are all kinds of ways the X-Men could use someone with a power like yours. You’ve got potential. And if the rest of the X-Men didn’t think so, they would have swapped you out for someone else.” 

Brian thanks him. He’ll keep all that in mind. He should get back to his friends now though. But hey, maybe if he wants to start exploring his potential queerness for real, he’d want to come with him and Quentin to Jumbo Carnation’s upcoming fashion show? 

BOBBY: “HA! No. Nope. Appreciate the offer, but I am definitely not ready for something like that.” 

Brian gets it and the two fist bump. 

In the office, several of the teachers haven’t shown up for their classes, and she can’t reach them on their phones or communicators. She has no idea what’s going on. 

In the corner, Magik laughs. Really? Does the girl genius have no idea? 

MAGIK: “KItty, you overworked your minions all night! They’re probably all exhausted and passed out!” 

KITTY: “They’re all superheroes, I thought they could handle it! Wait, if you knew this would happen, why did you tell me to do this?!” 

MAGIK: “Duh, because I’m a queen with years of experience, and when you end up taking this place over for real, you should know what you’re doing. Lessons like this are necessary.” Illyana boops Kitty’s nose. “You’re welcome.” 

As Magik shuts her eyes and smugly waits for an apology, Kitty growls and jumps at her, phasing them both through the floor. Magik just laughs. 

In the rubble of the destroyed warehouse, Storm demands Emma not to take one step closer and explain what’s going on here. Emma sighs that Ororo never can just thank her. Not long ago, they received a report from SHIELD that Domino had been apprehended after being caught working for Fabian. Hating to see a former X-Man in human custody, she arranged a deal for her. She’d pull strings to get her out, in exchange for information that would result in Cortez’s capture. She convinced her to go along with it, and so she came out here to apprehend him, dragging Scott along for a bit of fun. She didn’t want his help though.  

EMMA: “For me, facing the Upstarts alone was personal. Why would you not seek out our aid? And why did you follow us at all?” 

Storm cools off and sighs before explaining that she didn’t trust them. She hasn’t ever trusted Emma, of course, but she sensed something especially off with her earlier. She was concerned with what she was planning on doing, both WHILE here, and TO Scott. 

Emma rolls her neck and concedes she can’t entirely blame her. For any of it. She can see how her relationship with Scott may seem suspicious in light of everything, but all it is is that she’s never had someone she cared for in such a way. She’s not sure she likes how that feels, but she knows she wants to keep him close. And what she sensed earlier was likely her murderous intent. She freely admits she was not planning on allowing any of the Upstarts to survive. 

EMMA: “I was a monster in the past. Towards you, especially. I understand your hate. And I cannot deny, that treatment of you…came from jealousy.” 

Storm doesn’t buy THAT at all, an amused smirk on her face. Emma knows how ridiculous and embarrassing it sounds, but it’s true. After Jean’s death, they were the two most powerful women in the world. But no matter her bluster, Emma knew she was a distant second to Ororo. That was why she hated her so much. 

Ororo smiles and questions what has Emma opening up like this, saying all these pretty words she’d never say. Emma answers that, frankly, this feud between them had become exhausting. And it’s reaching a point where it’s putting their lives in danger. She just wants it put to bed. 

Storm looks at Emma for a few moments. 

STORM: “Once again, the opportunity to betray us was open to you. And once again, you prove yourself an ally. So long as we’re sharing things we never would, and you are humbling yourself, perhaps I have been too harsh with you. You will always be a monster in my eyes. That cannot be changed. But I can try and understand that that isn’t who you really are. Not anymore.” 

EMMA: “I’m certainly not asking for us to be friends so that sounds like a nice start.” 

Emma reaches out a hand, and Ororo shakes it. 

STORM: “You may be a distant #2, but we should still be able to achieve a great deal cooperating with one another.” 

EMMA: “Oh, don’t make this a whole thing, goddess.” 

Emma asks if Ororo would care for a room in the hotel, but Storm thinks she’ll just be heading up. She left Kitty in charge and she’s not sure she thought that one through. Emma tells her it’s probably fine; Ororo raised her well. 

With smiles on their faces, Ororo starts flying away from Emma, as the usual episode wrapup music kicks in…

…only for it to be cut off, as, on a close-up of an evil smirk on Emma’s face, she whispers, “Finally”. 

With a psychic blast, Emma shoots Ororo out of the sky. Storm is still conscious, but she’s completely paralyzed. Emma snickers as she floats over to her. 

EMMA: “Oh Storm. Always so arrogant. Of course “humbling” myself before the goddess was what would finally make you drop your guard. I should have seen it sooner.” She bends down and whispers in Storm’s ear. “You thought I was planning to betray the X-Men? You thought I was trying to corrupt Cyclops? You didn’t believe that I’d ever truly changed? Congratulations wind witch: you were right.” 

Emma laughs manically as Ororo’s eyes fill with fear and rage. 

[slowpoke-fics]

Sacrifice

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Pack x Reader

Request Summary: You're Scotts twin sister and make a sacrifice for the good of the pack

Warnings: death, panic attack, angst, murder described, death described, reader death; I know for a fact I've missed some and this one is pretty fucking rough, as always read at your own risk.

A/N: This one is angsty, and just a tad longer than normal, consider it my apology to nonnie for taking so damn long on this request. I hope you guys love it, and again, this one is rough, read at your own risk.

You're able to grab one of the fucking resilient demonic ninja's off of Isaac. You could smell his pain, his blood, and you could smell Allisons determination. The second one on Isaac was shot with Allisons arrow, it's glowing green, fighting with the clear pain it's experiencing. With a split decision you're next to Allison, pushing her out of the way, a sharp pain through your chest, and then you're numb.

Allison's face is rampant with fear, her shirt holding a tiny cut that didn't grace the skin. Good, she's okay, and then you're falling.

You don't hit the ground though, your brother, Scott, holding your face with a stray tear falling down his face. You reach up and wipe it away, "It's okay Scotty, it doesn't hurt." Scott chokes back a sob, his hand gently rubbing yours, "Is everyone else okay?" Scott starts to speak, his voice betraying him, sounding mangled, "Yeah, everyone is okay Y/n, you're gonna be okay too." You shook your head, "Not in the way you think I am," Scott finally releases a sob, "no, no, big brother," he tries to laugh, trying to give you a little peace with your joke that even though he's minutes older, he's still older, "it's okay, yeah? Me and you, fighting tooth and nail. This was the best gift I could've ever gotten, I love you, and I love the pack. This is okay." You reach behind him, fingers tangled into his hair, you pull him to you and kiss his forehead. "Don't let them blame themselves, and don't blame yourself," another kiss to his cheek, "I love you big brother."

Scott's memories with you flashes before his eyes as the color in yours goes out, how did we get here?

"Scott! You okay?" You look over his body for injuries, he hisses at you making contact with his torso. "Scott, what's wrong? Did you get bit by something too?" Scott's eyebrows raise, "What do you mean 'too'? Did you get bit?" You roll your eyes and turn around, shirt stained with blood, "Yeah, I managed to get away from the fucker while rolling down some hill, now let me see yours." You swat him away, lifting his shirt and taking a good look at the bite mark, "Okay, not too bad, you fix me up and I'll fix you up? Not a word to mom, got it?" Scott nods, walking with you into the house to take care of the bite marks.

Scott can't feel anything, surrounded by you, your lifeless body. His anger, no, pain, soars through him as his eyes glow, a roar deep within him. The only thing anyone in his pack can hear is the scream from Lydia's lips and the roar of pain from Scott.

Isaac barely notices the sound around him, only his own heartbeat in his ears as he listened to yours fade away.

"Isaac you fucking idiot!" You slapped Isaac on the back of the head, he looks at you with lost, glowing, puppy dog eyes, "Sorry, Y/n." His eyes dull to his normal brown and you frown, "You've gotta do better honey, you can't lose control like that, you'll kill someone and I know that's not what you want." Isaac sits on the metal bench in the locker room, head in his hands, "I don't know that I'll ever be able to."

You sigh, sitting next to him with your hand rubbing his back, "You will, just give it time, until then, you've gotta find something that works for you, something that prevents you from breaking someone fucking ribs Isaac." You voice becomes elevated again towards the end, irritated at Isaac's recklessness. "Yeah," he leans his head down to your shoulder, "I know firecracker."

Scott is blind to the feeling on his bloody hand, only noticing it when Allison's tears hit it. Allison brushes a hair out of your face, you looked peaceful, she's eternally grateful for you, for what you did for her tonight and what you've done for her up until this point.

"Allison, fuck," you huff, pulling yourself up from the ground, "let's do it again, I know that this isn't you, your aim is perfect, let it all go and focus on me okay?" She sighs, shaking the bow in her hand, "Maybe the fact that I could actually hurt you isn't helping." You're eye to eye with her, both hands on her face, eyes glowing, "No, you won't hurt me, I'm invincible remember?" She laughs, shaking her head, "Alright, last time." You grin ear to ear and took off running. Allison brings the bow up, listening to you run. She sees glimpses of you, through the trees, and the arrow is gone. She sighs, she didn't hit you, she's shouting at you "I told you! I can't do it!"

You touch her back, startling her, she lets out a small yelp and turns to you. Her eyes go wide when she sees the arrow sticking out of your shoulder. "Oh, Jesus Y/n," her bow drops and she's bringing her hands up to try and get it to stop bleeding. "Oh quit being a pussy and pull it out," you rolled your eyes, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to the arrow in your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I hit you-" she pulls it out and you let out a long groan, already feeling better with the object dislodged. "Don't be sorry, you hit me, let's do it again." Allisons eyes widen, if that's even possible, and shakes her head, "No, absolutely not." You laugh, "Lighten up buttercup, I'm invincible remember? And this time I'm not going easy." She scoffs at you, "Easy? Oh I see how it is, run little wolf, run." With that, you take off running, Allison laughing at your excitement.

Kira is frozen, she feels like she died, you were her best friend. Over anyone else, you'd been the first to accept her, the first to fight for her, the first one she'd confided in.

"Kira, what the hell are you saying?" You're sitting with your arms crossed at a picnic table, nose in your homework. "I-I know that we were friends first, so I was going to tell you first, before I said any-" You slam your hand one the table, "Kira, baby, spit it out, fuck." This is the you realize that Kira's scent holds fear and anxiety. "Kira, what's wrong?" You're more serious now, waiting for the bomb to drop that there's another fight to be had. "I like Scott, like like him, Jesus please don't be mad." You burst into full laughter, tears streaming from your eyes.

When you calm down Kira is staring at you, piddling with the strings on her sleeves. "Oh, my god," you laugh again, trying to calm yourself. "You're not mad?" You laugh harder, smacking the table a few times, "Jesus Christ no, I can't believe-" you stand up still laughing, hugging her. "I don't give a shit," rubbing her back, "you had nothing to worry about, as long as you don't get mad if I fuck your dad." Kira jerks back, shock on her face, "Y/n!" You laugh harder, "I'm fucking kidding, jeez," you sit back down, "fucking sit down and gush to me about my brother."

She shakes herself out of it when she feels her mother enclose her in a hug. Tears finally falling.

Lydia's scream has finally ended, and she's inconsolable. Memories flooding through her head as she lays her head on an unconscious Stiles.

"Lydia god dammit," you truck to the pool, "did you find another one?" You stop at the strong scent of blood, rushing to Lydia, Stiles right behind you. "Are you hurt?" Lydia shakes her head, staring at you, "I already called 911." Stiles looks hurt, arguing with Lydia over why she should call him before the police, but you push him to the side. "Heya honey," you wrap your arms around her waist, "it's okay, don't listen to Stiles grumpy ass, let's me and you go sit." You're not sure why you aren't phased by the body next to you, but you let Stiles do whatever he needs to do for Scott while you try and get Lydia's head back down to Earth.

"Hey Lyds, dontcha think you're a little overdressed to come to the pool?" She lets out a small chuckle and you relax a little, "This can't be my new normal, Y/n. Finding dead bodies? I can't take this." You hold her hand, sighing, "None of us asked for this Lydia, I'm so sorry. If you want I can stay with you for a few days, follow you if you zonk out again?" Lydia just nods, and she feels for the first time that you're as much her best friend as Allison.

Lydia can't stop crying, Scott is trying to get ahold of himself, Kira is crying with her mother, Isaac is breathless and in pain, and Allison is held by her father.

"She did it for me dad," Allison sobs, her father already made sure she wasn't hurt, "she did it for me and I don't know why." Chris shushes her, running his fingers through her hair, grateful for your sacrifice so his beautiful girl could live. "She did it because she loved you," Allison sobs harder, "I know sweet girl, but listen, we have to deal with this. You can cry, scream, break things later, but now? Now we get our stories straight." Allison nods, and her dad is off to Scott to prep him.

When Stiles finds out, it's like every cell in his body failed him. Scott caught him and pulled him into a hug, tears streaming down his face. "I know. I know brother." Stiles can't breathe, it's been a long time since he's had a panic attack, but here he is, without you, panicking.

"Stiles," you sigh, throwing a ball against his ceiling and back into your hand, sprawled out on his bed, "you've gotta stop." Stiles shakes his head, "No, no there is something here!" He tosses the books to the floor, you get off the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind, "You'll find it but you're not going to without sleep. Come on." You tug him back to his bed, "Let's nap, and then we'll come back to all," you gesture to his board covered in multicolored string, "this." Stiles sighs heavily, letting you pull him to the bed. It's not the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last, that you've convinced him to sleep. He crawls in next to you and you throw your arm open, allowing him to lay his head over your heart. He falls asleep to the lull of the thump thump thump.

Stiles shakes himself out of the memory, remembering that he'll never hear that beautiful sound again and vows to hold onto it. He lets out a pained, choked sob, "Scott-" Scotts arms are around him still, Scott can smell the guilt coming off of the small man, "Don't - It was not your fault Stiles. It wasn't anyone's fault." Scott lets Stiles cry, mourn his best friend, the woman he's come to love like his own sister. "Have you told Derek?" Scott sighs, Stiles already knows the answer.

When they get to Derek's place, Derek opens the door, already smelling them and their horribly displaced emotions. "What is it?" Scott lets himself in, Stiles following close behind him and he's checking for his little flame, and when you're nowhere to be found, his heart sinks. "Where's Y/n?" Derek can smell the grief coming off of Scott in waves, not missing the anger that hides beneath it. "Fuck, my little flame," his voice sounds broken, barely audible to the human boy who stares sorrowful at him.

"Derek Hale!" You kick the door open to home, "Derek Hale! Get your ass out here!" Derek almost materializes behind you, but you're just as quick as he is. "Derek Hale! I oughtta kill you, you son of a bitch!" You march to him, taking him off guard by your fist that collides into his face. He's knocked back a couple feet, staring at you with glowing eyes. Your eyes match his, "I am not afraid of your eyes, wolf boy! You turned three people!" Derek shrugs, "So what if I did?" You go for a second punch, this time caught by Derek, he can't smell a single ounce of fear, only fury.

"They knew what they were getting into," Derek lets go of your hand. "Oh, fuck you, Derek," you shove him back, "you can spin that stupid story to whoever you want, but you and I know better." Derek shrugs, "So what? They're better now, stronger, and they like it." You let out a deep growl, "Did you tell them about the death?" You step forward towards him, "Did you tell them how they'd be pulled into every murder in this town?" You shove him back again, following his step backwards, "Did you tell them of the pain? Did you? Of course not." Your hand grasps his chin, squeezing painfully with your claws out, making him look at you, "Hear me Derek Hale and hear me good. If anything," you squeezed him harder, bringing a hiss from him, "and I mean anything, happens to them, I will hurt you." You back away and head out of his house, stopping at his door, "And trust me, I'm a fire you can't put out." He laughs, watching you walk away, but mumbling just where you can barely hear, "I have a feeling I don't want to be burned by your flame."

A growl explodes from his lips, pain filling his entire being. You've been the glue that holds them all together, bringing them back from the brink again and again. How could they survive without you?

Months after your death, they've settled back into the groove of things, nothing ever feels the same without you though.

They talk about you all the time, Stiles has a tendency to try and calm people down like you did. Trying to help keep everyone grounded. He's nowhere near as good at it like you were, but he's trying. Allison keeps your memory around by never changing her lock screen, a picture of everyone in the pack resting on the screen she checks every five minutes. Isaac has found a new anchor, with Scott's help, using himself to be able to control the rage that flurries inside of him after your death. Lydia lives for adopting your fire, absolutely never keeping her mouth shut much to everyone's dismay, but it's a way to keep your image around. Kira has become closer to Allison and Lydia, but she knows they'll never replace you. They don't laugh at her like you did when she talks about Scott, and it's a painful memory. Derek's become much more involved with Scott's pack, dedicated to doing what he can for not fighting by your side the right you died, a debt he'll never repay. Scott finds his peace in his pack, but the hole in his heart for his sister will never fade, like the newly placed fire tattoo on his forearm will never fade.

They are all eternally grateful.

They all know it'll never be the same.

They all hate your sacrifice.

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Committed

Summary: It was finally time to make things official.

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: minors dni, smut, sex in wedding dress, pregnancy sex, missionary, girl on top, squirting, mentions of daddy kink but no daddy kink

(A/N: I wrote this a minute ago, but I couldn’t figure out how to end it so I ended up deciding to keep it short. This is part of Love Like You. Follow, like, comment, and Reblog 💜 ✌🏾)

»»——————————-　♡　—————-————-««

Suddenly you felt fourteen again. Like you were passing him in the hallway at school. Getting a glimpse of him while he didn’t even realize you existed. Except that one time he bumped into you when he was goofing off. You thought you were going to have a heart attack when he bent down to pick up your books. Your friends made fun of you for a week because of how you stuttered out an, ‘it’s okay’ as he apologized profousely. It’s crazy how ten years can change things.

When he first brought up eloping you thought he was just kidding. You chuckled and kissed him which led to another round of sex. He seemed unable to keep his hands off of you already, but since telling him you were pregnant with baby number two he’d been even worse.

As second time parents he was still afraid to do anything. Afraid that if he touched you to roughly during sex, that you’d break. It was nice this time that he knew better not that he could do the things he usually did.

This was different than your pregnancy with Little Chris. This had been planned. There was no panic since you were already a family and knew you could actually take care of yourselves. There was comfort in knowing that despite the bad times you still had each other.

Besides he promised that you could always have a bigger wedding later. After you had your little jellybean. He just wanted to make you his wife already. Needed it after spending too long not making that jump. What was the point in waiting anymore when the both of you knew what you wanted.

So as he said, “I do.”

Then you next. “I do,” your tone all breathy with your heart feeling like it was going to thump out of your chest. 

Your best friend Maya on your side with Scott on his. It didn’t even matter that there was only fifteen people here. As he was told to kiss his bride, you felt yourself tearing up before he placed one on you. Your son hugging Chris’ leg grinning so wide.

The plan was for Little Chris to stay at his Ma’s to give you alone time. God knows you needed it. You still hadn’t even told everyone you were pregnant yet. Your bump was barely showing and the dress you were wearing was hiding it enough.

As soon so you got into the hotel room, he kissed you. Grabbing your hips to lead you to the bed. He sat down bunching up the bottom of your dress so you could straddle his lap.

His dick so hard underneath you. You rubbed your center into him.

“Chris,” you whimpered as he started kissing down your neck. He didn’t stop instead grabbing into his bride’s ass so he could flip you over to lay you down.

“Yes, Mrs. Evans,” he teased, kissing your nose.

“I love you.” You put your hand on his cheek.

“God I love you so damn much,” he sighed contently pressing his lips into yours once again because he couldn’t get enough. Not that it wasn’t always like this, but now with you as his wife he felt himself getting obsessed over the thought.

As soon as he’d seen you in your dress he knew he’d have to make love to you while you wore it. Even for such a small event you were the prettiest bride he’d ever laid his eyes on.

He thought back to last year. How he’d missed the holidays. How much he missed you and CJ. It’s crazy how fast things can change. Now you were here in his arms as his wife and he doesn’t think he could ever be happier.

It’s crazy how things can change so quickly. How he’d thought you’d hate him forever for not being around. As he kissed you, making you moan, worshipping you like he’d never get the chance to touch you ever again. Except he’d be able to do this for the rest of his life.

“Chris,” you whimpered again. He chuckled against your neck which he’d started trailing kisses down a moment ago. “Fuck, please.”

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “I need to hear it.”

“I want you. Want you to touch me.”

“Touch you where?”

“Everywhere, Chris, I need you,” you sounded as desperate as you felt. For some reason knowing that he was your husband now and that you were having his baby made you so needy for his touch. Not like you weren’t always, but you wanted this to be extra good.

He smiled down at you. “Don’t worry, Baby. I got you.” There was something about when you moaned his name. Normally you called him Daddy in bed and fuck he loved it, but those times where you’d whimper out his name made him feral.

He took it upon himself to start kissing up and down your stomach. He was so obsessed with showering your barely there bump with love.

“Chris,” you mewled as soon as his lips touched your clit. Tongue swirling around the nub as he held the crotch of your panties to the side. Fuck you should have never agreed to cut his hair because even though he looked hot as hell, you missed tugging on it when he was eating you out.

He pushed two of his fingers into you making you whimper. Even as he went back up your body until he was kissing you again. “Is it bad that I wanna do a do over after you’ve had the baby so that I can put another baby into you?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you have a fetish,” you managed to get out even though it was a little distracting the way he was stuffing his fingers in your cunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Never.” You had a sharp intake of air as he pressed into the bundle of nerves inside of you. “Fuck.”

“You like that?” He asked with a smirk.

“Mhm,” you breathed. “I like it a lot.”

“Yeah?” He grinned because he loved watching you in your white dress as you squirmed.

You nodded then moaned. “Oh my god, Baby!” You cried, tightening around his fingers.

“Gonna cum for me already?” He asked before kissing your lips. “Gonna cum for your husband?”

You nodded, breathing all heavy. “Yes.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

You nodded, your jaw dropping open as you started reaching your peak. Needing to cum for him.

“Does my cute little wife want to cum on my hand?”

“God, yes!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he finally made you cum.

He smiled, nuzzling your nose with his. “That’s my good girl. Cum for me, Baby. That’s it.” He kissed you, fingers going to your achy clit.

You made out for what felt like ever. Tongues moving against each other’s. Him lazily playing with your pussy still. Your hands finally going to his dick which was getting harder in his pants.

You flipped him over so that he was on his back, straddling his lap. His hands grabbed at your ass now as you grinned center into his clothed dick reaching between the two of you so you could palm it. Your panties already wet from your previous orgasm so it was making a mess on his pants.

“Nasty wife wants me to fuck her in her wedding dress, huh?” He asked with a smirk.

You nodded as you started to work on unbuckling his belt before he took over while you unzipped him. When his dick was out it was like it didn’t even matter that you’d seen it so many times. It was just so damn beautiful and all yours.

He lifted you up, making you gasp as he worked to take his pants off. “Hey! Watch the merchandise!”

He laughed, tilting his head back. “I didn’t want you to get up.”

You touched your belly, pouting at him. “Jellybean is probably in there feeling like she’s on a coaster.”

He didn’t let up, rubbing the back of your thigh then coming to the front to touch your belly. “You don’t even know if they’re a she yet.”

“I know, but I have a feeling,” you replied shrugging your arms. “Then we have a boy and a girl and we don’t have to think about it ever again.”

He snorted. “You wish. I’m getting as many babies out of you as I can.”

You shook your head before leaning down to kiss him. “Oh yeah? And how many you think we could handle?”

“I’m thinking twelve.” He pecked your lips. “Maybe twenty.”

You laughed. “We are not about to be on some Duggar shit.”

“If that’s what it takes,” he said before getting a nice grip on your ass making you hiss.

“Chris,” you let out a breathy moan as he massaged you. “How many babies again?”

“Don’t tell me I got you thinking about popping out baby after baby,” he said. “Cuz the minute I get a yes, I’m holding you to it forever.”

You put your hands on either side of his face. “What if I want it.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. He honestly felt like he was dizzy with love. Though technically it wouldn’t really change your relationship that much. There was something about it. Made him feel almost primal to call you his wife. Fuck he did have a fetish.

The more he thought about it, the more he needed. It didn’t matter that he’d already bred you he was trying to show you that it would be happening against. Whether you wanted it or not. He owned your pussy before saying ‘I do,’ but he just really make sure you absolutely understood.

“Chris!” You squeaked as he pushed inside of you. He was trying not to be too rough, but the more he started to thrust into you the less it felt like he could help it.

“You’re gonna be my good wife, huh?” He groaned. “Gonna come home to you making dinner every fucking night. Keep you full of my babies.”

You nodded. “Yes, Chris!” Then let out a gasp because he’d angled his hips so he could hit your spot.

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s my girl. Gonna breed you for as long as I fucking can. Cuz this is my pussy. You fucking hear me?”

“I know,” you whimpered. He put his hand on the back of your head so you were forced to look him in the eye until he finally made you squirt.

When he finally helped you out of your dress, you got on top of him so you could ride his cock. He gripped your hips so he could help you move up and down his length. Your moans filling the room as he fucked you.

God, you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life getting dicked down like this.

[scribbling-dragon]

may i suggest for a oneshot in the growing pains universe: a scene where cormac grills jimmy on elven culture. it was a one liner in the fic but i cant help but think it’d be funny

Grilled Cod

Summary:

He hasn't interacted with many of the other council members, seeing them in passing. They might call Scott away from him when he’s visiting, maybe even stop and have a short conversation with him in a random corridor. But, he can still quite confidently decide that he does not understand them. Scott seems to like them, and that’s enough for him.

Though, if Cormac doesn't release his arm from xir grip in a few seconds, he might have to begin doubting Scott’s opinions on a few things. Namely Cormac xemself.

(AO3 Link)

(2,720 words)

((Technically part of the Growing Pains Universe))

Jimmy’s not really sure what to make of Scott’s Council. They're an interesting group, at the very least, and they seem good friends, at least from what he’s seen. Scot himself seems to be close to all of them, making an effort to interact with them outside of meetings. He’s pretty sure that’s unusual.

He understands Axen, at least to a degree, they're there to make sure Scott does not completely run his empire into the ground. They oversee anything he does, and they give actually good advice, which is better than a few things his council have done in the past.

Calla is sweet too, they seem to be good friends with Axen, often sticking close to them during any meetings, joking and laughing. They're the youngest there, apparently, which is confusing, because they are at least triple his age, if not more. He can't say he understands elves very well, even if he’s been dating one for the past few years.

He hasn't interacted with many of the other council members, seeing them in passing. They might call Scott away from him when he’s visiting, maybe even stop and have a short conversation with him in a random corridor. But, he can still quite confidently decide that he does not understand them. Scott seems to like them, and that’s enough for him.

Though, if Cormac doesn't release his arm from xir grip in a few seconds, he might have to begin doubting Scott’s opinions on a few things. Namely Cormac xemself.

He can't help but feel a little nervous when Cormac looks around, both of them stopped in the junction of a corridor. Xir wings block most of his view beyond, and he leans out to the side a little to try and see what xe are looking at.

He almost over balances when xe yank on his wrist, pulling him along into the corridor. Xir footsteps are swift, echoing against the walls as xe move with confidence through the labyrinth that is the Rivendell Palace. He realises, with a slowly mourning sense of dread, that he wouldn't be able to find his way back to the main area if the elf currently leading him decided to turn.

Xe don't, not yet at least, instead leading him into a separate wing of the palace. He gets a small glimpse at the door he’s being led through, reading the nameplate quickly as he’s all but dragged into the room beyond. C. Ingolmondur. No prizes for guessing who that is.

The room beyond looks like an office, and he can only assume that it is. He’s pushed into a chair, rather gently, and he sits down, because it doesn't look like he has many other options than attempting to make a run for it. He looks at Cormac again, and he doubts he’ll get very far with it.

Cormac sits down across from him, and they steeple xir hands together, watching him carefully, as though xe are analysing him. Xe don't blink, and he hardly has the brain capacity to silently congratulate xem on how effective it is an intimidation tactic, too busy being, y’know, intimidated.

He swallows nervously, eyes darting away, attempting to find something of interest in the room to occupy himself with. He gives up on it as soon as he realises all of the things hung on the walls are written in elvish. He looks back. Cormac is still staring at him.

“I'm sure you know why you're here.” Xe begin, still not blinking, simply sitting back a little further. Their wings don't shuffle with the movement, and it sets xem apart from Scott in multiple ways.

“Uh, no?” He blinks at xem, and he’s sure xe must be blinking when he is, because xe still haven't blinked. “I don't, actually.”

Xe hum at that, looking him up and down appraisingly. “I would have thought Scott would have told you.”

“No?” He’s beginning to feel more than a little stupid under their stare, and xe continue to watch him, as though xir stare is going to inspire some sudden thought in his mind. It doesn't, unfortunately, and he's left staring at xem like an idiot.

He’s not sure how long it takes for xem to break, but eventually they sigh and lean forward again, wings slumping a little with the motion. “I'm sure you've been informed of our…rather elaborate courting rituals. Yes?”

“Yes, I've been told of a few of them. Though Scott seems determined to keep them a secret from me.”

Cormac laughs at that, xir laugh a short bark that shatters the silence around them for a short moment. “Yes, yes, that does seem like something he would do.” Xe shake their head, though xe smile as xe do it. “He’s rather an odd one, yes?”

He nods silently, and xe smile a little more at that, nodding along with him. He notices xir wings twitching a little with the movements, feathers turning iridescent beneath the lantern light of the office. They remind him a little of fWhip’s messenger ravens.

“What exactly am I here for?” He asks after a few moments, and Cormac looks up, eyes a little wide, as though xe had forgotten he was here.

“You know I am the head of scholars here, yes? That I oversee the education of those within Rivendell.”

“I do now.” He murmurs, and Cormac smiles a little at that, sharp teeth flashing a little beneath the light.

“Good, good. Well,” xe lean even further forward, palms flat against the desk and he has to fight the urge to shrink back, “That also means I am on the Council. Which means Scott needs my approval to continue to court you.”

“Ah.” His throat goes dry at that, and he struggles to swallow. He feels his gills flare a little, and he has to remind himself that he can still breathe without the Codfather head, running a hand along the earring Scott fashioned for him. Cormac follows his motions, but xe don't comment. “That’s nice.”

“It is, is it not?” Xe lean back again, and he can't help but feel confused by xem. Xe move so little, yet xe effortlessly draw his eyes towards every small motion. “Which is why we are both here, despite us both definitely having better things to be doing with out time.”

His mind turns to Scott, and he can't help but nod, casting his eyes down and away from Cormac’s.

“Then let’s be quick with this. I'll get to the point, though watching you squirm has been rather amusing.” Xe laugh, and he laughs too, albeit a little more nervously. “I am here to test you on your knowledge of elves, I am here to assess your ability and to see if you are worthy of Scott’s hand.”

He’s heard the expression of someone’s heart sinking before, of their stomach turning. But he’s rather certain his heart just dropped so fast it gave him whiplash, and his stomach did a triple backflip. He feels faintly sick as he continues to watch the elf across from him, the light camaraderie that had begun to form quickly evaporating.

“Can we not do another subject?” He manages, but Cormac simply grins again, and shakes xir head.

“I'm sure you'll be fine.” Xe reassure, but he can't help but disagree with that. He keeps that thought to himself.

“Let’s start off easy, shall we?” Xe ask, and it seems rhetorical so he doesn't respond. “I'm sure you've noticed many elves wearing gold, yes? And Scott himself has a pair of bracelets, crafted by your own hand, I believe.” 

He nods silently.

“Good, good. Tell me, if you could, why? What is the significance of this?”

He sits up a little straighter, the answer already popping to the forefront of his mind. “It’s to hide the scars of any injuries away, so others around them don't have to see what they went through, and so that they don't have to explain scars to strangers, or even friends. It provides privacy.”

Xe tip their head a little to the side, humming in what he hopes is approval. “I’ll give you that, but it’s only half the reason. Do you know the other half?”

“No.”

“That’s understandable, not many do, some elves don't even know the true origin of the practice. In short, there was an art practice, one that we no longer practice as frequently, where we would repair any broken items with gold, so the cracks would still be visible, but the item would be functional. It’s so we can commemorate the life of the item without completely destroying the functionality. Do you understand?” Xe tip their head again, and he can't help but be reminded of an inquisitive bird as they blink at him.

“Yes? I think so?”

“Then explain it to me. Why do we cover old injuries with gold?”

“To commemorate what has happened. So that we can see that they've been through something? It gives them privacy, but also allows them to announce that they're strong and have survived what happened to them.”

“Very good.” Xe tap their fingers on the desk a little as xe smile at him, and he can't help but feel pleased by that, smiling back at them as warmth bubbles in his chest. “See? This isn't so bad, no?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good, good, then we can move on. I only have a few questions, but we are rather limited on time before Scott comes looking for you, and I’d rather do this uninterrupted. Okay, okay, other courting rituals, we prefer that each person experiences their partner’s culture or way of life, whether that be spending time with their family, or visiting the empire they're from. Why?”

It’s a simple question, and he really shouldn't feel so unsure about it despite Scott having told him the exact reason when they did this.

“Uh, so that we know what to expect?”

“Eh, I suppose?” Xe tilt xir head again, wings shuffling and flicking behind them. “It’s more so about mutual respect, I suppose. We didn't actually have the rule before inter-empire relationships became more common, so we made it for all partners.”

“How would it help respect?” He’s genuinely curious, leaning forward a little to rest his arms on xir desk. They eye his arms for a moment, but don't comment, seemingly happy to simply answer his question.

“Well, with inter-empire relationships, it means that they can truly understand their partner, and the culture that they originate from. It allows for us to see flaws within our own customs, and to appreciate others, rather than remaining completely self-centred. With those that are both from Rivendell, it simply allows them a way to see what their partner experienced as they grew up, and to see their own culture from a different angle.”

“That's pretty cool, in all honesty, I didn't properly think of it like that.”

“Well, I'm sure you’ll enjoy showing Scott around the Cod Empire, maybe you can even teach him to swim.” Xe laugh a little to xemselves, and he takes a moment to process what xe just said, blinking a few times.

“Scott doesn't know how to swim?”

“What point would there be?” Xe ask him. “Any water here would freeze you within a few moments, it would simply be suicide to attempt to learn. And,” xe hold up a hand to interrupt him, “That is very much so excluding people who happen to have ‘antifreeze’ in their blood.”

“He doesn't know how to swim though.” He murmurs, and Cormac eyes him with amusement.

“I think if you ask around, many will not know how to swim.” Xe laugh a little at his expression, but he can't help but be a little confused by the absolute lack of a basic skill. “It is of no matter,” xe reassure, “I'm sure you will have fun teaching him how to swim anyway. Besides, this is not my desired topic of conversation. I am trying to quiz you, not have a little chat.”

“Sorry.” He leans back in his chair a little.

“It is of no consequence. There’s not much else for me to go over, I don't expect you to know things not even my students grasp. I do, however, expect you to know what a common citizen might.”

“What would that be?” He asks, and Cormac seems to consider it for a few moments.

“I don't want to keep you much longer, so I’ll limit myself to one last thing, though you can always come to me with any other questions, I am likely the best qualified to answer them. You're rather bright, and I wouldn't mind you as a student myself.” Xe must see his horrified expression at that, as they laugh. “Do not fret, I shan’t make you attend school again. I'm sure you've had enough of it.” Xe pause, considering xir question again, he assumes, xir eyes wander around the walls, and he attempts to follow xir gaze, wondering what xe are looking at.

“How much do you know of elven gender?” Xe ask, and his attention snaps back to them.

“Not much, honestly.” He shrugs.

“Then this will be a lesson for you. I'm sure it will be useful when interacting with elves outside of the Council or Scott.” Xe shift their position again, eyes flicking away from him for a moment. “It’s a lot more fluid than your understanding of gender is, we’re known to be quite confusing with it.” Xe laugh a little, but he either doesn't get the joke, or there isn't one, because it’s not particularly funny to him.

“Our idea of sex is rather different to yours too - and by that I mean the sex assigned through whatever kind of-”

“Nope! I get it, thanks.” He feels his cheeks colour, and Cormac simply laughs at him again. “You don't need to explain that to me.”

“My apologies.” Xe nod a little. “I won't go into detail on that, but I'm sure you've already had a lecture from Scott on gender norms here?” He nods, and xe nod in response, seemingly satisfied with that. “Good, good, the most I can ask of you from that is to be respectful. If you aren't sure, simply ask, if they get offended at you, they're just being an arse at that point.”

A knock echoes at the door, and both of them look up. Cormac sighs, eyes briefly flashing a silver that’s so startlingly different from their usual purple that he jolts a little in his seat. “Come in, Scott.” Xe say, and the door is pushed open a few moments later, Scott stood just beyond it.

His face relaxes a little when he sees him. “I thought you’d be here.” His eyes dart to Cormac, and he grins a little. “I hope you haven't scared him too much.”

“Never.” Xe protest, and when he looks around, xe are grinning too.

“Sure.” Scott rolls his eyes, extending a hand to him. He takes it gratefully, pulling himself out of the chair. “I'm assuming I can take him now? You're not going to come running after me if i leave?”

“Even if I did, I doubt you would listen.”

“And you would be right.” Scott sniffs, turning away from Cormac. “Next time invite both of us! I want to hear what your students have been getting up to.” He allows himself to be pulled after Scott, waving goodbye to Cormac as he goes.

“Would next Tuesday work?” Cormac calls back, and Scott pauses a moment, partway down the corridor, hand still gripping his.

“I'm sure I can clear my schedule.” He decides, half-turning to face Cormac again. “I want to hear more about Nuri and Kasper.”

“Oh I have a few things to tell you about those two.” Cormac grins, and he realises that he still doesn't understand the elf anymore than before their meeting. “Bring your husband too! I'm sure he’d enjoy our little chats.”

Scott’s eyes dart to his at that title, and he feels a little shocked himself. Cormac simply grins from xir doorway, before shutting it with a small thunk.

“I'm assuming it went well then?” Scott asks, the two of them continuing down the corridor.

“Apparently.”

[semischarmed]

Detour, Part 4

Given your previous declaration of your intent to wear his skin, you release a bit of your hold over him to see his reaction. Scott, apparently unfazed, looks to the distance, no doubt planning an escape route. The guy isn’t stupid, so you try to make out his gameplan. You catch the briefest glimpse he takes of the patch of skin where the medallion used to be and you are immediately reminded of the moment of lost control of him in your possession of Alex. ‘Motherfucker. Of course he had a plan’. Despite the risk, you decide to proceed. Scott may have that bod, and his steel will, but that pales in comparison to the years of lust and envy brewing in you. ‘Fuck it, worse case scenario we accidentally give this egomaniac god-like power. What could go wrong? Might as well fuck with him a little’.

You mess with your body’s vocal cords to make sure both your old voice and Alex’s speak. With a unified moan you state “I can’t wait to take a Scottie joyride”. 

You say your part to Scott. “You know, even with how much of an asshole you were back then, I always masturbated , every night, to the fantasy of that thick horse dick ravaging me and shuddering inside my little body.” You chuckle. “Who could have known that in just a few short years, we could both be masturbating that thick horse dick together, to the reality of my little body shuddering inside you.”

Alex adds: “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like, moving around in that tower of muscle”. You lick your lips. “Besides, you have some pretty yoked friends, Scott. Well, since we’re gonna be parading your skin around, we have some pretty yoked friends. We can’t wait to use you, to use that thick horse dick of yours, to cum inside them, to inject them with a little Alex. But don’t worry, even when we get sick of wearing you, we’ll never really leave. We’re gonna fill you in so deep, you’ll never fully get us out. You’re gonna be our little Scottie fuck doll till the day you die.”

With Alex still in the driver’s seat, you walk toward your best friend. He makes you rub your chest a little. “The truth is, Scottie, he feels amazing inside me. I love him in here and I know he’s here to sta-ayy” Alex moans a little “God I love being his puppet. I can feel his strings all inside me, worming into me, slipping, writhing, controlling me.” The Alex-y you makes you show Scott your right hand for effect, which starts spasming unnaturally before you make a quick, veined fist. You chuckle at this attempt to scare him into submission but then begin to ponder if it would actually be possible to transform your entire body that way for the possession. You and Alex strip naked. You then start masturbating your shared body right in front of Scott, as he looks away in revulsion at the sight of his corrupted best friend furiously beating his meat. “Thank you for helping me find my soulmate Scott- well, my soul master. I can’t wait for my little strings to become your little strings” he pouts “Cmon Scott. You’re so cute when you’re angry.” “Hate me Scott! Hate your best friend! Hate the faggot from high school that’s inside him! I want you livid when we fill you up. I want you boiling. Your anger really gets me going. When we pilot you around, I’m gonna make you watch. I’m gonna make you watch the new faggot Scott, faggot you corrupting and controlling your own friends!“ When you finally release, you bring a little to your mouth for inspection.

“We taste even better than expected” you say, breathless, half moaning, “here try some.” you scoop up the rest and try to push it to Scott, who quickly turns to the side. It smears his cheek instead.

You lean your face right in front of Scott’s- till your foreheads touch- and run your Alex-y fingers gently through his sweaty hair. You take a deep inhale from you position. Subtle, musky, another scent you just can’t quite place, it’s altogether manly. He smells uniquely Scotty. You can’t wait till you also smell uniquely Scotty. You rest all of your sweaty naked body right on top of Scott, still facing him. He winces slightly at the additional weight.

“Get the fuck off me!”

Scott spits right at your face. You take a little taste. ”MMhmmmmmm, I cant wait to have all that running inside me, even your spit tastes good”. He grimaces in disgust. Using your power to mentally restrain his movements, you grab his neck and give it a squeeze to force his mouth open. You scoop the bit of the Alex cum on his cheek into his now gaping maw with your thumb. You corral the spit on your face earlier into your mouth and mix it with your own, which you spit back right at his mouth. “Here’s a little primer for what we’ll taste like when we become one” you say with a dirty wink. With your powers, you force him to swallow your new “together” potion. 

“You were always the grand prize“ you say, while you trace your fingers all over your soon-to-be body. “After I let you sell your friend out, did you really think I’d just leave you after that. This new me, Alex, he was just a little detour. How could I know he’d be this into it,” You run your fingers through your hair, “but, in the end, I have to thank you. We were important little detour because- [moan] he completes me” Alex delicately guides your fingers around Scott’s nipples. You tug on them to bring his sweaty chest to yours and in your dark embrace you whisper seductively in his ear “You’ll complete us too....” Scott shudders and you moan in fake disappointment, “you’re such a greedy little asshole, you know, you can’t keep all that man to yourself. We wanna have fun too. We can’t wait to get inside that Scottie party.”

With your newfound powers, you start liquefying parts of yourself, as scott watches in horror. You start with the arm- naked, pungent, sweaty skin become a noxious, sticky, amorphous mass. It’s a horrific sight, for sure, but it becomes even more horrific to Scott when you will your newly created slime to start moving. You make sure to give him a close up of the wriggling stringy fibers of yourself inside the goo.

At this point, Scott really starts panicking.

“Look man, I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have been such a piece of shit to you in High School. Please! Cmon! You already have Alex.” Son of a bitch! You knew it! Of course he still remembers you!

Caught and preoccupied in your transformation, Scott finds the power to push you off him several feet back. Adrenaline, no doubt, but the man is also pure muscle, so it’s no surprise. “Get the fuck off me! Don’t fucking go near me, you creep!”

“Oh Scott”, you moan his name in a mocking tone. “You are such a great friend. Give me a hug”. Slimy tendrils from your body shoot out force Scott back to your sweaty embrace. You shove your pits at his face. “Mmmmphh!” he shouts in disgust and nausea. You take another deep whiff of his sweaty chest and armpits. Intoxicatingly musky, and again, uniquely Scotty. “When I’m inside you, I’m gonna make you stinky like me” you laugh “we’re gonna smell great together. We’re gonna feel great together. And to your friends? We’re gonna taste great together,“ you exhale, as you lick your thick Alex-y lips and smile an out of place angelic smile.

“You’re never gonna fucking take me, asshole!” He shouts.

You ignore him as you continue your little monologue and start slithering in some of your fleshy mass into his mouth. “And don’t worry,” an unholy harmony of your old voice and Alex’s voice says, “We forgive you for high school. Well.... “. You now moan with a mix your old voice and some new borrowed Scott vocals that your parts have already claimed. “You’ll forgive you.” You now lodge his throat full of you as your liquid tendrils greedily rush down his throat. You want to give Scott the complete experience, so more of your slimy tendrils snake through his biceps and pits, around his vascular back and throat and start jamming straight into his asshole. He moans involuntarily as he feels your wriggling mass pass the g-spot into his prime real estate. As odd as it sounds coming out of him, he even sounds alpha when he moans. You make sure to keep this area stimulated, since you can no longer restrain his body mentally. To complete his Alex infestation, you start pumping his cock to loosen a passage for yourself and then feed more slime into his piss slit. This particular action causes his mouth to open even wider than before, which you use to stuff even more slime inside. 

Despite the raw pleasure he’s in and despite your mass still continually flowing into him, Scott stands and takes shaky steps toward the door. That iron will always did turn you on. You can’t wait to make it yours. You double your speed, and start writhing and twisting erratically as you continue to flow in. When it becomes clear that he is determined to continue, you start streaming into any entryway you can find. Every orifice, every hole in his body- even some small cuts he had on his arm- are flooded with your liquid. His towering form finally falls to the ground, unconscious from the effort he expended, while the last parts of you slip inside.

When Scott wakes, he immediately straightens up. He’s impossibly full, filled to the brim with you inside him, still squirming, slipping through his body parts rhythmically. A little dribbling of yourself spills out and oozes out of his mouth, but you quickly force it back inside him before he reach for it. He needs to take all of you. 

Your future face contorts into one of pain and struggle until it settles in into a scornful, hateful, contempt. ‘How much energy does this guy fucking have?’ you think in panic, as Scott roars and in one fell swoop, flexes all the thick muscles in his body to subjugate your mass. He still looks a little bloated, but the squirming inside him stops. He smirks as feels your powers flow through him. He investigates himself and the new control he has over body parts. He flexes his arms as he starts willing parts of his body to expand and constrict on command. Scott walks up to his mirror. “I told you you couldn’t fucking take me” he says with a smirk. If Alex was a sports car, sleek and smooth, Scott would be a fucking truck, and a massive one at that. The man exudes raw power so it’s no wonder you’re struggling reining him in. Before all hope is fully lost, you feel a spark in you.

“You’re right” Scott’s voice states, unprompted. The squirming and wriggling inside him starts up again and his eyes roll back. “It’s a good thing he took a little detour taking and corrupting my tight piece of ass,” Scott moans uncharacteristically. Scott’s beefy arms start fidgeting uncontrollably “because this...little Alex puppet is... gonna show his best friend how to be a little good meat-suit for his new m-master” he forces through Scott’s vocal cords. Scott’s whole body is now trembling uncontrollably. The writhing inside him has started up again, though this time far more energetic. It was coming from everywhere. He feels his fingers, his legs constrict and relax unnaturally. He screams as his body starts scratching himself everywhere erratically and convulsing, trying to get you out. But you’re in too deep. You’re in his veins, in his muscles, in every fiber of his being. Arms still twitching from the control Alex demands, Scott starts involuntarily pumping his meat. “FUUUUUuuuuCK!!!” he roars in his mix of ecstasy and struggle, before everything in him stops.

----------

Scott sits, unexpressive, motionless. Then, a bit of movement. The corners of his lips stretch slightly and upward into a deranged smile. You twist his nipples hard and do another uncharacteristic moan in amazement. Goddamn he’s sensitive. Raw ecstasy decorates his face- your face as you begin to explore the rest of you. You reward his body for yielding to you by finishing the job you started earlier and continue pumping his meat. You release in a maelstrom. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. In the midst of your orgasm, you feel your body puff and expand massively, impossibly, taut, as deep inside Scott you integrate the core of your being into him fully. You subjugate your new muscles and skin around yourself and force them to re-constrict around their new owner. Tighter. Tighter. You feel his muscles from inside him as you pull them ever tighter until the invisible barrier between you two tears and his hunky form coalesces into you. The Alex part of you forces Scott to smile through the process of his own takeover. “AAAARRRGGH!” Scott screams in one last shout of defiance as your insides and his finally become one. 

Your eyes go wide and start fluttering while you lick yourself clean. ‘mmmmmm fuck’ Of course it tastes fucking amazing, every piece of the new you is amazing. You flex your first of many trademark “he’s the shit-and he knows it-Scotty sneers,” this new face of yours exactly reflecting one you’ve seen a thousand times in high school torment. A face that Alex had never seen until now, on account of being his best friend. Finally, fully, Scott is yours. 

Then his vitality hits. Fuck. Pure power!! “MIIINE” You scream with your new vocal cords as you start punching the air with your power. You adopt a boxer’s stance and- left hook. Right hook. Fuck. With each strike you can feel your own force as this new body executes your every whim. “MIIIINE!” Raw testosterone, raw power. Goddamn. You rush over and start punching and slamming your new beefy hands on the floor maniacally, reveling in finally feeling what it must have felt like in high school from the other side. “MIIINE!” This new jock body is limitless. You run a sweaty hand on his dick, and unsurprisingly it hardens instantly on command. You furiously start masturbating again in a frenzy, if only to release some of his pent up power. “Mine.” As Scott, you have ascended. In Scott, you are a god. With this body, with this soul, you can do anything you fucking want.

You piece together an outfit out of the clothes strewn about the apartment: Alex’s dirty used underwear and his old shirt, which fit impossibly tight on you. Alex always did like to keep things a little tighter than they should be- well, he is you, so you do too and now Scott does as well. You slip your new vascular legs through Scott’s skinniest pair of jeans and your new beast arms through his leather jacket. You‘ve always fancied Alex-your scent so you want to make sure you imprint it into this Scott-bod you now have. Then again, people have pretty unique scents. With you inside Scott, you’re fairly certain this new Scott naturally emanates a noxious combination of both their scents. You don’t put any cologne or deodorant on- why would you ever try to diminish this proof of your dominance over their bodies. 

You check yourself in the mirror and give your nipples one delightful final little twist, your run your fingers through your hair, and give your new self one hell of a Scottie smile before you step out into the world, a new man henceforth.

-End Part 4- 

Whew, what a ride. Hope y’all had fun. Not really sure where else I could take this so this is the final part for now.

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Private and Public

Fandom: Teen Wolf Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader Word count: 1.4k Summary: People don’t usually realize that you’re in a relationship since you weren’t one for PDA with your boyfriend. It wasn’t that you didn’t like to display affection, it was more the Public part that made you nervous. But one night at a party that might change. Warning: None Requested by Anon: malia x reader or stiles x reader. The reader is like a ('baby gay' for malia) (first relationship for stiles) and is shy/a bit nervous about doing things simple things like hugging or holding hands and they find it cute but also comfort the reader say stuff like its okay, we can take it slow, and kinda just doing things like hugging more often to get them use to it. idk sorry feel free to to change it up and do what you want. Anyway have a good day~ 🦊,🐺or🙃. A/N: so I realize I haven’t uploaded anything at all in over a week, but life’s a bitch so I’m not gonna make empty promises of me starting to upload regularly again. I guess thing’s will be uploaded when they’ll be uploaded. I’m really sorry for all those who look forward to scheduele stuff, but I hope you understand. Lot’s of love, Brina

The red plastic cup in your hand was still filled up to the brim, the only change was the temperature that it had taken on during the hour that you had nursed it without even attempting to take a sip of the gross beer inside. Honestly, you weren‘t all too sure why exactly you had agreed to tag along to the party, neither were you sure why you were even asked to. When Scott had heard of the party a bunch of juniors and seniors had planned to have on a clearing in the woods, he knew it was a recipe for disaster. The pack had tried its best to stop the party from happening altogether, but to no avail, so instead they decided that they‘d come along to keep an eye out for potential danger. Every single pack-member in the appropriate age-group - aka still in school - had shown up, even Brett and Theo had joined in, which meant that any potential danger would have to be careful. Still, you couldn‘t quite understand why you‘d been asked to come along since you were quote-on-quote ‘just a human‘ and were usually kept away from any immediate danger the second it seemed to be in your vicinity. Not today though, today you were basically dragged with them to attend the party no matter if you wanted to be there or not and Lydia had forced you to dress in something other than the nice PJ’s that you had been chilling in earlier that day. “Hey, it’s Y/N, right?” a boy asked as he joined your side. You inspected him for a few seconds until the cogs in your head finally clicked and you realized that he was in your english lit. class. “Mhm, you’re-” you bit your lip and squinted your eyes as you tried your best to recall what his name was, “James?” “Close, it’s Jim,” the boy chuckled and smiled at you. You recognized that smile and even though you had to admit that you were a bit naive, you knew that the boy wasn’t talking to you just for the sake of getting to know you as a friend. Not quite sure what you could do about it, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “This party is pretty boring, what?” “Well, it’s a party in the woods in the middle of the week so I doubt there was much possibility for this to be the party of the century,” you shrugged and looked around at all the drunk people who’d definitely regret drinking so much the next morning. “You know,” Jim started and you had a bad feeling you knew where this was going, “We could get out of here, My parents aren’t home, sooo-” he scratched the back of his head and you just couldn’t help but sigh. “Listen Jim, you’re really nice, really, but I’m in a relationship.” “Oh, Ohh, okay, sorry I didn’t mean to...uhm… I just- I never saw you with anyone, I thought you were- I- Uhm- I’ll leave,” he rambled before taking a big sip of the beer he was holding and walking away with his ears tinted red-ish. You gave another sigh and shook your head slightly as you thought his words over. It was true, now that you thought about it, he had no real way of knowing that you weren’t single anymore and even though usually you didn’t mind that thought, suddenly it was somewhat bothering you. You and Stiles had been dating each other for just about a month now, but besides the other pack members and your families no one really knew about it since you weren’t really into PDA. Well, it wasn’t quite that, if you were honest. It was just that this was your first relationship and you were incredibly nervous at everything it included. It wasn’t that you felt uncomfortable with Stiles, it was the exact opposite actually, being with him was the time you felt most at ease, but you were just very anxious that you’d accidentally screw up. Of course, you also feared that your nervousness would annoy him and he’d decide that you were not worth it, but that fear was absolutely rootless since he was the most supportive boyfriend you could imagine. Oftentimes you could see the longing in his eyes when he was looking at you sitting besides him at Lunch and you knew that he just wanted to put his arm around you and give you a kiss, but held himself back for you sake. He also kept on telling you that it was okay and that you didn’t need to do something uncomfortable just to please him, that he was happy with all the cuddles and kisses he got in private and that he was more than ready to take it slow. What he did to help you otherwise was that he tried to get you used to a little bit of physical contact: hand holding in the car, small hugs throughout the day, cute little texts in class and the such. Suddenly, as you were thinking about it, you felt the strong urge to find Stiles and hug him no matter how many people were around and if you didn’t still have the completely full cup in your hand you’d think you could’ve been a little bit tipsy. You looked through the crowd searching for any sign of your boyfriend and the first thing that caught you eyes was the blond locks of a certain scarf-wearing-werewolf glimpsing through a group of junior girls that were giggling about something. With a rush of determination surging through you, you made your way through the masses of teenagers - somehow managing to hand your cup to someone on the way - and ended up only a few feet away from Isaac without having been accidentally punched or stumbling. It was like a scene in a movie when you came closer and recognized a few other pack members standing around Issac and they acted like a curtain that opened up as you got closer and revealed the most incredible boy in the world. If you’d been an outstander and had seen you stop in your tracks with a goofy, love-sick smile on your lips and your eyes almost watering up, you would’ve thought that you were watching a cheap romance movie, but you weren’t an outsider- no, you were you and you were looking at your boyfriend feeling full of love and admiration. Starting to walk again, you were sure to earn a few confused glances as you slid through between Isaac and Allison and more or less launched yourself at Stiles, your arms quickly interlocking around his waist and you face pressed into his chest. Stiles was obviously surprised at the sudden attack as he stumbled a few steps backwards before stabilizing and reciprocating the hug. You were very happy that your pack was so accommodating as they just shared some confused glances before continuing the conversation like nothing happened. “Are you okay?” Stiles leaned down and whispered in your ear, obviously worried by the sudden need for affection. “Mhm,” you nodded and basket in his hug for a few seconds more before looking up at him and smiling, “I just love you a lot and I missed you.” “I drove you here, we saw each other half an hour ago,” Stiles chuckled, but his cheeky smile showed that he was endeared by your sudden clinginess. “That was too long,” you just sighed and wished he would lean down to kiss you, but then your state of adrenalin and bluntness left you and your nervousness returned. Slowly you retracted your arms and went to stand beside him when you saw that the other pack members were looking at you with smiles on their lips. Blood rushed towards your face and your ears and you suddenly felt more embarrassed than you ever thought you would, even though you didn’t regret it. “You want me to bring you home? It’s getting pretty late,” Stiles asked silently but you could read between the lines and thankfully nodded, knowing that you’d probably ask him to come with you inside when you came to your house and cuddle. Because after all, Stiles was the best boyfriend you could ever imagine and if you couldn’t hug him all that much in public, then you’d hug the living health out of him in private.

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.�� Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chaper Two

This one is an adventure! It’s also the first chapter I wrote for this AU back in June.

\\ Warnings: claustrophobia, blood //

The past day blinked by in waning lapses of consciousness. Mostly feelings of pressure, being hoisted around, and coolness against his aching face. Or multiple days? He couldn’t tell.

Scott’s eyes fluttered open to near pitch darkness. The side of his face was ablaze with pain, he must be harboring a wicked bruise. His right hand made to examine the damage only to find that his left had was bound to it with a firm sheath of rope. Which he couldn’t see due to the the low light.

He breathed out in frustration, resting his head back on a porous stone wall. Attempting to quell a growing migraine. Scott pressed his knees to his chest and bowed his head, wondering how he had gotten into this; and where the hell was he?

Scott opened and closed his eyes in thought, Getting out of… wherever he was would be one thing, getting away with it would be another beast. Scott wriggled around onto his knees, pressing his bound hands at the walls and feeling each crack and crevice. He deducted that the cell was exceptionally tiny, his legs could stretch out and hit the other wall lengthwise, and his elbows could nearly hit the opposite walls on either side of him.

Tiny cell, no visible light source, no sign of a door. Scott thought it was highly unlikely that he was above ground then, so he put his ears to the walls, and the corners, listening for any sign of sound that could penetrate the dense rock. Through a bit of hitting and feeling he realized the interior walls were made of cobblestone. So the cell was pre-built to some extent, considering someone had gone through the trouble of soundproofing it.

Scott began pushing on all the walls, searching for any inclination of give that may lead to a weak point. All four walls were packed pretty tight, meaning there must be something on the other side pushing them back. If he had to guess his location, Scott would say he was in a two by two hole underground. He could hazard a guess that the cell was somewhere within the Dogwarts walls.

He didn’t know for sure, but he had a strong suspicion. They weren’t exactly on the best of terms after the TNT incident. Or anything else really.

Deciding that he’d gathered enough information for the time being, he shifted his focus to freeing himself from his constraints. First he tried pulling at them, but whatever technique his captors used to tie him up was masterfully crafted. He gave up after realizing there was no way to do so without light.

Scott lay down on the rough floor, he’d conveniently forgotten about his head injury until now and was starting to feel a tad claustrophobic. His mind raced through scenarios, many of them included all the ways he would die in this cell, the rest were him wishing he was back home with Jimmy. Knowing they were both safe. Scott squashed the fantasy as quickly as it came. Getting lost in his mind was the last thing he could afford to do right now.

He was smart, a smart guy. Everyone knew it. Well, maybe not everyone; but that’s what he was counting on. Someone who didn’t think he was smart wouldn’t put him in a tiny cell and tie his hands up. Scott took a few moments to compose himself, getting his head back in the game. He organized his plan of action as coherently as possible.

Step one, free his hands. Step two, get out of the cell. Pretty simple, but he knew he was being rather vicarious. Finding a light source was off the table.

Unless…

Scott pushed himself up against the wall. He carded a hand through his short hair, pulling his fringe down in front of his eyes. Thinking to himself momentarily, bingo.

He wasn’t entirely sure it would even work, but it was worth a shot. Sitting himself up straight and crossing his legs, Scott placed his hands in his lap and breathed slowly. He cleared his mind and focused on a single motive. If he was correct, he could jumpstart it himself.

There were perks to being star-born after all.

A minute went by and he started to think that maybe he should give up when the faintest blue glow fell upon the walls of his enclosure. Seemingly alongside Scott’s excitement the glow began to flourish. It revealed every secret of his little cage, dipping into vibrant purples and pinks. Scott reached up and pulled his hair down again, which was now taking up a technicolor swathe of hues. Mostly purples and blues which ombré-ed into fuchsia. Tiny speckles of what resembled stars also appeared between the strands.

It was like an aurora borealis at this time of the year, in this part of the world, localized entirely within his hair.

Well, it certainly gave off more than enough light. Quickly, he examined his room and found that he was right about his cell being lined with cobblestone. Still no sign of any doors or hatches. Scott gave himself a moment of thought and studied his constraints.

The rope seemed to be a single lead wrapped around both of his wrists, joined in the middle by an impressive knot. Neither cuff had much wiggle room to think about trying to wrench himself free. The only way to get out would be to cut himself out. Scott looked around at the walls and floor but found no stones sharp enough to pry free and use as a blade.

Scott turned to his pockets, not expecting to find anything, and he didn’t, until his fingers grazed across his chest.

A necklace. Hidden under his shirt.

He felt around his neck awkwardly and hooked a finger underneath its chain, pulling it up and manhandling it over his head. The piece of jewelry glowed with a faint purple from the unbreaking enchantment that had been administered on it.

Jimmy had another one that looked almost identical, which Scott had given him as a keepsake. It was a simple iron chain with a sculpted flower charm on the end. Who knew the silly sentiment would be coming in handy like this.

Scott got to work. He painstakingly threaded the charm under one coil of the ropes on his left hand, pulling it through the other side so that the chain was flush between his wrist and the rope. Then, he anchored one end of the chain to the floor with the heel of his boot, and did the same to the flower charm.

He pulled his hands up so the iron chain was pulling down on the rope tight enough for the restraint to move from his hand. Then he began sawing at the lead, chafing it against the enchanted necklace so that the metal started to cut through the rope. He could feel the chain cutting into his skin where it had been threaded under the rope, but he could also see that his technique was working, so he pressed on.

Blood started pooling under his hands just as a muffled snap emitted from the lead. Scott pushed himself back onto the wall and used his mouth to unwrap his left hand enough to wiggle himself to freedom. Once he’d succeeded, he examined his wound, sucking on it a bit to clean the blood as he had no bandages. It was a bit gross in hindsight. He pulled the rest of the bondage off.

Scott quickly put the necklace back on.

In the aftermath he was left with a length of rope about as long as his leg. He kicked it to the opposite end of the cell, it would probably be useful later. Scott found himself out of breath, wondering why, he realized he hadn’t eaten in a while. Or slept. Not counting him being struck on the head with a heavy object and knocked out so he could be dumped in a small hole and kept as a prisoner.

Actually, he didn’t know how long he’d been in the cell at all. There was no way of keeping time without light. Scott pondered his situation again, wondering if he could afford to sleep. On one hand, he wanted to speed up his escape process as much as he could before someone came to check on him. On the other, he was exhausted.

His eyes were nearly falling closed, so he decided “fuck it”, and took off his jacket to use as a pillow; but it wasn’t his jacket, as he’d somehow forgotten, he’d borrowed Jimmy’s so he could visit the Red Desert. A single tear rolled down his face and onto the faded red lapel of the garment, he wiped it away. Scott hugged the coat with exhaustion and curled into the corner, soon he was overcome with sleep.

The first thing Scott felt as he awoke was a persistent, cold, plunk plunk plunk on his cheek. Waking up quickly at the foreign feeling, he noticed first that his light was extinguished, he slapped his head a few times as if he were a broken lamp before realizing his idiocy.

Scott held his hand out and waved it around a bit to find the source of his rude awakening, finding it just above his head. He stopped and let it hit his open palm. It was water. A constant trickle of it coming from a tiny orifice on the jagged ceiling.

A grin broke out across Scott’s face. The sensation was unfamiliar to him, as he hadn’t felt so much joy in… well, however long he’d been cast away in a hole. Of which he knew to be a hole now, because water suddenly reaching him from above could only mean one thing.

It was raining on the surface.

The direction he needed to be going was up. Scott staggered to a crouch. His legs were unsteady from lack of use and malnutrition, but he pressed his hands against the rough ceiling. He felt around for where the water was coming from and assumed it to be the weakest point. With a deep huff and a sigh that may have been read as a pray, he pushed upwards.

At first he did with only his hands and arms, straining into the unrelenting rock. Falling back when the immutable pressure won over his useless pushing; but he caught his breath and tried again, and again, and again, at some point he started using his back and shoulders to try and stagger the weight, and for a split second he felt it give.

Hope came rushing through the tiny glimpse of freedom he’d created. A hoarse laugh pushed itself through his chest and filled the chamber momentarily with a sense of triumph. He wished there was someone present to be proud of him.

The smile stayed on his face as a familiar blue glow showed itself again. I’m actually getting out of here… Scott let himself think. He fell back to his knees and started feeling around the walls, prying and pulling at anything that would lend itself to him. A pile of stones formed around his feet of various sizes, he gathered as many as he could and shoved them in the pockets of Jimmy’s jacket, which he slipped himself into.

The rhythmic din of water droplets served as a hopeful reassurance as he went back to raising the roof, so to speak. His newfound motivation seemed to give him more strength, as well as his supernatural qualities. The ceiling gave, and then gave a little more, Scott grunted with effort and drew a stone from his pocket. He forced it into the space between the block above him and the wall, then let the ceiling rest on it like a stilt.

His back was beginning to hurt from the exertion, but he would repeat the process. Stone after stone, until his hands started to blister from being caught and pinched by the rocks. He stacked them until he could push his fingers through the gap. Immediately on the other side of his confinement seemed to be a wall of dirt, which was better than stone, it meant he wasn’t too deep.

A bit of dirt had escaped into his cell, it was still wet, and had the ghosts of some roots stuck amongst its sediment.

Positioning himself so that his feet were pressed against the opposite wall and suspending him off the floor, Scott wedged his hand into the hole he made and started pushing the slab forwards instead of up. The rock ground against itself. Signifying that it was moving, and he was able to fit both of his hands around the bottom of the crude ceiling.

Now, he turned around and braced his feet against the wall. This time instead of pushing he pulled; and the slab moved more, and more, and more, and then a mound of dirt fell on his face. He immediately spat, and sneezed as he vigorously wiped it away with his sleeve.

The opening above him was about as big as his head. Completely packed with wet dirt. Held in place due to it being cold out. It appeared as though he’d been buried alive. He only hoped Jimmy wasn’t getting up to anything stupid without him; and that he himself wasn’t being held for ransom. That would be terrible, all of his allies were dumb as rocks.

His worries only served as more of a reason to get out, so he continued to push what he now knew was a slab of stone off of his burial site until a gap that he may be able to shove his shoulders through was formed, still packed in with dirt. Some of it had crumbled and fallen around his feet.

Scott grimaced at the thought of having to climb out of the ground like a zombie, but he gathered the rope from under a bit of rubble along with some rocks in case he needed to do any throwing, and hoped he wasn’t six feet deep.

He dove in. Or up. He reached into the loose soil after taking a deep breath and stood up to his full height. His disturbance created a sudden air pocket, pounds of dirt fell on top of him and suffocated his senses. All he could focus on was going up, hopefully closer to fresh air and much needed oxygen.

Scott’s hand broke through a layer of grass after a minute. Right when he presumed the breath he’d taken was due to run out. He felt around momentarily before shoving his other hand through the gap and clutching anything he could, pulling the rest of his body towards the surface and gasping for air a bit prematurely.

He inhaled a mouthful of coarse dirt. Not a great first meal. It filled his eyes and blinded him to any possible ambushes. Finally, he felt air on his face. His midsection and legs were still entirely submerged underground, but all he cared about was the sweet relief of air. Scott heaved as he crawled onto the solid ground. The feeling of rain against his face nearly made him forget that he could be completely vulnerable.

Somehow though, he didn’t really care. Rolling over entirely on the ground with his feet literally in the grave. A laugh found it’s way to him once more; he must have looked funny as well. What with being covered in dirt, lying on the ground, and giggling like he was out of his mind. Maybe he was after all that.

The job wasn’t done though. As much as Scott may have been patting himself on the back for pulling off that stunt, it would prove to be nothing compared to actually getting out of Dogwarts’ walls unscathed. He hoped the rope tied to his belt would increase his chances of staying green by a bit. He knew his method was foolproof providing that nobody saw him.

Yeah, foolproof…

Swallowing his pride, Scott began the process of standing up. He wobbled around like a baby deer and fell back down again. If anyone was watching him he hoped they were too busy laughing to think about coming down to easily kill him. Scott braced himself against the ground yet another time with a thud and hazarded a guess that the lack of proper nutrition, sleep, oxygen, and the blow to the side of his head was impairing his motor skills.

That was okay, he decided, he would find a way to crawl out of there if he had to. There was a small hill immediately to his left which he elected to roll down into as a hiding spot. From his position he took in his surroundings.

Right behind him was one of the imposing walls surrounding the Renchanting base. The base was directly in front of him, and thankfully he’d been buried out back where there were no windows to let anyone in on his masterful disappearing act.

A primal part of him wanted to fall asleep right where he was, but the rock clutched in his hand reminded him that he was far less safe than he was in that stone sarcophagus. He shut his eyes against the grass in a quiet moment of preparation before turning his head to the sky. It was still slightly overcast, but he could see the sunset barely peaking through the cracks in the opposite walls. Behind him he knew there was a dense forest which would serve as shelter all the way to…

The Red Desert.

It was his best shot. The risk of running into someone who couldn’t be trusted was fairly high, but he could defend himself. With his rocks.

Scott peeked over the top of the hill and observed that Dogwarts was a ghost town. He hoped they weren’t off fighting a war for him to walk into the middle of as he steadied his feet. With a deep breath, he wove the length of rope between two of the stone pillars that made up the high walls and then wrapped the lead around his palms tightly.

Leaning back, he fixed his footing and slid the rope upwards as far as he could, then he hoisted himself onto the wall. Both feet planted firmly against the vertical beams. He began the process of ascending by using his upper body strength to secure himself to the wall and using his legs to push himself upwards. His hands tore under the strain of the rope.

Eventually, the top of the wall was close enough for him to dig his fingers into. Scott swung his legs around so he could gain some purchase and he threw himself over. There was just enough room for him to sit up comfortably and observe his surroundings. From what he could see, the sun had set (great) and the landscape was covered in a foot of snow which was absent from within the Dogwarts grounds due to obsessively placed torches.

He was slightly miffed that he missed the first snowfall.

Scott risked one glance back before turning to his rope and using it to slide down as safely as possible. His feet met the frozen ground with a semi-painful thud. He fell to his knees momentarily to compose his breath and aching arms and then proceeded down the steep hill. A partially frozen creek blocked his path.

Stopping for a moment to consider if some chilly water was worse than everything he’d just been through. Deciding it definitely wasn’t, he trudged straight across the frozen platform. It didn’t break right away surprisingly, until he’d just breached the middle and his foot broke through the ice. His boot took most of the damage; however he wasn’t spared from the stabbing pain of suddenly being exposed to below freezing water.

Shaking himself free, Scott made a break for the bank and managed to escape any lame water related death he would have garnered by throwing himself the rest of the way. Bouncing to his feet in a way that made his head reel.

Once he’d adequately covered himself in the tree line Scott turned his attention to making a weapon. A wooden sword would have to do, so he picked a few sticks from the ground and fashioned them into a sad looking sword. He used the rope to secure the “blade” to the handle. Swinging it around a bit, he considered it a job well done.

Maybe he was a smart guy. Who needed a nap.

Luckily he didn’t run into any mobs except the occasional zombie whom he outran by changing course slightly. The real danger lay in the exposed field he would have to circumnavigate in order to be safe within the bounds of the Red Desert. Directly in front of him was the Crastle. A fort of sketchy loyalty, Scott didn’t want to run into any one of its associates. He elected to cut through their spruce tree farm, crossing the small clearing in front of a village that Impulse had recently abandoned, and up the slight incline.

Inside the Crastle he could see there were lights on, but no movement. It was almost the dead of night after all; but there were quite a few people on the server with questionable sleeping habits. Scott clutched his sword a bit tighter, hiding behind the narrow tree trunks as he passed behind the structure. He didn’t bother covering his flank as the world border was merely a few feet behind him. The exact opposite side of the map to his aptly named “Hobbit” home.

Hugging the border as tightly as he could, Scott traversed over another barren hill before descending into another dense forest. He knew from experience that this particular patch of trees was typically riddled with mobs. Every time he stepped on a twig or dry foliage a chill went down his arms. It was pitch black for most of the time as no moonlight could penetrate the canopy of thick leaves. He bumped into trees, tripped over logs, and almost yelped a few times when the telltale red spider eyes blinked at him through the bushes.

Until about halfway through Scott had been hiking with his back to the border, content to avoid any possible monsters or players getting the jump on him from behind; but now that he could feel himself getting closer to his destination he made the decision to start cutting diagonally across the land. He aimed to exit the forest as close to the lava and cactus wall as he could. An arrow split through the air next to him at one point and stuck itself firmly into the bark of a tree. Shieldless, Scott elected to just run in a straight line and count on what he assumed to be a skeleton having terrible aim when it came to moving targets.

Thankfully it did, and only one arrow came close to his heels.

Down a small embankment, around a pond, under a fallen tree, and over a cave, Scott could finally see the warm light of the lava wall. He almost cried with relief when he breached the tree line. This was the second time he hadn’t been drowned in complete darkness. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a small creek and observed an unflattering scene.

His usually bright hair was matted with mud and dirt, leaves were poking out of it in some places as well. Jimmy’s coat was nearly unrecognizable under the amount of dirt it had been subjected to; and he couldn’t even remember what color his pants had been before getting kidnapped. The expression on his face was wide eyed and morbid from not eating. Oh yeah, he must be pretty low on hunger. That’s probably why he was moving so slowly.

Scott trudged up the last leg of his journey, meticulously avoiding the bubbling lava and inching through the spines of cacti. If he could just make it to the steps of the Desert base he would be fine. If he just climbed a little someone would find him. If he just lay down in the cool sand, someone would find him in the morning.

He shut his eyes.

A dream feigned perceptibility on the very outer reaches of Scott’s mind. He felt as though he were existing somewhere just beyond reality. One thought replayed in his head: Did I come all the way out here just to die like this?

Would it even matter to him that much? If he died on his own terms content that he’d eluded his captors? He was too tired to even care.

He knew one thing:

I want to see my husband.

[snow-leopard-7772point0]

I'll Change My Crown, from Light to Dark

The akuma landed on Marinette's windowsill, the girl not even noticing as she sat in the tattered remnants of her designs. Luckily she had dropped off most of her completed works the day before to be delivered to the appropriate patrons, though everything she had yet to send off was ripped, cut, burned, there wasn't a scrap of cloth that was usable for anything but as a guide for buying more. Her sketchbook was in shreds on the floor, paper scattered like confetti over the remaining slivers of all her hard work. 

The akuma danced in place. It's master was urging it to go forward, to possess the girl, but… there were so many objects to choose from! Should it just possess the entire room? The sewing machine? One little scrap of fabric? A piece of paper? What about her emotions? This butterfly had made some of the strongest akumas to date, though the strength behind her feelings was astromically larger than any other person they had targeted. The little insect itself was slightly afraid to act as a bridge for her. It finally flew forward, choosing the scraps of the dress the girl had been making herself for the Wayne gala.

Marinette froze when her emotions intensified, hearing Hawkmoth cooing in her ear. "Greetings, Mistress Hawthorne. They all accuse you of being the bully, of being a liar, never paying attention to the proof you give them. They destroyed your designs, your livelihood, and expect to get away scott free.  I'm giving you the ability to turn all your ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that force people to see the truth, whether they can accept it or not. No more hiding behind lies or masks, everyone will have to be honest and pay for their crimes. All I ask in return is for Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous."

"I refuse, Hawkmoth "

The villain froze for a second. Only one other person had ever resisted him so easily, and that was due to her love for Ladybug. Nothing about Marinette Dupain-Cheng screamed that she truly cared for the heroes, so why would she resist? He was giving her the perfect way to get revenge! If he didn't fear that it would give the heroes a clue to his identity, he wouldn't have even asked for the Miraculous for this offence! "Why do you refuse? Imagine how great it will feel, trapping them in their castle with your thorns until the truth comes out!"

"Oh, make no mistake, revenge will be divine. But I'm already looking at little to no sleep for the foreseeable future so that I can press charges against them, email all my patrons whose clothes were destroyed about the delay, buy all the fabric to remake their outfits, and get my own dress together for the Wayne gala. Luckily I'm not starting completely over with it, their mindless destruction gave me an idea for my dress, but there is still much to do. I have no time to become an akuma, I have to get to work immediately, and it will be tomorrow before my classmates are all in the same place again."

"What… what if I didn't ask for the Miraculous in return, and you miss a few days of school to get everything completed?

"While missing school may become a necessity before everything is over and done with, I still have much to do. It would take far too long to force the truth out of Lila Rossi, and I am uncertain if Ladybug's Miracle Cure would erase any progress I made on designing as an akuma. You seem like a reasonable businessman, I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, yes, I do, actually. Cut me some slack here, I've been trying to akumatize you for over a year now! What kind of cloth are you cut from?"

"A different kind from my classmates. I refuse to stoop to their level. Besides, I have pride in the fact that I am not helpless, and the costumes I see akumatized people in are atrocious. Please have a nice day, but I do need to get to work."

"I-very well then. Good luck. Please at least make your classmates suffer."

Marinette's smirk alone was fuel to create a fear-based akuma. "They'll pay. But on my terms." The purple butterfly left her dress, and Marinette caught herself as she slumped to the floor. Resisting Hawkmoth had taken much more out of her than she had anticipated.

⏳

Gabriel rose from the underground room, surprising Nathalie. "Sir, surely she didn't-"

"No, Nathalie, she didn't loose. She didn't even accept my offer. I even offered to not require the Miraculous this time, but she still refused. Her mental strength is highly admirable, especially when her guard is at its lowest. She would be a great asset to us."

"In what manner?"

"Any way I can get her. She is one of the best designers I have seen in a long time, especially at her age. I caught a glimpse of her revenge plan when my akuma possessed her and it was astoundingly terrible, and she is kind and independent enough to make an amazing daughter."

"Sir, kidnapping is illegal."

"I don't have to kidnap her, I'll throw Adrien at her." Gabriel started to wave his hand in dismissal, then noticed the look on Nathalie's face.

"Sir, I think you should watch the rest of this." Nathalie walked forward, bringing up the video from earlier. Gabriel had only watched a second of it before rushing to his butterflies, it was easy to recognize the girl's room by her designs. He'd been gunning for her since she lied to him to help keep Adrien in school and made the feathered hat. Her spirit and dedication let him know that she could be a great ally or terrible enemy. She didn't (yet) have the money or power to come after Gabriel Agreste on her own, but he was certain that the girl was being considered for a Miraculous. He knew she didn't already have one, she hadn't responded to Miracle Queen, after all, but several of her classmates had used one. He actually paid attention to the video this time, watching all the way through. The first people seen on camera were the blogger girl and Lila Rossi, several other classmates cropping up through the video. He didn't notice Timebreaker, Evilillstrator, or the Bourgeois girl, though he did see his own son halfway through the recording, happily cutting at a gown that had been carefully beaded with a hawthorn pattern with a pair of scissors, cutting off the beads and chunks of fabric. 

Gabriel's frown deepened. "Cut all ties to Lila Rossi immediately. We will be making a public apology, telling the public that we did not know of her abhorrent tendencies, nor did we expect her to pull Adrien into her schemes. Adrien will be appropriately punished, and we will offer Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng compensation for the destruction of her property, along with a small team of designers that will know to make every stitch to her preference, no matter their opinion on the piece."

"Of course, sir. How would you like to make your statement to the public?"

"Call that news anchor, Najda Chamack, and ask her to come here. I will speak to her in person as soon as she is available. I also want the apology posted to every social media outlet we use, including our official website."

"Sir, is this not overkill? This isn't Audrey Bourgeois."

Gabriel glared at Nathalie. "No, she is not. She designs for more famous people than Audrey does. She is the main designer for the Wayne gala this year. Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Tsurugi Tomoe, even the Wayne's commissioned her work. All of her designs are paid for in a split payment plan, the money for the materials is required upfront while the rest of the payment can wait until after the person received their design to make sure it is what they want. That means there will very likely be several highly influential individuals and families gunning for us because of Rossi and my son."

Nathalie paled. She hadn't imagined that the small girl who stumbled and stuttered every time she saw her would have that kind of power backing her. Everyone knew that the girl had Jagged Stone backing her, MDC was his main designer for everything and anyone who personally met the girl and the rocker knew who MDC was, especially since they were supposed to have their identity reveal at the Wayne gala. Jagged Stone by himself would be bad and the company would take a hit, though she was positive Marinette would stop him before he went too far. But with so many others working with Jagged… Gabriel (the company) would not survive. 

"I will get everything arranged." Nathalie quickly left the office.

⏳ 

Marinette's first order of business was to email all of the clients affected by her classmates's actions. She informed them that they did not need to worry, as she was suing all the students for the costs of what they destroyed- not just materials, but labor as well, and would be buying new material for their clothes out of her own pocket until she got retribution. She also informed them that their orders would come in slightly later than planned, though not by much. Clara, Jagged, Kagami and her mother, and the Wayne's all responded to her email with assurances that things happened and to take her time. Bruce Wayne offered to delay the gala so that she would have plenty of time to rectify the situation, though she was quick to assure him that it was not necessary.

Her next order of business was cleanup. She collected every scrap of fabric big enough to make so much as a small patch or strip and sat them in a small box next to where her personal dress was. Everything else was collected and thrown in the trash. She dug out her receipts for all the fabrics destroyed, including the fabrics for projects intended for her classmates. She quickly pulled up the video Alya had posted, writing down who destroyed what. She matched the fabrics to the people, then calculated the time she would have spent on each piece. She reviewed the video one more time, noticing that none of the art students, including Chloè, were in the video. Though it was to be expected. The whole class knew how important all art was to the art students; those students would have stopped them if they were in the know. Chloè was not only in the art club, but also still exiled from the class, though her relationship with Marinette had gone from bully to ally. They still weren't friends, but they stuck together against most of the class, only Nathaniel and Alix leaving them alone. The class may have had five braincells in the entire room, Chloè, Marinette, Alix, and Nathaniel each having one all to themselves while the rest of the class, including Madame Bustier, shared the other one, but they used that one braincell to know who could be brought in on a scheme like this.

Marinette had just finished calculating who she would she for what and was on her way to buy fabrics when her phone rang. She grabbed it as she opened her hatch, activating her recording app as she answered. "Hello?"

"Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, it has come to my attention that Adrien Agreste and Lila Rossi have vandalized your property. Lila Rossi has already been terminated and Adrien will face suitable punishment for his actions. I wish for you to come by the manor at your earliest convenience for us to discuss payment."

"If you're free now, I was just about to head out."

"Of course. I'll send a car for you."

"Merci, Monsieur Agreste." Marinette pocketed her phone and made copies of the expenses each of her classmates would be charged. She had no way of knowing where, exactly, Gabriel Agreste stood, but she refused to leave anything to chance. The original, along with the receipts, was stored in her diary box while one copy was left on her desk and another found its home in her purse. She stopped by the kitchen to inform her parents that she was headed to the Agreste Manor and would explain later before walking out to wait on the car.

⏳

Adrien was smiling after school. He had never realized how freeing it was to tear clothes apart, especially clothes made by someone who refused to listen to him. Marinette deserved everything she got, plus some. He wondered what of hers he could destroy next.

He was surprised when he returned home to see his father glaring at him from in front of the stairwell. "We need to have a talk, son." The designer's voice promised pain. "About your friends and actions today."

Adrien stared at his father, confused. "Why? What happened?"

Gabriel growled. "Nathalie."

"Sir?"

"Show him the video, then leave us to our discussion."

"Yes sir." Nathalie quickly pulled up the video of the class destroying Marinette's designs and held the tablet out to Adrien before taking her leave. 

Adrien watched the video, unable to understand what had angered his father. "Do you understand what you have done?" Gabriel demanded.

Adrien shrugged. "I got payback. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her to lay low, so I decided to help the class teach her a lesson."

Gabriel coldly glared at his son. "You have cost me over a thousand dollars just in the hours that girl put into her work. That does not include the cost of the materials, deformation of private property, or potential unlawful entry and vandalism charges. How do you know that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is not currently an akuma gunning for your head? Or that her clients aren't going to press charges? Her clientele could ruin your entire class, your entire school, with a single phone call."

Adrien scoffed. "She doesn't have that many big clients. Just Jagged Stone. And Marinette can't get akumatized. She's too stubborn to listen to anyone."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Adrien, I'll tell you this as your classmate is revealing it in less than a month. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has been taking the world of fashion by storm while using her initials, MDC. Only certain celebrities and rich people know who she is, mainly people she has worked or designed for. Jagged Stone is the first and main one, yes. But Clara Nightingale has been using her more and more. MDC is the main designer for the Wayne gala, not only Monsieur Stone and Mademoiselle Nightingale commissioning her, but the Tsurugi family and the Wayne family, along with several friends and supporters of the four families. Aubrey Bourgeois supports her, perhaps even more than she supports me, and I have admired several of her pieces done for contests."

Blood began to drain from Adrien's face, though Gabriel doubted that the boy fully understood anything yet. "Her mother's best friend is Najda Chamack, and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng babysits her child. Her uncle is a famous chef who loves his family dearly, especially since his great niece learned Mandarin to be able to talk to him and help him with his French. Alix Kubdel is friends with Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, and also comes from a respectable family- as well as Chloè Bourgeois becoming her ally after she helped with her mother. Not to mention that the Dupain-Cheng family is not hurting for money, as they are the best and most popular bakery in Paris. They get orders from all over the city, plus serve at almost every party that has edible food. You attacked the livelihood of one of the most powerful children in Paris. Not only that, but you destroyed the property of some of the most prolific people in the world." Adrien's face had lost all traces of blood, though Gabriel did not expect it to be from shame. No, his son was afraid because he had been caught. "You will not return to school until Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng has revealed herself as MDC to the world, nor will you have access to any of your social media, messages, or phone. You may return to being homeschooled. I shall have to reassess the situation at a later date. If I do allow you to return to school, it will not be François-DuPont. You will drop contact with your current classmates. You are dismissed." Gabriel turned from his son, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

⏳

Marinette was escorted straight to Gabriel's office upon arrival. The man shook her hand before gesturing for her to take a seat. "Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, my assistant showed me the video of what your classmates did. My sincerest apologies. I assure you that my son is currently being punished and Mademoiselle Rossi's contract has been terminated. I also wanted to offer you compensation for your loss as well as a team of designers that will follow your instructions to the last stitch."

Marinette eyed the elder Agreste. "What do you want in return?"

Gabriel blinked at the girl. He knew she was smart, though he hadn't expected her to ask that. "For this? Nothing. My son deserves every lawsuit you draw up. I remember what it was like when I was first starting my company; something like this would have been devistating."

"Well, Monsieur, covering everything will not be necessary. I have already calculated the damages each student did and how much they owe for it. I am not holding you responsible for the actions of any of my classmates, not even Agreste or Rossi. I'm sure you have paid your son for working for you," Marinette felt viciously victorious when he nodded, "in which case he should be able to pay for damages himself. The same holds true for Rossi; she was a contract model for your company and was paid as such. They should both be able to afford my work- custom or not."

"Might I see what you've drawn up? I heard from Aubrey that you have a tendency to undercharge for your work, and, as you just said, my son and former employee should be able to afford your work. The beaded dress my son ruined, for example, should cost twenty-five hundred dollars, bare minimum. I would charge much more than that, especially with how much work is put behind hand-beading." Marinette could do nothing but gape at her childhood idol. She had been expecting a bribe, a threat, something to try to protect his son.

She pulled the paper out of her purse when he raised an eyebrow, pulling the video up on her phone. "Césaire was stupid enough to put her phone in the corner where I could track everyone's movements, and I can figure everything out if I can get Markov. I figured out who destroyed what and calculated what they owe from there. I don't know who picked the lock to the upper floors, or to my room, though my money's on either Césaire or Rossi. Césaire's obsessed with being a great reporter while Rossi is a liar and a thief. Harleprè, Lavaillant, Bruel, Couffaine, and Lahiffe owe the least, they didn't do much. They just ripped a few pages out of my sketchbook. Raincompx, le Chein, Césaire, Rossi, Agreste, and Kantè did the most damage, and so will face the bigger lawsuits. I have already contacted my clients and informed them of the slight delay. Your team of designers, while most appreciated, will not be necessary. It shouldn't take me more than a few days to recreate the Wayne's suits and send them off, I sent the dresses yesterday. Jagged and Clara will both be in Paris next week and can stop by my house to pick up their outfits and have a final fitting. I can easily deliver the Tsurugi chensogams to their home. That covered everyone that had their outfits for the gala destroyed. I had finished the majority of them yesterday and done the final checks before sending them off. I was supposed to send the Wayne suits off today, though that plan was foiled. I was lucky that I went ahead and finished my commissions rather than more personal projects. Most of what got destroyed were projects my classmates requested of me rather than important works."

"Are you positive you don't want help? At least on your beaded dress?"

Marinette pulled up pictures of what she had. "I have several different scraps of colors, most of them either on the darker end of the spectrum or metalic, from the works they destroyed. I'm going to use those scraps from my other works to make a pair of wings on the back of the dress, the colors getting darker the further down they go and metalic fabrics making the outline of the wings."

Gabriel considered the dress. "You'll look like a fallen angel. I hope you're still planning on charging my son the full amount for the dress."

"Most definitely. There will be some alterations I make besides the wings, putting some pieces back together, cutting or tearing others, partially rebeading sections, I have some work to put in. Your son added to my work load when it was already full, he personally destroyed not only my dress but Jagged and Penny's outfits as well. Might I know what punishment he is suffering?"

"So you can plan revenge accordingly?" Gabriel questioned. He sighed at her innocent expression. "He will no longer attend François-DuPont. He will basically be under house arrest for everything except shoots until after the gala. I am undecided as to whether he shall go to another school or be permanently homeschooled. He is not allowed any contact with his former classmates nor access to social media or his phone. So if you wish to strike, do it right after a photo shoot. You can do it before or during as long as you don't ruin the clothes on display."

Marinette's grin was pure evil. "Don't worry, Monsieur Agreste. I have too much respect for the work designers put into their work to be so crass. Will Agreste still practice fencing with Kagami?"

"I shall allow it on a trial basis."

"Very well. It was nice meeting with you, Monsieur Agreste, but I must take my leave. I have too much to do before I traumatize, I mean get payback, I mean revenge, wait, no, deal with my classmates after the gala. But before I go… You wouldn't happen to know anyone that would be able to teach me how to, how should I phrase this… I guess basically be an Ice Queen?"

Gabriel smirked. "Actually, my nephew, Felix Graham de Vanily, will be at the gala. He's a model from England, and many consider him an Ice King. He'd be a great teacher." And perhaps potential mate to bring you into the family. I wonder how many love akumas it would take to get you two together… perhaps Adrien needs a good influence his age around the Manor…

Marinette slightly felt as though she had signed her future away, though that was ridiculous so she simply thanked Gabriel before leaving.

⏳

The next few days flew by in a rush of designing and lawyers. The lawyers her parents got were more than willing to come to the bakery and talk to Marinette as she sewed, especially since she had eyeballed them and given them all scarves and beanies the next time they were there. Marinette didn't bother to pay attention in Bustier's class, electing to nap instead. She was awake for Mendeleiev's classes, though. She liked her dragon-like teacher as the woman actually taught her students. She managed to finish her clients' clothes with time to spare, having gotten so used to designing for Jagged, Penny, and Clara that very few adjustments needed to be made. A couple Wayne suits had come back with notes on where they needed to be adjusted and how, and those were shipped back out that same day. Her own dress took until the last minute, Marinette completely finishing it, including adjustments, the day before she was set to leave for the gala. She would be staying with Jagged and Penny in the Wayne Manor for the two weeks she was to be there, a week before the gala and a week after. Her classmates's parents were horrified to hear what their children had done, making sure the kids paid every penny of what Marinette was suing for without even going to court. Alix and Nathaniel had nearly gotten in trouble with their families, though Marinette was quick to personally visit and explain things. Apparently the other families had contacted the Kurtzburg's and Kubdel's about the scandal with the children, no one noticing that some of the children weren't involved.

She already had her traveling designing kit packed so that she could make sure the Wayne's outfits all fit properly. Chloè and Kagami were traveling with her, determined to make sure their former rival was well taken care of while their parents took care of the hotel. Jagged was fuming beside Marinette whole they rode through Gotham, the girl talking to her friends.

"So, Mari-hime, you told me that you would explain what was going on if Adrien refused to before we left." 

Marinette gave Kagami a highly stressed smile. "I think watching the video would explain things better. I didn't want you to get akumatized because of me while we were in Paris."

"So you knew Adrien would refuse to tell me what crime he committed against you. What video?"

Marinette pulled it up on her tablet. "For the record, I simply suspected that he would keep his mouth shut. Though Monsieur Agreste is making sure that his interactions with anyone besides himself, Madame Sancouer, and his bodyguard are highly limited." She passed Kagami the tablet, Chloè leaning over to watch it with her.

The Japanese girl dropped the tablet in her lap as she watched, clenching her fists so hard that her palms bled. "How- how dare that baka! They all have no honor! They should meet my blade!"

"Kagami. Calm down. I have it handled. I want you and Chloè to teach me how to be a vengeful Ice Queen while we're here. Monsieur Agreste suggested talking to his nephew for lessons as well. By the time I'm back in Paris, I don't want our classmates to be able to recognize me. I already have some revenge planned, the wheels for those are already in motion. I messaged the Césaire and Lahiffe families to inform the entire family that I will be unable to babysit for them for the foreseeable future. Ambassador Rossi has a request in her inbox to visit the school while we are gone, as Rossi's classmates would love to hear about what it's like to be an ambassador. The le Chein family was sent a list of tutors for their son's failing grades, unfortunately all those tutors work at the same time as mandatory swim practice. I sent Luka a copy of the video, so Kitty Section is about to loose their lead guitarist so that he can learn under my dear uncle. Agreste will be facing a startling amount of bad luck for a good chunk of time whilst loosing all of his beloved friends. By the time I am finished, even Hawkmoth won't want to work with them."

Chloè stared at her friend. "Did you really just say 'whilst?' Who hurt you? I just want to talk."

Jagged continued to sulk. "She won't even let me send my rockin followers after those bloody rats. She's only letting me steal away a new guitarist!"

"Because I have everything planned out. And Agreste will become even more isolated once we return. No matter what I say, Kagami is going to duel him to the, figurative, death before informing him of her distaste for him and his actions."

Kagami mock glared at Marinette. "So what if I do? He deserves it. He deserves much worse. But how will he become more isolated? I will still be sparring with him twice a week."

"A person is more isolated surrounded by people that don't care about them than all on their own. Yes, you will physically be there. But your obvious emotional distance will leave him more isolated than him being stuck in his room all day."

Chloè stared at her new friend. "Where was all this evil cunningness when I was your bully?"

Marinette smirked. "I had a wake-up call. Césaire, ironically, taught me that it's okay to stand up for myself, and Hawkmoth helped release a part of me I had blocked out."

"What? Were you akumatized? How did I not know?" Chloè demanded.

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. "It was a few days before we actually became friends, and he didn't manage to akumatize me. He possessed my dress, but I refused to work with him. Apparently he's wanted to akumatize me for a while, but I'm good at forcing myself to calm down."

"What was he going to call you?" Chloè was highly excited to finally have someone who knew what it was like to fully resist Hawkmoth. Not calm down before the butterfly reached them, not resist for a second before giving in, but fully resist the man.

"Mistress Hawthorne." Marinette laughed. "I was going to have the ability to turn my ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that would trap everyone in their castle and force them to see the truth." Marinette had to stop, she was laughing so hard. "I told him no, and he was so shocked that he only argued for a second before wishing me luck with revenge!"

Jagged continued to sulk through the teens laughter, refusing to give in. He wanted to crush those bloody teens. No one gets away with hurting his niece.

⏳

As soon as she arrived at the manor and had her bags unpacked, Marinette began tracking down the Wayne's, one by one, and dragging them back to her room with their suits or dresses, forcing them to put them on so that she could fully alter them to her preference. Dick was scared of the tiny Asian girl that slung him over her shoulder before grabbing his suit and forcing him to come with her when he hesitated and then worked silently, ignoring his attempts at friendship. He was so scared of her that he sprinted the other direction the first time he saw Kagami. Jason and Bruce both wanted to adopt the girl- she blended in perfectly with their family, and Jason had witnessed both, the girl's kidnapping of his brother and Dick running away from Kagami. He had to respect someone who could instill more fear than Demon Spawn himself, and Bruce wanted to cultivate that talent until he got a Nightingale. Damian and Cass both respected the girl for her professionalism and silence (and word of her traumatizing Dick had already spread through the manor). Tim instantly fell in love with the girl, as she asked him if he wanted coffee or tea while they were doing his fitting, as he looked dead on his feet (he did not choose both or cry tears of joy, and no one can prove to Alfred that he did). Selina purred at the amount of pure chaos she could feel pouring off of the girl, even with her suppressing it while she worked. She needed a kitten. Bruce already had his litter, it was her turn. Kor'i bounced in place the whole time, trying not to inturupt the girl as she adjusted her glorious creation.

Jagged disappeared with Bruce after his fitting, explaining to the billionaire what Marinette had been going through, even showing him the video of her work getting destroyed, before asking for his help to get revenge. He explained Marinette's known plans, and the rocker and vigilante began planning around hers, using their collective contacts and knowledge to open the class's wounds even deeper.

Dinner that night was chaos. Jason, Selina, Bruce, and Jagged were in a constant argument, with Penny occasionally interjecting, that abruptly cut off any time Marinette drew near, she was only able to catch the words adoption and revenge, Kagami and Cass spent their time in silence, eyeing each other. Chloè didn't breathe while swapping between berating Dick and Tim for their fashion choices and interigating them about Gotham and its foreign student transfer policies. Damian scowled at everyone the entire time from his seat next to Marinette. Marinette did her best to emulate him, not noticing Dick slowly sliding his chair further and further away from her.

Damian decided he liked tolerated Marinette five days into her stay. Dick had been complaining to him and Jason about how much Asian girls scared him and Kor'i wanting them to live with them. Marinette had somehow heard his complaints and came storming up to them, cussing Dick out in a mixture of French, Mandarin, Arabic, Italian, and English. Damian did not know why that caused a blush to creep up his face, though he admired the way her accent curled around the words, making everything seem like a language all of its own. 

Jason chuckled when she walked off. "That. That was the art of cussing at its finest. I'm getting Alfed and we're going to go teach my new little sister how to shoot guns. Angel's my favorite, you can all suck it." Jason walked off in the same direction the girl had left in. It didn't take but forty-two minutes for the sound of gunfire to echo around the house. 

⏳

The night before the gala, the women in Wayne Manor gathered in Marinette's room. The night was spent coaching her on how to act and reveal her identity, both on the carpet and during the gala.

"Don't fret so much, kit." Selina advised. "You are a queen, act as such. Keep you head up and keep your cool. They'll all be tripping over themselves to speak to you, and you don't give them the time of day." Chloè nodded her agreement, even as Kagami objected.

"You're approachable and professional at the same time. Just let people see both sides of you."

The women continued to argue, Marinette finally escaping to talk to Alfred. She spent the night under his tutelage, learning all she could about presentation. The man finally ushered her off to bed. "You have a long day tomorrow. You will need sleep to get through it."

⏳

Once arriving at the gala, Marinette kept her head high as she glided down the carpet, the press quickly stopping her to ask if she was a new Wayne and what happened to her dress. "No." She offered a small smile to them. "I'm the designer MDC. The Wayne's hired me to design their suits, and were kind enough to offer their home to me and my aunt and uncle, even letting two of my best friends, Tsurugi Kagami and Chloè Bourgeois, spend the majority of their time with me at the Manor. My parents live in France, where I will be returning to in a weeks time. My room was broken into a few weeks ago, and some of my classmates ruined the outfits I had in there, including my dress. I decided to take what they did to my dress and use it as proof that nothing will bring me down. Excuse me, I need to go. I do not wish to keep my companions waiting." Marinette offered them a small bow before leaving them, giving the press a good look at the drooping angel wings sewn on the back of her dress.

"Angel," One of the reporters breathed, leading to a frenzy. MDC was announced to the world that night as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Angel of Gotham.

⌛

Finding her group was easy, and it was almost just as easy to spot Felix, Gabriel's nephew. She grabbed Damian by his forearm, the boy too startled by her random action to react, and drug him over to the boy she assumed was Felix.

She tapped.the boy on his shoulder. "Excuse me, are you Felix?"

The boy gave a hesitant nod. "Great! I want the two of you to teach me as much as you can about being a vengeful Ice Queen."

Felix raised one eyebrow, looking between the girl and the scowling boy. "What do we get out of it?"

"You get to live with the knowledge that I am going to use your teachings to traumatize idiotic classmates and I can keep the girls from making passes at you, as you are already occupied with entertaining a lady."

The boys both quickly gave their consent, refusing to let the girl leave their side for even a moment the entirety of the gala. They were appeased enough with the girl that her lessons continued throughout the following week, the boys enchanted enough with her to seriously consider following her to Paris and watching her strike like a coiled viper.

⌛

When Marinette returned to school, she had changed. Not just in personality, no, she changed everything. Her personality (at school), her hairstyle, her clothes, everything was redone to fit who she had become. Flowy black pants, a black sleeveless top held up by a ribbon that wrapped around her neck, a red leather jacket loosley hung on her frame, and black boots could be seen under the pants.. Her gaze was frozen as it swept over the class. She was unsurprised to see Adrien sitting in his usual seat, Gabriel had informed her of his decision to place Adrien back in Bustier's class for the time being so that Marinette could teach him a lesson. Alix and Nathaniel had transfered out of the class as soon as they had learned of what the students had done, moving to Madame Mendeleiev's class. Chloè was also leaving, though she was transferring to Gotham after the week was up. She wanted that week to be able to watch the havoc Marinette would wreck on the class. Kagami had already decided to join the class, and Marinette spotted her in Nathaniel's old seat. She was not expecting to see Felix frowning next to Kagami, nor Damian smirking at the back of the blond's head. Thanks to those very boys, though, it was amazingly easy to hide her surprise. A smirk crawled its way across her face, even as she stepped far enough into the room that everyone could see her. She had timed her entrance perfectly. As soon as the class went to explode with praises and questions, the bell rang, Madame Bustier walking in and asking them to all take their seats. Marinette made sure her steps were conscice enough to make it seem as though she was gliding up the rows, refusing to shoot her classmates so much as a glance. 

Lila walked into the room moments later, late, her gaze zeroing in on Felix. "Felibear! It's so nice to see you again!" She squealed, rushing up the steps. 

Felix stopped her with a cold glare. "Do I know you?"

Alya glared at the blond. "How could you ask your girlfriend if you know her? Especially since everyone knows you transfered to François-DuPont for her!"

Felix looked scandalized. "I did no such thing! I came here on request of my uncle. There are very few people here that I know from previous endeavors."

Lila burst out into tears. "H-how could you treat me like this? At least my Damiboo didn't do this!"

"Damiboo?" Marinette asked. Clearly Bustier wasn't going to stop the girl.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't here!" A sly grin crawled across Lila's face. "I suppose Damiboo didn't speak to you the whole time you were in Gotham, otherwise you would have known I used to date Damian Wayne!" The girl boasted.

Marinette looked at the horrified expression on her deskmate's face, and began her countdown. "I would never date a harlot like you!" He burst out, unable to stop himself. The class turned to stare at him, then realized that he had been just ahead of Marinette when the Wayne's and Jagged Stone arrived at the gala.

A slow smirk crawled across Marinette's lips, erasing the smile she had given her friends. "Do tell, Lila. I would love to hear all about your relationship with the Wayne's. Or about you dating Felix here. Oh! What about your relationship with my uncle? Save any of his cats lately? Let's not forget Clara Nightingale! Since she steals her music and dance moves from you, perhaps we could get a preview for her next video?"

Adrien frowned at Marinette. She seemed… different. "Mari, don't be so mean! Your supposed to be our everyday Ladybug, the better-"

"Agreste, if example is the next word to come out of your mouth I will steal Chloè's six inch stiletto right off of her foot and shove it down your throat while I laugh at your struggles." Adrien's mouth snapped shut as he paled, the class staring at Marinette in shock. 

"Marinette! That was uncalled for!" Madame Bustier frowned at the girl. Perhaps letting her go to Gotham was a mistake.

"Really, Madame Bustier? From where I'm sitting, it was perfectly called for. Agreste is not going to use my emotions to manipulate me into being the perfect placemat anymore. You are not going to manipulate me into being the perfect victim. I will no longer tolerate this class's treatment of me. Four people in this room have the authority to call me by a nickname. They know who they are. Four people have the ability to ask something of me. None of them were the ones that destroyed my sketchbook or commissions. None of them told me that I always have to be the better person and set an example for my classmates. I refuse to allow myself to be used any longer."

Alya glared at her friend as the rest of the class stared at the noirette in shock or turned their head away from her in shame. "Girl, what are you talking about? First you want us to pay you a while bunch of money, and now you don't want to do anything for us?"

Damian started to retort himself, stopped by Marinette's hand on his arm. Her voice was frosted fire when she commanded the room. "Everyone in this room, excluding my four friends and our teacher, had a hand I destroying commissions for the Wayne gala, requests from all of you, and my sketchbook. That is why you were sued for damages. Some of you paid more than others because Alya was gracious enough to post a video she had taken of what you did on her blog that allowed me to see who destroyed what. That allowed me to see exactly who has hell to pay." The dangerous smirk several of her classmates had noticed danced across her face yet again, like a sword would dance in the hands of Robin. 

Adrien scoffed. "you're just a baker's daughter. What could you possibly do?" He paled not long after the words flew out of his mouth, remembering what his father had told him.

"You look like you just remembered that I am not just a baker's daughter. Why don't you share with the class?" Marinette offered up one of her customary sunshine smiles, though Adrien was not fooled this time, quickly yelling the class exactly what his father had told him. 

Lila blanched. Forget the Agreste's and that stupid reporter, she should have set her sights on Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Marinette smiled down at the class, her court sitting in the back two rows with her. Chloè had kicked Felix out of his seat next to Kagami, and Felix had nudged Marinette into the middle of the bench, sandwiching her between Damian and himself.

Her blue eyes were frigid as she glared down upon her kingdom. The time for the Queen of Light was over- Darkness had come for her, and she welcomed them with open arms. Her crown darkened, from gold and diamonds to silver and onyx, and her reign had only begun.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Couples Costume

Sheriff Stilinski has the job of chaperoning the school dance when he realises his son is wearing one half of a couple’s costume and he wants to know who has the other half.

[AO3]

 “Jackson,” Sheriff Stilinski said warningly.

The young man jumped, snatching his arm back from the punch bowls and quickly hiding the silver flask behind his back as he turned to face the Sheriff.

“Hello, sir,” Jackson said, feigning innocence.

He flashed a charming smile, but it had no affect on John.

John levelled him with an unwavering look and he held out his hand, motioning for Jackson to hand the flask over.

Jackson bowed his head, looking guilty as he moved his hand from behind his back and handed over the flask.

“You can pick it up from the station tomorrow,” John said.

“What?” Jackson objected.

“I’m not going to let you spike the punch and I’m not going to give you back a flask of alcohol before you drive home?” John asked.

Jackson tensed. “Are you going to tell my parents?”

“Not if you don’t try this again,” John promised.

Jackson nodded.

“Now, go on,” John said, nodding towards the crowd.

Jackson hurried back over to his group of friends.

John shook his head, sliding the flask into the inside pocket of his windcheater.

He looked around the large space of the school gym. The large room had been decorated for the Halloween dance; with a canopy of white fabric and orange, purple and black streamers strung from the ceiling to make it look like a tent, strings of lights followed the curves of the fabric and trailed down the walls, and stacks of jack-o-lanterns that the students had carved.

There were a few tables set up around the corners of the room with orange table cloths draped over them and fake candles sitting in the middle of the table to light them.

Students moved around the space, dressed in costumes; standing in small groups around the edges of the hall, talking, or joining the crowd in the middle of the hall, dancing.

A familiar face emerged from the crowd, making his way over to John.

Stiles’ hair had been coloured with pink on one side and blue on the other, matching the eye shadow that Lydia had put on him. He had tattooed painted on him with eyeliner. He had a thick choker with silver letters spelling out PUDDIN around his neck.

He wore a pair of tight red pleather pants with a studded belt, a jacket that was split in half – one side red and the other blue – and a slightly torn tee-shirt with curved black lettering that read ‘Daddy’s Lil Monster’. The shirt was cropped short and slightly torn at the bottom, revealing a glimpse of Stiles’ toned abs and slender waist. To complete the look, he carried around a foam replica of the baseball bat from Suicide Squad.

“Hey, kiddo,” John greeted.

“I thought chaperones had to dress up too?” Stiles asked, looking his dad up and down.

“I did dress up,” John replied. “I’m a Sheriff.”

Stiles levelled him with an exasperated look.

“Forget about me,” John said, changing the subject. He pointed at Stiles’ costume. “Harley Quinn, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, looking down at himself. “I wanted the more classic red and black look, but this was all they had available.”

“Now, if I remember rightly, that costume was marketed as a couples costume,” John said, looking his son up and down. “So, where’s your Joker?”

“Poison Ivy, actually,” Stiles replied.

“Let me guess… Lydia,” John guessed.

“No,” Stiles answered. “She’s Daphne.”

“Daphne?” John repeated, confused.

“From Scooby Doo,” Stiles explained.

“Allison?”

“She’s Velma,” Stiles answered. “Lydia’s Daphne, Isaac’s Fred, Allison’s Velma, and Scott’s Shaggy—he’s even carrying around a Scooby Doo plushie.”

“Okay, so who’s your Ivy?” John asked. He waved dismissively. “It doesn’t matter—I want a photo of you two, so take me to them.”

“John,” Coach Finstock called out, making his way over to the Sheriff’s side.

Stiles swallowed hard. He turned to Lydia as she stepped up beside him, leaning in close and whispering, “Can you find Derek and give him the heads up; I’m being forced to out him?”

“On it,” Lydia said quietly, turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Stiles felt his chest tighten, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the lump in his throat swell. His heart beat faster as tears began to prick at his eyes.

He looked over his shoulder to see Lydia enter the gym again with Derek by her side.

Derek was dressed in a pair or red pleather pants and a corset-like deep green vest that was embroidered with light green thread in the pattern of ivy leaves with fake leaves of ivy sewn onto it to make it 3D. A vine of fake ivy was coiled around each of his arms, accentuating the curves of his firm biceps.

His sharp cheek bones were highlighted by a soft shade of green that matched the colour of his eye shadow. Lydia had used eyelash glue to stick fake ivy leaves to Derek’s eyebrows and red hair spray to colour his hair.

His face lit up with sweet smile when he saw Stiles.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered under his breath when Derek reached him.

“It’s okay,” Derek replied, keeping his voice low. “No matter what happens, you’ve still got me.”

Derek looked at him lovingly, his pale aventurine eyes sparkling in the glow of the string lights.

Stiles returned his smile, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

Derek took Stiles’ trembling hand in his own, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He turned back towards his dad just as Coach said goodbye and chased off after a student causing trouble.

“Dad,” Stiles started slowly, his voice tense and anxious. “This is Derek… My boyfriend.”

A look of surprise passed over John’s face as he looked from Stiles to Derek.

Derek offered his a smile, tightening his hold on Stiles’ shaking hand.

John smiled in return.

“You look great, Derek,” he said. “Do you mind if I get a picture of you two?”

“Sure,” Derek said, stepping closer to Stiles’ side.

He saw Stiles’ shoulders drop as he let out a sigh of relief. His hand was still shaking as he held on to Derek.

John dug his phone out of his pocket and quickly took a photo of the two of them. He smiled at them as he lowered his phone. “Thank you.”

“Do you want a drink?” Derek asked them both.

“I’m alright, thank you,” John replied.

“I’d like one please,” Stiles answered.

Derek nodded, giving Stiles’ hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and making his way over to the drinks table.

Stiles felt he sense of dread return, his chest tightening.

“I wanted to tell you…” Stiles said, looking down at his feet. “I was just… I was scared that you’d hate me.”

“Stiles,” John said softly, setting his hand on his son’s shoulder and craning his neck to look Stiles in the eye. “You are my son and I love you, no matter what.”

Glistening tears welled in Stiles’ eyes, lit by the surrounding lights. A weak smile turned up the corner of his mouth.

“How long have you two been together?” John asked.

“About eight months,” Stiles admitted.

“You managed to keep this from me for eight months?” John asked, stunned.

Stiles shrugged.

“I’m happy for you,” John said, smiling as he gently tousled his son’s hair.

“Thanks, dad.”

“Now, go have fun.”

 -------------------------

 A while later, John stepped out of the gym to patrol the halls and the outside of the building to make sure no students were sneaking off to cause trouble. He made his way around the side of the old red brick building and slowed when he saw Stiles sitting outside on a step.

He went to walk forward when he heard the door open and a familiar voice said, “Hey, you okay?”

Stiles turned slightly, smiling as he looked up at Derek.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I just needed a break from the crowd and the music.”

“Do you want some company?” Derek asked hesitantly.

“I’d love some.”

Derek stepped forward, sitting down on the step beside Stiles.

“Sorry I’m not more fun.”

“I’m having plenty of fun just spending time with you,” Derek said. He paused, thinking for a moment. “Do you want to dance?”

“I want to dance, but I just feel so overwhelmed in there,” Stiles admitted.

“Okay,” Derek said, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. He scrolled through his music library before picking a song and turning up the volume just a little. It was a slow song with a soft melody.

Derek rose to his feet and held a hand out to Stiles.

Stiles smiled as he took Derek’s hand, letting him pull Stiles to his feet. He pulled him closer, holding Stiles’ hand in his as he set his other hand on Stiles’ hip and began to sway.

Stiles let out a quiet chuckle as he rested his head against Derek’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around Derek’s shoulder as he swayed back and forth, following the sweet melody of the song.

Derek rested his cheek atop Stiles’ head as they danced slowly beneath the light of the back door and the streetlights along the car park.

John couldn’t help but smile as he watched them, a sense of relief filling his chest when he saw the smile on his son’s face.

  -------------------------

 “It’s time to announce the winners of the costume contest,” Natalie Martin announced as Stiles and Derek made their way back into the gym.

The crowd gathered around the small stage that had been set up at the far end of the gym.

“First up; the award for best dressed girl.” Natalie opened the envelope and read the name, “Supergirl; Erica Reyes.”

The crowd applauded as Erica made her way up onto the stage.

Natalie handed her a bouquet of flowers and a certificate.

Erica thanked her before making her way off stage.

“Next up, the award for best dressed boy goes to…” Natalie opened the next envelope. “The gladiator; Danny Mahealani.”

The crowd cheered again as Danny – shirtless and dressed as a gladiator – stepped up onto the stage to receive his certificate and flowers.

“And now for the best dressed group,” Natalie continued once Danny had joined the crowd again. “The best dressed group goes to—” She opened the envelope. “—the Scooby Doo gang; Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, and Scott McCall.”

The crowd cheered loudly as they made their way up onto the stage to receive their certificates and flowers.

They made their way down off the stage and Natalie picked up another envelope.

A buzz of confused chatter filled the room.

“And a last minute addition,” Natalie said. “The award for the best couples costume goes to—” She opened the envelope. “—Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy; Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale.”

The crowd roared with applause. A few people let out sharp wolf whistles.

Stiles bowed his head, trying to hide his blush.

Derek reached out and took his hand, leading the way through the crowd and up to the stage.

They made their way up the small flight of stairs and across the stage, accepting the certificates that read ‘Best Dressed Couple’ with their names written beneath the elegantly typed title and a bouquet of brightly coloured flowers.

Stiles smiled sweetly, sticking close to Derek as the crowd’s applause grew louder.

They made their way off stage and over to where Lydia, Isaac, Allison and Isaac stood.

Lydia bounded over to Stiles’ side, wrapping her arms around him as she congratulated him. Scott gave Derek a half-hug before hugging Stiles.

Stiles’ face was lit with a bright smile. He turned to face Derek, stepping closer to him and leaning against his side.

John couldn’t help but smile as he watched them—watched how happy his son was, watched the way his eyes lit up as he looked at Derek lovingly. He couldn’t help but feel happy for his son.

[commanderserwin]

i had an idea for a fluffy erwin fic where the reader is a teacher ( preferably primary school kids ) and she brings in erwin ( maybe also levi ) to talk about their jobs but the kids start to ask what he thinks of their teacher and if they are together ect, and both of u try not to embarrass yourselves in front of the kids and levi is just smug about it cause he knew you both had a thing for each other… thank u in advance hehe :)

✧ characters. erwin smith x reader, levi ackerman

✧ notes. this was so cute so i hope i did this justice 🥺 thank u for this and i hope u like & enjoy ! ♡ ♡

“and i am here because?”

erwin looked at levi, nervousness apparent on his face as erwin furrowed his brow. “they asked for soldiers.”

“i’m sure they only asked for you.”

erwin and levi waited outside the room, listening to your beaming voice as the children asked multiple questions for about the day. erwin peeped through the little window, smiling to himself as you coincidentally looked back— sighing hard, keeping the smile on your face to a minimum as your heart skipped a beat— when it shouldn’t have.

it was a favor— the children has just started asking questions about the jobs, carreers as they all animatedly talked about their future wants, and the most consistent answer was military. both boys and girls grew an affinity when you mistakenly mentioned about knowing someone from the survey corps.

then it went downhill from that. they all cheered and talked over your voice, hands going up as they continuously asked questions— and it left you exhausted trying to think of some other answer, aside from that you only knew someone— him, just because of a couple of lunches and dinners spent together. it was over too soon, both of you parting ways amicably over a relationship that hasn’t even started— but the feeling of just having somebody look at you differently, butterflies in your stomach, the way heat pools on to your cheeks whenever they looked made it feel that something was there.

still— no questions asked, he agreed. erwin agreed when you asked him to visit for an hour or two.

and now, you currently have a commander and a captain waiting outside your humble little classroom.

“shall we greet our visitors?” you asked, smiling widely as you opened the door where the men were waiting outside— the voices from the little children echoed as they all waved to erwin and levi.

“what do we say?” you asked once more, gently tugging on erwin’s sleeves to move him to the center as levi followed suit, “good morning, commander erwin and captain levi!”

erwin smiled the widest, even waving a little as the boys almost fell out of their chairs trying to get a glimpse of the very commander that was leading the survey corps. levi, on the other hand, shared a little staring contest to the little girl who stared a little longer but he only squinted in return, making the girl shy away.

“all right!” you loudly said, hands moving up and down to calm them dow, “settle down, please! or else we can’t start to ask them for stories and questions!”

“how many questions will they ask?”

erwin whispered on your ear, his faint hand on your back to keep you steady as you turned your head— noticing the small distance between his lips and yours from the motion. you breathed— turning your head straight, eyes following the curious ones that flashed before the children.

“it depends,” you whispered back, not looking at erwin, “you can tell me if you need to go, so we could wrap this up if you’re needed.”

“there’s no need for that,” erwin eyed you, smiling gently.

“oh?”

“i cleared my schedule for this.”

heat rushed to your cheeks once more, your heart thumping faster his eyes landed on yours for a second longer, making levi clear his throat, making both of you snap back into reality. 

the reality— that this was just a favor and what the both of you had was a finished story. 

“teacher is blushing!”

the smile that was plastered on your face was enough to keep the children howling, as you felt uncomfortable and confused with the unnecessary attention. 

“let’s all be quiet,” you smiled, raising a hand— as you breathed hard.

“are you two together?”

erwin slapped his chest, clearing his throat loudly as he raised his brows, his eys going crazy as he looked at you— but you only stared back with nothing but a threat to not fall for the question. 

and he failed. 

“no, we are not.”

“i think you should.”

“do you think so?” erwin asked, cocking his head at you-- his eyes full of taunt as he looked back at the giddy children.

“yes!”

“—so our teacher will have a lover,” niki commented quietly, putting down her hand.

“erwin—,” you whispered loudly beside him, but he was enjoying the small divergence from what they were actually here to do.

“oh,” erwin sighed loudly, smiling, “a lover.” 

you moved in closer to him, making him look down with a small smile as he cocked an eyebrow, but you only pinched his side in response with a tight lipped smile. 

“don’t feed into their questions,” you smiled through your teeth, shushing the children as they squealed, “talk about the survey corps, please.”

“they’re not asking about survey corps.”

“levi,” you called to the smaller man beside him, clearly enjoying as he flashed a smirked, “a little help? will you please talk about... maneuvering? or something else?”

“why should i?” levi scoffed, gesturing to the happy children, “they are clearly loving this.”

“levi—!”

“much livelier subject than the military, if you ask me.”

“erwin!”

“what he said was true,” erwin whispered as he bent down to your level, “it’s okay... right?”

“not!” 

erwin nodded, clasping his hands behind him as he stepped forward, making the little kids sit properly— their backs straightening as they followed the man in command before them. the very first time they have settled down, as they shut their mouths, their eyes still following his every movements.

“shall we talk about the survey corps?”

nobody spoke a word— even the boys looking unamused at the sudden change while the girls only slumped back on their chairs, their feet swinging as equally unamused. it was quiet for a minute, until somebody raised their hand. 

“tobe says yes?” you pointed at tobe, smiling softly at the usual quiet boy. 

his eyes moved back and forth to you and erwin, his lips moving but nothing audible came out. 

“tobe? darling?” you called.

“... no.”

“no?”

“... we know about the survey corps.”

and all hell breaks loose. everybody started nodding their head away, smiles growing wider as tobe sat down with a smile on his face, watching his classmates erupt into louder laughter and more questions about you and erwin-- far from what you brought him and levi to do. 

“yes! titans...” they counted.

“and explorations!” babi shared. 

“outside the walls,” mica nodded.

“and ODM gear!” cassian added loudly.

“and you go whish,” scott acted out as he twirled with his arms as the blades.

“and you fly!” mia followed suit, jumping high. 

erwin turned to you, his lips turning down as he matched the expression on your face— embarrassment and regret all mixed into one because of this favor. 

“we know about survey corps,” tobe repeated from the back.

“very intelligent kids,” levi sighed from the side, leaning on the chalkboard as he  gave a little thumbs up to mia. 

erwin stepped back, falling in beside you with a horrified look on his face-- because they’re not entirely wrong at all. these kids know enough, and so he was stuck as to what to say next or more that isn’t going to dampen the good morning. 

“what should i say?” erwin asked beside you, placing a hand on your back to bring gently pull you to him, asking for a cue from you. 

after all, this was all your doing. a simple favor turned into something unexpected with questions that isn’t connected as to why you brought the visitors into your classroom. 

“i don’t...” you exasperatedly said, eyes moving to the audience as they listened intently and looked very interested as to what was happening before them, “know. say anything?”

both of you stood in shock, minds pondering as what else could erwin say, but nothing was sticking in your brain-- even from about their jobs, or titans, or gears because you were too focused on feeling the blush on your cheeks or the close proximity between you and erwin, or how his blue eyes gently soothed you even when a similar blush rests on his cheeks.

if he was embarrassed, he was doing a great job at keeping it hidden. the only give-away was how he fiddled with his hands and the way he changed his stance once in a while, eyes still buried into yours. 

“date!”

as conflicted as you were, your role as a teacher flying out of the room as erwin locked his eyes with the children while you stayed rooted to the ground, head turned up as you genuinely looked at him. a small, familiar smile rests on his lips, making your willpower burst into dust as your chest moved up and down, struck with the possibility that maybe— just maybe, a date wouldn’t sound so bad, again.

his voice drifting away while you stood there... until levi moved to your side, nudging you softly. 

you jumped, looking at him while your brows furrowed, “what?”

“how long were you going to stare at him?” levi asked, pulling you away as erwin entertained the children, even perching him up on the desk as he answered questions that you were sure that wasn’t about survey corps. 

“i wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, your hands going cold as you flicker your eyes towards erwin. 

“yes, you were,” levi huffed beside you, nudging his head towards the commander. “answer him.”

“answer what?”

“his question.”

you looked away, glancing at him who was waiting for your reply to a question you didn’t even know or heard. his lips moved for a second time, but it all faded away as the kids cheered louder, clapping their hands, their own cheeks fluttering into pinks and reds. 

he shushed the children and the bickering died down, their lips closed as they listened with you. 

erwin’s breath staggered a little, but a newfound confidence sits right in his chest as he repeated the question— his voice smooth and sweet as if it was only meant for you to hear.

“should we go date again?”

[scribbling-dragon]

Growing Pains

Chapter 17

Summary:

The visit of a god has many unprecedented effects. (AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(3,535 words)

"You were!"

"I was not!" Joel protested.

"You were looking at my feet again! They're not weird- you're the one making it weird!" He throws his arms up into the air in exasperation, jostling Jimmy a little with the movement.

The feathers on his wings bristle, standing up straighter as he yells back at Joel, again, arguing with him, and trying his best to ignore the hole Lizzie seems to be attempting to drill into the side of his skull. 

His attempts are going poorly, but she looks away a little as he quiets down a little when Jimmy asks him to, folding his arms back around him, letting him read his book in the relative peace of the room.

fWhip is sitting in the corner, watching them both with an odd air of amusement, even as he's confined to Lizzie's Time Out Corner. As Joel looks at his feet weirdly again, he begins to wish that Katherine would just hurry up and get here.

He’s also a bit irritated with being reduced to nothing more than an oversized blanket, especially as Jimmy tugs one of his wings gently, signifying he wants it closer. He rolls his eyes, tucking it closer around him and resting his chin on Jimmy’s - thankfully cod-free - head.

He’s holding the book with one hand, occasionally using his other one to flick a page. Most of the time though, his free hand is being used to smooth down the feathers on his wing, and he’s trying not to be too pleased by the small action.

He doesn't actually know what book he’s reading, he hadn't had the chance to look at it when he pulled it off the shelf, more than a bit preoccupied with Jimmy asking him to sit down and then clambering onto his lap. fWhip had looked like he was going to say something, mouth opening with an odd glint in his eye. All it had taken to make him back down was a short, sharp glare from him, and a slightly threatening glimpse at his teeth.

Jimmy flicks another page over, and the sound draws his eyes. He reads a few words on the page, before giving up and looking away, finding that even that was too much of a strain on his eyes without his glasses. You would have thought being blessed by a god would mean better eyesight or something. Apparently not, if anything, his eyesight has gotten worse since his first encounter with Alinar’s antlers.

He freezes up a little. Were those Alinar’s real antlers? Did someone chop them off of him when he died, or did they naturally fall off? Who decided to put the antlers of a dead person on show in a shrine?

Those weren't real antlers, my child. He jolts a little, looking around, even as Lizzie and Joel watch him in slight worry. There’s no one there, and that definitely wasn't any of the people in the room that just spoke. He gathers his wings closer around Jimmy, tightening his hold on him a little as he sits up straighter, continuing to watch the room around them as he waits for the voice to make a reappearance.

An airy laugh twinkles through the air, and no one else reacts. Aeor, is this how he goes out, driven crazy by voices in his head?

Not a voice in your head. Or, not quite at least. It- he, Scott’s beginning to get a good idea of who it is, chuckles again. Surely you have not forgotten my visit so quickly?

No, he responds, I just didn't expect voices in my head next time you wanted to communicate with me. He relaxes a little, and his wings slump down to a more comfortable position. Jimmy tilts his head back a little, resting it on his shoulder and looking up at him. He gently pushes his head back down, making him resume the reading of his book.

Jimmy hums a little, shifting a little bit before relaxing against him again, leaning a little more into his embrace, carefully turning the page of his book. He misses his book, the one with all the languages in it, even if he doesn't need it anymore as Aeor’s told him what that means. He’d still like to make a cipher for the language, maybe more if Aeor would be willing to guide him in his pursuits.

I am...unsure of whether you would be able to draw any symbols you have not yet been given, the language is rather complex. Aeor laughs a little, and he can almost hear the small sound of the gems on his antlers jangling, moving and brushing up against each other like chimes in the wind. I would be willing to help nonetheless, I am always in support of the pursuit of knowledge.

You would be a pretty shitty God of Knowledge if you didn't. He laughs to himself a little, before choking on his own breath, realising he just swore at a god. He swallows a little, practically waiting for Aeor to strike him down for that comment.

No, I don't think I would be. Aeor responds, without any of the earth shattering lightning he had been expecting. I would try to help, but I'm afraid my presence and my skills may be limited. There was a time where I could simply impart knowledge upon the higher members of the clergy and council, yet, he sighs, I am afraid that time has passed. I am no longer able to speak aloud, and with that, most of my power has diminished.

How long has it been since Alinar? He asks, watching from the corner of his eye as Jimmy turns over another page, brushing his thumb down the edge of the page, absently smoothing one of his feathers down, realigning it as though the movement is second nature. The history books have never given us a date, and all we have is guesswork. We couldn't exactly desecrate his grave for some simple curiosity.

Aeor hums, and the sound manages to be comforting, vibrating in the air around him before slowly settling. I cannot quite recall, it has been several millennia at least, but other than that, I cannot give you an exact date.

Who is this? A new voice joins their conversation, echoing around his head in a way Aeor’s hadn't before. He looks up, eyes a little wide, before slowly meeting Pixl’s eyes across the room. The king is watching him from where he’s sitting, legs crossed over one another and leaning back in one of the armchairs.

I am Aeor. Surely you have heard of me. He remains silent, continuing to watch Pixl across the room as he speaks without moving his mouth. The timbre of his voice is recognisable, even as it echoes around his head from the inside and outside, slightly distorted from the magic they're using. Though I must admit I am curious as to how you have managed to enter our conversation in such a manner. The channels were closed, and I doubt my power eludes me so that they have re-opened without my notice.

They have not. He watches Pixl tilt his head forward a slight bit, a small nod towards him. He still doesn't blink, not breaking eye contact. He refuses to look away first, even as the feathers on his wings slowly ruffle, and a slow, humming and buzzing begins in the centre of his palm, spreading out slowly, until it has reached the edges of his hands, heating them from the inside-out. I’m sure your power has not reduced enough for me to sneak in through any back routes. I would not even begin to attempt to, I'm sure it would be disrespectful to your power, even as diminished as it is. 

That’s a roundabout way of giving an insult if he’s ever seen one. And he would know, he’s given several of his own in his time.

What business do you have with me? Aeor questions, and he watches as Pixl leans a little further back into his seat, finally breaking the eye contact as he casts his gaze skywards, obviously considering the question for a moment.

I could...feel something tugging at the edge of my mind, pulling me towards the source of what felt like a spirit. Normally, when I encounter those, it is my job to allow them to move on, but when I began to look a little closer, there was too much power coming from it to simply be a spirit trapped within this world.

Yet you still entered our conversation. He speaks up, watching Pixl carefully. Pixl watches him back, gaze even and calm, even as feathers across his wings prick a little with discomfort, slowly raising at the perceived threat he exudes.

I did. He nods minutely again. I'm sure She would rather know about any prominent presence within the godly realm. She has been the only one for a rather long time now. There is no one else to accompany Her. Not to say that there aren't any other gods, just that they prefer to mingle with the mortals where She cannot. I'm sure you understand.

I am afraid you will find you are wrong, he hears a small twinkling sound, and he gets a vivid image of Aeor shaking his head, the gems strung upon his antlers like bunting moving and shifting with him, glimmering as they catch the pearly light that seems to emanate from every place within his realm. I am as much trapped within my realm as I can be, it is the only plane I can exist in.

Has your power not returned after such a long time? Is even a millennia not enough to heal the wounds from your battle? It would appear Pixl has some knowledge of the mythos, and as he watches him now, the marks of wisdom around his eyes prominent, even in the warm light of Jimmy’s home, he wonders just how truly old he is. He keeps that thought private, remaining silent as he watches Pixl carefully, absolutely ready to defend Aeor’s honour if he stepped out of line. Aeor might not be present in this realm, but he very much is, and he’s sure these antlers aren't just for show. He’ll be happy to test it either way.

No. My brother lays entrapped, and without him I am unable to survive. I may be destined to destroy him, but I will destroy myself if I do so. There is no peace without the chaos, no calm without the storm. Aeor cannot exist without Exor. It is simply something impossible, there is nothing that can be done for it, Death Touched.

That’s...certainly a title. Pixl seems to straighten up a little with it, casting his eyes around at the others gathered here, as though he’s suddenly aware of all the people they're currently surrounded by. He doesn't say anything, but he can see the slight unease glimmering in his eyes from here, even as they sit several metres apart. He’s surprised his allies don't stop their discussion to ask him if he’s alright.

Why are the Champions a necessity then? Why appoint one if the only outcome is both of your demises?

It is law. It is like winter, it must come, and it must destroy all life in its way. It must allow its frost to creep over the ground and turn the leaves brittle and cold. It is only in its nature to destroy and cause death, as much as it is in your own. Exor’s only purpose is to spread dissent and corruption, allowing it into their hearts as he rips them open, allowing it to snake its way inside and destroy from within. A small sigh echoes around them.

My only purpose is to appoint a Champion, one to destroy Exor’s. It is all we can do now, we must chip away at each other’s resolve through more organic methods, it is the only way. Destroying Xornoth will not destroy Exor, in the same way destroying Smajor would not destroy me.

Hold on, he interjects, destroy me?

You may be immortal by human standards, Pixl says, but you are still vulnerable to iron; you can still die, whether it be from an odd satisfaction with the world, being enough at peace to move on, or a crippling sense of grief that would leave you a hollowed out shell of what you once were.

How lovely. He comments dryly, giving Pixl the best ‘the fuck’ look he can.

Apologies, Pixl makes a small, apologetic face back at him, I simply mean that you too can be vulnerable, and, if I am understanding Aeor right now, he means that you can be killed by Xornoth. It would destroy every aspect of you, enough that not even She would be able to piece you back together for another attempt.

If it were anything different our Champions would just continue to die and revive, over and over again in an endless cycle of torment, death and destruction. There would be no peace. Aeor intones, with an odd, solemn air to his voice. It doesn't ring in the same way, settling and sinking into his bones. He shivers, once, and he sees Pixl copy the action, clasping his hands together as though he is hoping to gather some warmth closer.

It is simply how it is, there is no other explanation for it. Pixl has an odd amount of knowledge on the subject, and, not for the first time, he considers just how old he might be.

“Okay,” Jimmy shatters their silent communication, sitting up straight, “What is up with you two?” He crosses his arms, obviously hoping to intimidate, though it’s obviously diminished by him being absolutely swaddled in feathers and sitting in someone else’s lap.

fWhip looks up from the floor, interest sparking to life as he looks at Jimmy. Lizzie and Joel have a similar expression on their face, watching Jimmy with some sort of amusement as they look between him and Pixl.

“Nothing.” He replies instantly, not really stopping to think about how suspicious that sounds. Pixl winces a little at the obvious lie, looking away.

“There’s obviously something.” Jimmy turns to look at him a little. “You're getting all agitated.”

“I am not getting agitated.” He protests, shoving at Jimmy a little. He remains unbothered by the action as the shove barely shifts him from his place, despite both of them knowing he could very easily shove him off his lap completely.

“Yes you are,” Jimmy pokes at one of his wings, “Your wings are puffing up, and it’s making you look like a startled cat.” He sounds faintly amused, stroking a hand along his wing, watching as the feathers he touches lay flat, resuming their normal position.

He is right. You do get all ‘puffy’ when you become irritated, and I can see the likeness to a cat in that. Aeor sounds even more amused than Jimmy, and he can almost hear a laugh bubbling in his throat as he speaks.

Not helpful. He bites back.

It wasn't supposed to be. He’s sure if stags could shrug, he would be doing so right now. He bites back another small comment of irritation, looking to Pixl instead, who he’s sure can hear their current exchange.

“I do not look like a startled cat.” He sniffs. “And if you're looking for someone to blame, it should be Pixl.” He is not above pinning the blame on someone else. He never has been, and anyone that tells you he would act as the bigger person is a liar.

They all turn to look at Pixl, just as he had planned, and he’s able to relax a little, arms loosening around Jimmy a little as he pulls him back against his chest, seeking the warmth that seems to emanate from him. He’s glad for his foresight of asking Jimmy to take his cloak off, he’s not sure what he would do if he had that sopping mass of moss against his chest right now.

“It is not my fault.” Pixl gasps, apparently just as dramatic as every other empire ruler.

“Yes it is. I wouldn't have been glaring at you if you didn't...interrupt us, I mean me.”

“Interrupt you doing what?” Lizzie looks back towards him, a suspicious expression on her face, “Interrupt you seducing my brother?”

“I am not seducing your brother.” He protests, apparently a little too harshly, as Lizzie’s suspicious look morphs into a glare, and Jimmy turns an offended face towards him.

“Are you saying I'm not worth seducing?”

“No I'm not- why are we even talking about this? It’s not related to this discussion at all. Pixl interrupted what I was doing, which is not seducing your brother, and it was irritating.”

I didn't find it annoying, I think he’s rather nice for conversation. He’s very well-spoken.

“See,” Pixl grins, “Aeor agrees with me.” He looks back to him so fast he’s sure he’s given his eyes whiplash - which he doesn't think is even possible, by the way - and Pixl’s grin drops as soon as he realises what a colossal mistake he’s just made.

“Aeor?” Joel looks confused, looking between him and Pixl, as though they're going to provide any more answers. They're not, he wasn't going to say anything in the first place, and Pixl’s clammed up, hands clasped together as he sends Scott a guilty look. He almost looks like he’s praying, and he hopes She is finding this amusing, as he doesn't think anyone other than Aeor is. He’s sure he’d like to share his amusement with someone.

“Aeor’s a dead god.” Lizzie says, looking almost as confused as her husband, “You wouldn't be able to speak to a dead god.”

“Aeor’s not dead.” He gasps out, looking at Lizzie in horror. “He is very much alive right now.”

“Gods don't die anyway,” Pixl chooses then to break his vow of silence - the one that lasted a minute - unclasping his hands. He’s quite certain he was praying now. “They can’t die, they just...change forms. She wasn't always as She is now.”

“Aeor was always Aeor. There wasn't a time before his era of gods, though you would be correct in assuming most of them have ‘died’, if that’s how you want to phrase it.”

“Aeor was of the first gods, the first of the universe. He has existed for eons, and I am sure he will exist for several eons more.” Pixl states, rather too confidently when they both know Exor has released his Champion too.

“Unless Exor gets to him.” He mutters under his breath, resting his chin back on Jimmy’s head.

“Unless Exor gets to him.” Pixl nods in confirmation. “Yes.”

“I'm sorry,” Joel holds his hand up, looking around the room as a whole, “I have absolutely no clue what you are all talking about. You're saying Aeor and Exor and gods as though they're supposed to have some significance.”

“They do.” Lizzie looks at Joel. “Surely you know of the Great Stags.” He shakes his head, and Scott feels a little bit of his hope drain from him at the utterly confused look on his face.

“Oh Aeor.” he presses his face into the top of Jimmy’s head, hoping that maybe, hopefully, it would just suffocate him then and there. “We’re all going to die.” Jimmy flicks the inside of his wing as he says that, and he flinches the wing away from it, more surprised by the action than hurt. He gives Jimmy a small look, even though he can’t see it as he watches Lizzie tell Joel, in the simplest, most basic terms, who Aeor is.

“Why did you think he was dead?” He asks at the end of the explanation. “He sounds pretty, I dunno, alive to me.”

“I literally spoke to you about Aeor when I was,” Jimmy trails off, his small outburst quieting as he looks up to Scott. “When I was telling you about all of that stuff last Monday.”

“Last Monday- oh, oh. I did wonder what that was, actually.” Joel laughs a little, carding a hand through his hair and threatening to knock his crown from his head.

Silence settles over them, and he’s certain if it hadn't that they wouldn't have heard the small, almost timid, knock at the door. But they do, because of the reigning silence, and they all turn to it as one, staring at the old, slightly chipped wood of Jimmy’s door.

Even fWhip, who had simply observed their conversation earlier, turns to look at the door with interest, uncrossing his legs, before crossing them again, the other way around.

You have a visitor. Aeor helpfully informs him.

Thanks, I didn't notice.

The door swings slowly open as whoever was on the other side pushes it. Katherine’s head pokes around the corner, and she blinks as she spots them, eyes only pausing on him and Jimmy for a moment longer than the others before continuing around the room.

“Am I interrupting something?”

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scydia/McMartin | Scott McCall x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves & anonymous

"This place is…"

Scott can't even think of a word. He just gazes ahead of them in wonder and awe. For miles, all he can see is snow. A thick white blanket of it covering the entire path ahead, the roads, the cobblestoned buildings, the trees—god, even the trees feel like something out of a fairytale, with long, twisting branches that have a dusting of snow themselves. And it's still going, trying to make them part of the scenery, too.

"You'd think you'd never seen snow before," Lydia teases. 

"I haven't—not like this! California's snow is nothing compared to this." 

Lydia just smiles, a certain fondness in her eyes. She squints up at the sky, her nose wrinkling slightly, their suitcases dragging along through the snow behind them as they continue their way from the ferry port. Something else that Scott is admittedly still in amazement over; he'd never actually been on a ferry before. 

It's just a good thing that the snow stopped long enough for them to actually reach Ireland, or else they'd have still been holed up in their cabin, stuck somewhere in the middle of the sea. Not the worst scenario he can think of, to be fair. But he's glad, nonetheless, because this is so much better. 

"I don't know," Lydia says. "I think I prefer the warm winters. I'm just hoping that Gran and Nana make their hot chocolate like they used to when I was younger, I'm telling you, it's the best thing ever."

Scott smiles, finally looking at Lydia as they come to a stop outside a two-storey, cobbled house with a gate around the garden. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a pale pink. Snowflakes have clung to her green hat, along the shoulders of her matching green coat, and to her eyelashes. There's a gleam of pure excitement and joy beneath them as she stares at the house. 

When she takes a deep breath, it returns like a puff of smoke. Scott gently squeezes her hand and holds it up in his own, bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look nervous," he tells her softly. 

"A little," Lydia says, nodding. "Only because I haven't been here since I was… nine? And there's so much to tell them. I mean, I know my mom filled them in on pretty much everything, but still."

Scott nods as well, saying, "I know. It's a lot. But it'll be okay."

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agrees. Her smile seems a little more confident as she gives another nod.

They walk through the gate, into the garden that Scott's now seeing is teeming with things; empty plant pots, kids toys, an overturned bicycle. Even the stones of the house are more interesting than he had initially realized, with bright murals painted across the whole front of the house. 

As soon as they enter the house, the door closing behind them, they're hit with unexplainable warmth. And the shouting and giggling of kids that whiz past them, nearly knocking them off their feet. 

"I forgot how loud it gets here," Lydia says, but she's laughing. Scott can see it in her eyes as she looks around the entrance hall, beautifully decorated with lengths of tinsel, and handcrafted baubles hanging from the ceiling. 

Framed pictures line the walls up the stairs as far as he can. The closest one, hanging by the bottom of the stairs, has a familiar little girl, giving her biggest smile to the camera beside a young woman with a striking resemblance. 

"Is this you?" Scott asks, his smile wide. 

Lydia looks at the photo. "Oh god, yeah. I think that was when I was, like… six? I came up here every Christmas and New Year before my parents divorced. That's my gran."

"You look like her," Scott tells her, and he can hear the joyful skip of heart, hear it in her proud little hum of agreement. 

"Well, maybe without some of the grey hair," a voice says from behind them. 

They both turn around, and Lydia's face lights up. She's already squealing and dropping her suitcase and Scott's hand. 

"Gran!" Lydia practically flies at her, hugging her tightly. 

Her gran laughs, caught by surprise but only for a second, wrapping her up in her arms. "I've missed you too, Ariel!" 

"Haven't heard that name in a while," someone else says, with a distinctively more Irish accent, but still holding the same fond, overjoyed tone.

Scott looks at the woman who appears at their side from the room behind Lydia and her gran. He recognizes her instantly from all the photos. 

Maddy places a hand on Lorraine's shoulder as she and Lydia pull apart. Lydia looks on the verge of tears as she buries herself into Maddy's open embrace as well for a second, both laughing now. 

"And you…" Lorraine looks over Scott with a smile and a gleam in her eyes. A certain kind of knowing. "... You're Scott McCall."

Scott returns her smile and nods. "I am. I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Martin."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about you as well," Lorraine tells him, and he knows. 

He knows she isn't just talking about him and Lydia being together, but about everything. The deadpool. She knew who he was and what he was going to be before he even hit ten. 

For a moment, his worries from the ferry come back. Not all supernatural creatures are a fan of each other, and with the destruction that werewolves have a history of causing, banshees can't be that fond of them. And especially with everything that's happened to Lydia. 

But then her smile grows and she says, "I'm glad to finally meet you! And, please, call me Lorraine. This is my wife, Maddy."

"So, this is the little wolf that got your heart, huh?" Maddy jokes to Lydia, an arm around her shoulders. 

Lydia looks at Scott. She bites her bottom lip through her smile, and her eyes are saying everything. 

She nods and softly says, "Yeah. He is."

"Then you're more than welcome here," Lorraine says.

Relief starts to lift the weight off of Scott's shoulders and chest. The warm, welcoming atmosphere is hard to resist, and he's already feeling at home. 

-

Lydia was right. The hot chocolate is one of the best things he's ever had. Creamy and overflowing with marshmallows with a candy cane to stir it around. Not to mention the plate of cookies. He has never had a gingerbread man that tastes this good.

It's already dark outside, the sun having set an hour or two after they arrived. They already changed into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and settled in front of the fireplace in the living room to get rid of the chill from the snow. Lorraine and Maddy insisted. Didn't want them getting sick, and ignoring their protests about not being able to actually get sick.

"Your cousins don't look like they're having a good time," Scott comments quietly, watching the half-asleep couple sitting in the corner. 

"They have five kids, all under the age of ten," Lydia replies. "I think the only thing they can feel right now is exhausted."

Scott snorts. He looks around the room. He's met nearly everyone on this side of the family by now. Every cousin, second cousin, aunts, uncles. The kids that Lorraine and Maddy took in have been especially eager to meet him. 

His attention is drawn back to the little boy sitting cross-legged in front of him. He's only nine.

Scott wasn't expecting it when Lorraine and Maddy told him that around ten years ago, another banshee had found them. She was only nineteen and had no one and no idea what was going on with her. They took her in, Lorraine helped her. And from then, it's like their home was its own supernatural beacon, but for kids who had nowhere else to go. 

Sean, the little boy currently sneaking another gingerbread man from the plate, is a werewolf. His family, his pack, were hunted down when he was four. Lorraine felt it coming. She and Maddy found Sean. 

There's a little yelp and Sean clutches his hand. Scott catches a glimpse of tiny claws where nails should be. 

"Can I…?" he asks, holding out a hand. 

Sean hesitates, but he glances at Lydia, who smiles and nods encouragingly, then back at Scott. He slowly gives him his hand, palm up. 

"I don't know how to control it…" Sean mutters, looking down sheepishly. 

Scott inspects where the small trickle of blood is coming from. Three little lines where his claws accidentally caught his skin in passing. 

Shaking his head, Scott speaks gently, and draws on the pain in Sean's hand. "It's okay. You're still learning."

"Yeah, it's actually harder for born wolves," Lydia chimes in, nodding convincingly when Sean lifts his eyes to her with curiosity. "You'd think it was the other way around, but one of our friends—he was born a werewolf."

"And he didn't learn until he was sixteen," Scott tells him. "It just takes time."

"And knowing what keeps you grounded," Lydia adds. "Your anchor."

Sean looks at Scott. "Do you have an anchor?"

Scott nods. "I do. I had to learn to let me be my own anchor, but when that doesn't work for me, I focus on all the people I love. My mom, my best friend, my pack." 

He glances at Lydia only to find her already gazing at him with the softest smile, her cheek leaning against her shoulder. She places a kiss to his shoulder, her hand resting on her arm for a second.

"You just need to find something that makes you feel more in control," Scott finishes, turning back to Sean. "Even if it's an emotion."

Sean nods slowly. His expression is one of deep thought, trying to work to figure out what his own anchor could be. 

"Now, you should go clean this up," Scott says. "Just run it under warm water with some soap, okay? It might sting a little, but just ask Lorraine or Maddy if they have any antibiotic cream, and then put a bandage on it."

"Are you a doctor?" Sean asks.

"No," Scott can't help but grin as he says, "I'm just a vet."

That answer only seems to confuse Sean. But he gets up and hurries off to go do what Scott instructed. 

When Scott turns back, Lydia's still watching him. She has this look on her face, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes and a certain kind of smile that he can't read. 

Chuckling, Scott asks, "What is it?"

She lets a beat pass. She shakes her head, takes a slow breath in, then looks over at the window instead.

"It's still snowing. Do you wanna sit in the garden? There's a nice bench out back."

Scott's eyebrows furrow a little, but he stands with her, following her to the back door from the kitchen. Stepping outside is like what he'd imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer would feel like. 

But the cold biting at his skin is unimportant. The awe hits him all over again as he takes in the sight of the garden, feeling like he just stepped into a fairytale instead. Everywhere he looks, everything is white and sparkling. From the entire ground, to the gazebo at the end of the garden. 

Somehow, in amidst it all, there are flowers. Whole roses and everything, snow dusting across their dark red petals. 

"This is…" Scott breathes out, his eyes wide, "... I don't even know what this is. This place doesn't feel real."

Lydia laughs gently. She wraps her arms around her and nods, looking around as the snow falls around them. 

"Yeah, it does feel kind of… magical."

"We could actually make a snowman," Scott continues. "Or have a real snowball fight. Are snow angels things that people actually do?"

Lydia's eyebrows are raised when he looks back at her, and she's shaking her head. But she's got a smile that stretches to the corners of her eyes and he can feel emotions radiating off of her.

"You are so dorky." She moves closer, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "And I love you."

Scott smiles. His voice is soft and giving away all of the fondness he feels for her when he says, "And I love you."

She leans in, her head tilting. Her lips are soft against his. He pulls her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. The cold and even the snow is easier to ignore.

Lydia pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Scott doesn't let go at all. 

"I'm really glad you're here with me," Lydia tells him. "And my whole family now loves you, so that's a nice bonus. I think you even made a friend."

Scott grins, shrugging. "Your family is great, and I am… beyond relieved that they like me. And, I think with Sean, it's a werewolf thing."

"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head firmly. "Maybe that's a small part of it, the whole Alpha thing and all, but all of the kids in there love you."

They pull apart. Lydia sits down on the bench. Scott follows, and can't help but start piling the snow from the arm of the bench into a ball in his hand. 

"You were amazing with Sean," Lydia comments, glancing at him. She's doing the same thing with the snow on her side. 

Scott shrugs again. "I just told him the same as I told Liam. And Alec. It's how I wish I could have been introduced to all of this. With someone reassuring me that it would be okay."

Lydia nods in a shared understanding. Neither of their starts in the supernatural word were exactly pleasant or comforting. Scott's only sorry that Lydia was brought into it the way she was. 

She rests a hand on top of his, curling her fingers beneath his palm. She squeezes gently. 

He knows that she can tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he worries that banshees have the ability to read minds as well. But the look she gives him and her hand there with his draws his thoughts away from the past. Everything is okay. It's better than okay. 

"It's amazing what your gran and nana have done, though," Scott says. "Taking in supernatural kids who have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, it's like a little foster home, but… for werewolves, banshees, and everything else," Lydia jokes, but her smile is sincere. "It's a really good thing they're doing. The kids are so happy here."

"I can see why," Scott says, gazing back out across the garden. The snow has the sky practically glowing, in no way looking like it's dark enough to be night. 

There's a slight pressure against his hand from Lydia's fingers, moving slowly. 

"Do you… do you think that's something you'd ever want to do?" Lydia asks, careful with her words.

Scott looks back at her. She's watching him again, with curious eyes. His heart drops many beats.

"Wait, are you—?" he starts to ask, but Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.

"No!" she hastens to answer. "No, I'm not! I just meant… you know, in general, is it—is it something that you can see for the future? Not necessarily the foster home part, but… you know."

She chews her bottom lip. Scott takes it in, letting the question process. After a moment, a smile curves the corners of his mouth up.

"Imagine, the first werewolf-banshee hybrid," he says.

"That can't have been done before," Lydia agrees, a laugh to her voice. "I wonder if one side would skip them, or if we'd be creating a whole new species."

Scott actually does laugh now, and Lydia joins him. His stomach is buzzing with butterflies or bees, he can't tell. 

When they both go quiet, Scott slowly nods. He lifts his eyes to meet Lydia's.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly. "Whether it be a werewolf-banshee hybrid, or even an orphaned werewolf with nobody else… yeah. It's something I see for the future."

Lydia takes in a deep breath. She presses her lips together as her smile threatens to take over her entire face. She just nods, and breathes out slowly.

"Good to know," she says. "I do too, for the record."

"Okay, that's great," Scott says, grinning from ear to ear. 

Lydia hums in agreement. Then the ball of snow that she'd been forming hits him square in the chest. 

It's safe to say that it is freezing. The snow instantly seeps through his Christmas jumper, melting into his skin. He gasps while Lydia laughs behind her hands, hee eyes wide.

"You said you wanted a snowball fight…" she reminds him. 

Scott nods. "You're absolutely right. I did."

The ball of snow in his own hand hits Lydia. She gasps, snow sticking to her jumper as well now. 

"Oh my god, so cold!" she exclaims. "Why is that so cold?!" 

"Because it's real snow," Scott says, his excitement quickly returning. 

Lydia looks at him, her eyes narrowing. A familiar, competitive smirk forms on both their faces. 

"Game on," she says. 

Next second, they're trying to dodge out of the other's way, snowballs flying across the garden. There are gasps and shouts and laughter when they successfully land a shot. 

Maybe it's a little unfair that Scott taps into his heightened abilities to move faster. But the advantage doesn't stop Lydia from managing to sneak up on him and tackle him into the snow. It's so deep that they sink a few inches into it, laughing until their sides and faces ache, and neither of them actually win, both claiming they did. But they end up just lying there in the freezing snow, curled into each other, staring up at the night sky.